Chapter Five Jade
Chapter Five
Jade
Zac loads the shopping bags into the boot of his silver Ford Focus, while I stand on the sun-warmed pavement, scrolling through my Instagram feed to distract me from the guilt of today’s spending spree.
I’m in so much debt that it makes no difference at this point.
That’s what I tell myself anyway. Perversely, because I owe so much, it feels like it doesn’t make a difference to add on a bit more.
Whereas, beforehand, when I was in the black, I watched my pennies more carefully.
There must be some psychology behind that.
‘I’m knackered,’ Zac grumbles. ‘Didn’t realise we’d be going round so many shops. Thought we were just supposed to be going out for lunch.’ He slams the boot shut and runs a hand through his short brown curls.
We’ve got a rare day off together, and I’d suggested grabbing a bite to eat in town, but somehow I got carried away by the summer sales.
‘You want me to look good, don’t you?’ I retort, thinking about how hot I looked in the summer dress and strappy sandals from H&M.
I can’t wait to wear them somewhere nice.
‘Maybe we could go to the beach on our next day off together. Or you could take me to that new cocktail bar in town.’ I tilt my head and give him what I hope is a winning smile.
‘Yeah, I guess we could go to Bournemouth,’ he replies, sliding into the driver’s seat as I get into the passenger side. ‘Maybe SOBO Beach or over to Sandbanks,’ he adds. ‘Pricey though. You’ll have to chip in for petrol.’
I curl my lip, annoyed that he won’t be able to treat me.
It won’t be any fun if we have to watch every penny.
And he’ll only moan if I don’t offer to pay for a few rounds.
Not like when we first met and he couldn’t do enough for me.
Always treating me and buying me little presents – crap presents, but at least he made an effort.
These days, he does nothing but moan. Brings me down, if I’m honest. I pull my seat belt across and click it into place.
Zac starts the engine, then leans forward and points. ‘Hey, over there. Isn’t that your mum? Thought you said she was working this afternoon.’
I glance up from my phone, squinting through the glare to see a familiar face on the opposite side of the road.
A woman coming out of an accountant’s office, dressed in jeans, a navy striped top and an expensive-looking blazer.
It is Mum, and she’s wearing the brunette wig again!
This time she’s alone. No handsome man by her side.
I stare at her face. There’s absolutely no doubt about it. It’s her. Same features, same expression, same way of walking. This is ridiculous. I’m going to have to confront her.
‘Jade,’ Zac prompts, ‘I said, is that your mum? Did she dye her hair or something?’
I bite my lip. ‘What the hell?’ I mutter. ‘She’s supposed to be at work.’
‘Jade . . .’
‘Shh,’ I snap. ‘I heard you the first time. That’s definitely my mum, right?’ I glance at Zac’s bemused expression.
‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘But she looks . . . rich.’
I watch as she points a set of keys at a high-spec red Mini Clubman. The lights flash and the alarm chirps.
Zac gives a low whistle. ‘Nice car.’
Adrenaline pulses through me, and I undo my seat belt. ‘I’m going over there. She can’t deny it if I’m standing right in front of her.’ I fling open the car door.
‘Deny what?’ His brow knits. ‘What’s going on? Jade!’
As I step out of Zac’s car, Mum slides into hers and, before I can move, she’s pulling away from the kerb, driving off. I swear and slip back into my seat.
‘Follow her,’ I pant.
‘What?’ He turns to look at me.
‘Go!’ I nod in the direction of the rapidly receding Mini.
‘Oh, right.’ Zac rams the Ford into gear, and we surge out on to the road as he guns the engine, speeding to catch up with her.
‘Hang back a bit,’ I say. ‘We don’t want her to spot us.’
‘Why not? Surely that’s the whole point – you want to speak to her, right?’
‘I want to see where she’s going.’ I crane my neck, peering through the windscreen. ‘Just keep her in sight.’
Zac glances at the dashboard. ‘Haven’t got much petrol,’ he warns. ‘We might have to stop.’
I huff. ‘What are you talking about? We can’t stop.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ Zac retorts. ‘If I’d known we’d be in a high-speed car chase, I’d have gone to the garage for a full service.’
I can’t help snort-laughing at that, remembering it was his dry humour that attracted me in the first place.
He grins back, and I shake my head, adding, ‘We’ll just have to hope she’s not going too far.’
‘All right, but if we run dry, we’ll be stranded.’
I glance at my phone. ‘I could call her? Ask what she’s doing.’
He nods. ‘Good idea.’
I try her number, but it’s no good. ‘Voicemail,’ I say glumly.
We cruise out of town, traffic humming around us, the outskirts of Southampton unspooling past our windows. My phone lies useless in my lap – voicemail every time I call.
Zac drifts along in the left lane of the dual carriageway so he won’t spook her. He peppers me with questions as I stare ahead at the red blur of the Mini, wondering about her destination.
I realise it’s actually good to have someone to talk to about it, rather than keeping my worries bottled up. I tried asking Mum on a couple more occasions. But, just like that first night, she shut me down each time. So I fill Zac in.
‘So she was in a Range Rover with some bloke you’ve never seen before?’ Zac clarifies.
‘Yep, and she denied it. But you saw her just now. It’s definitely her, right? I’m not going mad.’
‘Hundred per cent,’ he says. ‘Do you think she’s leading some kind of double life? Like, with another family? Maybe that guy was her husband.’
I huff out an incredulous breath. ‘No way. If that was true, why would she choose to live in a grotty flat and work shifts in the pub?’
‘Maybe it’s someone who looks like her,’ Zac muses. ‘She’s getting on the motorway. Not sure we’ve got enough in the tank for that.’
‘We’ll be fine.’ I glance at the petrol gauge. ‘It’s not even in the red yet.’
Zac shakes his head, but follows her down the slip road anyway. ‘Okay, I’m invested now.’ He merges the car into the fast-flowing traffic. ‘Could she have a sister?’
I considered this possibility back when I first saw this version of Mum a few weeks ago, but I dismissed it. No one could look that similar, not even a sister. I shake my head. ‘Mum’s an only child. Although . . .’
‘What?’ Zac prompts, moving into the middle lane.
‘You know she was brought up in care, right? Lots of different homes and foster families.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘She doesn’t really talk about it, even to me. So, maybe she was split up from any siblings she might have had. Maybe she doesn’t even know!’
‘Yeah, but the social workers would have told her if she had a sister, surely?’ Zac indicates and shifts to the outside lane. ‘Well, whoever she is, she’s going over the speed limit. Must be doing ninety.’
‘I just can’t believe it’s a sibling. I mean, you saw her, she’s the spit of Mum. She doesn’t look similar, she looks exactly the same.’
‘Could be a twin,’ Zac says.
I try to calm my breathing. This whole thing is making me feel weird. Either Mum’s been lying to me, or she has an unknown sister, both of which are strange. I realise that I could have an aunt! A rich aunt.
After ten minutes on the M27, she leaves the motorway at Cadnam and heads south, deeper into the New Forest, towards Lyndhurst. Fifteen minutes later, with the fuel gauge blinking, we drive into Lymington, a swanky coastal town on the edge of the New Forest. The Mini heads down to the marina.
‘Looks like she’s parking.’ I state the obvious as she drives into a public car park and reverses expertly into a narrow space.
‘Just as well, ’cause we’re out of petrol,’ Zac replies as the engine splutters and dies.
We manage to coast into a nearby parking space.
‘Lucky we made it,’ he adds. ‘Gonna have to walk to a garage to get some fuel though. Think I’ve got a can in the boot, otherwise I’ll have to buy one. Hope it’s not too expensive.’
I’m barely listening. All my concentration is focused on my mother, or the woman who’s her double. She exits the car and heads down to the bustling dock, designer handbag over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to catch up with her.’ I release my seat belt and open the car door.
‘Hang on, I’ll come with you,’ Zac says. ‘Just let me grab a ticket.’
‘Catch me up.’ I clamber out of the car.
The sun is low and liquefied, molten orange bleeding into the marina, but my gaze is fixed on Mum, phone pressed to her ear as she waves to someone on a sleek yacht moored at the quay.
The sort of vessel that looks more at home off Cannes than our wind-lashed spit of English coastline, all shining hull and tinted glass, the name Mimi painted on its side in curly blue italics.
Some guy, rangy and tanned, is leaning over the yacht’s rail in a navy polo and chinos.
He looks vaguely familiar. It takes me a second to realise – it’s the Range Rover guy from the other week, waving at Mum like they’re old friends.
Or more. Something sharp and cold needles its way into my gut.
I pull out my phone and pretend to check texts, but really I’m toggling to the camera and zooming in.
My view is blocked as more people are trickling on to the yacht, all of them dressed the same way – linen, cashmere, deck shoes, a uniform that signals easy money. The soundtrack is synthy house music and tipsy shrieking, overlaid with the salty tang of the harbour.
I increase my pace, irritated by a dawdling family taking up the whole of the walkway.
I skirt around them and see someone else has joined the man on deck.
A young woman around my age, laughing and waving, her gold bracelet glinting in the evening sun.
Her nose is aquiline, her jawline sharp, identical to my own, and when she looks up, the resemblance hits me so hard I stop breathing for a full five seconds.
She’s me. Not literally me, obviously. But my double.
Same shoulders, same dimples, same . . . everything.
That can’t be right. I blink and stare, hardly able to believe my eyes.
Am I hallucinating? Have I somehow found myself in an alternate universe where there are rich versions of me and Mum?
That girl . . . she’s the spitting image of me, only slimmer and more glamorous.
Like an upmarket version with posh clothes and expensive hair.
Could she be my sister? Or – I can hardly believe it – a twin?
My mouth goes dry. My heart is racing so fast I’m dizzy.
The yacht’s crew pass round canapés and glasses of champagne as guests chatter beneath fluttering bunting.
I should storm aboard, demand answers. Instead, I sink on to a nearby bench, hands shaking.
How could Mum keep such a secret? Am I losing my mind – or have I just discovered a hidden life of hers that I never imagined?
That woman boarding the yacht . . . can she really be my mother?
She drives a brand-new car for goodness’ sake!
No. Mum must have a sister. I need to know who they are and what’s going on.
I keep my gaze trained on the yacht as Mum’s double joins the Range Rover man and my double, and they hug.
The three of them could be a family. Maybe they are.
I press my palms to my temples. How could Mum have kept such a huge secret from me? Does she even know about them? Whatever the truth is, I need to find out.