Chapter Twenty-Five Jade
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jade
Early next morning, I lurk in a narrow alley next to an overflowing recycling bin, across from Bella’s apartment, shivering despite my multiple layers. Her building is a four-storey white edifice in one of the nicest areas of town. Although I haven’t yet seen any bad areas of Lymington.
Her boyfriend’s BMW isn’t parked out front, so I guess he either didn’t stay over or he left already.
The street is quiet apart from the occasional dog walker, a couple of uniformed cleaners, and a few workers leaving their homes, smartly dressed, with thick coats and hats.
All of them too preoccupied to notice an unremarkable figure hunched in the shadow of a bin, plotting.
A dark-red Mercedes SUV rolls by with blacked-out rear windows and a stressed-looking mum in the driver’s seat.
I feel oddly invisible, capable of anything.
My hands tremble, not just from the cold, but from a mixture of nerves and anticipation.
I continue to watch the block, breath held, blowing on my gloved hands and stamping my feet to try to get some warmth back in them.
Finally, after thirty minutes of freezing my arse off, Bella’s pale blue Fiat slowly emerges from the rear of the property.
I get a good look at her face through the windscreen.
She’s wearing her hair scraped back a little too harshly, and has a thick, blue wool scarf at her throat.
She looks rough, as though she hasn’t slept.
For a moment, I wonder if she’s been up crying, or arguing, or if today she simply feels the same friction with the world that the rest of us do.
She looks left and right, and peels away down the road.
The moment her car turns the corner, my body jolts from its hiding place.
It’s now or never. I stride over the road and up the stairs to the entrance doors.
The copied key works on the first try, which gives me a sick little thrill.
Inside, the hallway is empty and smells faintly of lilies and cleaning fluid.
I climb the stairs, rather than take the lift, each step steady, though my chest clangs, my system flooded with adrenaline.
Bella’s flat number is 12, which I’m guessing must be on the third or fourth floor, but I stop on the second to have a look, just in case.
Nope. This floor goes up to flat 8. On the third floor, I spot number 12 and do a quick scan in case she might have a door cam, but there’s nothing I can see to suggest any kind of additional security, so I approach the door, heart racing.
The copied keys slide effortlessly into the locks.
I turn the second, and hear a beautiful little click.
I push open the door, still wearing my thin faux-leather gloves, as I don’t want to risk leaving any fingerprints.
I’d assumed that we’d share the same prints, but apparently not.
I’ve done my research. Everyone’s are unique, twins included.
Although I saw Bella leave a few moments ago, I pause in the doorway, my head cocked, listening for any sounds of life. But all is silent. No beeping alarm either, which is a relief.
Once inside, front door closed, I do a slow pan of the flat.
Small hallway with a gilt mirror above a console table.
Pale oak floors, high ceilings, and white sash windows.
Black-framed glass doors leading to a huge lounge-kitchen-diner.
A wood-panelled door, open a crack to reveal a bedroom in pale green and muted creams. I push open another door to see a guest-bedroom-slash-office, and another door reveals a tasteful limestone shower room with brushed-gold fixtures.
I can barely comprehend that if everything goes to plan, this could be my new pad. It doesn’t feel real. But I can’t stand here gawping all day.
I move with purpose. First, the mahogany desk in the spare room.
I open all the drawers, rummaging through stationery, spare cables, notebooks, old greetings cards, and various other crap.
And then, inside the bottom right drawer, beneath a stack of papers, I find a battered grey Moleskine notebook.
Flipping through the pages, I’m elated to find a scrawled list at the back with her passwords, usernames, even the Pin for her phone.
So predictable, so careless. I just have to hope they’re up to date.
I guess she did make some effort to conceal them – having written in pencil, she’s erased a few letters, worried someone might find them.
I’m sure I have enough info here to work some of them out.
Another upside to discovering this handwritten treasure trove is that my writing is nothing like hers, so I’ll be able to examine how she forms her letters and practise. I take photos of all five pages’ worth of codes.
There’s a filing cabinet in the corner, the keys hanging from its lock. I open it and take photos of bank statements, bills, receipts. Not sure if I’ll need anything here, but it doesn’t hurt to have the information. There’s nothing that I can see of any note on the bookshelves.
I leave the office and head to the living room next.
Such a beautiful airy space with tasteful, comfy furniture, expensive-looking rugs, and modern artwork.
How did she end up with this life while I ended up with mine?
Was it simply a quirk of fate? Did Penni reach into the crib to pick up the nearest of us, and it just happened to be Bella?
Or did Bella give a piercing gaze that endeared her to Penni?
Perhaps it was Mum’s decision, and she bonded with me first. Well, whatever it was, I’d say that Bella got the better deal.
Twenty-eight years of living in luxury, while I’ve had to scrape a living and rack up debt just to get by.
I shake my head and drag my attention back to my surroundings.
I have a root around in the kitchen area, opening the cupboards, scanning the wine rack. I take one of the five bottles of prosecco – I doubt she’ll miss it. The fridge is almost empty – just a couple of tubs of M I’ve been on client calls all morning. Can we chat about it later?’ I say, calibrating my voice. ‘Running late for a meeting!’
I start to edge past, but she shifts to block me, smiling as she replies. ‘Sure, sure. But what time? You’re hard to get hold of, you know?’
‘Six o’clock?’
‘Great! I’ll come to you.’ She steps aside, and I make my escape, hoping my smile doesn’t look too forced.
I skip the lift entirely, terrified she might follow and spot the deception in such a confined space. I take the stairs, flying down three flights like a crash-test dummy, my feet barely touching each step, my lungs burning, legs almost buckling.
Outside, the sunlight is so stark it throws everything into high relief.
I blink, momentarily disoriented by the sudden assault of brightness.
The morning is so crisp it almost feels fake – the perfect blue sky, the cheerful birdsong, the distant rumble of a bus.
But I welcome the icy air against my clammy skin.
I take a hard left down a side street and keep walking, my shadow stretching and shrinking on the pavement as I go. I force myself not to look back until I’m three streets away.
Only now do I allow myself to exhale and laugh, a wild, shaky bark that startles a passing dog walker.
I’ve done it. I haven’t just bluffed my way out of danger, I’ve been accepted.
Mistaken for Bella by someone who actually knows her well.
And, okay, it was fleeting, but it was also up close, for a full minute, in a real conversation with moving parts.
My resemblance to her, the mannerisms I’ve studied and borrowed, the voice modulated just enough.
All those secret rehearsals and mirror drills – they’re working.
The ridiculous amount of detail I’ve poured into this persona is finally paying off.
But I realise it isn’t enough to just look like her.
I think about the passwords, the outfits, her memories, the small tics and tells that make up Bella’s life.
I’ll have to master them all, wear them like a second skin.
I can pass as Bella superficially, but will her world truly accept me?
What about her parents? They’ll be able to tell, surely.
I might be able to fool her friends and neighbours, but her mum and dad are an entirely different matter.
If they suspect I’m not her, they’ll instantly realise who I am.
The thought freezes my gut. Bella’s parents know her voice and body language intimately.
I doubt I could fool them for five minutes, and yet I’ll need to.
The questions crowd in, sudden and suffocating.
I try to push them away, but they cling to me like her stolen clothes.
Maybe I’m not cut out for this level of con.
Maybe it’s time to call it off before it spirals even further.
Or maybe I just need to rethink the plan.
I guess, instead of taking over her current life, I could simply sell her business, empty her accounts, and run.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I think about any of that, I still need to scrape another chunk of cash together so that I can get Bella out of the way. After that, things should begin to get easier.
My heart is pounding. I want to blame it on my rushed exit down three flights of stairs and subsequent zigzag through the backstreets, but I know it’s proper nerves starting to kick in.
I’ve already broken so many laws today. But that’s nothing compared to what I’m going to have to do.
I’m in so deep: I can’t even think about turning back now.