The Missing Twin: A gripping debut psychological thriller with a killer twist
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
Killer Reads
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
Copyright © Alex Day 2017
Alex Day asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2017 ISBN: 9780008271282
Version 2017-08-15
Epigraph
A little water clears us of this deed.
Macbeth; William Shakespeare
It was a dry cold night, and the wind blew keenly, and the frost was white and hard. A man would die tonight of lying out on the marshes, I thought. And then I looked at the stars, and considered how awful it would be for a man to turn his face up to them as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the glittering multitude.
Great Expectations; Charles Dickens
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Summer, 2015: Edie
Fatima
ONE: Edie
TWO: Fatima
THREE: Edie
FOUR: Fatima
Edie
FIVE: Fatima
SIX: Edie
SEVEN: Fatima
EIGHT: Edie
NINE: Fatima
Edie
TEN: Fatima
ELEVEN: Edie
TWELVE: Fatima
Edie
Fatima
THIRTEEN: Edie
FOURTEEN: Fatima
FIFTEEN: Edie
SIXTEEN: Fatima
SEVENTEEN: Edie
EIGHTEEN: Fatima
NINETEEN: Edie
TWENTY: Fatima
Edie
TWENTY-ONE: Fatima
TWENTY-TWO: Edie
Fatima
TWENTY-THREE: Edie
Fatima
Edie
Fatima
TWENTY-FOUR: Edie
TWENTY-FIVE: Fatima
Edie
Fatima
TWENTY-SIX: Fatima
Edie
TWENTY-SEVEN: Fatima
TWENTY-EIGHT: Edie
Fatima
TWENTY-NINE: Edie
THIRTY: Edie
THIRTY-ONE: Edie
THIRTY-TWO: Edie
THIRTY-THREE: Edie
THIRTY-FOUR: Edie
THIRTY-FIVE: Edie
THIRTY-SIX: Edie
Fatima
Edie
THIRTY-SEVEN: Edie
THIRTY-EIGHT: Fatima
Edie
Edie
Fatima
Edie
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
About the Publisher
SUMMER, 2015
Edie
A shaft of bright sunlight found the gap between the misaligned wooden screen and the window frame and lanced across the room. The girl in the bed groaned, shifted onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. Moments later, she turned back onto her side, clutching her stomach as she fought back the nausea. Tentatively, she opened her eyes, feeling her pupils contract painfully against the light and becoming aware of a dull, persistent pounding in her head and a thumping at her temples.
Little by little, Edie Marsh woke up enough to sincerely regret the amount she had drunk the night before, and to chastise herself, as she had many times before, for not knowing when to stop. Hauling herself into an upright position, she reached out for the glass on the floor by her bed and drank, finishing it all even as she screwed up her face at the water’s stale taste and tepid temperature. Holding her hands to her head in an attempt to calm the throbbing, she shut her eyes and tried to concentrate. Something was wrong.
She dropped her hands to her lap and forced her eyes open again, head still drooping down with the effort of it all. Gazing around the room from corner to corner, scouring all pathetic three square metres of it, she did not see what she was expecting to. There was no one there.
No one but her.
The door was firmly closed – no sign that anyone had got up early for a swim or gone out in search of hangover-curing coffee and paracetamol. Even so, in case her eyes could not be trusted, Edie got up and investigated a couple of piles of discarded clothes, picking garments up and immediately throwing them back down again. She even looked under the bed. Then she slumped down onto the single plastic chair, the pulsing in her head suddenly overwhelming and uncontrollable. Massaging her eyelids with her thumbs, she searched her memory. What had happened last night? Hazy snapshots drifted through her mind but the details were sunk in alcohol and wouldn’t surface.
They had planned to sleep squashed into the single bed together, something that they were used to, that they’d grown up doing, of that she was sure. ‘They’ being her and her adored identical twin sister, Laura, whose unexpected arrival at the holiday resort on the shores of the Adriatic sea where Edie was working at midday the day before had filled Edie’s heart with happiness. They’d gone out on the town that evening, for sure. But right at this moment, Edie couldn’t remember how or when they’d got home or anything much of what had gone on at all, during their night out or afterwards.
And the bed, now that she, Edie, had got out of it, was completely empty.
Where the hell was Laura?
Fatima
The sea looked flat and calm. Benign. Perhaps it always did from the shore, with the lazy ripples of tideless waves lapping the fringes of golden sand that gleamed in the heat. Fatima didn’t know as she’d never been to the seaside before. She wasn’t exactly here for the beach, anyway. Screwing up her eyes against the sun she could see, hazily in the distance, the outline of what she supposed must be the island they would be heading for.
It wasn’t far. Really not far at all. Just a little water in-between. Compared to the distance she had already travelled it barely registered. You could almost swim there.
But she had never learnt to swim and neither had her children. She was sure that Ehsan didn’t know, either, nor his son Youssef. Despair threatened to engulf her, together with an utter weariness that suffused her body and made her bones feel liquid, no longer able to support her weight. She sank to the ground, right there on the seafront promenade, crouching into the scanty shade offered by the low beach wall whilst tourists strolled past, all wobbly pink skin and red noses. They were so well fed and rested, so oblivious. But that was to be expected – they were on their holidays, after all.
A sudden, searing jealousy made Fatima want to stop them, to tear their expensive clothes from their backs, grab their over-priced ice-creams and throw them into the sea. Look at me, she would say to them. This is what it’s like to have nothing. But the problem was that wasn’t what it was like. Having no property, no income, no possessions, was not the problem.
The problem was having no hope.
The sun beat down on her head. She wanted to lie down and rest, regardless of the passers-by, heedless of the noise and bustle. She felt she could sleep for a hundred years. Perhaps if she looked pitiful enough, someone would save her. But she knew they wouldn’t. The more needy you were, the more they ignored you. The more woeful, the more uncomfortable for others. Few, if any, wanted to get involved and who could blame them? There had been kindness amidst the devastation in her home country, people sharing their shelter and what little food they had. But Fatima wasn’t stupid and not ignorant, either. She knew how she and her compatriots were viewed, talked about, written about.
As ‘swarms’ and ‘floods’ and ‘marauding invaders’. Or, possibly even worse, as piteous and desperate, each pair of pleading eyes or outreached arms diminished by the sheer number of them, dehumanised and depersonalised by being one face amongst so very many.
In deciding to leave her country – although was it a decision when there seemed to be no other option? – she had taken on inconceivable, unimagined challenges. There was nothing to do but pull herself together and face those challenges. To get on with it. Think about Marwa and Maryam. She closed her hand around the warm, metal object in her pocket and squeezed it tight. It was the key to her house that no longer existed in her city that had been razed to the ground. She should throw it away and would have already done so but for the fact that it was all that was left of her old life, the only thing to remind her.
Getting up off the pavement and dusting herself down she defiantly tucked in her headscarf where it had come loose. Some women had stopped wearing a scarf so as not to stand out, to avoid being noticed. But Fatima would no more go out with an uncovered head as with uncovered breasts. They had not taken everything away from her yet, not reduced her to being ashamed of her culture, her identity.
Setting off along the busy promenade, she held her head high and tried to look purposeful. She had a list of things she must buy, but it meant spending money and she needed to protect every cent because there were so many things to be paid for. She must choose wisely and purchase only what was absolutely necessary for the next stage of their odyssey.
Perhaps the saddest fact of all, the most depressing, she thought as she handed over the precious notes for the life-jackets, the plastic wallets for the mobile phones, water for the journey, was that if it wasn’t her and her fellow citizens fleeing for a better life, it would be other people from other countries. There would always be another war, another catastrophe whether man-made or natural, to cause the human tide to swell and surge. This was a fact that would never change.
ONE
Edie
‘Service!’
The cry rang out as it did endlessly during the lunchtime shift. Edie seized the large platter of mixed seafood from the counter and walked to table ten, as quickly as she could without looking too deferential. It might be her job to serve but there was no need to look servile in the process. She passed Milan, one of the other restaurant staff, on the way there.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked, grinning cheerily. He was always inexplicably jolly.
‘Not bad,’ replied Edie. ‘Ask me again in a few hours’ time when I go off shift and I’ll be even better.’
Milan chuckled heartily. ‘I will!’ he answered, and twirled the empty silver tray he was carrying on his forefinger, one of his favourite party tricks. ‘Keep smiling, Edie.’
Edie did, indeed, smile, at the same time as shaking her head in mock despair. There was simply no keeping Milan down; he was irrepressible. She wondered what it was that made her so relentlessly cynical, what trauma or trouble from her childhood had caused it. Perhaps always playing second fiddle to her twin Laura was the root of the problem; the knowledge that Laura would always have the edge in looks, intelligence and charm. In response, Edie had resorted to affecting a generally world-weary and sceptical persona that meant that, whenever she failed – at a spelling test, a netball match or A-level history – and Laura succeeded, she could pretend that she hadn’t tried and didn’t care in the first place.
Nevertheless, despite their innate competitiveness, Edie thought the world of her sister and missed her like crazy. Not a day went by that she didn’t think about her and wonder what she was doing. Today was no different to any other. Laura was always on her mind.
‘Excuse me.’ A customer calling for her attention broke her reverie. Edie deposited the seafood platter with its eager recipients and turned to address the enquiry.
‘You didn’t bring us any cutlery,’ declaimed the bottle-blonde, her voice an exaggerated lament.
You didn’t ask for any, Edie wanted to retort but restrained herself just in time. She was aware of the need to mind her step. You never knew when Vlad, the vulpine resort manager, was watching. Perfectly positioned at the centre of a horseshoe bay of golden sand, the location meant that the beach bar and restaurant was popular with tourists and locals alike. There was a constant stream of customers from opening time at 8 a.m. until they shut up shop at midnight or later. The resort itself was aimed at wealthy Russians and Europeans – French, English, German, Italian – hence Edie’s job there, for Vlad felt that an English girl would understand the requirements of the cosmopolitan clientele better than a local. Edie had been somewhat economical with the truth about her ability to speak French (failed GCSE but he wasn’t to know) and English was her mother tongue. That had been enough for Vlad to take her on, but he could equally get rid of her if her work wasn’t up to standard.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Edie apologised to the customer, who gave a long-suffering sigh in response. ‘I’ll get you some right away.’
She turned back towards the bar and kitchen, trying hard not to drag her feet. She had cleaned cabanas all morning and then come straight here for the lunchtime shift and she’d now been taking food orders, pulling pints of pale yellow lager, preparing cocktails with coloured parasols and handing over bottles of fizzy pop with bendy straws for the kids for over two hours already. It was the first time in her life she’d had to work so hard, on her feet for hours at a time, her breaks never seeming long, frequent or restful enough.
Once she’d delivered the cutlery, she sought respite by going round behind the kitchen, ostensibly to fetch a crate of Coke but in reality to get five minutes’ time out from the frenzy. Standing in front of the huge fridge door, Edie sensed a presence, someone near her, an uncanny sensation of being watched. She looked around. She couldn’t see anyone but knew that she was being spied on. A curl of excitement slid through her, that feeling of playing hide-and-seek as a child and knowing that you are about to be found and starting to giggle even as delicious fear slides through your veins.
She stood quite motionless for a moment. It must be Vuk, playing games with her. Big, bad, incredibly sexy Vuk, deputy manager, Vlad’s right-hand man – and Edie’s latest and most covetable conquest. The slither of fear turned to a frisson of excitement that began in her belly and spread tantalisingly outwards.
Then came a stifled giggle, audible even above the music and voices and laughter filtering through from the restaurant. Not Vuk then; someone female by the sounds of it. Edie turned rapidly around, took two great strides forward that brought her to the corner of the building where she halted, almost falling over, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the light. Her eyes recovered, she looked up. And came face to face with herself.
Or rather, with her twin Laura, who was standing there with a teasing, ‘how long does it take to get noticed around here’ look on her face, her perfect, pale pink rosebud lips drawn into a half-mocking, half-delighted smile, a tiny backpack dangling casually from one shoulder. Forgetting everything, her job, her customers, the Coca-Cola that was needed out front, Edie shot straight at her, hugging her vigorously and squealing incoherently in astonishment and excitement.
‘How did you get here? Where have you come from? How long are you staying?’ And then, ‘Is that all the stuff you’ve got with you?’ as she took in the minuscule size of Laura’s minimal luggage. Her excited questions poured out of her, leaving little time for her sister to respond.
But Laura wasn’t giving any answers anyway. She merely stood there, mute and smirking, letting Edie release her excitement unabated.
‘I was thinking about you only a few moments ago, I must have sensed you were nearby although I never thought you’d just turn up, I can’t even imagine how you found me, I didn’t exactly give you precise directions …’ Her voice tailed off as she took in Laura’s expression, the smirk having faded away and been replaced by a glassy-eyed stare.
‘Are you OK, sis?’ she asked, fear gripping her heart that Laura was really sick and had come to tell her so.
‘I’m fine, Ed,’ said Laura, wearily. ‘Just fine. But now I’m finally here and I’ve found you, I’ve hit the wall. I’ve been on the road since forever and I’m too tired to talk. I’ll explain everything later. But now …’ she held out her hand to Edie. ‘Room. Key. Sleep.’
Edie pulled her key from her shorts pocket, gave it to Laura and pointed her in the direction of the staff cabins at the back of the resort, quickly telling her the number of hers. She could hear a voice calling her from the bar, telling her to hurry back. But she waited a moment, watching Laura drift up the path that wound between the cabanas and through the olive grove. There was no one around, not a soul in sight, just the shimmer of a heat haze above the silver-leaved trees. Laura’s slim, lissom body sported a perfect tan and even after hours of travelling, her wavy brunette hair swung buoyantly around her shoulders as she gradually disappeared from view. It was exactly as Edie was so well aware. Laura was, had always been, the top twin.
A lizard scurried out from behind the garbage bins and straight over Edie’s toes, bare in her leather sandals. She squealed, just as the voice from the bar became louder and was suddenly right beside her.
‘What you doing, Edeeee?’ It was Stefan, the bar and restaurant manager, who always pronounced her name with a few extra ‘e’ sounds at the end. ‘You been gone too long, you got three orders waiting.’
Edie shot a last glance after Laura, but she was no longer visible, swallowed up by the twists of the path and the sheltering tree branches.
‘Sure,’ she answered, flicking open the fridge, hauling out the Coca-Cola and pushing the door to with her foot. She wanted to go and hang out with her elusive sister, not get back to work. ‘I just noticed we were short of this stuff. I was only trying to help.’ She flashed a reproachful smile at Stefan, playing on the soft spot she knew he had for her.
‘Here, let me,’ said Stefan, pulling the crate from her hands. ‘I take it.’
He was too much of a gentleman, too calm and kind and far too beguiled, to get truly angry, despite her many failings. His entrancement was nothing less than she expected; she and Laura had learnt early in their teenage years the power that youth and beauty could wield. This translated now into the fact that Edie could get away with murder on Stefan’s watch. As Stefan lugged the crate of soft drinks back to the bar, she felt herself mellow, towards her job, the resort, everything. Her sister’s electric presence brought the promise of excitement that overrode the mundanity of working. Despite the feelings of inferiority that Laura unintentionally engendered in her, when Laura was around Edie instantly became a better, nicer, happier person. And of course there was always the impact of ‘double trouble’ to enjoy; the two of them together somehow held more than twice the allure of one twin on her own. They would have some fun in the next few days and weeks, for sure.
As the hours wore on, however, Edie lost hope that Laura, whose capacity for sleeping during the day was infinite, would reappear anytime soon. It was a shame, as she could have got some free food for her and had her nearby as she plunked baskets of bread and bowls of tomato salad, cups of coffee and bottles of beer onto the rough-hewn wooden tables. The up-market atmosphere meant plastic was kept to a minimum; Vlad wanted to create a rustic, authentic feel, but it was hard to eradicate almost half a century of Communism with a few artisan accoutrements and some things just weren’t quite right in Edie’s eyes. The restaurant still sported those naff metal dispensers that contained paper napkins so small and flimsy as to be good for nothing and Vlad had stared at her in utter bemusement when she had suggested serving beer in jam jars, as the trendiest places in London and Sydney did.
He’d had to concede to plastic chairs, though, as diners in bikinis had not appreciated splintered bottoms, but had confined these to the area at the front on the sand, keeping the wooden ones for the fully covered section, where people were expected to turn up with the semblance of being dressed. Of course by the end of every long night the chairs had invariably been moved and mixed up and one of Edie’s least favourite jobs was reorganising them all; she had about ten bruises on her legs from hefting around heavy, unwieldy lumps of pine. That was another legacy of Communism, Edie presumed; no concessions to ladies that they shouldn’t put their backs into physical work. Doing it really, really slowly was the only way she’d found of mitigating the situation but Vlad had got her number and threatened to put her on toilet-cleaning duty so she’d had to speed up a bit.