Someone You Know

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Olivia Isaac-Henry 2019

Cover design © Alison Groom 2019

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock

Olivia Isaac-Henry asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © February 2019; ISBN: 9780008317751

Version: 2018-12-12

For Sylvia and Kester

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

Tess: June 2018

Walking home, it’s nearly light. The constant drum of water on my skull melts into the bass beats still looping through my head and the slap of my feet on the pavement. The weather’s broken, thunderstorms have driven people from the streets and I have London to myself. Almost. I can hear Edie behind me, the faint splash of her footsteps.

I come in and drink a glass of water. Until it touches my lips, I don’t realise how thirsty I am. I down two more. Only when I finish do I notice the trail of mud and rain through the flat. I can’t be bothered to mop it up.

In the bathroom, I rough-dry my hair and put it into a topknot, then tiptoe to the bedroom, pull on an old T-shirt and creep in next to Max. It’s my turn to take the lounge, but I can’t face a night alone on the lumpy sofa. Asleep, Max forgets we’re no longer together. He rolls over to put an arm across me and I curl up against his chest, absorbing the warmth of his body. Feeling his bulk and soft breath against my skin lets me pretend nothing has changed, until I catch the faint whiff of perfume, Chanel, not mine. Has he found someone else already? I don’t care. I can’t be alone tonight.

I close my eyes, but sleep is far away. At some level I’m aware my body is tired and my limbs ache. But my mind is running fast. Images of bars, dancers, grubby hands grabbing at me in grubby cubicles … Then Edie. Always Edie.

Twenty years have passed quickly, but the individual days are long and the nights even longer. Wherever I’ve been, whomever I’m with, whatever I’ve taken, it’s never enough, I always see her.

*

‘Tess.’

Edie’s voice. I sit up. My mobile’s ringing. It feels like seconds since I shut my eyes. Max’s imprint in the sheets is cold. He must have gone to the gym hours ago. Was he angry with me for sneaking in next to him when I should be on the sofa, or did he wake, his arms around me, and wish for a moment that we were still together? I look to the bedside table in hope. There’s no mug. He used to make me a cup of tea before leaving in the morning.

The mobile’s still ringing. I pick up.

‘Tess, it’s Cassie. You’re late.’

‘Shit.’

I look at the clock, it’s nearly ten.

‘Nadine’s asking for you. You better get in quick; there’s a meeting at half eleven.’

‘I’m on my way.’

I roll off the bed. Pain runs up my ribs and back and I land on my knees. I slip my fingers under my T-shirt. Some of the material is stuck to me. I peel it back. The sharp sting makes me shudder. A thin scratch runs from the bottom of my shoulder blade to under my left breast and my front ribs are bruised, not too bad but a little raised. I think back but can’t remember hurting myself.

The blood leaves a faint iron smell. And I smell. Not of me, but of other people’s clammy bodies.

The shower is as hot as I can take it. Water and steam scald my skin, the pain doesn’t matter. I have to cleanse myself of last night.

Afterwards, I dab at the scratch with TCP. I don’t have to worry about Max noticing now he’s broken up with me. Judging by the lingering scent of Coco Mademoiselle last night, he’s not changing his mind.

Cassie once asked why I was with someone as dull as Max. Maybe because he is dull. He reminded me of Dad, quiet and caring. ‘Be careful of the road,’ became ‘You shouldn’t drink so much, you shouldn’t take that stuff, you don’t sleep enough or eat properly.’ I never did. He was familiar, safe and knew me from back home; he knew Edie, too. So there’s none of the awkward pauses I get when I tell people about her, a shuffle of the feet, oh I’m so sorry, then change the subject. We’re two mixed-race kids from a nowhere Midlands town who’ve lost their mothers. Mine was killed by a drunk lorry driver. Max’s ran off with his school physics teacher, Mr Kent. Max always changes the vowel. There’s nothing to hide or explain. Being with Max was easy. He’s kept me anchored. Without him, I’m worried I’ll float away, adrift in disarray. Last night was just a glimpse of the chaos waiting to swallow me up once he goes and I’m alone again. If there wasn’t three months still to run on the tenancy agreement, which neither of us can afford on our own, he’d have left already. I don’t even know where I’ll go. Back to a room in a shared house, my milk missing from the fridge, other people’s hair stuck to the side of the bath. And what else? Meeting men in bars, lost weekends, lost jobs, Dad having to come and take me home because I’ve stopped getting out of bed. I’m nearly thirty-five. Other women my age have houses, husbands and children. I’m on the verge of being homeless and alone.

But what Max wants, moving back home and having children, terrifies me more than the chaos. How could I ever have a child and stay sane? She’d not be allowed to walk to school alone or go to sleepovers or have boyfriends. I’d never leave her side knowing one day she could disappear like Edie and I’d be left forever wondering. A child raised in a glass cage. And what sort of life is that for a child or for me? Max always thought I’d change my mind about having children. I won’t.

My phone beeps with an incoming text. Cassie: GET A MOVE ON.

Half an hour of dawdling between the bedroom and bathroom to clean my teeth, spray on deodorant, put on a loose-fitting blouse, jeans and strappy sandals, comb my hair, drag mascara across my lashes and I’m ready to leave the flat. Last night’s rain has raised the humidity and the tube’s heat and claustrophobia will be too much today, so I catch the bus. It’s slower but I’m already late and at least I’ll be able to breathe.

A red light halts our two yards of progress along the Caledonian Road. From the top deck I watch a girl pass by on the street below. She’s in school uniform with curly hair that hangs to her waist. It’s not her. I know it’s not her. I’m not going to look. The bus lurches forwards. I turn around. Sensing my stare, the girl glances up. Other than the hair, she’s nothing like Edie and she’s a schoolgirl. I forget Edie’s grown up now. I have to believe she’s grown up.

*

At work, the office intern is hovering by the door. I smile at him.

‘Be a love and get me a coffee will you, Oliver?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘And it’s Oscar.’

‘Of course, sorry. Oscar. Americano.’

‘No milk, no sugar. I remember.’

‘You’re a star.’

I head for my desk. It’s not unusual for people in our office to turn up late and dishevelled. In advertising sales most of our pay is commission, so it’s your own loss. And on my good days I bring in a lot of sales. Only there haven’t been so many good days recently and I can’t remember the last time I was at my desk by nine. The laptop flickers to life and I lean back in my chair. I used to be able to switch myself on and off like that computer. Not any more. Now the previous evening lingers until early afternoon.

My coffee arrives. Oscar tries to make small talk. I tell him I’ve too much work to do to sit around chatting. I sip the coffee and stare at my screen for ten minutes then open a spreadsheet. My mobile rings. It’s Dad. He works for his brother, my uncle Ray, so gets away with doing very little. He often rings up during the day to pass the time and chats on about the weather, how it’s affected the garden or the mid-week West Brom match. He asks after me and after Max. We never mention Edie. From our conversations, you’d never know I had a twin.

I’m not in the mood today and send his call to voicemail.

*

Whatever was keeping me buzzing last night has long since left my system and my mind has gone the same way as my body. Caffeine isn’t doing the trick. I need rest, so head for the toilets. As I walk past, Nadine taps her watch.

‘Ten minutes,’ she says.

Not enough time for a nap.

Instead, I splash water on my face.

‘Your mascara’s gonna run.’

A figure emerges from the cubicle behind me. Flawless skin, neat hair, ironed clothes. Cassie. The last time I’d seen her was about 3 a.m., when she was dancing with some vaguely famous DJ. Now, she turns up looking like someone who’s had eight hours’ sleep whilst being drip-fed wheatgrass.

‘How do you manage it, Cass?’ I say. ‘Weren’t you out as late as me?’

‘Out, but not out of it. You need to slow down, Tess Piper.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say.

I pat my face dry with a paper towel. Its rough texture scrapes against my skin.

‘Seriously, you look terrible,’ she says.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘Anytime.’

We laugh, which hurts my ribs.

There’s something about Cass that reminds me of Edie. Despite being cousins, they don’t look alike. It’s more the elegance she gives her clothes. If I wore a tight-fitting top with short feather sleeves, I’d look like a drag queen. Cassie looks like a model, long-necked and glossy. You’d imagine her to be highly strung, but she’s easy-going and fun. Nadine passes on our not so infrequent fuck-ups to her and soon the clients are cooing.

She pulls a can of Red Bull from her bag.

‘Even with a good night’s sleep you’d need one of these to get through Nadine’s strategy meetings.’

‘Thanks.’

I take it and tug on the ring pull. It smells of bubble gum and makes me wrinkle my nose.

‘Drink it,’ she says. ‘You shouldn’t even be here in your state.’

‘I’ve come in worse.’

‘But y’know … with what you told me.’

The drink’s sickly sweetness bubbles on my stomach. What the hell did I tell her?

‘You’ve been with Max for nine years. You’re not going to get over it in one night.’

I don’t remember telling her this. I’ve made a point of not telling anyone, hoping Max will change his mind and we can limp on as we are.

‘Cass, I’m fine.’

My stomach contracts. I think I’m going to throw up.

Cassie finishes washing her hands.

‘Maybe you two can still work things out.’

I give a non-committal, ‘Hmm.’

Cassie gives me a quick smile and squeezes my shoulder.

‘Three minutes,’ she says.

I wait till the click of her heels disappears down the corridor, then dive into the nearest cubicle. All the sugary red fizz shoots straight up my nose as I retch into the bowl. Cass is right, I need to slow down. I shouldn’t have told her about Max.

I return to the sink and rinse my mouth out. It’s less than one minute till the meeting and Nadine always starts on time. In the mirror I look old and the strip light gives my skin a muddy-green tinge, my face looks drawn and puffy at the same time. Maybe in natural light I only look tired.

I sit down at the central desk just as Nadine is organising her papers. The meeting starts with Nadine banging on about professionalism and commitment. I look round the table, as if this applies to everyone but me. My phone rings. Dad again. Nadine glares at me.

‘We turn our phones to silent before meetings,’ she says in the manner of a teacher reprimanding a troublesome pupil.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter and send Dad to voicemail again.

Nadine moves on to monthly targets. I stare out of the window. Last night’s rain is just a memory and a relentless heat, unnatural to the English summer, reclaims the city. Hot air shimmers off the buildings and people huddle in bus shelters, desperately seeking out the tiniest sliver of shade.

Why can’t I remember what I said to Cass? I need to remember. I need to slow down. Something has to change.

I look round the table. Soraya’s my age. She’ll have dropped her kids off for nursery before work and has a nutritionally balanced packed lunch to put in the fridge. Her linen dress looks freshly pressed and her shoes are dust-free. Adrianne’s a couple of years younger than me. She and her boyfriend have bought and renovated a house in Tufnell Park. They regularly eat at Le Gavroche and attend cultural events at The Barbican. Her city shorts and cotton blouse strike just the right balance between fashionable and professional. These are the women I should be emulating, not the chaotic twenty-somethings like Cassie, who can go out all night and wake up in the morning daisy fresh. For them it’s a phase, in two or three years they’ll morph into Soraya and Adrianne. By then I’ll be nearly forty.

I don’t notice the meeting has finished until people stand up and start drifting away. Nadine is still tapping on her laptop.

‘A word before you go, Tess,’ she says, still typing.

‘Sorry about being so late, there was— ’

‘Yes, I know,’ she says. ‘The traffic, the trains. I didn’t realise you were the only person in the office who uses public transport.’ She looks up. ‘I don’t want to have to take this to HR, so it’s an informal chat this time.’ She lets her words sink in. My mouth’s still open mid excuse when she continues, ‘But you’re not adding much value to the team right now. The lateness, missing targets, complaints from clients.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m looking for a bit of passion or, better still, some new ideas. It’s why we hired you.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. Things have been a bit difficult lately. I’ll sort myself out.’ I can’t lose my job on top of everything else. ‘And I’ve got some ideas, good ideas, new social media strategies. I’ve been working through them this week. I’m just not ready to present.’

‘Really? Tess, that’s great. We’d love to see you back on form.’

Christ, she’s genuinely excited about this. I’m not even that enthusiastic about my vices any more. I strain my jaw into a smile, which sets off a throbbing in my temples, and I go back to slump behind my desk and pretend to look at spreadsheets until Nadine goes to a meeting in another building. Then I go to the Café Nero over the road for another Americano. I smoke a cigarette outside with the coffee before returning to my desk to browse the Net-a-Porter website for clothes I can’t afford, ones that will turn me into Soraya and Adrianne. My phone rings. It’s Dad again. This time I pick up.

‘Tess.’

His voice sounds different, strained and breathless.

‘Tess,’ Dad repeats.

The phone feels suddenly heavy in my hand.

‘Dad,’ I say.

‘Something’s happened, Tess.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m at home. The police are here.’

The edges of the room begin to blur.

‘What’s happened?’

Cassie puts down the folder she’s holding and looks over to my desk.

‘Tess, I don’t know how to tell you.’

‘Stop it, Dad. You’re frightening me.’

Cassie’s by my side. My throat tightens, I can’t breathe. I know now why he’s been ringing. I know what he’s going to say.

‘Sweetheart,’ he says. ‘It’s her. They’ve found Edie.’

Chapter 2

Edie: August 1993

Edie gulped in the smoke drifting towards the kitchen door. Tess was helping Dad pile up the coals on the barbecue. Soon, the blackened lumps would stop smoking and Uncle Ray would cook her burger. It had to be Uncle Ray. His were the best, not burnt on the outside and raw in the middle like Dad’s. Then they’d cut the cake, open the presents and it would really feel like their birthday.

She ran out onto the lawn calling to Tess, who turned around just as Mr Vickers came out of his back door. The smoke was billowing across the garden and over the fence. He waved his arms around as if about to suffocate. Dad was too busy fussing with the coals to look up. In the end, Mr Vickers stomped back into his house and slammed the door.

Edie grinned at Tess, who rolled her eyes, old sucking lemons. They laughed and Edie grabbed Tess’s hands and span her round. Sucking lemons, sucking lemons. She leant back and they span faster, round and round. Edie tipped her head to the sky and was momentarily blinded by the high sun. She closed her eyes and absorbed the heat, leaning further back, spinning faster and faster.

‘Too fast, Edie,’ Tess said.

She sounded far away. Blood rushed round Edie’s head. She felt as if her feet could lift off the ground and she would fly.

‘Too fast, Edie.’

She relaxed her grip. Tess’s hands slipped from hers and she shot towards the lawn and landed flat on her back. She opened her eyes to the empty blue sky and started laughing before pulling herself onto her elbows. Tess was splayed in the flower bed. Edie laughed harder. Dad ran over from the barbecue.

‘Tess, love, are you hurt?’

Tess’s face was scrunched up ready to cry.

‘I’m OK,’ she said quietly and rubbed her arm.

Dad pulled her to her feet.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

He glanced down at the flattened flowers, the pretty blue ones he’d planted for Mum. They were difficult to grow in the heavy clay soil, but he had found a way. He didn’t say anything about them and brushed Tess down instead.

Edie jumped to her feet. Tess still looked as if she were about to cry. She mustn’t cry, not on their birthday.

‘I’ll get you some lemonade,’ Edie said.

She ran into the kitchen via the side door. The dim light and cold contrasted with the day outside. Edie looked through their lounge to see Auntie Becca bustling her way through the front door, two bowls of salad, a lasagne and a trifle balanced in her arms.

‘I thought I’d bring these, Gina.’

A blur of black and tan tore past. Auntie Becca’s knees jerked forwards and her body fell backwards into the wall, as her Welsh terrier rushed to jump up at Edie. She flapped him away. He sniffed the bottom of the stairs, gave one bark, before running through the kitchen and out into the garden.

Mum dashed towards Auntie Becca.

‘Are you alright?’

Somehow, Auntie Becca had held onto all the dishes. Mum took them from her and put them down on the kitchen counter. Edie examined them. The trifle looked alright, but there was no point in a lasagne when they were having a barbecue and Mum’s salads looked better than the pile of limp leaves in Auntie Becca’s patterned glass bowls.

‘Thank you, Gina,’ Auntie Becca said.

She straightened up and smoothed down her trousers with her palms.