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Alex Day
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The Missing Twin
ALEX DAY


A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

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

An imprint of HarperColl‌insPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

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

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 e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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 e-books

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.

Slave driver Vlad was an enigma. His height was average – about 5 foot 10 – and he was dark like most people here, clean-shaven and well-groomed. His brown eyes burned bright in his thin face and seemed to be always scrutinising, judging, appraising; when he smiled, it did not reach them. He was slightly built but wiry – Edie had heard that he’d been a long-distance runner in his youth but that he hadn’t quite lived up to his promise and had only competed locally. Perhaps it was disappointment that lay behind his icy gaze.

Edie had never seen him with a woman and had found out, through not very discreet enquiries of other members of staff, that he was unmarried. What was puzzling – and unusual – was that he hadn’t tried it on with her. It had crossed Edie’s mind to wonder if he were gay. Now that Laura was here, this theory could be put properly to the test, as it was unheard of for any red-blooded male to refuse her sister. She was irresistible.

Although they were identical, with even their closest friends finding it difficult to tell them apart, there were differences between them that came from something intrinsic, primordial. Where Edie was pretty, Laura was beautiful. Edie was slim and attractive but Laura was something more, something harder to define, a heady mixture of sex appeal and mystery mixed with a pinch of dismissive contempt that kept every man she met drooling at her feet and coming back for more, however badly she treated them. Edie was generally considered a looker; her friends had nothing but envy for her appearance and figure and charm. But everything that Edie had, Laura had also, doubled. Laura was a stunner. At least, that’s how Edie saw things.

Their parents had tried hard to make sure that they never showed any favouritism, constantly reassuring Edie that they loved both girls just the same. Edie couldn’t remember the birth of her brother James, who was three years younger, but she was pretty sure that during their growing-up, all three children had enjoyed nothing but fair, equal and unconditional love. They had lived a life of plenty; plenty of money, plenty of space in their five-bedroomed semi-detached house in a leafy Brighton suburb, plenty of support. Edie, Laura and James had never wanted for anything and for sure, Laura had made a career out of getting others – men, namely – to provide for her. Edie, on the other hand, having dallied with university and modelling and travelling, had tired of life and needed to get away from the superficiality of everything that surrounded her. She was fed up of being supported, protected and smothered by her parents, Laura, doctors – all of them making decisions about what was best for her or what she should or would do. She had had to escape. So she had come here and got a solid, honest job and now she was working her socks off on a daily basis and wondering what on earth had possessed her. And yet … and yet she stayed. At three months and counting, it was getting to be the longest she’d ever stuck at anything.

The long afternoon dragged by. A group of lads, young and fit, provided the only entertainment, ordering beer after beer that kept Edie running backwards and forwards to the bar. She flirted with them a bit, out of habit as much as anything else, and also from a feeling she had that she was expected to provide the eye-candy at the beach bar that would keep the customers – the males, at any rate – coming back. She was glad when the group, half-cut and with glazed eyes, retreated to the beach to sleep off the alcohol, lying flat out on towels flung onto the soft sand under the pine trees, oblivious to the flies and the kids scuffling clumsily by and the volleyball game going on only metres away.

Even with the boys gone, there was no let-up from work; just customer after customer ordering meals and drinks and sandwiches. The resort itself wasn’t that big – only two dozen cabanas amongst the olives, all with plunge pools and cleverly situated to have sea views. But it was at full occupancy at the height of the tourist season and, though the accommodation was self-catering, most residents didn’t, and their custom was augmented by that of the constant ebb and flow of visitors, who came from far and wide to enjoy the beach’s clean yellow sand and shallow, crystal clear water. All of these people couldn’t be wrong and indeed it was an idyllic place. It could have been this that had made Edie act totally out of character and hang around so long, without ever intending to do so, and commit to the entire season working with Vlad. But in all honesty, her decision had more to do with Vuk; to being close to him by working with him. Or working on him. And now, working hard to keep Laura and Vuk apart, in all senses of the word.

Because Vuk, Edie realised, could be a problem now that Laura had arrived, the only blot on the rosy horizon of life with her sister. Vuk was devastatingly handsome and tall with it, well over 6 foot, strongly built with well-defined biceps and a six-pack to make a girl weep. His black hair was cut close to his scalp and a five o’clock shadow darkened his face even immediately after he’d shaved. The tan that enhanced his indisputable masculinity was deepening by the day now that the season was in full swing; Vuk was responsible, amongst other things, for running the sailing trips on the resort’s luxurious yacht and so was almost permanently outside. He was the strong, silent type that Edie always fell for and mostly spoke in monosyllables, barked out in his deep, seductive voice. He rarely smiled and when he did it was sensually lopsided, as if only the right side of his mouth could be bothered to make the effort. He was utterly gorgeous and Edie was not only determined to snare him but also not to share him.

Little by little, perhaps not as swiftly as she had hoped, she was reeling bad boy Vuk in. They’d had sex a few times, each time better than the last; Vuk’s hard, strong body the perfect complement to Edie’s willowy, lithe limbs. Even to think about his white teeth on her breasts, his strong tongue probing between her thighs, his thick cock pumping into her, made Edie wet and set her clit throbbing in anticipation. He could circle her wrist with his thumb and forefinger and pull her towards him as if it were no effort whatsoever, could pick her up and throw her onto the bed as if she were nothing, could part her legs and pull them over his shoulders like she was a rag doll with no strength of her own. The power he had to dominate was dangerously attractive. But Edie still wasn’t sure she really had him where she wanted him; namely committed to some kind of a relationship with her.

It would have been good if Vuk had been there to see how those boys had ogled her, to imagine how their dicks swelled in their swimming trunks, to feel the same himself. That would have been a minor triumph. In Edie’s experience, there was nothing better than jealousy to make a man keen. But Vuk was nowhere to be seen, his comings and goings on the resort always erratic, his schedule impossible to pin down.

Edie just had to hope he hadn’t bumped into Laura.

***

Finally, the sun shifted to the far side of the beach and the orders diminished. Edie threw her pad and apron into a heap in the kitchen and, shouting a hasty farewell to Stefan and Milan, set off as fast as she could bear in the still intense heat. As she walked, the sweat gathered on her back and chest and trickled down her spine and between her breasts. It was boiling.

In her room, she saw with relief that Laura was not only still there but still sleeping, face down, one slim, delicate arm flung out of the bed like the boom of an idling sailing ship. No sign she’d encountered Vuk or anyone at all. She looked as if she’d been asleep for ages. Edie sighed with relief. She dug around in the tiny fridge that nestled in one corner and pulled out the vodka she had stashed there. She’d bought cups of ice from the restaurant, and a water bottle filled with fresh lime juice. Mixing the drinks, adding sugar and stirring, she watched as the white crystals slowly dissolved. She slurped a mouthful; delicious. Putting the glasses side by side on the upturned crate that served as a bedside table, she sat down beside her twin. She shook her gently. No response. She tried again, more vigorously, and added in a little tug at her long tresses of brunette hair. Laura muttered something that sounded a bit like ‘fuck off’ but did not open her eyes. Exasperated, Edie stuck her fingers into one of the glasses, retrieved an ice cube and shoved it down the back of Laura’s T-shirt.

‘Christ!’ Laura’s cry was bloodcurdling. ‘Shit! What the fuck ….’

Edie fell onto the floor, clutching her sides and gasping for breath as the laughter spewed out of her.

‘Sleeping beauty, it’s time to get up! There’s fun to be had, drinks to be had, boys to be had. Every moment you’re snoring is a wasted moment.’

Laura rubbed her eyes and wiggled her back, standing up to let what remained of the ice-cube slide out of her T-shirt. She shuddered.

‘Oooh, that was actually quite nice. It’s bloody bugger hot around here, I must say.’

‘Yup. And you being here is just going to make everything even hotter. Drink up.’ Edie handed Laura her vodka and lime. ‘Ziveli.’

They lifted their glasses and drank. Laura exhaled loudly and shook her head. ‘Wow. That’s strong.’

‘That’s just for starters. Now you need to get yourself all tarted up cos we’re going out.’

Edie threw Laura a faded beach towel. ‘The showers are at the end of the block.’ She looked around her, located a bottle of shampoo and chucked it in Laura’s direction.

‘By the way,’ she added, as Laura turned to go. ‘How on earth did you find your way here? I didn’t give you the precise address. And where did you come from, where have you been the last few months?’

‘My very own personal, inbuilt sat-nav, little sis.’ Laura had been born first, by ten minutes or so, and never let Edie forget it. ‘I could track you down anywhere.’ She twirled the shampoo bottle round and round in her elegant hand. ‘But – questions later. Right now, I need to wash. I can smell my own armpits and that’s not even the worst of it.’

Laura glided out of the room and Edie drained her glass, still not quite believing that her twin had appeared as if from nowhere. She pulled a bundle of clothing out of the canvas shelving that was all she had for storage and dumped it onto the bed. By the looks of it, Laura would definitely be needing to borrow clothes – she didn’t seem to have anything with her; her pack couldn’t hold much more than a few pairs of knickers. Make-up, she always helped herself to anyway. Men – the same. Edie stopped short at this thought. Not Vuk. She was not giving up her claim on Vuk. This time, Edie would make sure she kept the big prize for herself.

TWO
Fatima

When the barrel bombs came to their neighbourhood, Fatima and the girls were not there. They had gone to visit friends in another suburb. They heard the explosions as they travelled home but explosions were nothing new so they tried to ignore them. You could never tell exactly where the bombs were falling anyway; sound ricochets and distorts, making distance incalculable. It was better to assume – to hope – that it hadn’t hit your street, your home. Inuring yourself to the violence, the terror, the bloodshed, was the only way. So many times already it had been someone else’s turn to take the brunt of this insane and insatiable war. Fatima gathered the twins protectively to her as the taxi proceeded through the deserted streets. For so long the fighting had taken place elsewhere and perhaps they had all assumed it would continue to be so even whilst knowing that there must surely be a limit to how often they could escape it.

As they neared home, it seemed that that limit had arrived. The taxi driver pulled over abruptly and told them it was finished; he would go no further. As if in a dream, Fatima got out of the car and pulled the children after her. She had had no phone call from Fayed, her husband, or his parents or brother with whom they lived, so she assumed things were all right at their place. But as the three of them stumbled onwards, picking their way through rubble, choking on dust, tripping in potholes, it was clear that their neighbourhood had been the target. And that it was bad. Really bad. She tried to remember what Fayed had said he was doing that afternoon, where, exactly, he would have been. Had he been planning to spend the hours that she and the girls were out at home? No, Fatima was sure he had mentioned popping into the office – his accountancy premises that were in the downtown business area about twenty minutes’ drive away. He would have been far enough away to have avoided danger.

‘Mummy, where are we going? What’s happened?’ asked Marwa, always the bolder of the twins. How to answer such questions? With the truth: ‘I do not know’, or with a platitude, blatantly untrue, ‘Everything’s fine, don’t worry’? However much parents across the land tried to shield their children from the dreadful events that were occurring, it was impossible. They saw the images on the television, heard the news reports, gazed uncomprehendingly, but with full awareness of the horror of it all, at the pictures in the newspapers displayed on stands outside shops. Children, after all, were not stupid.

As Fatima searched for a response, Marwa’s inquisition continued.

‘Why did we come here? What are we doing? This is not where we live.’

And then, when greeted by Fatima’s continued silence, more urgently, ‘Mummy? Answer me.’

Children grow up fast in war. They have no other option. Today would mark a stage in that process for her twins, Fatima realised. There was no point in trying to hide what was plain to see.

‘There’s been a bomb.’ Fatima took a deep breath. She looked around her, at the ruins that lay everywhere. ‘Several bombs. Lots. We need to find out what has happened to our house.’

Maryam began to cry. Fatima gripped the girls’ hands and held them tight as they walked on. Drawing closer to where they lived, she began to lose her bearings. Familiar landmarks were gone, buildings she had walked past a hundred, a thousand times, were no longer there. The main street, where she had drunk coffee with Fayed in happier times, shopped and chatted with friends, pushed the girls up and down in their pram when they were babies, had been badly hit. Some structures were still standing, upright but crooked teeth that only served to emphasise the gaps on either side. But most were wrecked and half-collapsed. The contents of shops and houses were strewn across the road; broken toys, smashed plates, ruined furniture. The carpet shop’s façade was blown away, the handmade silk floor and wall-coverings still hanging forlornly inside, coated in dust that weighed them down and robbed them of texture, pattern and colour.

Both girls were sobbing now, wailing and screaming, not understanding, despite her explanation, why their mother was dragging them through this hinterland of horror. The sluggish surge of fear that had begun when the taxi stopped began to grow in Fatima’s stomach, rising up through her diaphragm and into her throat. She coughed back the bile, shuddering at its bitter taste and caustic burn, trying to avoid the children seeing or sensing her fear. They were at the corner of a block, only five minutes from home. Their house was this way – just down the short side-street ahead, and then right where the fruit seller had his stall, into a wide, tree-lined boulevard that led towards the little park by the river where the children played in the sunshine. The winter her twins had been born it had snowed and she had wished the girls were old enough to build a snowman and join in the snowball fights. There had been no snow the next winter, nor the next. Looking around her now, it was as if the snowfall had come at last, out of season and discoloured, a thick, grey, flattening blanket that stank of staleness, dirt and desiccation and covered everything with the pall of devastation.

Should she walk down the side-street, take the right turn and amble past all the well-tended courtyard houses towards her own? What chance was there that it would still be standing? The trance-like sensation intensified and Fatima felt that she was walking on air, not really touching anything, distant from all that was unfolding around her, as if it were not real. The feeling was intensified by the absence of any other living being. Those who had survived must have fled already, fearful of repeated onslaughts. Or perhaps they were hiding in dark corners, too terrified and traumatised to emerge. Whatever the truth, no friend or neighbour could be seen; not even a cat prowling the pavement.

The dream-state propelled her onwards and, advancing cautiously along the rough stone sidewalk, at first things didn’t seem as bad as all that. The concrete apartment buildings still stood firm and the only obvious signs of damage were broken windowpanes and shattered car windscreens. Even the fruit-seller’s stall was intact, the cartwheels chocked with wooden blocks that were blackened with age rather than any more recent calamity. The carefully constructed piles of fruit, of apples and persimmons, mangoes and guavas, had collapsed into muddled rivers of greens, browns and yellows and the fruit seller himself was nowhere to be seen, but with a little bit of tidying up there’d be no sign that disaster had struck so close. Fatima had to stop herself from a compulsion to pause and right the fallen fruit, to rebuild the neat pyramids, as if somehow repairing this small piece of damage would mend the horror that surrounded her.

Instead, she turned the corner, tugging a twin on each arm, and started down the boulevard. Each step was a step further into Hades. Bombs had fallen here; direct hits that had left craters in the road and taken rugged slices out of buildings as if a drunken giant had tramped down whatever lay in its path. Lazy flames licked around a battered, roofless estate car slung sideways across the road, the tyres on one side flattened so that it was crooked and lopsided like a small child’s drawing. For a terrible, fleeting second Fatima thought it was their car; that Fayed had been coming home as death rained down.

But then she saw that it was the wrong make, and the wrong colour, beneath the grime. The relief was momentary; behind the pitiful vehicle, a building’s steel rods, stripped of concrete and plaster, reached towards a sky leaden with dust and ash and full of the stench of obliteration. Fatima was staring all around her, struggling to make sense of the sights her eyes were relaying to her, when she heard the noise. Involuntarily, her gaze sought to find its source. With a sickening surge of terror she saw that there were people in the estate car, the fire-blackened corpses of a family who had tried to escape but been too late and too unlucky. And that one of them was moving, groaning, dying in excruciating agony and unimaginable fear.

Fatima froze to the spot, quite literally petrified. The feeling of being in a dream evaporated in an instant. This was reality and it was awful. Nothing in her life so far had prepared her for a moment such as this. She should help, do something, call an ambulance. She fumbled in her bag for her phone and drew it out, frenziedly trying to tap in the emergency number, forgetting that there was a shortcut button for this. She had never had reason or cause to use it before.

The children were whimpering in terror, but saying nothing, seeming to have lost the power of speech. She should get them away from this horror but still she hadn’t managed to make the call and she couldn’t leave that person to die like an animal. She stabbed furiously at the keypad again, missing the numbers, her hands trembling too severely to hit them accurately. It was a nightmare, one of those hideous ones where you are trying to run but your legs won’t move and you keep replaying, over and over, your efforts – futile – towards flight.

A blast of intense heat, accompanied by a loud, fizzing hiss and the whoosh of fierce flames, brought her struggles with the phone to an abrupt halt. Nearly knocked off her feet, instinctively she grabbed the girls to her, hugging them close as if just her embrace could save them. The car’s petrol tank had ignited and the vehicle was engulfed in a swirling ball of fire, blue, red and orange. A wretched, animalistic scream ripped out from its innards, rending the smoke-laden air apart. And then stopped. Even the roaring flames could not fill the silence that followed. The world whirled around her. Fatima was struggling to breathe, was drowning in fear. She turned towards the car as if she could help, realised immediately the stupidity of such an idea and tried instead to flee. Running, she tripped and fell, taking Maryam off guard and pulling her down with her. Dizzy and disorientated, all Fatima could think of was getting away from this apocalypse. She stumbled back to her feet, dragging Maryam up with her, not even checking to see if she were hurt.

She had to get home, to find Fayed.

THREE
Edie

‘Ready to paint that town red?’

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains and much vodka had been imbibed by the time Edie pulled the scooter out from the shade of a handy oleander bush, clambered aboard and revved the engine.

Laura giggled, delightedly and drunkenly. She had had more vodka than Edie, and nothing to eat.

‘Sis,’ she announced, whirling her sunglasses in an exultant twirl, ‘I’m so, so ready.’ She jumped onto the scooter behind Edie. ‘By the way, I hope you know how to drive this thing,’ she added, resting her feet on the metal supports.

‘Just call me Jensen Button,’ shouted Edie, already speeding off down the steep track to the exit gate.

‘He drives cars,’ shrieked Laura as Edie increased velocity alarmingly quickly. ‘Extremely fast cars!’

‘Whatever.’ Edie was having fun; she hadn’t had anyone ride pillion since she’d taken possession of the scooter and she wanted to make the most of it before Laura insisted on being the driver. ‘Hold on tight!’

‘I am,’ Laura hollered, ‘believe me.’ She gripped Edie’s waist and attempted to blow a stray hair from her forehead.

At this time of year the heat lingered long after twilight and there was not the slightest breeze to bring respite. Being on the scooter, even at top speed, was like driving through treacle, as if the warm air had to be literally pushed aside to allow them to pass. The vodka, plus the unaccustomed weight on the back, meant that Edie wobbled on the sharpest bends, inducing shrieks of alarmed laughter from Laura. They were still laughing when they arrived at the marina, parked the scooter and used its mirrors to put right their dishevelled hair and make-up, bending low to get the fullest view possible.

The marina was the place to come for the smart set, home of super-yachts and their super-rich owners. Edie had notched up a few successful conquests here – before Vuk, of course. The quays were lined with boats flying flags from around the world, and the people strolling up and down and drinking at the numerous bars were dressed to impress; all designer labels and immaculate hair and smile-free pouts. Heads turned as Edie and Laura promenaded past; a perfectly matched pair in tiny shorts and crop tops. Spotting a table just being vacated at the bar with the best vantage point, Edie seized Laura’s arm and dragged her towards it, ordering double vodkas for them both before they had even sat down.

‘I’m a tad short of cash, Ed,’ said Laura, pulling out the lining of her pockets in illustration. ‘I had a bit of a mishap in Italy, got my rucksack stolen with a whole load of euros in it. I was just lucky my passport didn’t go too.’

‘You idiot!’ Edie shook her head in disbelief. ‘First rule of travelling: never keep all your money in one place.’

‘Okay smart ass, rub it in.’ Laura took a swig of her drink. ‘It wasn’t all my money anyway. Just a fair amount of it. I had enough to get the ferry across the Adriatic, find my elusive sister and beg her to rescue me.’

Edie snickered. ‘Glad I’m useful every now and again.’ She clinked her glass against Laura’s. ‘I’ve got enough for us to get by on. My enormous earnings from my marvellous job, for a start, plus I’ve still got some savings.’

They both drank and put their glasses down simultaneously onto the high glass table. Edie could see her reflection, distorted and watery, in the sheen of the polished surface. She thought for a moment before asking the question, cautiously.

‘What about you? Have you spent all your modelling money?’

Laura was notoriously reticent about how she made her living and even more so about how she spent it. When they had finished university, they had both signed up with a minor modelling agency. At 5’9” (Laura) and 5’8” (Edie) neither was tall enough for catwalk work. Edie had got one job for a knitwear catalogue and then given up in disgust, finding it impossible to wear a pink fluffy tank top with a smile on her face.

Laura had done rather better, gaining work from various sources and going to America twice. Edie wasn’t entirely convinced that her earnings were exclusively gained from putting clothes on. She suspected that the reverse activity might be involved somewhere. But Laura divulged nothing and suddenly, without warning or explanation, had given it up and told Edie that she was fed up with being a clothes horse and that they were going travelling.

They’d had a great few months in Eastern Europe – Krakow and Warsaw, Prague and Budapest – and then Laura had met a handsome Slovenian man, much older than her, and gone off to the mountains in search of inner peace and really hot sex.

Edie wasn’t sure exactly what had transpired but had a feeling that the discovery that the man was married with children had had something to do with Laura’s sudden disenchantment with her Slovene lover. The rest of the story, the gory details, the retribution that she was sure her sister would have wreaked on such a traitor, she had yet to hear but she was going to enjoy it when she did.

‘I’ve got a bit of dosh left but it’s in the bank at home – I’ve had to cancel all my cards because of the robbery, so I can’t get hold of it at the moment.’ Laura grimaced dolefully. ‘Pants, isn’t it, being skint.’

Edie reached across the table and squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘I can keep us in vodka, no worries. Although,’ she made a sweeping gesture with her head across the crowded forecourt of the bar, ‘the real skill is in not buying our own drinks.’

Laura giggled and nodded. ‘Way to go, Ed.’ Laura was the only person who called Edie ‘Ed’. Edie liked it; it made her feel special and cemented the bond between her and her twin that no one could sever.

Edie continued scrutinising the clientele. She kicked Laura under the table. ‘Those guys over there – you see them? Russian, probably. Let’s see what we can squeeze out of them.’

Laura cast her eyes casually in the direction that Edie was indicating.

‘I’ll drink to that.’ She gave a low wolf-whistle as she appraised the two men, both of whom were dressed in white shirts and chino shorts as if they had just stepped out of a casual wear advert. One sported an ostentatious watch on his left wrist, which even from this distance Edie could tell was a Bvlgari. The other had a pair of mirror sunglasses pushed up onto his head. Both were clean-shaven, blue-eyed and handsome, though one was slim and slight and the other much chunkier – not overweight but solid and sturdy.

It didn’t take long to attract their attention.

***

The rest of the night had passed in a haze of flirting and alcohol and more flirting and more alcohol. Edie recalled going back to the men’s apartment where they had put music on loud and played strip poker, which led quickly to nudity since they were all wearing so little. The watch, she clearly recalled, had stayed firmly on Mr Bvlgari’s wrist although at some point Laura had grabbed the sunglasses and put them on, refusing to give them up for the rest of the evening.

Thinking back on it now, in the cold light of a new morning, tearing her memory apart to remember the details, Edie kept reaching a blank. Disjointed bits of dialogue, snapshots of her and Laura posing naked for pictures on the balcony, of the two of them in the bathroom taking turns to pee, collapsing into heaps of giggles whilst raiding the kitchen cupboards for food, dancing wildly to some Beyoncé number, kept appearing and disappearing in her mind, making no sense and giving no indication of timing or indeed veracity. One thing she knew for certain is that nothing – other than a bit of kissing and cuddling – had happened. It had all just been good, clean fun. Now that Edie had Vuk in her life, the casual flings and one-night stands that had peppered her existence previously no longer appealed. She craved a true partner, a companion, intimacy and love. She longed for Vuk to be the one and only. When – if – he ever reappeared from one of his damn sailing trips, trailing dreary tourists around hidden coves and picturesque harbours, she hoped she would find out for certain that he was of like mind.

In her room, feeling sick and confused, Edie stared around her once more. There really was no one else there. But she herself was there, had woken up in her own room in her own bed and she would never, ever have deserted Laura. That was the code, the rules of the game – one in, both in, never get separated, no one left behind. She slipped her feet into her flip-flops, went to the door and opened it tentatively. The sun hit her full in the face, making her pupils contract painfully and causing the throbbing behind her eyes to intensify. She stepped to the front of the narrow veranda that ran the length of the building and off which each of the staff bedrooms opened. At the far end, by an oleander bush, she could see her scooter, parked haphazardly, leaning heavily to one side.

A dim recollection of leaving it there in the early hours before the dawn surfaced, sending misty tendrils of memory through her sleep-deprived, hungover brain. Had Laura ridden home with her, holding on behind and screeching in alarm when she took a corner too fast or seemed to be coming off the road and heading for the clear water of the bay? She must have done. Edie could not remember unlocking her door, getting undressed and into bed. But she was wearing her pyjamas now so she must have done. It would have been a squash in the single bed with Laura but they had done it before. Had Laura slept beside her last night? She must have done.

It was completely clear that Laura must have done all these things. But beyond that certainty lay nothing. There was absolutely no sign of her.

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Yaş sınırı:
0+
Litres'teki yayın tarihi:
28 aralık 2018
Hacim:
342 s. 5 illüstrasyon
ISBN:
9780008271282
Telif hakkı:
HarperCollins

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