‘Ooh, do I detect a note of jealousy?’
‘Is it that obvious? Jesus, I’ve suddenly found my jealous streak, the one I didn’t know I had. But it’s like …’ I struggle to complete the sentence, knowing it will make me sound so bloody childish.
‘It’s like she’s taking over your life,’ supplies Pippa.
‘Exactly. Don’t I sound pathetic?’ It’s a statement, not a question.
We finish our wine and Pippa orders us both a coffee. Personally, I could have done with another glass of wine, but knowing we both have to drive home at some point, a coffee will have to do. We sit in silence for a while and I can tell Pippa wants to say something. When the coffees arrive and the waiter disappears, she speaks.
‘I saw Alice in the village the other day. Did she tell you?’
‘No. I’m surprised you recognised her. I mean, you’ve only seen her once and that was at the party.’
‘Well, here’s the thing,’ says Pippa. She puts her cup down in the saucer and folds her arms on the table, leaning forwards. ‘At first I thought it was you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah, I did think it was funny that you were in the village on a working day but I thought maybe you’d taken the day off work, or something. Anyway, she was across the road, just coming out of the shop, and I was at the bottom of the hill. I called over, but she didn’t answer, so I shouted in that rather attractive fish-wife voice I usually reserve for Baz when he’s in his shed at the bottom of the garden and no one is about to hear.’
‘Why did you think it was me?’
‘I’m just coming to that. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, the way you do. The way you have now. She was wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans, a pair of Converse and, get this, a blue top with white and green fishes on it.’
‘A top just like my top,’ I say. ‘The one I bought when I was with you from that little boutique in The Lanes. The one I wore to the party on Saturday.’ I put my coffee cup down and lean towards Pippa. ‘She was dressed like me?’
‘So much so, as I said, that I thought it was you.’
‘And you spoke to her.’
‘Yeah, I said to her, I thought she was you and she laughed and said something about sisters looking alike, so I shouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Why would she do that? Dress like me, I mean?’
‘Look, Clare. I wasn’t going to say anything but, at the same time, as your friend, I feel I can’t not say anything. And feel free to ignore me. I mean, what do I know?’
‘Skip the disclaimer,’ I say. ‘Not necessary.’
‘There’s something about her I don’t like. It’s a gut feeling, women’s intuition, call it what you like, but there’s something off about her. A few times at that party I saw her watching you as if she was plotting some sort of revenge attack. She caught me looking at her once and the speed at which her expression changed, I almost thought I was imagining it. She smiled at me so sweetly it made me want to vomit. And you know how much I love sweet things.’
‘So I’m not imagining things, then?’
‘Nope. And the way she snuggled up to Luke at times, I did actually think it was a good job you couldn’t see her. If that had been my Baz, I would have marched straight over to her and donked her on the nose.’
I laugh at Pippa’s expression. ‘What even is a donk?’
She laughs too. ‘That’s what Daisy used to say she was going to do to Baz when she was about three and they used to play-fight. Daddy I’m going to donk your nose.’
I smile at the thought, momentarily distracted away from my troubles. I check my watch. ‘I need to get back,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the chat. I really appreciate it.’ Outside the deli I give my friend a hug, but before we part company, I can’t help myself ask one question. ‘Do you think I should be worried about Alice?’
‘If you’re asking me the question, then you already know the answer,’ says Pippa. ‘There’s something off-kilter with her. You may share the same DNA, but you definitely don’t share anything else. Although, I think Alice has other ideas on that score. The next thing you know, she’ll be turning up at the office pretending to be you.’ Pippa makes a loo-loo sound and twirls her finger at the side of her head before heading off to her car, giving a wave as she turns the corner.
I take a slow walk back to the office, pondering our conversation. By the time, I sit down at my desk, I’ve made up my mind about what I’m going to do. I get back up again.
‘Sandy, I’m going home early. I’ve a headache and I need to find this file. My diary’s empty for the rest of the day. If you take any messages, I’ll deal with it all first thing in the morning.’
‘Okay, no problem. Hope you feel better.’
‘Thanks. And I’m really sorry about earlier.’
I don’t bother telling Leonard and Tom I’m going. I’m too embarrassed to face them. I’ve no doubt Tom will say something about this morning’s debacle at some point, but for now, I’d rather not go over it again. I’ve more important things to do.
I get home some forty minutes later, the traffic a little heavy out of town, but once I’m on the B road to Little Dray, it’s a clear run. As I pull into the drive, I’m relieved to see two empty spaces in the carport. Mum and Alice have gone out. I think Mum said something yesterday about them going to Beachy Head. I ignore the suggestions that spring to mind as to what I’d like Alice to do at Beachy Head. Luke will have gone to collect Chloe from the nursery attached to the primary school in Budlington. I have about thirty minutes, tops, alone in the house.
Although I’m pretty certain the house is empty, I call out and do a quick sweep of the ground floor. Upstairs, I call out again and, confident everyone is out, I find myself standing in front of Alice’s bedroom door. There is always the possibility that she’s in there, resting or watching the TV, or whatever it is she does in there. I step forward and tap on the bedroom door.
‘Alice? It’s me, Clare. Are you in there?’
I’m met with silence. I place my hand on the doorknob and turn it slowly to the right. The spring inside the brass knob squeaks in protest. It’s squeaked for as long as I can remember. As a child, I always knew when Alice got up in the night, the squeak was a dead giveaway. The oak door brushes against the thick carpet as I push it open. I poke my head round into the room. The bed is made, the quilted blue-and-white eiderdown folded neatly down. The curtains are open and the sash window is raised a little, the net curtain flutters gently against the breeze.
I look further into the room at the door opposite. It’s the en suite. It used to be a big walk-in wardrobe, but it was converted as part of Dad’s renovation programme. He’d had a lot of things brought up to date in the old house, starting with en suites in all the rooms. I have a vague recollection of him and mum arguing one night in the kitchen. Something to do with bed and breakfast. I didn’t understand at the time but, looking back, as an adult, I think Dad wanted to open the house up as a B&B, but Mum didn’t. It was all academic, as it turned out. Dad was gone a few months later.