The Grip Lit Collection

by Claire Douglas

‘When I confronted him about it he said he was worried about you. That you’d been acting crazy – which at the time I thought you had – and he wanted to make sure you were okay. I believed him, I thought he was being a caring boyfriend.’

  ‘Did he follow me to Patricia Lipton’s house? Did he see me meet up with Callum?’

  She frowns, shaking her head. ‘No, I’m not sure how he found out about Callum.’

  I’m silent for a moment, shocked at the lengths Ben went to. ‘Things would have been okay, if I hadn’t got involved with Ben,’ I say with a sniff.

  A tear slides down her face. ‘I was jealous of you,’ she admits. ‘After he and I got back in touch, you were the first girl that he fell for. I know that I can’t have Ben in that way, but honestly … those feelings that I had for him at university haven’t completely gone away.’ I try to hide my discomfort. ‘For him it’s very different. He sees me purely as a sister now.’ Her lips wobble as she tries to force a smile.

  I reach across the table to squeeze her hand but remembering what I found out about them earlier my guts twist, and I take my hand away again and place it back in my lap.

  ‘I don’t think he does,’ I admit. ‘Don’t you see, Bea? The resemblance between us? He chose me because I look like you, because somewhere deep down he is still attracted to you. And the ridiculous thing is that I was attracted to you because you resemble Lucy. It’s all so fucked up.’

  She makes a choking sound that might be a laugh. ‘I realized from the moment I saw your photo in the newspaper how alike we looked.’ So she had known about me before we met. I hadn’t imagined the recognition in her eyes. ‘But I didn’t think any more about it,’ she continues. ‘I assumed Ben had moved on, that he didn’t see me in that way any more …’

  Slowly she begins to tell me about growing up in Edinburgh as the only child of the affluent devoutly Catholic McDows, Annabel and Edward. They told her she was adopted when she was very young and she knew that her biological parents had died in a car accident when she was a baby. The only information she had about them was their names, Helen and William Price, and that one photograph that the McDows let her keep, the one that now sits on the mantelpiece in her living room.

  ‘My birth parents called me Beatrice Daisy Price, but the McDows dropped the Beatrice. They thought Daisy McDow sounded better. I changed it back to Beatrice Price when I found out about Ben.’

  Her adoptive parents never told her she had a twin brother. In those days the authorities found it hard to place siblings together, so separated them as babies, and Ben was adopted by Morag and Eric Jones in Glasgow. They’d decided to keep his Christian name.

  Beatrice couldn’t wait to leave Scotland and go to university in England. She liked the idea of Exeter, as it was near the coast, and chose to take a degree in law, like her adopted father. There she met Luke; he was exactly her type – blond, blue-eyed and tall – and they had fun together for a while, but at the end of the first year, as they were breaking up for the holidays and talking about maybe going travelling during the summer, he finished with her, saying he wasn’t ready for anything serious. She was disappointed but not devastated, deciding to stay around Exeter with one of her friends. It was only a week later that she met Ben for the first time in a pub. He was on her campus, doing a BSc in Computer Studies, but their paths had never crossed before. ‘As soon as I saw him, it hit me,’ she says softly with tears in her eyes. ‘It was mutual attraction at first sight.’

  Their affair was intense, immediate. I glance at my hands as she tells me this bit; the thought of them being in love, having sex, is still hard to hear. It turns my stomach to know they were lovers.

  They were inseparable that summer, deciding to move in together once the new term began. ‘I knew he was my soul mate, he said I was his. Neither of us had ever felt that way before. We had so much in common, our birthdays were on the same day and when he told me he was adopted too, I couldn’t believe it. For once I had met someone who truly understood me.’

  ‘How long were you together?’

  She swallows, a faraway look in her eye. ‘Three months.’

  It was when her parents came to visit, at the start of the new term in October, that Beatrice found out the truth. She was so excited at the thought of Ben meeting her mum and dad that as soon as their elegant feet stepped out of their Bentley she thrust her new boyfriend at them.

  ‘Mum looked horrified when she saw him,’ she recalls. ‘I know now that she was seeing what we had failed to – our obvious likeness; our heart-shaped faces, upturned freckled noses and full mouths. And she knew that I had been separated from my twin brother, but had never shared this with me because she didn’t want me to be upset by it. She had her suspicions but it was the photograph that did it. I had asked her to bring it with her, you see. I wanted to show Ben. He told me his parents had also died when he was a baby and that he had a photograph that he kept in a box in his wardrobe at home in Glasgow. I should have guessed, the information we both had was identical, although I knew my parents’ real names when he didn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to see the signs.’

  ‘Ben recognized the photograph?’

  ‘Straight away. It was the one he had at home. After that Mum had to tell me what she knew, about the twin brother who I had been separated from as a baby.’ She pales, remembering. ‘Abi, it was horrific. Ben and I were stunned, of course, then disgusted, but in spite of all that we still loved each other. You can’t switch those feelings off.

  ‘My parents were terrified we would stay together, even though we knew the truth. I think Mum could tell that I wasn’t ready to give Ben up that easily. There was this huge row, and my parents told me I had to leave university that very day. Ben was crying, then he was furious, ranting at them, calling them liars, saying they were trying to keep us apart.’

  After everything that’s happened tonight, I can imagine Ben’s rage.

  Beatrice gulps, wipes her eyes and continues: ‘Anyway, my parents literally dragged me to the car. I don’t think they knew what to do, they were repulsed by the whole thing. Ben told me afterwards that he went home and told Morag everything, and she confirmed what we already knew. He finally saw that my parents weren’t lying, and stayed away from me, growing more and more disgusted at what we had done. Don’t get me wrong, I was disgusted too. But I found it hard to get over him, we had such a connection. So I went travelling, tried to get on with my life. I knew I couldn’t have him. How could I? And I was doing okay, I got a job working in a jeweller’s, my dad died leaving me a trust fund, so I moved to Bath. Bought the house, began doing it up, met Eva who said she would clean for me … I got on with things. Until I got a letter out of the blue, about six years ago, from Ben. And my life turned upside down again,’ she sighs, remembering. ‘I was in a right state, I didn’t know what to do. His letter had unearthed all the old feelings I thought I’d buried. Anyway, we met up for a coffee, got on well. He wanted us to be together again, this time as brother and sister. As twins. I wanted that too, you have to believe me, Abi. I never thought I’d fall in love with him again …’ She lets out a sob. ‘I’m so sorry …’

  ‘Oh, Beatrice.’ We sit in silence; there is nothing else to say.

  I remember Paul’s words, how Ben is driven by money. How Paul had seen Ben reading the obituary for Beatrice’s adopted father. He knew how rich her dad was. He knew that he would have left her a lot of money. Was that the real reason he got back in touch? It sounds as though he had a different upbringing to Beatrice. Now he has the finer things in life and that’s something he would hate to relinquish. But I can’t bring myself to voice my suspicions to Beatrice; she wants to believe that he loves her, that they have a strong twin bond.

  She closes her eyes. ‘Then you came along, Abi. And it all went wrong.’ When she opens her eyes again they are full of tears.

  ‘Does anyone else know? Pam? Cass?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I’ve never told anyone. I was too ashamed. Ben ne
ver wanted to talk about it either,’ she says. ‘He was repulsed by what happened between us at uni. I knew he had a temper, I knew he could lie about things, even be manipulative at times. But what he’s done, how he hurt me … and you …’ She groans, a tear trickling down her cheek.

  I push back my chair and go over to her. She falls into my arms and I hold her as her body convulses with sobs.

  I wake up early the next morning after a restless few hours’ sleep full of nightmares where Ben is chasing us. I grab the quilt around my body and pad into the spare bedroom, hoping to see Beatrice sound asleep, but the bed is neatly made and the room is empty. It’s as if she’s never been here.

  She’s gone back to him.

  All this time I thought she was controlling him, but I was wrong. He was the one pulling the strings in their relationship. She will never leave him.

  Oh, Beatrice.

  The sun is trying to shine, but is half-submerged behind a black cloud. The pavements smell fresh, washed, after last night’s storm. I stand on the doorstep and ring the old-fashioned brass doorbell. Dad is sitting in the car, watching the house as though he’s a policeman on stakeout. I’ve not admitted to him what took place here last night; Dad would be the first one to contact the authorities if he knew. I’ve only told him I need to get my stuff because I’m moving out. I’m grateful for Dad’s reassuring presence, but my heart pounds against my ribcage as I wait, terrified that Ben will answer. I never want to set eyes on him again.

  I’m relieved when it’s Beatrice who pokes her head around the door, looking shamefaced. She’s pale but beautiful in one of her many tea-dresses. She opens the door wider when she realizes that it’s me.

  ‘Bea, I can’t believe you’ve gone back to him,’ I hiss. I want to cry, knowing that she’s forgiven him, and she’ll go on forgiving him. For ever.

  She bites her lip and I can see that she’s fighting back tears. ‘He’s sorry, Abi. He wants to apologize.’ From behind her I can see Ben hovering in the hallway and my palms begin to sweat. He comes over to us, wrapping his arm around Beatrice’s waist.

  His hair is washed, neatly combed and he’s had a shave. He smiles and it’s like looking at a different person to the one who terrorized us last night.

  ‘Please come in, Abi. Ben won’t hurt you.’

  ‘As if I can believe that,’ I snap. ‘Have you forgotten yesterday, Bea?’ Despite my bravado my legs are trembling and I don’t move from the doorstep. I don’t look at Ben.

  Ben leans forward over Bea’s shoulder. ‘Abi, please, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me yesterday. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wouldn’t have hurt you, you have to believe that. You have to …’

  I look at him. He’s all chastised smiles and puppy-dog eyes. But I can see through his act now. I’ve glimpsed the monster underneath.

  ‘Save it,’ I say, holding up my hand. ‘I’m not interested. I only came here to check that Bea is okay, and to get my things. My dad is sitting over there,’ I turn and point to my dad’s waiting car, purring by the side of the road. ‘You wouldn’t want to mess with my dad. He was in the army years ago.’

  Ben hangs his head, muttering of course he understands, that he wouldn’t dream of hurting me, that he wants my forgiveness and understanding for last night.

  ‘I can never forgive myself. What I did to Bea … and you …’

  ‘The truth of it is, you want Bea, but you can’t have her, so you chose me instead. Her carbon copy.’ It’s all I can do to get the words out; I’m trying to swallow the hurt I still feel at being lied to, manipulated, used.

  He runs his hand through his thick hair. ‘That’s not true,’ he says, but he doesn’t sound convincing. ‘I did love you, Abi.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘You’re a liar, Ben. If you loved me, why did you do the things you did?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, or Beatrice,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I am sorry, Abi. I know you don’t believe me, but I am.’

  He’s right, I don’t believe him. I can’t believe a word that comes out of his twisted, lying, manipulative mouth.

  ‘I’m assuming you wrote the Facebook messages? Planted the photograph that Cass took innocently, and then scratched my face off? The flowers? I must say, it was clever of you to pretend you rang the florist and to say that they described me. You knew I’d jump to conclusions and accuse Beatrice.’

  ‘I had to make sure you never found out about me and Bea,’ he says. ‘I did it all because I loved you, Abi.’

  As I watch Ben, languishing in the doorway, with his arm around his sister, wearing his crisp Armani shirt and J Brand jeans, I know that there is more to it. He gets a kick out of playing with people, scaring them, messing with their heads.

  ‘I suppose it’s obvious,’ I say. ‘You being so good with computers. What did you do, Ben? Hack into her account?’ I don’t wait for an answer. ‘And Callum? How did you know I met up with him?’

  ‘I looked on your phone,’ he says. ‘Saw a message you sent to Nia. What’s the point of going over it all now, Abi? Huh? What’s done is done.’

  I have a sudden urge to ram his head into the wall. ‘What kind of person are you, Ben?’

  He stares at me, his face darkening and I’m worried that I’ve gone too far

  Beatrice rubs his arm. ‘Abi,’ she says. ‘Ben is really sorry. He’s been under a lot of stress …’

  I roll my eyes, my stomach curdling at the thought of them together. ‘You might have forgiven him, Bea. But I can’t.’

  He looks at me, all the warmth gone from his eyes. ‘I can’t make you forgive me, Abi. But I am sorry. For what it’s worth.’

  Which isn’t much, I want to say. But I don’t. With one last glance in my direction, Ben retreats into the hallway and I see him round the stairs into the basement kitchen. I know I’ll never see him again.

  ‘Your things are here, Abi,’ says Beatrice in a small voice. I see a pile of boxes stacked by the radiator and imagine Beatrice and Ben clearing out my room, getting rid of all evidence that I ever lived here.

  Beatrice helps me carry the boxes to the car. Dad jumps out when he sees us approaching. ‘Everything all right?’ he says to me. I smile weakly and nod, handing him a box which he puts in the boot.

  I hover by the passenger door after we’ve loaded all the boxes. I’m concerned for her. ‘Are you going to be okay, Bea?’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiles brightly and embraces me, I can smell the apple shampoo of her hair, the Parma Violet washing powder on her dress. ‘Thanks for everything you did last night. I’ll never forget it,’ she says quietly.

  Dad, realizing this is girl talk, folds himself back into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Chuck him out,’ I urge. ‘You don’t need him, Bea.’

  ‘You know that I do,’ she says as she pulls away from me. ‘Please promise me one thing, Abi. Please don’t tell anyone about us.’

  I look at my trainer-clad feet. ‘Nia knows.’

  ‘Nobody else?’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone else. I promise.’ I lift my head to look at her. ‘But I just don’t understand why you’re doing this.’

  ‘I think you do,’ she adds, her eyes bright. ‘He’s my twin, he’s the other half of me, Abi. And he needs help. You know that, right? I want to help him get better.’

  She turns to go, but I grab her arm. ‘Beatrice, there’s one thing I need to tell you. I haven’t been totally honest with you. I … I was jealous too. Of your relationship. I tried to stir trouble a few times, I made out to Ben that you were hiding my antidepressants … I wanted him to … I don’t know … defend me, believe me.’

  ‘Shh, Abi. I understand.’ She stands there in her leopard-print pumps, the soft cotton of her dress brushing her knees and with the sun casting its weak light over her face, the highlights in her fair hair. I draw a breath at the similarity to Lucy. It’s as though I’m losing her all over again.

  ‘Take care, Bea,’ I sniff.
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  ‘You too, Abi,’ she says sadly. ‘You too.’

  She bends down to scoop up her fat ginger cat, then turns away from me and walks back into the house.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I’ve been living in London for six months now and with every day that passes I become a little stronger, a little more hopeful about the future. Miranda offered me my old job back on the features desk and Nia suggested that we rent a bigger flat together in Muswell Hill. Neither of us says it, of course, but each telepathically agrees that staying north of the river is less painful somehow; not so many memories of our old way of life.

  Living with Nia is gloriously uncomplicated after everything.

  I’ve only heard from Bea once. A month ago she emailed me to tell me she has sold the town house in Bath and that she and Ben have moved away, somewhere nobody knows them. She never gave a forwarding address. Reading between the lines, I suspect they’ve renewed their relationship and are living as a couple. Nothing would surprise me any more.

  I still see Lucy in the most unexpected places. Sometimes she’s in front of me on the bus, the same swishy blonde bob and long, elegant neck, until she turns around and it is as if she’s wearing a mask, some other person’s face is superimposed in place of hers. Other times she’s at a party that Nia and I are attending, or eating popcorn in the row in front of us at the cinema. Last week I thought I saw her behind the till in Sainsbury’s, except she was young – too young. Lucy in her teenage years.

  And each time I see her I make sure I walk in the opposite direction. Because she’s not Lucy. I know that now. As I know how dangerous my mind can be, how little I can trust my own judgement. After all, I got it so wrong with Bea.

  Today, a sunny breezy Tuesday in early March, I’m meandering through Hyde Park in my lunch hour, killing time while waiting to interview some up-and-coming actor at the Ritz. I’m wearing the tea-dress that I bought last year in the vintage shop in Bath, with a long grey cardigan. I’m feeling happy, confident, when I see her. She’s sitting on a wooden bench reading a book, a Burberry mac is wrapped around her slim body, her legs, encased in black skinny jeans, are crossed at the knee. She has wire-framed glasses pushed back on to her blonde hair, and she frowns in concentration, her eyes flicking back and forth across the page. Despite the promises I’ve made to myself, I can’t help but stare at her wistfully, imagining sitting next to her, and striking up a conversation. Instead I hoist my bag firmly on to my shoulder and go to walk past her.