The Other Twin

by L. V. Hay

  The buildings spring up like majestic white mushrooms from a perfectly tended lawn. There’s a swimming pool, a decked area and a gazebo. There are servants’ quarters and a riding stable, even a petting zoo. I can see a pot-bellied pig, a couple of ducks and a llama wandering about. A young woman with raven-black hair and a farmer’s gait slings feed into a trough. The animals waddle over.

  On the lawn, there’s a selection of children’s toys: a swing, a slide, a sandpit. I don’t have to imagine Ana’s little girl here. I recognise some of the state-of-the-art play equipment from Ana’s Facebook photos.

  Security is top notch. A camera stares down at me from above the gates. Before I can even press a buzzer, a hoarse, male voice with a clipped accent barks from the intercom near my elbow.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lie, though my stomach flips. ‘I’m here to see Ana Temple.’

  ‘Name?’

  Crap, they’ve got a list. I give up on the game, knowing they’ve found me out. ‘OK, look – I need to see Ana. Two minutes. Send her out here, if you prefer?’

  ‘Nice try.’ There’s no warmth in the voice on the intercom, his tone steel. There’s no way he’ll be letting me in. ‘Move away from the gates, please.’

  Cursing, I do as I am told. I wander down the road a few steps. I sit on the kerb and wait, watching as the afternoon sun sinks away into the horizon. Dusk comes early. I scroll through India’s phone. A couple of social-media notifications, neither important. More spam, newsletters.

  Still no message or call from Jenny.

  Around six, a couple of cars leave the Spences’. I spring to my feet in readiness, but I don’t have time to run up and slip through the gates unseen as I hoped. Damn it. Frustrated, I kick the road, still on the wrong side of the barrier.

  A voice behind me attracts my attention. ‘Can I help?’

  The voice is heavy with accent. Eastern European, maybe. I turn to see the woman who was tending to the petting zoo. I notice the gate has a pedestrian exit, too. She’s wearing a threadbare fleece, jeans and wellingtons. Her black hair is threaded with premature grey, her forehead creased, lips chapped.

  I give her a wide smile. ‘I’ve come to see Ana?’

  But I am thwarted again. ‘Ana not here.’ The woman pulls the pedestrian exit shut after her. The metal of the gate clangs with finality.

  ‘She’s out?’ I say, hopeful. ‘Is she with Matthew, maybe? At Elemental?’

  The woman shrugs. ‘Dunno.’ She strides off ahead of me, forcing me to race after her.

  ‘Are you saying Ana doesn’t live here?’ I demand, falling into step with her.

  ‘She not here for weeks.’ The woman takes a packet of cigarettes from her breast pocket as she stalks down the road on long, skinny legs.

  ‘She’s moved out?’

  The woman lights her cigarette. The end glows in the growing darkness. ‘Dunno. Good night.’

  I stop, helpless, as she disappears down the road. I recall Ana’s relationship status on her Facebook wall: ‘complicated’. But where do women with children go, when their relationships are in trouble? Easy.

  Back to Mum and Dad.

  Thirty-seven

  I walk the twenty-five minutes it takes to cross town to the Temples’ faux-Tudor mansion, Coy Ponds. They’ve been here ten years, but I haven’t been welcome for half that. It’s an impressive place, but next to the Spences’, its white-timbered frame looks like a dolls’ house.

  I trudge across the mini-bridge over the well-stocked pond that leads into two smaller ones, the whole design perfectly symmetrical. In them, Coy carp shimmer under the water. The garden is busier than the Spences’, too. I have to tread a slalom course around a selection of shrubs, trees and garden ornaments: fairies, dragons, even a wishing well. Maggie Temple has always believed in magic and happy endings.

  I knock on the front door.

  Ana must have been expecting someone else, because she opens the door with a wide smile. Behind her, the little girl appears. Curious, the toddler’s wide brown eyes stare up at me, as she holds onto Ana’s skirts. Motherhood suits my old friend.

  ‘Ana…!’

  Her face sours as she attempts to shut the door. I put my foot in the way, cursing as the tough wood slams on my flesh. There will be an ugly bruise there in the morning.

  ‘India was in love with you, wasn’t she?’

  That’s enough to make her stop. She regards me, agog: her mouth falls open, her perfect white teeth on display. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  I feel my pet theory beginning to dissipate. Ana is no actor; you can’t fake that kind of reaction off the bat. I press on, anyway; perhaps Ana was never aware of my sister’s infatuation.

  ‘She split you and Jayden up, right? Saw her chance, with him playing away. Because she had feelings for you!’

  Pain throbs through my bruised foot. If life were a cartoon, my foot would grow to twice its size, with big red arrows pointing all around it. But I push my discomfort down and concentrate on Ana.

  She rolls her eyes. ‘I haven’t seen India in years. I hadn’t even talked to her!’

  My theory shatters, Tom and Jerry-like, to china pieces on the floor. My sister never struck me as a hopeless romantic, adoring someone from afar. And she was almost twenty-five, not a shy schoolgirl. So, OK, perhaps my theory for why India had shamed JoJo was incorrect; but maybe the end result’s still the same.

  ‘Did India come to you about Jayden’s affair with JoJo … before she put it on the blog?’ I wince, sure Ana will try to slam the door on my foot again.

  But she doesn’t. Ana swallows down her resentment, her hand on her little girl’s head. I realise she is trying to keep her cool, for the child’s sake.

  ‘No,’ Ana confirms at last.

  I dive straight in, before I can think better of it. ‘So, where was Jayden, the night India…?’

  Ana’s eyes bug. Behind them, the cogs of her brain work overtime. It’s clear she has no idea, but is trying to remember.

  ‘With me,’ Ana says finally, a defiant smile on her lips.

  She doesn’t fool me. ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Oh, whatever, Poppy.’ There’s venom in Ana’s words. ‘I’ll say this once more: Leave. Us. Alone. Now get your foot out of my door.’

  I lean forwards, bracing the door on my elbow before she can shut it on me again. ‘I saw Jayden at the funeral. Watching us. Why would he do that?’

  Ana’s face twists in that feral snarl of hers. ‘Maybe he wanted to make sure India was dead!’

  I don’t rise to the bait. ‘Did Jayden get rid of India? For telling everyone about JoJo?’

  Ana’s eyes are shiny with rage, or tears, or both. ‘You’re deluded. What the hell is this? You feel guilty you weren’t here, so you’re trying to make up some conspiracy to fit?’

  ‘I’m not making it up!’ I silently implore Ana to hear my certainty, to recognise the possible truth in what I’m saying. We were close, once. She owes me the benefit of the doubt. ‘The girl India wrote her note to – Jenny? She does exist. I’ve met her. Now the blog is gone and…’

  ‘Would you listen to yourself? India’s gone, Poppy!’

  The little girl whimpers at our raised voices. Ana remembers herself and leans down for her daughter, but the toddler flinches away. This brings Ana’s ire in my direction a second time.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’

  Ivy breaks away from her mother, through to a room beyond. I hear another voice in there, a male one. I seize on this.

  ‘Is Jayden here…?’

  I try and force my way into the hall, but Ana’s hands grab me by the shoulders. She’s surprisingly strong, forcing me back over the threshold with ease.

  ‘This isn’t over!’ I shout.

  Ana flashes me a facetious smile. ‘Oh, just piss off and play detectives somewhere else.’

  My aching foot removed from the entrance, the door is slammed s
hut in my face. I stand on Coy Ponds’ front lawn, wondering what the hell my next move should be.

  Thirty-eight

  There’s a bitter breeze in the winter night air. It whips along the seafront, bringing rubbish with it. The beach is deserted, dusk slithering up its banks. As I return to the Coach House from Coy Ponds, I catch sight of The Obelisk again. Dark shadows surge over both piers. There is a twinkling of neon lights from the takeaways and bars further along the beach.

  As I wander across the beach towards the massive hotel resort, I see activity in the big, glass reception. The concierge talks to a tall woman with a beehive hairdo. He’s smiling, but she is the stern type and looks less than amused. She stalks out of the doors, towards a taxi waiting on the forecourt. I recognise her as the event planner of the upcoming annual spring ball to celebrate Jayden Spence’s birthday.

  That’s where I can find the elusive playboy.

  I pray I haven’t missed the event. I whip my phone out of my pocket and call up The Obelisk’s website on its little screen. I wait as it loads, impatient. I click on the ticket icon and baulk at the price. How much? I’ve already lost my deposit on my London flat, as well as my few belongings that were still back there. I received a multitude of notices from my landlord, the last telling me everything was going in a skip. It’s all junk anyway. I’m just glad Tim isn’t about to throw me out and that I’ve a little money saved.

  Another thirty-six hours pass. There is still no word from Jenny, despite my repeated checks of my sister’s phone and laptop. I keep hoping it’s all just a big mistake. Maybe the server did something wrong? Maybe India’s blog will come back, or at least Jenny’s Blithefancy profile with the sugar skull. Yet every time I type in both website addresses, I am rewarded only with that infuriating 404 message.

  With no other lead, I give in and buy a ticket to the spring ball. I borrow a dress from Mum’s wardrobe this time: green, with silver piping, it’s a little short but I decide I can pull it off. Tim is under-whelmed when I announce I’m going to The Obelisk Ball. I expected him to be angry, to wonder how I can party with both my sister and mother gone. But he does not seem to notice, even when I ask him for a lift down to the resort because I am not used to walking in my mother’s wedge heels. Tim drops me off without a word, like I’m a teenager going to the prom.

  Adjusting my wrap, I teeter across the hotel’s front car park, anxious to get out of the cold breeze blowing in from the beach. I run over possible scenarios in advance. What if Jayden isn’t there? The ball is just an excuse for his father to play the big shot, so maybe his son won’t bother turning up. That would be a disaster. Or perhaps Jayden will be there, but with Ana? That could be even worse, given the scene at Coy Ponds.

  I make it into The Obelisk without incident. I hand over my ticket and mingle with the countless other guests, both resident and nonresident. The hotel seems alive with music and talk. Party-goers take up every available space. People chatter and amble through the communal areas, stopping in reception, on the stairs, on the mezzanine.

  The event’s decoration is impressive: everywhere streamers and ribbons; translucent helium balloons full of glitter; even live statues on podiums. These patient men and women are painted gold and silver, waiting to shock guests by moving suddenly. People flinch in readiness, delighting in the anticipation.

  Warmth creeps up the back of my neck and down my sides as hundreds of bodies circulate around mine. In the air, the acrid smell of metal oxide pricks my nostrils as masked performers trace colourful swirls with indoor sparklers. The bars are full, the main restaurant heaving. I feel hundreds of eyes upon me. A lone female, I discover my very presence causes ripples through the crowd as they part around me. Anxious to withdraw into the shadows, I take up residence at a side bar just beyond the main ballroom.

  I am sure that if Jayden is here, he will have to pass me at some point. I turn to the barman to order a drink. It’s the kid with acne from earlier in the week. I order and the young barman leaves a contour bottle with a pink straw in front of me. As I glance behind me, checking for Jayden, I see JoJo stalk past. She carries a tray of canapés and gives an exasperated look when she spies me, before disappearing into the crowd.

  My gaze settles on various faces, masked and not. The music swallows the hubbub of chatter of all except those closest to me. I hear a laugh as someone brushes up against me. Big hands hold me in place as a man attempts to navigate his way through the crush, past me. I look up.

  ‘Poppy. What are you doing here?’

  Matthew.

  His right hand grips my arm. He’s wearing an expensive suit, his tie loose around his throat like his father. There’s a five o’clock shadow on his chin.

  He is alone.

  I am torn, both wanting to speak to Matthew and to search for Jayden. I dally a moment, but the latter wins. I attempt to jerk my arm away from Matthew, but his fingers dig, harder, into my flesh.

  ‘I asked you a question.’ Matthew looms over me.

  I glance up at him. ‘It’s a public event.’

  ‘Hardly your thing, though.’

  ‘People change.’

  Matthew raises an eyebrow. ‘Touché.’

  I glance down at the crowd milling around us. I can see Maggie and Alan Temple standing on ceremony, smiling and laughing with other party-goers. As ever, Maggie looks immaculate in a beautiful red silk dress. Alan looks like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards. Yet they’re easy in each other’s company, their bodies close.

  ‘You can’t be here.’ Matthew moves his gaze away from me, scanning the crowd. I don’t know who he’s looking for, but I can guess: Ana. So she must be here.

  ‘You don’t get to tell me what to do.’ Despite my anger, I like the touch of his fingertips on my skin.

  ‘Sure about that?’

  As Matthew says this, an involuntary shiver makes its way down my spine. I am unnerved, just like I was during our interlude in his office at Elemental. His fingers clench around my arm. Suddenly he’s moving, forcing me to go with him.

  ‘Look. I just want to speak to Jayden…’

  Matthew’s jaw tightens. He does not turn to me. He does not release me, even when I try to struggle free.

  ‘You can’t do this! Matthew!’

  But Matthew doesn’t listen. I strain against him now. But he increases his grip, pushing me in the opposite direction.

  As we go, I catch sight of my quarry, walking away: Jayden Spence. An unlit cigarette dangles from his mouth. The playboy exchanges words with a dumpy guy with grey hair, who has an arm slung around a tall woman with an elaborate stole. Jayden walks towards a side door.

  He’s not with Ana.

  I turn my body in Jayden’s direction, determined to follow him. But I can’t fight Matthew; he’s too strong for me.

  I recognise where we’re going: towards the front doors of the hotel. He’s going to eject me! I renew my struggles, to no avail. But before Matthew can open the big glass doors, someone materialises out of the crowd in our path. I hear him groan behind me: busted.

  ‘Poppy. I told you to stay away.’

  Ana.

  Thirty-nine

  Ana wears a 1920s-style dress. It’s short and beaded on the front; there’s a feathered headband in her hair. Her long, shapely legs are bare. On her feet are shoes that would cost a normal person a week’s salary. She looks amazing and knows it; millenials would say that she got swag (adjectival phrase. Sophisticated. Related words: cool, smart).

  For some, it might be difficult to believe Jayden chose to play away with an awkward girl like JoJo, when he had a woman like Ana at home. But I know better: Ana’s confident veneer is just a shell, as easy to crack as the skin of ice on the fountain in front of The Obelisk. Perhaps JoJo was a welcome distraction from Ana’s many neuroses, or maybe Jayden just took what he wanted, because men like him do.

  I grin benevolently at Matthew’s sister. ‘Ana. Lovely to see you.’

  Ana affects a b
ored sneer. ‘Really.’

  She catches sight of her brother’s inscrutable expression, his hand on my arm. Caught out, he lets go of me.

  Her eyes narrow. ‘Are you with her?’

  ‘No!’ Matthew says, perhaps a little too fast. Or is that my imagination? ‘I didn’t want you to have to see her, that’s all.’

  The air between them crackles with resentment. I’ve seen scenes like this play out before, so I know better than to attempt to intervene. Disagreements between the Temple siblings can be epic; they always build up with a pressure cooker’s intensity, and can become physical. The more Ana pushes, the more Matthew retracts. Then, when his back is finally against the wall, he erupts. It isn’t pretty.

  ‘You’re going backwards, Matt.’ Ana pokes the flesh of my arm with one of her ridiculously long talons. There are nail jewels on every single one. I swallow back a retort.

  ‘I told you, I’m not going back to her.’

  Despite the way the argument is going, I am heartened. So I must have been the subject of previous discussions between them. Did Matthew tell her about our moment in the office at Elemental? Or did she guess? (Twin Fu, noun. Spooky shit where your other half knows what you’re doing, even before you do it.)

  Ana puts her hands on her hips. ‘You remember what she did?’

  But Matthew is stone-like. His shutters are well and truly down. ‘You remember what Jayden did?’

  Ana’s face crumples, like Matthew has dealt her a body blow. Her relationship is a very sensitive subject, as I deduced. But she recovers quickly.

  ‘That’s different. Jayden’s just another twat who can’t keep it in his pants. She ran out on you when you had cancer, Matt!’

  In an instant, I’m transported back four (nearly five) years. The smell of antibacterial hand gel; the low, hypnotic whirr of the chemo machine; lights and alarm bells. Sickness permeates the air, loss hovers in every corner of the ward. Patients smile as painful cannulas are forced into their hands. They offer words of encouragement to one another, deliberately ignoring the spaces where another person once sat, telling themselves it’s just a cancellation. Not another death.