The Missing Twin

by Alex Day

  She slammed on the brakes. Lost in her thoughts, she had almost missed seeing the Audi in front slowing to a standstill, hugging the bay side to allow room for an enormous German tour coach coming from the other direction to get by.

  The force of her sudden stop sent the little scooter shuddering and Edie almost went over the handlebars. Once recovered, she attempted to use the mirrors, protruding like antennae from the handlebars, to examine the reflection of the black car. But all she could see was the blinding light of its headlamps.

  A subtle noise, just discernible above the engine of the tour bus as it eased its way between the row of houses and the queuing vehicles, sent a spike of adrenalin racing through Edie’s veins. Without her helmet, small sounds that would otherwise have been obscured were audible. It was the soft sound of an engine cutting out. Straight after, Edie heard the solid clunk of a car door opening and then shutting; it came from behind her on her left, and was immediately followed by an identical sound coming from her right.

  Edie was off the scooter and across the road in the slipstream of the coach in seconds. She heard the dull thud of the scooter falling to the ground and heavy footsteps skidding in the sandy gravel that fringed the tarmac by the water’s edge. And then the pace of the footsteps quickened.

  She ran.

  ***

  There was a small, roughly paved track straight ahead of her that led steeply uphill; Edie followed it. At first, it was fairly wide but it quickly narrowed to nothing more than a footpath, thickly overgrown with brambles and dark from the scrubby trees that closed in overhead. Beneath her feet, a dense carpet of dead brown leaves crunched as she ran. It was impossible to go quietly. She had no idea what it was that she was running from but was driven on by the dead weight of cold fear in her belly. Pushing her way through the ever-thickening undergrowth, branches whipping in her face, thorns tearing the skin on her bare arms, she did not dare pause for even a second to find out if she could hear the sound of footsteps behind her.

  A dog barked right next to her and she jumped out of her skin. It was the other side of a fence, in the garden she was passing, but it made her exact position even more obvious to any pursuer, the way it was following her and barking its stupid head off. The path reached a turning, where she could either go on up or take a left. She went left. It was only just wide enough now to put one foot in front of the other and Edie had no way of knowing if it would lead anywhere. The hillsides that rose so precipitously from the bay were full of ancient rights of way that ran behind houses and through gardens. But some of them had been blocked off, and some led only to boundary walls and rainwater gullies that were too small for a person to get through. There was no guarantee that she would reach another access road.

  She was breathing so heavily, her heart beating so fast, that she could no longer hear anything but the blood pounding in her head. At last she left the idiotic hound behind, thwarted in its attempts to track her by the limits of its enclosure. The footpath was overgrown, the grasses taller than her thighs and she couldn’t see where she was putting her feet. Someone had told her there were poisonous snakes in the hills but that was the least of her worries. Pausing to disentangle herself from a branch that had got caught in the belt holder of her shorts, she listened hard, straining her ears for any sound that might reveal how close her pursuers were. All her senses were heightened. The wild mint that grew in abundance had a pungency to its scent that she had never noticed before and seemed to fill the air all around her, and the tugs on her skin from the spikes and thorns were as sharp as pinpricks. From a terrace lower down the hillside the chatter of voices floated up, reminding her that all around her lay normality. She was trying to calm herself with that thought when she heard it.

  The sharp, unmistakeable sound of a stick snapping followed by a muffled curse.

  Edie’s breath caught in her throat as panic almost made her cry out. She fled on, stumbling and tripping on the undergrowth but heedless of the danger of a broken ankle or a branch in the eye. The path opened out again; thank heaven, it had led to another access road, a wider one this time that led up to the houses that were third, fourth and fifth row back from the sea. The road was paved and smooth, radiating the heat from the day. Edie looked frantically around her, not sure whether to go on up the hill and hide or to run down towards the sea and hope she would reach the main drag before her pursuers reached her. Down there would be people and cars and the ordinary hustle and bustle of a summer evening that would make all of this horror go away.

  She heard heavy breathing behind her. Running down the road would put her in plain sight; she could not do that. Seeing a tiny lean-to shed that probably once housed chickens, she ducked behind it and under the makeshift corrugated iron roof, crouching in the dust and shrivelled chicken droppings within, desperately trying to calm her breathing so that it would not be audible.

  She waited. Nothing. She sank down further onto her haunches, resting her back against the brick wall and letting her head fall forwards as she forced herself to breathe long, deep and slow. She was pouring with sweat and raging thirst burned in her throat. She became conscious of pain biting at her arms and legs and looked down. It was dark now, but the moon was full, and there was enough light filtering through the gaps between the sheets of iron that made up the roof to see bloody marks where the brambles had torn at her flesh.

  A noise sent a thrill of fear rippling down her spine. But it was just a car, rumbling past her hideaway on its way down to the road. After that, nothing.

  Edie wasn’t sure how long she stayed scrunched up in the chicken shed. Eventually, she realised that she would either have to stay there forever or at some point venture out. Cautiously, she crawled to the hole in the wall that served as a doorway. She stopped there, listening intently. She could hear nothing. Her strategy was simple; burst out, get to the paved road and hare downhill as fast as her legs could carry her. This would give her the advantage of surprise; whoever was waiting for her, if they were still there, would have to try to follow at the same pace.

  Her plan went well. At last, she bolted out of the chicken coop so quickly that a couple of small boys cycling past almost came off their bikes, so severely did they swerve and sway at the sight of her. There was no one else around. No one lying in wait. Edie could feel her T-shirt sticking to her back and her feet sliding around inside her sweat soaked trainers. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks and neck and her denim shorts rubbed against her thighs as she raced on. She burst out of the access road right into the stream of traffic coming from town. Brakes screeched and lights flashed as she stopped, not sure where she was or what was going on. Her head spun and she thought she would be sick.

  A car door opened.

  Shit, she thought, they’ve got me. I’ve walked straight into their hands. Whoever ‘they’ are. Staring wildly and futilely around her, she could not make her legs move.

  A voice shouted her name.

  ‘Edie!’

  She was done for.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Edie

  Edie’s first instinct was to run, again, run to the sea and jump in and swim out into the bay where the currents would carry her to the open water and she would be away from all of this nonsense and all of the things that were happening that she didn’t understand.

  But she didn’t run. She stood stock still, a rabbit in the headlamps, not knowing where to look but seeing nothing anyway, blinded by terror.

  ‘Edie.’ The voice again, that she was sure she recognised but couldn’t place right now.

  ‘What on earth are you doing? What’s happened?’

  It was Patrick.

  Relief, confusion and embarrassment coursed through her veins. She couldn’t think of anything to say, just stood there, aware of her own bedraggled state, mute.

  ‘You’re covered in scratches, blood and bits of someone’s garden.’

  Edie shook her head and tried again to reply. ‘I don’t know. Someone’s – people – chasi
ng me …’ she stuttered, knowing she was not making any sense but not sure what sense there was to make.

  ‘Jump in.’ Patrick gently took Edie’s arm and led her to the car. ‘We’re holding up all the traffic.’

  ‘Oh n-no,’ she stammered, suddenly immobilised beside the passenger door, subsumed by mistrust and misgivings. Patrick didn’t seem as if he could be mixed up in what was going on – he appeared to be a genuine holiday-maker – but on the other hand, he’d given her a veiled warning on the canyon trip that indicated he knew more than he was letting on. She had to be careful, take no risks with who to trust. ‘No – I need to … to find the scooter. I can’t just leave it here!’

  Patrick pursed his lips and frowned. ‘I don’t think you should be in control of a moving vehicle, the state you’re in. I’ll arrange its collection.’

  Edie still didn’t move. Patrick waved on the cars that had accumulated behind his. He patted her back as if she were one of his children. The gesture seemed so normal, and genuine, that she felt some of the tension that had built up inside her during the chase dissipate.

  ‘Get in the car, Edie. You’re OK now. You’re safe.’

  She wasn’t, and she knew it. But it seemed more likely than not that Patrick’s car was a sanctuary, if only temporary. She bent down and climbed into the passenger seat. It was about ten minutes before she had relaxed enough to engage in a conversation.

  ‘So what, or who, are you running away from, Edie? What’s going on?’

  Edie bit her lip and half-closed her eyes.

  ‘I don’t know. I thought someone was following me.’

  Patrick tutted loudly, but kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead. Edie found it was easier to talk when someone wasn’t looking at you.

  ‘A car – it tailed me from the town, stopped when I stopped. When I ran, someone chased me.’

  ‘A bloke? Some kind of sexual harassment?’

  Edie almost laughed. But it wasn’t funny.

  ‘No. No, nothing like that.’

  ‘Then what? You seem absolutely terrified, not to mention looking as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’ Edie stared blankly out of the window. They had rounded the end of the bay now and were on the fast road that led to the marina where she and Laura had met the Russian boys. Such halcyon, carefree days seemed a lifetime away.

  ‘Edie.’ Patrick’s voice cut through her thoughts as they sped past the entrance to the dockside. Edie breathed a sigh of relief; she didn’t want to go there now or possibly ever again. ‘I’m going to stop at that place in the village – you know, the one next to the fire station.’

  Edie nodded. The fire station was like something out of Camberwick Green – two or three antiquated fire engines, not a firefighter to be seen.

  ‘And you’re going to tell me all about it.’

  Edie did her best to explain the events of the evening to Patrick over a restorative Coca-cola and spinach pastry. She did trust him, she realised after all. He seemed firm and solid, a gentleman, and completely honest in a way that Vuk and Vlad certainly didn’t. As for Zayn – Edie still couldn’t believe he was up to no good but all the evidence pointed to the contrary. Even if she hadn’t been a good judge of character in the past, she was sure she was getting better and she thought Patrick was all right. What he thought of her was another matter.

  ‘You think I’m crazy, don’t you?’

  Patrick, who had listened patiently throughout, shook his head. ‘No. I think you’re overwrought and overtired.’ He led her back to the car.

  As they entered the resort gates, Edie suddenly thought of something. ‘What were you out and about for, all on your own? Where are the family?’

  Patrick flashed her a wry smile. ‘I was on a mission to get takeaway pizzas from the place in town. But it was closed. So I decided to try the one at the marina.’

  He glanced at Edie as he negotiated the turning up to his cabana.

  ‘I sent Debs a text once I found you to say I wasn’t going to come up with the goods.’

  ‘I’m really sorry.’ Edie wanted to cry. The thought of the children deprived of their dinner because of her felt like the last straw. ‘What will they eat now?’

  Patrick laughed gently. ‘Suppertime was ages ago. Debs will have cooked them some pasta.’

  ‘Will she be cross with you?’

  Patrick drew into his parking space, pulled on the handbrake and cut the engine. ‘Favours withdrawn for a week or so, probably.’

  Now Edie did cry, big fat soft tears coursing down her cheeks. Their saltiness stung her scratches and grazes.

  Patrick reached out a hand and squeezed hers, clenched together as they were on her lap.

  ‘I was only kidding, Edie. And the children will survive without pizza. Debs probably let them have fizzy drinks or something to make up for it.’

  He seemed worried, but not about his offspring or their sugar intake.

  ‘Don’t cry, Edie.’ He patted her awkwardly, his plump fingers incongruous on her slim, lithe forearm. ‘You’re under … you seem very stressed and … I’m wondering if you should …’

  ‘I should what?’ The thunderous noise of her own voice took Edie by surprise. ‘Everyone likes to tell me what I should do, think, feel, say … and it’s all bullshit!’

  She leapt out of the car. Patrick followed her. He had rounded the bonnet and was facing her before she had a chance to move. She stood there, trembling.

  ‘Whatever the matter is, whatever’s going on – you can trust me, Edie.’

  The tears were now a flood, so thick and free-flowing Edie was almost blinded.

  Patrick came up close and put his arms around her. He pulled her towards him in a deep hug.

  By the time he released her, she’d stopped crying.

  ‘I think you should get some sleep. Why don’t you come back to our cabana; you could crash on the sofabed? A good night’s rest will give you some perspective on all of this.’

  Edie smiled but shook her head. ‘No. Thank you – but no. I want to be on my own for bit.’

  Patrick’s look of concern deepened but he didn’t insist. ‘OK. So meet me at the restaurant for breakfast at 7am. I’m always the first one there; the kids are early risers. We can talk it all through then.’

  Edie sniffed, loudly.

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  She gave a reluctant smile. ‘All right.’

  ‘Would you like me to walk you to your room?’

  Edie shook her head, violently. ‘Oh no. I’ll be fine.’ She turned on her heel and made off into the olive grove. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  She would go back to her room, but she wasn’t going to bed. That was impossible; she doubted she’d ever get a wink of sleep on the resort ever again. In her tired and fuddled brain, a plan was forming and she needed to be on her own to put it into action.

  Sitting on the bed in her room, the door firmly locked, Edie pulled her legs up in front of her and rested her back against the wall. She could feel the bits of grass and seed heads and twigs that she had encountered on her evening escapade scratching her skin but couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. Her thoughts revolved around the hut on the hillside, the boat and Vuk’s frequent sailing trips, which so often seemed to last longer and occur more frequently and at different times than the tourist excursions he purported to be on. None of it made sense.

  A burning feeling in her stomach reminded Edie that she was starving despite the snack she’d had with Patrick. She dug around the shelf by her bed and found a half-empty packet of crackers. Absentmindedly, she finished them off, chewing slowly at first and gradually speeding up until she got to the last one, which she crammed into her mouth in one go. She gulped down water from a bottle that was rolling around under the bed and then got up and stood looking at herself in the mirror, steeling herself for what she knew she must do.

  Locking the door behind her, she hid the key under a loose board on the veranda. It would be safer there th
an where she was going.

  ***

  It was quiet at the resort’s tiny marina. The motorboats were lined up, ready for the next day’s business. The jet skis pulled gently against their moorings, and the dinghies that were used for the sailing lessons bobbed serenely up and down, naked masts reaching into the star-studded night. Further out, where the water was deeper, lay the yacht Radomira, her name painted in blue on her elegant white flanks. She gleamed in the starlight, but Edie couldn’t make out any light coming from on board. She seemed deserted.

  Edie slipped along the pontoon that reached furthest into the water. She looked down at herself, at her shorts and sleeveless T-shirt, under which she was still wearing a bikini. She decided not to jettison her clothes; even if sodden, they seemed necessary to deal with whatever it was that might confront her. She left just her shoes behind, secreted behind the rough planking at the edge of the walkway.

  Once in the water, it was no distance at all to reach the Radomira. The yacht hardly moved as Edie gripped hold of the ladder, pulled her slight body onto the bottom rung and cautiously climbed upwards. On deck, everything was quiet and still. There was no sign of anyone. The decks were clean, the lounging cushions stored away to keep them from the dew, the sun awnings folded back so that every piece of polished metal reflected the glimmering stars.

  Edie crept forwards, towards the door that led into the cabin. She had only been on the yacht once before, not long after she had arrived, when Zayn was still trying to impress her and had taken her out on it for a sunset sail. Vlad must have been in a very good mood to allow it, Edie thought now. She had been so green then, so naive that, not knowing anything about all these new people, she had been quite taken in by how swish it all was. Before long, the place had seduced her. And so had Vuk.