Together Apart

by Natalie K. Martin

  He carried the box of diaries from his room into the hallway and put them on the floor before pulling on his coat and heading into the kitchen. Sarah was leaning against the worktop staring straight ahead.

  ‘I’ve found it. It’s in the hallway. And don’t worry about the tea, I’ve got to go out anyway.’ Adam looked at her, but she said nothing back. ‘Right, well, I’ll see you later then.’

  He left the flat and stepped out onto the street, sucking in a deep breath. That was all way too close, and the way she looked had freaked him out. He’d thought about mentioning his dad’s TIA, but it was obvious she wouldn’t have even registered his words if he had. He glanced down at his watch. If he left now, he might just catch kick-off. He looked up at the window to their living room. She probably wouldn’t tell him what was wrong with her anyway, and now she had her diaries, he was right back to where he’d started.

  He climbed into the car and set off for Carl’s house. After TIAs and secret diaries, his mind was in a haze, and Sarah was the least of his worries.

  22.

  29 October, 4.50 p.m.

  I can’t believe it. He’s dead. Richard is dead.

  I thought it was a joke at first. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him the last few days, and it had been so long since I’d last logged into my Facebook account that I’d forgotten my password. I never even wanted to join Facebook. What was the point? I didn’t want to reconnect with people from my past. It would defeat the point of trying to put it all behind me, but Claire had insisted and set it up for me. I wanted to see if I could find him on there, but it seemed he’d found me first. My stomach dropped when I saw the message he’d sent – asking if it was really me. I don’t have a profile photo, so I guess he didn’t know for sure. He’d sent it last spring, and there was only one. Maybe he thought I was ignoring him and gave up, or thought he’d got the wrong Sarah Collins and messaged someone else with the same name.

  Just seeing his picture brought back memories of the times we’d spent in his room, kissing and listening to music. He looked good. All dishevelled, with scruffy, long hair and stubble. I wanted to know if he was married or had kids, so I went to his page, but it was obvious that something wasn’t right.

  There were no status updates from him at all, but people had written on his page, and a lot of them were wishing him a happy birthday. There were messages from Tom, Hannah, Daniel, Frank – it was like being a kid again. Only, they weren’t normal. They were all worded wrong, and it was the one from Tom that nearly knocked the wind out of me. Gone, but never forgotten.

  Still, I tried to tell myself it wasn’t true. He’d gone somewhere, emigrated maybe. There was no way it could be anything more serious. And then I saw it. The post from his sister that confirmed everything. The one that said there’d be a memorial service next month. The one that mentioned his headstone being placed.

  I had to reread it, and for a second I thought that I was looking at the wrong profile page. But it said quite clearly: Richard Stone. And while there might be millions of Richard Stones in the world, there could only be one who looked like him, and only one who’d message me. I looked through the pictures on his page, and all I could think was that it had to be some kind of sick joke. The mahogany casket, the mountains of flowers and hordes of people stood around his graveside. It couldn’t be real.

  He messaged me. After years and years, he reached out, doing what I’d never dared to, and now he’s dead, his life over. I needed to know how he died because the words ‘Richard Stone’ and ‘dead’ just didn’t belong in the same sentence. So I looked on The Star website and typed his name into the search box. I really didn’t expect anything to load other than an obituary page, because even though it didn’t make sense to me, I knew, deep down, that this wasn’t an elaborate prank. The headline that loaded up was Local man stabbed to death in revenge attack.

  He’d been stabbed. Eight months ago. He was such a nice guy, the thought of anyone murdering him is inconceivable to me. And for revenge? He’d reported some kids for stealing from his shop, and two days later, he’d been killed. He died protecting his livelihood. It had been recorded on CCTV, and two sixteen-year-olds had been caught, but couldn’t be named for ‘legal reasons’.

  In the years I’ve been a social worker, I’ve numbed myself to the awful things I hear on a daily basis. I had a case once where a thirteen-year-old boy was sent to Feltham Prison. He’d been in a gang, and they’d stabbed a passer-by because they were bored. It was horrible, of course, but it didn’t get to me. I was removed from it. You hear about things like that all the time on the news, but it didn’t happen to people I knew. Until now.

  I needed to see his picture. Not the one on Facebook, but the one I took years ago. I wanted to see his face as I remembered it, when we were spending our last few weeks together before he moved thousands of miles away, never to be seen again. I needed my diaries.

  Thank God Adam was here. I couldn’t find them, and I was getting so frustrated that it would only have been a matter of time before I completely exploded. He found them in no time, and thankfully he left straight away. The relief at him finding the diaries turned pretty quickly into frustration – I just needed him out of there. I’d tried for so long to keep my past and present separate, but now they’re intertwining, and I have no idea what to do. Is it really a coincidence that I find out I’m pregnant, and a moment later I find out that Richard is dead? Is it some kind of sick, twisted joke? I’ve even found myself wondering whether any of this would have happened had I just accepted his proposal and gone on blindly ahead; whether it’s some kind of karmic payback.

  Why? Why didn’t Richard just let the kids go? Why did he have to own a shop instead of working somewhere else? Why did he come back? He might still be alive if he were still in the States.

  Why did he have to leave in the first place?

  I’d always told myself that I’d speak to him again one day. I just needed to find the courage first. It never occurred to me that I’d never get the chance to. Now, he’ll never know.

  I’ve messaged Claire. It was an SOS. I need her here with me. I know this could seriously mess everything up if Adam comes back while she’s still here, but right now I really don’t care.

  I need my sister.

  Adam swore at the TV. The match was sixty minutes in, no goals had been scored and now a yellow card was being handed out for a nonexistent tackle.

  ‘That ref needs his eyes tested,’ Adam said as Carl returned from the kitchen with two bottles of Coke. ‘I don’t know why I bother sometimes. It’s ninety minutes of my life I won’t get back. The least they could do is fucking score.’

  Carl raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s up with you? More dramas with Sarah?’

  Adam took a sip of his Coke. He couldn’t get the image of Sarah hunting for her diaries out of his head, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He felt like scum enough as it was.

  ‘Nothing. Well, my dad had a mini-stroke yesterday, but apart from that it’s all fine and dandy.’

  ‘Shit. Is he okay?’

  ‘Yeah, he’ll be fine. It could have been a lot worse. The doctor said it was like a warning, really. Still a shock, though.’

  Carl nodded. ‘I bet.’

  From the moment his mum had called with the news, Adam had tried to keep a sense of optimism, refusing to really think about what would have happened had the diagnosis been worse. He’d kept strong for his mum and silent about it with Sarah, but sitting with Carl, who knew his dad as well as if he were his own, a shiver ran down his back as he remembered the way his dad had looked, laid up in the hospital bed. Adam quickly shook his head to dislodge the image.

  ‘What’s going on with you anyway? Your smug face is crying out for a punch.’

  ‘Smug? Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. You’ve been sat there with a stupid grin on your face all afternoon.’
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  ‘Nothing. It’s just been an interesting few days, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  Carl nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So?’ Adam gestured for him to elaborate.

  ‘Jeez, what is this? The Spanish Inquisition?’

  ‘Who is she?’ Adam laughed.

  Carl shook his head. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Call it a lucky guess.’

  ‘Just a customer from work. She dropped her car in for a service, and we got talking. I’m taking her out on Tuesday,’ Carl said with a shrug.

  ‘What, like on a date?’

  ‘Yeah. I have been on dates before, you know. Besides, being casual all the time’s getting a bit boring.’

  Adam spluttered into his bottle. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘It had to happen sometime. I won’t be young forever.’

  ‘Since when has that ever bothered you?’

  ‘Since you ended up a sad diary reader after we all thought you were going to sail off into the sunset and live happily ever after.’

  ‘Cheers, mate.’ Adam winced. ‘Don’t sugar-coat anything, will you?’

  ‘I’m just saying, life’s too short to screw around.’

  ‘You’re the one who’s been telling me to get back out there. “Plenty more fish in the sea” and all that crap, remember? Now you’re saying we’re too old?’

  ‘I know what I said, but you seemed so messed up, I had to tell you something. And it got me thinking. Sarah walked all over you, and yet you still want her back.’ Carl shook his head. ‘That’s pretty special. I’ve never had that. I’ve never let a woman get close enough to do that, and you know me: I never like to miss out.’

  Adam nodded. It was true. Carl had to have everything everyone else had, if not better. It must have been something to do with being the younger brother.

  ‘So while we’re talking about romance, how are you feeling about Jen and Nick?’

  Carl grimaced. ‘Don’t. Just thinking about it makes me feel ill.’

  ‘She asked me to talk to you. I don’t think she’s joking about how she feels.’

  ‘I know she isn’t.’ Carl shrugged. ‘I just don’t want to get involved, and I know that at some stage, I will.’

  Adam smiled. ‘You’ll be her brother-in-law before you can even blink.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Seriously, though. Are you really that against it?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Carl sighed. ‘Nick reckons he’s really into her, but . . .’

  ‘You don’t trust him.’

  ‘It’s not a matter of trusting him. It’s just that I know him. He’s had girls he’s been serious about before, but this is different. I don’t want to have to pick sides if it goes belly up.’

  Adam nodded. It was a fair argument, but he knew Carl would come round eventually. He might not like what was going on, but he wouldn’t be the one to stand in the way of his brother and best friend being happy. Adam had spoken to him about it, like he’d promised Jenny he would, but that was as far as he was going to go.

  ‘So, this girl,’ Adam said. ‘Where are you taking her?’

  ‘Some little cocktail place near Goodge Street. Dinner, maybe.’

  What was that look in his eye? Wistful? Christ, he’d never used that word before in his life, but that’s what it was, and coupled with the fact that Carl was actually taking this woman on a date, it spelled out how serious it could become.

  ‘Yes, yes, go on!’ Carl thumped his fist on the arm of the sofa, and Adam turned his attention to the television just in time to see the ball hit the back of the net.

  Carl clinked his bottle against Adam’s. There would be no more mushy talk.

  As Adam closed the front door of the flat behind him, he heard the sound of a cupboard closing in the kitchen and recalled Sarah’s hunt for her diaries earlier. What had happened to make her need them again so badly? He wandered in to see her bending down in front of the oven, peering through the glass at whatever she was cooking in there. It smelled like chicken.

  But something was different, and it took a second to realise that her hair was straight. Her gorgeous curls were gone. Why? He was just about to speak when she spun around. There was no doubt about it – it wasn’t her. The face was the same, but there was makeup on it. Sarah didn’t wear makeup.

  ‘You must be Adam.’

  ‘Claire?’

  23.

  Damn. He wasn’t supposed to know about her. He clenched his jaw and looked at her. This was beyond weird.

  ‘Hi.’ He awkwardly shook her outstretched hand. How was he supposed to greet his ex-girlfriend’s previously nonexistent twin, exactly?

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen?’ Claire asked, nodding towards the cooker.

  ‘No, not at all. Help yourself.’ He opened a cupboard and took out a glass.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you finally. Although it would’ve been nicer under different circumstances.’

  What circumstances? He nodded in agreement, bluffing out the fact that he didn’t have the first idea about what she was referring to.

  ‘Yeah. You too. Where’s Sarah?’

  ‘Sleeping. She was pretty upset. I think she finally tired herself out.’

  ‘How’s she doing?’

  This was a delicate situation. He had to be careful about what he said. The wrong thing could send the precarious house of cards built around them crashing down.

  Claire frowned. ‘She’s just found out her childhood sweetheart’s been murdered; how do you think she’s doing?’

  ‘What?’ Adam raised his eyebrows.

  ‘She has spoken to you about everything, hasn’t she?’ Claire squinted her eyes at him.

  Should he lie or tell the truth? Sarah might have told Claire that she’d never mentioned she was a twin, but then again, for all Claire knew, he might have known about her all along. After all, she didn’t react when he automatically knew it was her crouching in front of the cooker, and not Sarah.

  ‘Of course she hasn’t,’ Claire said to herself, folding her arms and shaking her head. ‘This is Sarah we’re talking about, after all. You don’t know anything, do you?’

  Adam shrugged and sat at the table. He couldn’t lie to her. It was unnerving him enough having a carbon copy of Sarah in front of him.

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on her.’ Claire sighed and sat on the chair opposite him. ‘At least she told you about me. Believe me, that’s progress.’

  He swallowed with relief. He hadn’t needed to lie. She’d jumped to her own conclusions, and he was happy to go along with it. It was a better option than admitting that Sarah hadn’t told him anything, and he only knew who she was because he’d poked his nose into Sarah’s private teenage diaries.

  ‘So, what’s all this about a murder?’

  ‘Apparently he was stabbed. Did you want a drink?’ Claire asked, nodding at the empty glass in his hand. He’d been so distracted he’d forgotten he was even holding it.

  ‘Yeah, silly me. Did you want one?’

  ‘I’d love a glass of wine if you have any.’

  ‘How did she find out?’

  ‘Facebook. It happened a while ago, but she doesn’t keep in touch with anyone back home these days. It was pure chance that she found out at all, really.’

  ‘That’s awful. I’m sorry,’ Adam said, returning to the table with a bottle of Chablis.

  Claire shrugged. ‘I never met him. All I know about him is what Sarah told me. But yeah, it’s sad. And it’s hit her really hard.’

  Adam frowned as he poured out the wine. ‘I don’t want to seem insensitive or anything, but I don’t get why this has got to her so badly. I mean, when’s the last time she saw him?’

  ‘Oh God.’ Claire puffed her cheeks out.
‘Years ago. When we were still at school.’

  ‘When I left this afternoon, she was really out of it, and then I come back to find her knocked out and you in my kitchen.’

  Claire played with the stem of her wine glass. ‘I wish I could tell you everything. Honestly, I do. I’ve heard a lot about you, and you seem like a great guy, but it’s not my place to tell you. You have to ask her.’

  Adam looked at her. Clearly she knew about Sarah’s secret.

  ‘Has it got something to do with why we’ve split up? Because believe me, I’ve tried to get her to talk, and she won’t budge. To be perfectly honest, it’s getting a little old.’

  Maybe it was the familiarity of her face, but he felt comfortable talking with her, despite the fact that they’d only just met.

  ‘I know.’ Claire nodded. ‘And even though she’d kill me for saying this, I know she still loves you.’

  He gave her a half-hearted smile. He already knew that Sarah still loved him, but it made little difference, and the fact that Claire had tried to persuade Sarah to talk to him only made him feel worse. She was sitting in his kitchen because Sarah needed her. It made sense that if Claire had something to say, Sarah would listen. But she hadn’t listened, and that was the problem. If Claire had told her to come clean about her past and whatever it was that was holding her back, she hadn’t acted on that advice. Which meant that asking her to open up to him again was pointless. If she wouldn’t listen to Claire, her twin sister, then why would she listen to him?

  His shoulders sagged. He’d never know the truth. All the sneaking around and reading her diaries had been a complete waste of time. He was no closer to getting any answers today than he had been a week ago, and now that Sarah had her diaries back, he never would be. Claire knew everything and he knew nothing.