Copycat

by Alex Lake

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Sean said. ‘At Christmas, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jean said. ‘Nice to see you again.’

  ‘You too,’ he said, then turned to Becky. ‘Shall we tell them?’

  ‘Tell us what?’ Sarah said.

  Becky put her hand around Sean’s waist. ‘We have some news.’

  Sarah glanced at her hand; there was no engagement ring. Her gaze flickered to Becky’s stomach.

  ‘What kind of news?’ she said.

  ‘We’re pregnant,’ she said. ‘It’s early days yet, and we’re not telling too many people, but since you’re the reason we met, we thought we’d let you know.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘Wonderful news!’ she said. She glanced at Jean. ‘And don’t worry. We’ll keep it to ourselves. I’m so glad for you both! When’s the baby due?’

  ‘February,’ Sean said. ‘We can’t wait. And thank you for your matchmaking. It’s the best thing that ever happened to us.’

  Sarah looked at Jean, and grinned. ‘My pleasure,’ she said.

  As Becky and Sean walked away, Jean handed Sarah a can of seltzer water.

  ‘God,’ she said. ‘I find it so annoying.’

  ‘What?’ Sarah said. ‘That they’re having a baby?’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s when people say “we’re pregnant”. It’s the woman who’s pregnant. There’s no “we” about it.’

  ‘Well,’ Sarah said. ‘I think we can forgive them. And I have to say, I take a bit of extra pleasure since it was the result of my matchmaking efforts. They seem really in love.’

  ‘They do,’ Jean said. ‘And by the way – next time you have an eligible bachelor show up, send him my way, would you?’

  ‘Sure,’ Sarah said. ‘You’re next on my list.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Jean said. ‘Hey, I meant to ask. Did anything come of the Facebook thing?’

  Sarah felt the warm glow fade from the day.

  ‘No. The account was shut down. But not before one more post.’

  ‘Oh? What about?’

  ‘I went to buy a goldfish at lunchtime. Sometime in the afternoon there was a post about it.’

  Jean shook her head. ‘How would they know?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’m not even sure who would know. Someone would have had to follow me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A patient, maybe?’ Sarah said. ‘Someone who I’d seen?’

  ‘Which is half the town,’ Jean replied.

  ‘There was one guy who I saw yesterday. He was a bit weird with me. He’d waited for two weeks to get an appointment, and there was nothing really wrong with him.’

  ‘You think he followed you?’ Jean looked doubtful.

  ‘I don’t know. I doubt it. But he was my last patient before I got the fish, and it’s not the first time he’s been in. It’s like the fourth appointment he’s made since Christmas.’

  ‘Odd,’ Jean said. ‘What I can’t figure out is who could be doing it.’

  ‘I know,’ Sarah said. ‘That’s the mystery.’

  Rachel raised an eyebrow. ‘One person who it could be – and I’m not saying it is or even that I think it would ever be – is Ben.’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘I don’t think so, Jeannie,’ Sarah said. ‘I mean, it’s possible. But Ben?’

  ‘I agree. I’m only saying he would have known, and had access to the photos.’

  ‘I know. But why?’

  ‘I don’t know. But stranger things have happened. You remember my husband, right? None of us saw that coming.’

  ‘True. But I don’t think so. And the account’s gone now. It was probably some mistake.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Jean said. ‘I really hope so.’

  14

  A beach day. Soaking up the rays with the family. Those three beautiful children. Her sturdy British husband with his pale skin and emerging pot-belly and baffled expression.

  She loves them. They are the most important thing in the world to her. Nothing unusual. For most people all around the world, it’s true.

  Not for everyone, though. She will find out about that later.

  But for now she is happy. The weird thing with Facebook has gone away. It is still a worry, of course it is, but at least it has stopped. It’s like a rainstorm you drive through: once it’s behind you, it’s still there, but in the rearview mirror. It is receding. A shadow. No longer a problem.

  But it can come back. The weather can change. The wind can switch direction. So you better not take your eye off of it for too long.

  But people do. It is what she will do. It is natural. The strange thing happens, the surface of the pond is disturbed, but then the ripples vanish, and the water settles and all trace of them is gone.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  But whatever caused them is still there, under the black water. Maybe a long way away, deep and safe.

  Or maybe just below the surface …

  So she is enjoying her beach day with her loving family. The family at the center of her life. The family she does it all for.

  The family she barely deserves.

  The family she will lose.

  15

  Sarah was finishing a quick coffee in the break room at work when her phone rang. It was Anne, her college friend. She was due to see a patient in a few minutes, but she picked up the phone.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How are you? I have an appointment coming up, so I can’t talk for too long.’

  ‘I’m good,’ Anne said. ‘Enjoying summer. It’s been lovely up here.’

  ‘Up here’ was Burlington, Vermont, where Anne was a high-school science teacher. She was married to her college boyfriend, Don; they’d had kids early. Melanie, who was ten, and Parker, who was eight.

  ‘I wish I had your holidays,’ Sarah said. ‘It must be amazing.’

  ‘Mel’s at her first sleep-away camp this week, and Parker’s always with his buddies, biking round the neighborhood. Don’s working, so I have a lot of alone time.’

  ‘God, stop. You’re making me jealous.’

  ‘It is nice,’ Anne said. ‘But I do miss the days when summer was me and the kids hanging out by the lake or in the backyard. It feels like they’re growing up too fast. In eight years we’ll be dropping Mel off at college. I’m already traumatized by the mere thought of it.’

  ‘I know. It goes so fast.’

  ‘Anyway, I was chatting to Toni yesterday. She paid us a visit.’

  Sarah couldn’t help the small twinge of resentment that flared at the news Toni and Anne had got together without her; without even informing her. She wouldn’t have been able to go, but it would have been nice to have the option. It was stupid, she knew, but it did feel as though she had been left out.

  ‘Oh,’ Sarah said. ‘I spoke to her the other day.’

  ‘She mentioned it. She told me about the weird Facebook thing. Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sarah said. ‘I think so. The account has gone now.’

  ‘Right,’ Anne said. ‘I was wondering where it was. I had a look, and I couldn’t find it.’

  ‘I think it may have been some kind of Facebook error,’ Sarah said. ‘They have access to so much of your data, who knows what can happen? I was going to send them a note to ask, although I’ll probably never get around to it.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I have to go, but it was great to talk to you. I’ll call you one evening?’

  ‘OK. And let’s get together this summer. It’s been too long.’

  ‘Way too long,’ Sarah said. ‘We’ll find a date.’

  She cut the connection and put her phone in her bag. As she did it buzzed. It was a text message from Carla, a friend with a son and daughter who Sarah had used to hang out with often. She didn’t see her as much since Miles and Ricky, her son, had started kindergarten; they were in different school systems so their orbits drifted apart. Still, they liked to get the kids together sometimes and arranged periodic p
lay dates.

  Hi, it read. Are you running late?

  Sarah frowned. She hadn’t planned to meet Carla today. She had to see her patient, but she texted back, quickly.

  For what?

  The answer arrived seconds later.

  The play date. I’m at your house with Ricky. No one’s here.

  Sarah felt a slow churn in her stomach. The taste of the coffee soured in her mouth. She hadn’t spoken to or emailed or texted Carla in a week.

  Which meant this was not a simple mix-up. It couldn’t be.

  Did we plan a play date? I’m at work. Miles is at camp.

  The dots signifying a reply was coming scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

  Really? We emailed about it last night. You said to come at ten.

  She hadn’t sent any emails the night before. She’d come back from the beach, fed the kids then curled up in front of a movie once they were in bed. And even if she had emailed Carla, she wouldn’t have arranged a play date, for the simple reason she was at work and the kids were either at camp or in day care.

  She checked her phone. Nothing to Carla in the sent email folder. Which meant, unless Carla was making it up, someone else had emailed her.

  Someone claiming to be Sarah.

  She felt faint, dizzy. It was an effort to focus. Hands shaking, she typed a reply.

  Sorry. I think I have an idea what happened. Can I see you at noon? I’ll be free for lunch then.

  Sure, Carla replied. Call me.

  Sarah shook her head. That wouldn’t do.

  Can I see you? Sorry to be a pain, but you’ll understand.

  Carla’s reply hinted at a little irritation.

  I have a gym class starting soon. But I could meet around 12.20?

  Sarah accepted. It would be a short lunch, but she needed to see her friend.

  In the end Carla showed up at the Little Cat Café at twelve thirty. She was wearing yoga pants and a finishers’ T-shirt from the 2014 Lobsterman Triathlon. She looked – post-exercise – in a good mood.

  Sarah waved at her and pointed to the cup of coffee – a skinny cappuccino – she had ordered as a peace offering. There was also a blueberry smoothie on the table.

  ‘Where’s Ricky?’ Sarah said. ‘I got him a smoothie. Help him get over the missed play date.’

  ‘He went to Logan’s house,’ Carla said. ‘Sandy’ – Logan’s mom – ‘had mentioned Logan was free, so I gave her a call.’

  ‘Sorry about earlier,’ Sarah said. ‘But it’s not what you think.’ She leaned forward. ‘Is there any way I could see the messages you got from me?’

  Carla frowned, puzzled by the request. ‘Why? You sent them.’

  ‘I don’t think I did. Can I see them?’

  ‘Are you OK, Sarah?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Fine. But let me see and I’ll explain.’

  Carla tapped her code on to the screen and scrolled through the messages. She handed the phone to Sarah.

  There they were. Three messages, in a thread titled Play date?, all from Sarah Havenant. Sarah opened one and looked at the email address.

  It was her name, but it wasn’t her account. It was Gmail, and Sarah used Outlook.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. ‘This is a fake email account.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean someone set this up and is impersonating me. My email address is Outlook, not Gmail. It’s easy to establish an account and set the name to show as whatever you want. So all you see is the name Sarah Havenant, and unless you bother to look at the address you wouldn’t know it wasn’t from me.’

  Carla shook her head. ‘So you’re saying someone set up an email account in your name so they could fake a play date? So they could piss me off? They must have known you’d find out.’

  ‘I don’t think they minded getting caught,’ Sarah said. She was feeling very calm, almost like she was observing herself. It was a form of shock, she realized, her body’s way of stopping her going into a full-on panic. ‘I think getting caught was the point. This is not the first time this has happened.’

  ‘Are you kidding? What’s been going on?’

  ‘There was a Facebook account,’ Sarah murmured. ‘I thought it had gone away.’

  ‘What kind of Facebook account? What’s wrong with a Facebook account?’

  ‘It was a fake one,’ Sarah said. ‘In my name. With photos of me and Ben and the kids and the house. Recent ones.’ She looked at Carla, blinking. ‘Someone’s fucking with me, Carla. I don’t know why, and I’m scared.’ She pushed her coffee across the table. ‘Very scared.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Carla said. ‘Just a joke or …’ she paused, at a loss for words, then finished, limply. ‘Or something.’

  Sarah didn’t reply. She looked around the Little Cat Café. There were couples, young women with laptops, college-age boys with books and iPads. Was it one of them? Was it someone who was here, now, in the café?

  ‘Hey,’ Carla said. ‘I need the bathroom. I’ll be right back.’

  Sarah watched her walk across the room. It was as though she couldn’t wait to get away from her, as though she thought Sarah was contaminated, dangerous, spoiled goods. Well, when she got back, Sarah would tell her she had to be back in the office, release her from her obligations.

  A few minutes later the bathroom door opened and Carla came out. Her face – summer-tanned when she went in – was chalk white.

  She walked over, her phone in her hand.

  ‘Did you …’ she said. ‘Did you send this while I was in the bathroom?’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘I didn’t send anything. What is it?’

  She handed her phone to Sarah.

  There was another message in the thread. Another message from Sarah Havenant.

  Where were you? Miles was disappointed you didn’t show up.

  ‘He’s at camp,’ Sarah said. For some reason – perhaps, she thought, to maintain her grip on reality – it was important to her to state the facts. ‘Miles is at camp.’

  ‘This is fucking weird,’ Carla said, her voice loud enough that a few other customers glanced at her. She lowered her tone and stared at Sarah. ‘Very fucking weird.’ She looked at Sarah. ‘Should I reply?’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said, quickly. ‘No. There’s nothing to reply to.’ She hesitated. ‘This isn’t a message to you, Carla. It’s a message for me. It’s a message to let me know this isn’t over, after all.’

  ‘Should I delete it?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘No. Would you forward it to me? Thanks. I have to go. I need to call Ben.’

  16

  The worst thing about this was that it was everywhere, and it was nonstop.

  When she was twelve, Sarah had drawn the attention – for some reason she still did not understand – of a girl, Donna, in the year above her at Junior High. Donna had made her life a misery; she was much more physically developed than the rest of her class and everyone, boys included, was terrified of her, so when she cornered Sarah at break time and explained to her why she was a worthless piece of shit and a slut – Slutty Sarah, she called her, a name which Sarah did not even fully understand – then punched and kicked her, no one did anything to stop her.

  Although even if they’d wanted to they couldn’t have: the arrival of Donna was like a shark showing up among a bunch of swimmers – everyone’s first thought was to hope it wasn’t going to choose them as its prey, then, once it hadn’t, their main concern was to get out of the water.

  So Sarah did the only thing she could. She watched out for Donna and, if she saw her – at school or out in the neighborhood – she fled. It was simple: when the threat showed up, she did her best to get away. Eventually, Donna forgot about her and life went back to normal.

  Ironically, Donna was still part of her life. Her former tormentor was now a patient of hers who had chronic GI problems, but despite the fact Sarah was now thirty-eight and a mother of three and a successful physician, she sti
ll felt a tiny flutter of panic – run, it said, run – when she opened the door to the examining room and saw Donna sitting there.

  This, though, was different. The threat from Donna was easy to identify: no Donna, no threat. But this – it could come from anywhere. An email, a Facebook message, a phone call: she was constantly waiting for a message from someone claiming to be her. Claiming to be Sarah Havenant.

  Worse, she had no idea who it was, or what they wanted. Was it simply a latter-day Donna, getting kicks from causing other people pain? Or was it more sinister? She didn’t know, didn’t have any way of knowing, and she felt unmoored by the constant churning of her thoughts.

  She stopped at Jean’s house on her way back from work. In the kitchen, Jean and the kids were making dinner. Daniel was washing carrots and passing them to her so she could chop them. Paul was tidying up.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Sarah said. ‘My kids would be causing chaos. Yours are so helpful.’

  ‘Great parenting,’ Jean said, and shrugged. ‘Or I just got lucky.’

  ‘Well, if you have any tips, please pass them on.’ Sarah caught her friend’s eye. ‘Got a minute?’

  ‘Sure.’ Jean put the knife down and walked into the living room. ‘What’s up?’

  Sarah pursed her lips. ‘It happened again.’

  ‘The Facebook thing?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘But not Facebook this time. An email. To Carla, arranging a play date. Carla showed up at my house but – of course – there was no one there. So she texted me.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ Jean said.

  ‘I know,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t know what to do. When it was just the Facebook thing it seemed’ – she paused – ‘it seemed like it might be harmless. Some online, virtual stuff. But this is more serious. It’s real. And it’s here. It’s my friends, showing up at my house.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s so personal.’

  ‘It does seem to be,’ Jean said. ‘Which is why I think you should call the cops. Talk to them. They might know what to do.’ She tapped her fingers on the cutting board. ‘I’d ask them if they think there’s any threat. And if there is, you might want to think about the kids.’

  The kids. Her kids. The idea that this might affect them was unbearable. Sarah’s heart rate increased and she felt dizzy. Her vision blurred, and she leaned against the wall. She took a deep breath, then another, then another.