Chloe lives near Holland Park. Portland Way was the name of her road, and though I couldn’t remember the number, and had never been there, I thought I would recognize it all right because once, when feeling possessive about Rob, I looked up her address on Google Street View, and knew it was a small modern town house with its own garage.
The walk took ages. The too-big trainers started to rub my heels, and for half the journey I was freezing. By the time I’d warmed up a bit, I felt light-headed with hunger. I found it difficult to think for fantasizing about the food that Chloe might have in her kitchen. I kept imagining egg and bacon; crispy smoked bacon, five or six rashers, with two slices of fried bread (white sliced, nothing too healthy) and two fried eggs, with a mug of steaming tea. Maybe a tomato and some fried mushrooms. This was pretty stupid as Chloe keeps herself just slightly too thin in order to demonstrate that she’s never had a weight problem in her life, and she didn’t get to look like that eating fried breakfasts. Nor was she likely to sit me down and cook a meal for me. I’d be lucky if I got a bowl of muesli. Even the thought of that made my mouth water.
I stopped at a café in one of the small streets behind Oxford Circus and bought a takeaway coffee and Danish pastry. Three pounds ninety-five; ten pounds forty-four left.
By the time I trailed into Portland Way my breakfast had worn off and I was starving again. On my own, I was as viable as a stray ant a mile from its nest. I’d lost all inhibitions about asking Chloe for help. I rang her bell; it must be around ten or eleven, she’d almost certainly be there on a Saturday morning.
A click, then her voice on the intercom. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Beth.” My hand prepared to push the door open. Silence. No buzz as the lock released. The door stayed shut. “Can I come in for a minute?”
“There’s really no point.” Her voice sounded defensive, almost hostile. But … she’d got no reason to dislike me. She’d been civil the few times we’d met, even if we weren’t exactly best friends. Of course, Rob had been there …
“Please, I need your help.”
“Look, I’m sorry, Beth, but I can’t help you.”
I couldn’t believe she was turning me away when she didn’t even know why I’d called. “But I just want to talk to you, it won’t take a moment.”
“Having a go at me won’t solve anything. You need to sort it out with Rob, not me.”
“Sort what out?”
A sigh came down the intercom. “Your relationship with Rob. He obviously isn’t happy with it. What happened last night was neither here nor there.”
“What happened last night?”
A pause, then, “Look, this really isn’t my problem. I’m not working for Relate. I don’t want to discuss it.”
The penny dropped. “You and Rob slept together …” I waited for her to deny it.
“Please go.” Click. She’d gone.
I pressed the bell again. She didn’t answer. I walked away.
Replica ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 11
Nick
Nick drove too fast along Kensington High Street, cutting up other drivers and speeding through amber lights, tailgating anyone who in his opinion should be driving faster.
Ollie waited till they had to stop at a red light. “What’s the rush? Paul and Dario are there if the target turns up. They’ll think it funny us arriving two hours early, anyway.”
“I don’t give a toss what they think. They let her get away.” Nick’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. The lights changed, and he accelerated, making a woman jump back to the safety of the traffic island. “If I’d been there I’d have got her. Pete should have sent us.”
“He didn’t expect her to turn up at her flat.”
“No, and I bet when she did Paul was making a cup of tea and Dario was going through her underwear drawer.”
Ollie laughed. “So what can we do they can’t?”
“We’re going to do it better. Stay out of sight in the van and wait for her to turn up again. Follow Beth One wherever she goes. Getting to her has to be what replica Beth is playing for. The two Beths talk to the press, it’s out, nothing we can do, game over.”
“So we’ll be off our other jobs for as long as it takes, I suppose. Nice break for the terrorists.”
Nick was quiet for a while, then he said, “Maybe.”
“How d’you mean, maybe?”
“Just, I can’t see Pete throwing in the towel. Saying, oh, all right, now you two totally unimportant secretaries, who just happen to have got mixed up in this top secret research we’ve spent millions of pounds on know about each other, we’ll accept it and go public.” Nick braked hard to avoid collision with a cycle courier, then hit the accelerator. “There’s no way he’ll risk that happening.”
Ollie gripped the handle above the door. “Take it easy, Nick.”
“D’you ever worry about the ethics of what we do?”
“Not a lot. I’m too busy worrying about your driving.”
“Okay, but what about this; supposing catching her is harder than everyone seems to think? He isn’t going to keep all of us running around after her forever. I’d give it a week, maybe two, tops. He’s a ruthless bastard. I reckon, if we don’t find her fast, the original will go missing. Then if the copy turns up, it’s like, boring secretary loses marbles, gets persecution complex, thinks MI5 are after her, goes on the run, ends up in padded accommodation with no one believing a word she says. To be honest, I’m surprised he hasn’t done it already. He must be going soft in his old age.”
Ollie smiled at Nick. “If we can’t catch her in a week we’re not trying. Are you worrying about the ethics of it, then?”
“Me? No. I do what I’m told, I get paid. End of.”
Ollie and Nick slouched in the cab of the van, staring down Beth’s road. Nick watched her doorway via the side mirror and the one-way windows at the rear of the van, Ollie the approach from the main road. Two more men covered the railway and the back of the house, while Paul and Dario were hiding out in an Islington Council truck. There had been nothing to see except the builders at number twenty-two having a smoke, a couple of cats wandering around, and a traffic warden peering at parking permits. They’d driven round the block till he left. The temperature inside the elderly van now matched the temperature outside, but they’d done more boring surveillance in worse conditions, and had a high tolerance of discomfort and tedium. The daylight took on a pale luminescence; fine crystals of snow drifted past the window and settled on the glass.
The Islington truck’s lights came on, its engine rumbled and it pulled out from the kerb, went to the end of the cul de sac, turned and headed off.
“Ten minutes early,” remarked Nick.
“Be fair, no point in four of us hanging around.”
“True.”
As he spoke, Beth’s door opened and she emerged, locking it behind her. Nick sat up. She walked to her Micra a little way down the road the other side from the van, then as she put her key in the door, something gave her pause. She went to the back of the car, lifted the boot and moved things around, got out the spare wheel, holding it awkwardly away from her coat, and propped it against the car.
“Flat,” Ollie said, unnecessarily.
They watched as she fetched the jack and wheel brace from the car and put them on the tarmac with the spare, went round to the passenger door, felt in the glove compartment, got out the manual and opened it.
“This may take some time.”
“At least it gives us something to watch.”
Carefully, Beth prised off the hub cap, and, consulting the manual, fitted the wheel brace to one of the nuts. Snow dusted her hair and her black jacket. She spent the next few minutes trying and failing to shift the nut, then moved on to the next with as little result. She looked around, went down the road and returned with a brick. Crouching, she hit the brace, and the brick skidded off and bashed her knee. Ollie winced and Nick grinned heartlessly, enjoying himsel
f.
“Shall I nip out and give her a hand? Wouldn’t take a minute.”
Nick swivelled from watching Beth to face him. “Sometimes I think you’re in the wrong job, Oll. You haven’t grasped the meaning of undercover surveillance. The big idea is, it’s covert. The mark doesn’t know he, or in this case she, is being watched. Your job is to keep it that way. Why are you pulling those faces?”
A tap on the van window made him turn round. Beth stood there, her hair a red-gold halo in the grey light, the tip of her nose pink in her pale face. He wound down the window.
She smiled shyly. “Hi. I saw you when you arrived a couple of hours ago.” Ollie dug Nick in the ribs meaningly, his eyes glinting with suppressed amusement. Nick scowled at him. “We met this morning, at the safe house. I’m sorry, I’m hopeless with names …”
“Nick.”
Beth glanced at Ollie.
“Ollie,” said Ollie, grinning.
“Hi.” Her eyes returned to Nick. “I’m trying to change my wheel, and I can’t get the nuts off. Do you think you could help me? Just with the nuts, I can do the rest myself. I don’t want to stop you … doing whatever you’re doing.”
Ollie moved with alacrity to open his door, but Nick repressed him with a look, shut the window and got out of the cab. He strolled to the car, adjusted the brace then brought his foot down sharply, his weight behind it. He did the same for the other three nuts, and reached for the jack.
“It’s okay, I can do the rest. Thank you very much.”
Nick ignored her. He fitted the jack under the chassis and started to turn the jack handle. The car lifted. Beth stood watching him, embarrassed. Her phone rang in her pocket, but she didn’t make a move.
Nick glanced up. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
Beth’s cheeks were pink. She shook her head, looking unhappy. Nick undid the bolts and eased the wheel off the car, then manoeuvred the spare in its place. When he’d finished he put the old wheel neatly in the boot with the jack and brace, lowered the lid and turned to Beth, interrupting her thanks.
“Where are you off to?”
“Just Sainsbury’s.”
“It might be better not to go to your usual shop.”
“Oh … I suppose, if you think it’s really necessary …”
“Sir Peter does, or he wouldn’t have sent us. I’ll come with you if you like. I’d have to follow you anyway.”
“Er … okay, if it’s not taking you away … if …” Beth’s voice trailed off. Nick swivelled in the direction of her gaze, and saw a man in a duffle coat walking purposefully towards them. Beth didn’t seem very pleased to see him. She hadn’t been at ease while he changed the wheel, but now she looked almost panic-stricken.
“Friend of yours?” muttered Nick.
“Boyfriend … um, ex-boyfriend …”
“Shall I tell him to piss off?”
“No, it’s okay.”
Rob reached them. “Bethie …” He gave her a serious smile. “Can we talk?”
“I’m going shopping.”
“This is important.”
“Well, all right, just for ten minutes.” She turned to Nick. “See you later.”
Nick spread his hands, black from the tyre. “Can I come in and wash?”
Beth said, “Sure.” Rob frowned, and she explained, “He changed my wheel for me.”
The three of them walked into the flat, no one saying anything, and Beth showed Nick the bathroom. He turned on the tap then moved silently to the open door and listened. A cat appeared and wove around his legs, purring. Propelled away with the toe of his boot, it returned without taking the hint.
“Who’s that man?”
“I don’t know.” Beth’s voice was almost too soft to hear. “He stopped to help.”
“Look, Bethie, about last night.” A short silence. “It shouldn’t have happened, I’m sorry it did, but it didn’t mean anything. Chloe was in a state over Rollo, and we had a few drinks, and … one thing led to another.”
Beth said something inaudible. Nick stepped over the cat and moved several paces along the hall.
“What do you take me for? Of course it was the first time! I wouldn’t cheat on you, lie to you. I can’t believe you’d think that of me.”
“Sorry …”
Nick rolled his eyes. The cat gazed at him balefully, and stalked off, tail in air.
“You’re my girlfriend. Chloe is just a very good friend – you don’t grudge me that, do you? You don’t mind me keeping in touch with her?”
“No, of course not …”
“Because if you do, tell me. I like to know where I stand.”
“I’ve never stopped you seeing Chloe! I never said anything. It’s just you sleeping with her I’m not keen on.”
“Beth, I’ve said, that was a one-off. It won’t happen again. I’ve said I’m sorry. I don’t see what more I can do, given that I can’t go back into the past and change what happened.”
Tosser. Nick retreated to the bathroom and washed his hands quickly, turned off the tap and listened again.
“I’m being honest with you, when I could have told you nothing happened. It’s not like you to be unreasonable.”
Nick coughed and walked heavily towards the living room. He put his head round the door. Beth was sitting on the sofa, the cat on her knee, while the waste-of-space boyfriend stood self-righteously in the middle of the carpet. They both turned to look at him.
“I’ll let myself out.”
Replica ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 12
Other plans
How could Rob do that? How could he?
While I’d been lying awake, freezing on cold concrete, hungry and in fear of my life, he’d been in Chloe’s bed cheating on me. Bastard.
I’d needed help, I needed him to help me, and he’d let me down. I was too furious with him to cry. This whole mess was HIS FAULT. If he hadn’t cancelled our date because Chloe was too useless to cope with a spider, and he was too pathetic to tell her to grow up, I wouldn’t be here now, there’d be only one of me, and she/I would be at home and safe. How long had it been going on, with me too trusting to notice? All those times he’d gone round to her place, and I’d believed he was being kind! I’d worried that she was taking advantage of his good nature! I’d been a complete bloody idiot. That’s what they both must have thought me, too; an idiot.
For a moment I stopped walking, tempted to go back to Chloe’s and tell her what I thought of her. She probably wouldn’t answer the bell. I imagined screaming abuse, finding a brick and smashing her windows …
Don’t be stupid, pull yourself together.
Okay. All it meant was I could cross Rob off. He’d been my only hope, but I’d manage without him. It was good I’d found out what he was really like. I’d only wasted three years of my life going out with him, moved down to London and lost touch with my uni friends to be near him. Impotent rage and frustration burned in my chest, blocking out minor worries like how I would survive on the icy streets with ten pounds to live on. Suddenly I thought of the other Beth, who didn’t know Rob was unfaithful. She still believed in him. If I succeeded in getting to her, I’d have to tell her. That would be weird. It had been a sort of comfort, imagining my life safely continuing its old path, even if I wasn’t the one leading it. I’d only been away for twelve hours and already it was falling apart.
How long has it been going on? Chloe had a high turnover of boyfriends, and tended to call Rob after every break-up. He’d rush round to console her … and I’d think, each time he altered our plans at the last moment, what a nice man he was. Did his friends know what was going on? Maybe they all knew, maybe they pitied me. Stop thinking about this, it’s over. Think about your current predicament.
Right. It was going to take longer than I’d hoped to sort things out, because now my scheme to get Chloe and Rob to help me was not going to happen, I had no ideas at all. That had been my only one. I’d have to think up another pl
an. But first, I needed to buy myself some food; my rage having died down, cold and hunger nagged me again. Once I’d eaten, I needed somehow to get hold of a sleeping bag, some warm clothes and a place to sleep. When I’d sorted out those pressing problems, I’d be able to think straight. There had to be something I could do. I just needed to work out what it was.
Light snow began to fall, frosting every horizontal surface and bleaching colours to a neutral pallor, settling on my shoulders and melting into my trainers. I was lost. I don’t know that part of London. I wanted to get back to the Barbican, because foolish as it seemed, it was the nearest I had to a home right then. For all I knew, I might be heading away from it. On my left, the snow was transforming the trees of Holland Park into an otherworldly forest, but I didn’t know which edge of it I was walking along. Neat neo-Georgian houses lined the other side of the street. I hesitated to ask the occasional passer-by; if I kept going, I’d get to a sign or a familiar street.
When I reached a T junction, I turned left at random and plodded on. For most of my adult life I’d been thinking I should eat less and exercise more – well, I was now doing that all right, even if the little food I was eating was junk food. Another junction, and this time I knew the name of the road. Kensington High Street; too smart for fast food shops, but nearby Earls Court wasn’t. I hadn’t realized just how long Earls Court Road is. By the time I got to the scruffier bit with a choice of takeaways, I was bone-weary. McDonald’s on the right, KFC on my left. Kebabs are cheaper … Pigeons pecked tenaciously at last night’s food detritus, and I wondered how hungry you’d have to be to pick up a stranger’s discarded carton and gnaw on greasy chicken bones.
A large lamb shish kebab cost three pounds ninety-five, leaving me six pounds forty-nine. What was I going to do when I had no money? I took my meal into Earls Court tube station out of the snow, and watched the endless flow of passengers while I ate. I made up my mind to go to the V & A, find a quiet corner to think, and decide what to do.
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