Replica

by Lexi Revellian

  I like the Victoria and Albert Museum, with its vast halls and air of unassailable Victorian confidence, but I appreciated most having somewhere to sit down. My feet hurt and I ached all over. One thing I hadn’t realized about being homeless was how gruelling it was, trekking from place to place and having nowhere of your own to settle. I’d started to notice other people in the same position – of course, you can hardly miss men begging outside tube stations, or tramps sitting in parks drinking, but it had never occurred to me to wonder how they managed, where they slept, or that one day I might be one of them. Now I knew a bit about how they felt; weary, hungry, discouraged, inadequately-clothed, anxious and unable to think straight. Sitting on a blanket with an empty cup was probably all they could cope with – goodness knows how the ones with a dog to look after managed.

  I went to the jewellery gallery, which is comfortingly dark and has sofas; I reckoned its security guards wouldn’t take an interest in me as long as I didn’t make a grab for the jewels. In the warm quiet dimness I found I could think. I made a mental list, and this is what it was:

  1. I need to get to the other Beth, but can’t go directly.

  2. I can’t tell anyone the truth and ask for help because they would think I was paranoid and schizophrenic. I’d think that, if told such a story, even if I knew the person really well.

  3. I’m NOT going to ask Rob to help me, not directly, but he’ll have to be involved because there isn’t anyone else and my father is too far away.

  4. I can write a letter to the other me, explaining, and get a random acquaintance to give it to Rob to give to her. I could mention something only we know about, like that awful incident with the bikini top at the pool …

  5. Is there someone else like Chloe who isn’t on record on my phone etc. I could ask to contact Rob?

  6. Yes! That woman who used to work at Rob’s school, not a teacher like Rob, she was a receptionist – who lived a few streets away from him off Upper Street. She left to have a baby, and we went round there one Saturday and had coffee with her after the birth. The baby kept crying while we were chatting, and I got the feeling she was wondering whether the whole motherhood thing had been a mistake. Jenny, that was her name.

  I got stiffly to my feet (I really wasn’t used to all this walking). There were other things to work out, but I could think about them on the way. They’d give me a couple of sheets of paper at a library, and lend me a pen. Or if I passed an Argos, I could take one of those little pens for writing orders, which are horrid and cheap as they know people walk away with them.

  It took hours to traipse back to the Barbican. By the time I slumped in a comfortable chair in the library on the second floor, clutching the paper and pen a friendly librarian had given me, I felt weak and shaky with tiredness. But I’d worked out what to say.

  Dear Beth,

  This isn’t a joke or anything. The Prof’s OMD7 duplicated you, and there are now two of us, but Sir Peter Ellis has men looking for me so they can put me in a secret lab and do tests then kill me. I couldn’t ring you or Dad or anyone because they are monitoring calls and want a password. I haven’t tried email but I imagine they’ve got that covered too, and are watching you.

  In case you have doubts about this letter – you remember that time at uni when I was trying to get fit and went swimming every morning? And I swam to ask the lifeguard when the next class started, and then realized while he was answering (his expression was a bit odd) that my bikini top had come undone and both breasts were on view? And I never went back? I didn’t tell anyone that.

  So what we have to do is meet, without anyone knowing, and get to a reporter or a television studio and give them an exclusive, tell them everything, then I will be safe. I know it’s breaking the Official Secrets Act, but it’s the only way. Can you research who to approach, and let me know. Write a note of where to meet, then go to the Ladies on the first floor of the Barbican, and tape it (folded up small) to the underneath of the bin in the farthest cubicle from the door. I will check it every day – I’ll aim to look soon after the Barbican opens at 8am and again in the evening at 8pm – but I haven’t got a watch so it might not be exactly those times.

  Write something in the note so I know it’s you.

  Be very careful you are not followed, and act naturally. Find a reason to go to the Barbican. I know you will help me, because I would, and we are the same.

  Beth (2)

  P.S. The Prof knows, and would help, but he is being watched too.

  I read the letter through. It seemed to cover everything. I folded it up, wrote BETH on the outside, then folded the second sheet of A4 and tore it carefully in half. I wrote, using capitals so he wouldn’t recognize my handwriting,

  ROB – PLEASE GIVE THIS TO BETH.

  I went to the librarian’s desk and asked to use his sellotape. I stuck the edges of the Beth letter together, then folded the note to Rob round it, and made a rough envelope out of the second half of the paper, and wrote ROB on it, and his address.

  Now I just had to get it to him.

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 13

  Changes

  Beth had been silent on the way to Sainsbury’s. Chewing over what the boyfriend said, thought Nick, looking at her sideways. She’s forgiven him, when she should have spat in his eye. What were women like? Either demanding harridans, bawling you out for nothing, impossible to please, or putting up with murder and apologizing while they did it. He reckoned he was due one of the second sort.

  Beth didn’t seem to mind him following her round the supermarket. When they came out it was already beginning to get dark; another week or so and it would be the shortest day. Then bloody Christmas. Nick fully intended to ignore it; get in some beers and go to ground, pretend it wasn’t happening. Maybe he could work over the holiday. He carried the bags to the car for her, and she thanked him. He tried a bit of conversation on the way back, to take his mind off the snail’s pace she drove at.

  “So where d’you meet Rob, then?”

  “We were at university together. Edinburgh. Rob was doing his second year when I started.”

  “So you came to London to join him when you finished?”

  “Yes. I left early … I was on the wrong course, and one thing and another …” Beth frowned and bit her lip. Her lips were nice; curvy and full; she didn’t wear lipstick, and her mouth was dusky pink against her pale complexion. Nick didn’t like lipstick. A pause, as they stopped at a zebra crossing, then she said, “What happens when I go out? Do you have to follow me?”

  “Yes, one of us will, but we’re discreet, you won’t know we’re there. Why, are you going out?”

  “Rob and I are seeing a film tonight. Inception, I missed it when it was released. We’re having a pizza first.”

  “I missed it too. It’s supposed to be good.”

  They drove for a few minutes in silence, then Beth said, “What do you do when you’re not following people around protecting them?”

  This amused him. “I don’t always protect people. Quite the opposite. When I’m not working, usual stuff. Sleep, get drunk with friends, watch crap on television.”

  “You’re not married, then?”

  Nick laughed. “You’re right, no wife would stand for that. I used to be married, but I’m not now.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry …”

  “S’okay. Best for us both. She enjoys not having me around, I enjoy not being there. We got married too young.”

  “Have you got any children?”

  That’s why we got married. Sheer bloody carelessness. “One, Josh.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Three.” And today’s my day for seeing him, except I’m here doing overtime. I should see him more often, but if it’s not the job it’s Sandra making some excuse …

  Beth pulled in to Canonbury Close, parked and switched off the engine. She was about to say something when her phone rang and she reached for it.

  “Hi …�
�

  … … … …

  “Why? Can’t you do it tomorrow? When it’s light?”

  … … … …

  “But you said yesterday …”

  … … … …

  Nick sat there, resisting the impulse to seize the phone and tell Rob what a useless piece of shit he was. None of his business. Stay out of it.

  “No, tomorrow’s no good.” A faint flush appeared on her cheeks. “I might go on my own tonight.”

  … … … …

  “No I’m not! Anyway, I can’t talk, I have to go now. See you.” She put the phone away. She didn’t look at Nick as she said, “I’m not going out after all.” He said nothing. They climbed out of the car, and without asking Nick took the bags of shopping up to her flat and put them on the kitchen floor. She walked downstairs with him so she could double lock the door, and stood for a moment awkwardly on the threshold.

  “Well, thanks. I expect you’ll have finished your shift soon and be off.”

  Nick smiled. “Not that soon. Six o’clock.”

  “All those hours sitting out in the cold …”

  “We’ve survived worse. We’ll be back tomorrow.” He stepped away, then had a thought and turned. The door was closing. For a split second he hesitated, then moved briskly down the steps. It had been on the tip of his tongue to suggest they went to Inception together. Crazy idea.

  Beth unpacked the shopping, putting it away neatly and automatically. She couldn’t quite believe Rob had cancelled their date twice, particularly when he’d just cheated on her with Chloe – even if that was a one-off that in his mind didn’t seem to really count. Probably he’d rather go to the cinema than clear out his mother’s garage, he was being kind, but why she needed it done on a Saturday evening, why it couldn’t have waited till the morning, she didn’t know. Rob’s mother was a bit difficult, admittedly, and she’d leaned on Rob ever since Rob’s father died, and Beth supposed you had to make allowances … but it was depressing to think how far down Rob’s list she came. Her needs could always be deferred, apparently, whereas his mother and ex-girlfriend had only to ask and he’d rush over to help.

  He’d once explained to her this was a compliment, that he could rely on her to be sensible, but it was a compliment she could well do without. Although she’d told him she would go to the cinema without him, she wouldn’t. She was afraid of looking pathetic in the eyes of the man who’d be obliged to follow her, out on her own on a Saturday night, solitary among the couples.

  The landline rang. Beth stopped folding plastic bags and went to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Beth Chandler? Moira Smailes here.” The voice at the other end of the line was cut-glass and business-like. “I’m Sir Peter Ellis’s secretary. Sorry to ring you at the weekend, but he told me to contact you as soon as possible.”

  “That’s all right …” What was wrong now?

  “Sir Peter Ellis has decided that it’s unsafe for you to continue working at the Marling Institute – he can’t guarantee an appropriate level of protection for you there.”

  “Oh.” This was bad news. Beth liked her job, and liked the Professor. She liked driving on clear roads to the country each working day, against the flow of commuters flooding into London. They couldn’t sack her, and they surely wouldn’t make her redundant, would they, for something that wasn’t her fault? “So does that mean …”

  “Sir Peter directed me to ask Personnel to find you an alternative. I’m able to offer you a secretarial place in administration, for the same salary you were getting at the Institute, on secondment working at Thames House for the Security Service. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes, that’s where I had my interview.”

  “Good. So if that’s acceptable, arrive on Monday morning at nine, and ask for me. Come to entrance number six, in Thorney Street. They’ll be expecting you at the desk.”

  Beth replaced the receiver with a feeling of dismay, and went to look up Thames House on Google maps to remind herself how to get there.

  Replica ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 14

  Home once more

  I set off for Jenny’s soon after four. The sky was nearly dark already; the snow had stopped, but the air felt even colder and pavement slush was turning to ice. Within ten minutes my trainers were soaked, my gloveless hands freezing in my pockets. I wished I had my iPod. The route took me through White Cross Street, but the food market is only there weekdays. It would be a cheap place to eat, if I was still on the street by Monday, which I really, really hoped I wouldn’t be. I bought myself a Kit Kat and an apple from a corner shop, then decided to save them, as Jenny might offer me coffee and biscuits, maybe even some Christmas cake. My mouth watered. Five pounds sixty-four left.

  I got lost round Old Street. I used to know the area a bit, as Ros once rented a tiny mouse-infested attic near Bunhill Fields, but whenever we went anywhere she always led the way and I didn’t pay much attention. I came across an Argos by the roundabout, and went in to see what sleeping bags cost. The cheapest adult one was fourteen pounds ninety-nine, and after last night I looked at its bright blue bulginess with longing. It was mummy-shaped, with a drawstring hood ‘to prevent draughts and insulate head’. That sounded cosy. I imagined snuggling up in it. If I’d taken all the five pees, I’d have been able to buy it. I wished I had. I pocketed one of their pens when no one was looking, and went to look at a bus stop to work out which way to go.

  When I got to Jenny’s I paused and scanned the street. I didn’t know what I thought I might see – any watchers would be concealed in one of the parked cars or something. But how likely was it Sir Peter would have the manpower to keep an eye on every person I’d ever met? Rationally, I reckoned here was safe enough; but my body did not agree with my mind and went into its now-familiar shaking and sweating routine. Jenny’s flat was on the second floor, and none of the windows were lit. I rang the bell without much hope, and was about to leave when I heard footsteps coming downstairs and the door being unlocked. Jenny opened it and peered enquiringly at me. Her hair was tousled, her face un-made-up and her eyes heavy with sleep.

  “Hello Jenny …” She looked blank. “It’s Beth … Rob’s friend?” Suddenly I wondered what she thought of my appearance. I’d been a lot tidier the last time she’d seen me. “We met just after you had your baby.”

  “Oh, yes … of course.” She paused for a moment. “Do come in. I was having a nap. Freddie’s asleep for once. He’s teething, poor lamb.”

  I followed her up the stairs into the deliciously warm flat. She lit lamps and drew the curtains. Cards were strung over the fireplace, and in the corner stood a Christmas tree. Jenny flicked a switch and the fairy lights came on.

  “Would you like a coffee?”

  “Yes please.”

  We went into the kitchen and she put on the kettle and spooned coffee into two mugs. She didn’t get out any cake or biscuits. “Goodness, your feet are wet. D’you want to take your shoes off and I’ll put them on the radiator?”

  I thanked her. I took my sodden socks off too, wrung them out in the sink (greyish water trickled from them) laid them beside the trainers and leant against the radiator. My feet were blue-white on the cream floor tiles.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen Rob since that time you came round. How is he?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “I see hardly anyone these days. Haven’t got the energy. I can’t remember what it feels like to sleep all night. We’ve done well if we get five hours.” She yawned, and so did I. The kettle boiled. Jenny made the coffee and handed me a mug which I wrapped both hands round, to warm them and conceal their trembling. She moved towards the living room.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got a biscuit?”

  “Sorry – let me have a look. I didn’t think of it, I’m trying to lose the weight I put on while I was pregnant. There might be some at the back, pretty ancient ones.” She rummaged in the cupboard, took out a crumpled
packet of chocolate chip cookies and put its contents on a plate. Four biscuits. Better than nothing.

  We sat in the living room making stilted conversation, both of us stifling yawns, me trying not to bolt the biscuits and nerving myself to ask her to deliver the letter. She’d think it so odd … I took a deep breath, and an outraged yell came from another room. Jenny sighed and looked at her watch.

  “He’s awake. I was hoping he’d do longer than that. Now he’ll want feeding.”

  She fetched the baby, his little face scarlet and contorted with rage. He was a bit bigger than the last time I’d seen him, but didn’t appear to have mellowed. Once his indignant cries had diminished somewhat, I dutifully said how sweet he was. Jenny checked his nappy and took him with her to the kitchen to warm some milk. In their absence I finished every last crumb of biscuit. They came back and she gave him the milk in a beaker with a spout. Into the sudden silence I blurted,

  “I’ve come here to ask you a favour. Could you give Rob a letter from me? We had a row, and he won’t take my calls, and I don’t think he reads my emails and letters.”

  Jenny gave me a wondering stare. “But I don’t work at the school any more … I never see Rob these days.”

  I persevered. “Yes, but he only lives a few streets away, and I thought maybe if you were out walking Freddie one evening, you could just ring his bell and give it to him. Discreetly. In with a Christmas card or something.”

  Fine lines appeared between her brows. “But if he won’t open letters, why should he open it just because I hand it to him?”

  She thought I was mad. Desperation made me persist. “Because he won’t know it’s from me till he opens it. Then he might read it. I’m really sorry to ask you, but I can’t think of any other way.”