‘Maybe it’s someone who looks like her,’ Zac muses. ‘She’s getting on the motorway. Not sure we’ve got enough in the tank for that.’
‘We’ll be fine.’ I glance at the petrol gauge. ‘It’s not even in the red yet.’
Zac shakes his head, but follows her down the slip road anyway. ‘Okay, I’m invested now.’ He merges the car into the fast-flowing traffic. ‘Could she have a sister?’
I considered this possibility back when I first saw this version of Mum a few weeks ago, but I dismissed it. No one could look thatsimilar, not even a sister. I shake my head. ‘Mum’s an only child. Although...’
‘What?’ Zac prompts, moving into the middle lane.
‘You know she was brought up in care, right? Lots of different homes and foster families.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘She doesn’t really talk about it, even to me. So, maybe she was split up from any siblings she might have had. Maybe she doesn’t even know!’
‘Yeah, but the social workers would have told her if she had a sister, surely?’ Zac indicates and shifts to the outside lane. ‘Well, whoever she is, she’s going over the speed limit. Must be doing ninety.’
‘I just can’t believe it’s a sibling. I mean, you saw her, she’s the spit of Mum. She doesn’t look similar, she looks exactly the same.’
‘Could be a twin,’ Zac says.
I try to calm my breathing. This whole thing is making me feel weird. Either Mum’s been lying to me, or she has an unknown sister, both of which are strange. I realise that I could have an aunt! Arichaunt.
After ten minutes on the M27, she leaves the motorway at Cadnam and heads south, deeper into the New Forest, towards Lyndhurst. Fifteen minutes later, with the fuel gauge blinking, we drive into Lymington, a swanky coastal town on the edge of the New Forest. The Mini heads down to the marina.
‘Looks like she’s parking.’ I state the obvious as she drives into a public car park and reverses expertly into a narrow space.
‘Just as well, ’cause we’re out of petrol,’ Zac replies as the engine splutters and dies. We manage to coast into a nearby parking space. ‘Lucky we made it,’ he adds. ‘Gonna have to walk to a garage to get some fuel though. Think I’ve got a can in the boot, otherwise I’ll have to buy one. Hope it’s not too expensive.’
I’m barely listening. All my concentration is focused on my mother, or the woman who’s her double. She exits the car and heads down to the bustling dock, designer handbag over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to catch up with her.’ I release my seat belt and open the car door.
‘Hang on, I’ll come with you,’ Zac says. ‘Just let me grab a ticket.’
‘Catch me up.’ I clamber out of the car.
The sun is low and liquefied, molten orange bleeding into the marina, but my gaze is fixed on Mum, phone pressed to her ear as she waves to someone on a sleek yacht moored at the quay. The sort of vessel that looks more at home off Cannes than our wind-lashed spit of English coastline, all shining hull and tinted glass, the nameMimipainted on its side in curly blue italics.
Some guy, rangy and tanned, is leaning over the yacht’s rail in a navy polo and chinos. He looks vaguely familiar. It takes me a second to realise – it’s the Range Rover guy from the other week, waving at Mum like they’re old friends. Or more. Something sharp and cold needles its way into my gut. I pull out my phone and pretend to check texts, but really I’m toggling to the camera and zooming in.
My view is blocked as more people are trickling on to the yacht, all of them dressed the same way – linen, cashmere, deck shoes, a uniform that signals easy money. The soundtrack is synthy house music and tipsy shrieking, overlaid with the salty tang of the harbour.
I increase my pace, irritated by a dawdling family taking up the whole of the walkway. I skirt around them and see someone else has joined the man on deck. A young woman around my age, laughing and waving, her gold bracelet glinting in the evening sun. Her nose is aquiline, her jawline sharp, identical to my own, and when she looks up, the resemblance hits me so hard I stop breathing for a fullfive seconds. She’s me. Not literally me, obviously. But my double. Same shoulders, same dimples, same...everything.
That can’t be right. I blink and stare, hardly able to believe my eyes. Am I hallucinating? Have I somehow found myself in an alternate universe where there are rich versions of me and Mum? That girl... she’s the spitting image of me, only slimmer and more glamorous. Like an upmarket version with posh clothes and expensive hair. Could she be my sister? Or – I can hardly believe it – atwin?
My mouth goes dry. My heart is racing so fast I’m dizzy. The yacht’s crew pass round canapés and glasses of champagne as guests chatter beneath fluttering bunting. I should storm aboard, demand answers. Instead, I sink on to a nearby bench, hands shaking. How could Mum keep such a secret? Am I losing my mind – or have I just discovered a hidden life of hers that I never imagined?
That woman boarding the yacht... can she really be my mother? She drives a brand-new car for goodness’ sake! No. Mum must have a sister. I need to know who they are and what’s going on. I keep my gaze trained on the yacht as Mum’s double joins the Range Rover man and my double, and they hug. The three of them could be a family. Maybe they are.
I press my palms to my temples. How could Mum have kept such a huge secret from me? Does she even know about them? Whatever the truth is, I need to find out.
Chapter Six
‘We’ll get in trouble,’ Penni whines, shifting from foot to foot beside her sister, who’s already heaving herself up and over the rickety back fence. ‘Mike said we’re not allowed in the woods without a grown-up.’
‘Don’t be silly. We won’t get caught,’ Nicola reassures. ‘Come on.’ Their foster dad is at work, and their foster mum, Janet, is having a nap upstairs. It’s the perfect time for them to have a bit of fun. They won’t be long, just twenty minutes or so. Janet always naps for at least an hour, so she won’t even know they’re gone.
‘Okay, but just for ten minutes.’ Penni relents, as Nicola knew she would.
