The Missing Twin Page 6

  She thought about contacting him now the chips were down and their lives might depend on it, but did not do it. He would most likely hate her for being party to the whole sorry affair of his banishment from the family home and subsequent exile, and for only getting touch when she needed something from him. To track him down and then have her requests fall on deaf ears would be worse than not hearing anything at all, because then she would know that she had lost her only brother for ever. She pushed thoughts of Ali from her mind. Imagining that out there somewhere lay a saviour, a guardian angel who could guide and help them to safety, was plain fantasy. She, Ehsan and the children would survive only on their wits, by the making of good decisions, and with a whole lot of luck.

  Angels do not exist.

  EIGHT

  Edie

  Abandoned anew by Vuk, Edie meandered through the resort, at a loss for what to do. She had thought about the whole Laura shenanigans almost without let-up and decided that in all likelihood, she had gone off with some bloke – perhaps one of the Russians they had met at the marina – and would amble back once his flight had departed for Moscow or St Petersburg or Vladivostok or wherever it was he was from. She had no idea where Vladivostok was but she liked the way the letters rolled off her tongue and it amused her to think what its inhabitants would be called. If people from St Petersburg were Peterburzhy, would it make them Vladivostokhy? Or Vladivostokites like Muscovites? Either one could double as the name for an unpleasant intimate infection or a particularly repellent insect.

  She passed cabana 16, grumpily kicking at the sand as she walked. The cabana was quiet and still; the loungers piled on top of each other in the corner, the washing line free of swimming costumes and towels, the recycling crate by the front door empty of bottles – all indicating a property waiting for its next inhabitants.

  Pausing only for a second to think about it, Edie slipped through the gate and disappeared behind the fence. Stripping off her clothes as she walked, she arrived at the edge of the pool in seconds. It was not deep enough for diving so she slid into the water and struck off from the side, reaching the opposite wall in just a few strokes. The cabana pools were small but kept at just the right temperature – cooler than the sea at this time of year, and in the middle of the afternoon, when the beach was at its busiest, Edie preferred to stay away. It was all right if you had nothing to do but lounge around and read trashy novels, but when it was only ever a brief respite from her life of drudgery, it made her too jealous of the holidaymakers.

  Pushing her body down to the very bottom of the pool she practised her breath-holding, relaxing completely, slowing her heart-rate, counting to sixty as many times as she could. Three minutes twenty. No improvement, in fact a relapse; she needed to keep working at it. She surfaced and arched her body backwards, streaming effortlessly onto her back where she lay still, her arms and legs spread into a star. She floated with her eyes shut, bright red pricks of light pulsing behind the lids, the gentle swoosh of the water filling her ears.

  ‘Mummy, mummy, this one, this one.’

  ‘Let’s go in, I want to go swimming.’

  Voices filtered through to her, clearly audible but barely registering.

  ‘There’s someone in our pool!’ A child’s helium pitched squeal, suddenly much too close, seared into Edie’s stupor.

  Shit! The new occupants had arrived and were about to discover her, Goldilocks-like in their swimming pool, and not only that, but stark naked. Her body convulsed from back to front and into swimming position, and she opened her eyes to be greeted by two little faces bent low to the water. They were examining her as if she were an exotic bug of a type they had never seen before and were curious about.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I just finished cleaning and I was so hot,’ she lied, thinking off the top of her head as she climbed out of the water. As she did so, she noticed that the children were accompanied by two adults, one a woman, shortish and plump with a blonde bob that swung around her ears like a shaggy, past-its-best halo and the other a ginger-haired man, open-jawed in amazement.

  Attempting to cover her breasts with one arm and her genitals with other, Edie executed a comedic, half-hopping, half-shuffling movement towards where her discarded clothes lay, distributed in random heaps on the poolside tiles.

  ‘Who are you? Why are you here?’ The woman’s voice was well-educated, her words elaborately enunciated. ‘Is this definitely our accommodation, Patrick? If so, I think we should complain,’ she continued, turning to the man, presumably her husband, beside her.

  It was a few moments before he regained his composure enough to reply. ‘Oh no, Debs, that’s not necessary.’

  Edie had gathered up her clothes and was pulling on her shorts whilst performing a weird, fumbling run towards the gate. ‘So sorry,’ she called out behind her. ‘Bye. Enjoy your stay.’

  ‘We have disturbed Psyche at her bathing,’ she heard the man say before she was through the gate. ‘I can think of worse things …’ and then Edie was out of earshot and never heard the end of the sentence or found out what the worse things were.

  At least he didn’t seem likely to complain to Vlad. The last thing she needed was to be chucked off the resort right now, when Laura might reappear at any moment.

  On her way to the bar a bit later, she encountered Zayn hovering amidst the olive trees, almost as if he were waiting for her.

  ‘Has your sister turned up yet?’ he asked, his heavy eyes doleful as ever.

  ‘Nope,’ replied Edie, curtly. She couldn’t hang around chatting as she was already late.

  ‘And you have still heard nothing?’ Zayn had secateurs in his hand and snapped off a stray olive branch as he spoke. It tumbled gently to the ground where its silver shimmer was quickly obliterated by the sandy soil.

  ‘Nope,’ repeated Edie, impatient to get on.

  Zayn pursed his lips and nodded his head slowly up and down whilst making a low, tutting noise.

  ‘What?’ demanded Edie. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Zayn forced a smile. ‘Nothing at all. Just that I hope you find her. I know what it’s like to lose a.… ’ he tailed off, without finishing his sentence. He looked as if he might cry.

  ‘I wouldn’t describe her as lost so much as temporarily mislaid,’ countered Edie, horrified at Zayn’s barely disguised emotion, and backtracking hurriedly on her previous assertions that Laura was, indeed, missing. Without pausing for Zayn’s reaction she made her escape. ‘Sorry, got to go,’ she called out as she galloped off down the path, her sandalled feet sending sand flying.

  But all evening, working behind the bar, she could not rid her mind of the seeds of worry that Zayn’s words and troubled demeanour had, probably unintentionally, planted.

  The fairy lights sparkled and the stars lit up the calm, flat water of the bay, and everything looked gorgeous but Edie found herself eyeing every male customer as a potential suspect in the Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Sister; presuming all were hiding knowledge of her twin’s whereabouts. The only person she couldn’t accuse of nefariousness in this respect was Patrick, the man whose pool she had invaded earlier, given that he’d only just arrived. When he came to the bar to ask for two Coca-Colas, a white wine and beer, she faced up to him, looking him squarely in the eye and serving him as if she had never seen him before. He responded in similar vein, although when Edie turned back from taking the glasses from the shelf, she was sure she caught the shadow of a smirk on his lips.

  ‘Can I put it on my room?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Edie took a notepad and a pen, which she tapped idly against her teeth as if deep in thought. ‘That would be cabana 16, wouldn’t it?’

  Each flashed the other a complicit grin and Patrick walked away with the drinks.

  A few moments later, Edie jumped when an arm encircled her waist and a pair of firm lips planted a kiss on the side of her neck.

  Vuk.

  Overcome with relief, she turned to face hi
m and put her arms around him, her ally. ‘Hello, stranger.’ His hand grazed the back of her thigh and slid up towards her buttocks. She stiffened, her body tight with desire.

  ‘Back already?’ Edie couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘I didn’t expect you so soon.’

  Vuk shrugged, but didn’t answer. His hands were inside her shorts now and he kissed her again, hard on the lips. And then brusquely detached himself and went to sit at a table with a group of locals where Edie kept a surreptitious eye on him until Stefan awarded her a break. Immediately, she joined Vuk, alone now, silently smoking and staring into nothing.

  ‘Howdie,’ she said, standing behind him and running her hands over his shoulders and down to his pecs. His muscles were hard, his body solid. She bent down and kissed the top of his head, smelling the sun in his warm, thick hair.

  ‘Sit down, Edie. You look tired.’

  Edie flopped into the chair next to him. ‘I’m officially knackered,’ she groaned, letting out a long sigh.

  Vuk wordlessly pushed his glass of beer over towards her, indicating that she should drink.

  ‘How was your trip?’ asked Edie, wanting to break the silence.

  ‘Fine.’

  Vuk really took the prize for being economical with words. One-syllable answers were his speciality.

  ‘Just a short one this time, then?’ She desperately tried to elicit some more information.

  Vuk merely flicked his head backwards in affirmation.

  ‘I’ve made a decision,’ she announced, only aware of this fact as she articulated it. ‘I’m going to go to the police about Laura tomorrow. Just in case.’

  Vuk said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes,’ asserted Edie, as if convincing herself that the action she had just thought of was definitely the right one. Vuk’s attitude was hardly encouraging and seemed to demand that she came up with some kind of justification. ‘I’m sure Laura is fine but I’m thinking of our parents; they’re away at the moment, trekking in the Andes, so they’re out of contact. But I’m imagining what they would say if they knew Laura had vanished and I didn’t do anything about it.’

  Vuk drew on his cigarette, tipped his head back and blew smoke rings, small and perfectly formed, into the blackness of the night.

  ‘It will be difficult to get the police to understand,’ he replied, his voice deep and even as usual. But Edie thought she detected a flash of annoyance in his eyes.

  ‘Look, I know I don’t speak the language but there’ll be someone there who speaks English, surely? Especially in a tourist place like this.’

  She fell silent, expectant, waiting for him to say he would come with her. She was desperate for him to prove his devotion to her, could feel her need growing and swelling like blotting paper in a pool of water. She pressed her lips hard together and clenched her fists to stop herself from articulating that need. She had done this before, scared people off with her intensity. That could not be allowed to happen again.

  She watched, all her muscles tensed to contain herself, as Vuk crushed his cigarette into the ashtray in front of him, pushing it down so forcefully that the stub bent and split at the side, spewing forth a few flakes of golden-brown tobacco that fell infinitesimally slowly onto the grey ash.

  ‘I suggest that you do not go to the police, Edie,’ he said. His countenance was calm, but his eyes had a steeliness that seemed to contain the inexplicable hint of a warning.

  ‘I really do not recommend it.’

  ‘Why not?’ It seemed absurd. The police were where you went for help. Everyone knew that.

  ‘There is a lot of corruption here. The old ways die hard and the truth can be a rare commodity. People say the police are in league with the drug gangs, that they don’t try to prevent the wars that break out between them now and then. Foreigners should take care to stay away from authority, lest they get involved.’ He sighed, as if he had the weight of the world and inefficient officials on his shoulders. ‘The police will do nothing to help you, I can guarantee that.’

  ‘What if you spoke to them, then?’ retaliated Edie, even while Vuk’s words played in her mind. She really didn’t know what he was talking about, did not understand the pre-democratic era he seemed to be describing. ‘Surely that would make a difference?’

  Vuk emitted a short snort of incredulity. ‘I don’t trust anyone in uniform. If you had lived all your life in our world, you would not either.’

  Edie gaped, open-mouthed. Vuk’s cryptic words had floored her.

  He reached toward her and stroked her cheek, gently and firmly. ‘I only want the best for you, little one. Nothing but the best.’ Bending forward, he kissed her on the lips, hard and purposefully.

  Edie felt herself relax. Only the best. Of course that’s what he wanted for her. And Laura, too, she was sure.

  She kissed him back.

  NINE

  Fatima

  The pudgy fingers of the man in the gold shop repulsed Fatima as he picked at her bracelets, her necklace, her wedding and engagement rings.

  ‘They’re not much, are they?’ he stated disparagingly, his grubby glasses fallen to the end of his nose and dandruff from his greasy hair coating his shoulders.

  You disgust me, Fatima wanted to say. You are a horrible little man who feeds on the plight of others.

  She kept her mouth tightly closed. The odium she felt was not really for him; it was for the perpetrators of this conflict that allowed some to profit whilst most were reduced to utter ignominy. Watching the dealer distastefully poke her earrings she wondered how her happy, settled, ordered life had come to this. And then gave a contemptuous inner laugh at the idea that she had it worse than anyone else, at the audacity of even thinking that she didn’t deserve what had been meted out to her. Millions of lives had been slashed to pieces, tens of thousands slain, a multitude left with scars that would never heal. And she was sad about selling her trinkets. She despised herself for the pettiness of her thoughts.

  And yet her heart lurched in her chest when the dealer held a magnifying glass against the stones in the necklace that she always wore. The chain was pure gold and the pendant an interlocking figure of eight shape with two emeralds surrounded by tiny diamonds and seed pearls. Fayed had given it to her when the twins were born, an emerald for each of them to match their mother’s green eyes, he had said. It had been in his family for years and Fatima had always admired it but never thought to own it herself, assuming that Noor, who possessed the status conferred by seniority, would get the pick of the most valuable pieces.

  ‘This one – this is nice,’ the man said, laying it carefully back onto the table.

  Fatima gave an almost imperceptible nod of agreement. Remain implacable. Give nothing away. This had been her advice to herself as she set off for the shop.

  ‘Take whatever you can get,’ Ehsan had urged her, his brow growing taut and his eyes wide, obviously fearing that she would bungle it somehow and get ripped off, end up selling everything for a song.

  Fatima had nodded whilst secretly concocting her own game plan. She was not going to panic and give the jewellery away. She was nobody’s pushover. She’d been telling herself that since the day at the bank and she was beginning to believe it – or at least to make a good enough pretence. There had been bad decisions in the past, though. If only they’d sold the house and left at the beginning, when it all started, Fatima railed at herself now. Then she’d have cash in her pocket and could keep the jewellery for later, for the rainy day that would undoubtedly come all too soon. But no one had known, then, how bad it was going to get, how long it would all go on for. No one could possibly have predicted such a complete breakdown of society, such carnage, such an exodus. Now Fatima had only her few pieces of jewellery to fall back on and thank goodness Fayed’s accountancy business had been lucrative, once, and that he had been generous and rich enough to bestow gold and silver and precious stones upon her, and that she’d been wearing so many of them on the day the bombs fell. S
he was going to need every single pound she could glean from them today. There was nothing that mattered now except getting Marwa and Maryam out of here.

  The gold dealer offered a price. It was derisory.

  ‘I don’t have time for this.’ Fatima scooped up all the jewels, delicate chains dripping between her fingers, the stones of her engagement ring digging into the palm of her hand, and left. She said nothing more, just turned her back and walked away.

  The man called her bluff, shrugging and busying himself with some paperwork. She almost lost her nerve and returned to the counter but just managed to hold on long enough for him to have to summon her.

  ‘Wait,’ he called out, ‘let me take another look.’

  She was at the door already and she paused, hovering on the threshold, making him wait for her to turn back.

  His second offer was better, but still nowhere near enough. Fatima scowled scornfully and refused, but this time remained where she was standing. The dealer did some more poking and prodding and examining and scrutinising. Fatima put forward an amount that she would find acceptable. He laughed in her face. She almost capitulated, anything to get away from the humiliation he was joyously meting out to her.

  Inside her head, a voice was crying out to her, this is all you have! Nothing else, just this. Don’t mess it up, you foolish woman. She stood firm.

  Pursing her lips tightly together, squaring her shoulders, Fatima steadfastly gave the dealer another sum, her absolute minimum. It was not much less than the previous number. Negotiations like these could take hours or minutes. It all depended on how much the seller wanted to sell and the buyer wanted to buy. However much she affected nonchalance, the dealer knew that a woman only sold her jewellery, her wedding ring, if she had to. She only had so much power to influence the outcome.

  Eventually, they agreed on a price. It was far lower than the value of the items, but considerably higher than Fatima had expected to get.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Fatima, and actually meant it.