‘I can’t leave him out there battering the door in.’
She followed him into the hall and watched as he drew back the bolts. When he opened it, Tom stood looking at them in amazement. ‘Mac? Clara? What the hell are you doing here?’
‘We brought some things of Luke’s up after the fire,’ Clara replied, her heart still pounding in fear.
He nodded distractedly. ‘The fire, yes, my God, are you OK? I couldn’t believe it when I heard—’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Thank you,’ Clara replied. She tried to smile but it died on her lips. Nobody moved.
Tom glanced past them. ‘Where are my parents?’
‘They’ve gone to bed,’ Mac told him. ‘They asked us to stay tonight. They’re actually in a pretty bad way, mate. We don’t want any trouble.’
Tom stared at him. ‘Trouble? What are you talking about? Look, I’ve had a long day. I’ve just been questioned by fucking plod for three hours and I need a drink.’ Pushing past them both he strode into the kitchen. Following him, they watched as he took a bottle down from the wine rack. He poured himself a drink and downed it, then immediately poured another, watching Clara steadily above the rim of his glass.
Clara and Mac exchanged a glance. ‘Tom, what are you doing here?’ Mac asked again.
He considered him for a moment. ‘Well, not that it’s any of your business, Mac, but I’ve come to talk to my parents.’
There was a belligerence about him, a wildness she’d not seen before. She thought about how Mac had said he’d gone off the rails as a teenager, and she saw in him for the first time now a slightly unhinged, unpredictable side to him. ‘They’re asleep,’ she told him.
He finished his second glass and continued to stare at her. ‘Are they? Are they really, Clara? Well, maybe it’s time they woke the fuck up.’ He slammed his glass down on the table and went into the hall. Raising his voice he shouted up the staircase, ‘Mum? Dad? Wakey-wakey!’
Rushing over to him, Clara put a hand on his arm and cried, ‘Tom! What are you doing?’
‘Something I should have done a very long time ago,’ he replied. Raising his voice again, he called, ‘Get down here now! It’s time to wake up.’ He looked at Clara and muttered, ‘It’s time we all fucking woke up.’
Without another word he strode into the living room and flung himself on to the sofa where he sat motionless, morosely staring ahead.
Clara watched him in horror. Should she call the police? Glancing at Mac, she began to edge towards the hall, to where she’d left her bag hanging over the banister. If she could only get to her mobile without him seeing, she could go somewhere out of earshot and call 999. Without thinking, she let the photograph in her hand drop.
But before she could escape Tom leant forward and picked it up. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
She stopped in her tracks. ‘Nothing. Just a photo of Luke’s I found,’ she said nervously. ‘I don’t know who it is. I found it in—’
Tom frowned in confusion then looked at her strangely. ‘You don’t know who this is? What are you talking about? This is Emily, of course. This is my sister Emily.’
There was absolute silence. And then Mac and Clara said at exactly the same time, ‘What?’
‘My sister.’ He stared down at it. ‘I didn’t know Luke had this picture of her, I thought my darling parents destroyed every last trace of her. Guilt can make you do all kinds of crazy shit, after all.’
But Clara wasn’t listening. ‘Emily? This is Emily?’
Tom looked back at their astonished faces in surprise. ‘Well, yes. Of course it is. Why? Who did you think it was?’
‘But I’ve met Emily,’ Clara said, her voice rising in panic. ‘This isn’t …’
‘You’ve met …?’ He stared at her. ‘No, you haven’t. She disappeared almost twenty years ago. How could you possibly have met her?’
She glanced around at Mac, but saw he was looking now for something in his bag. ‘I was contacted by someone who said they were Emily,’ she said, turning back to Tom. ‘I met up with her in a bar, she came to my flat. If this is Emily, then who have I been meeting?’
They stared back at each other.
‘Clara?’ Mac had pulled out his laptop and was turning it on. He brought it over to them. ‘This is the person you’ve been meeting, isn’t it?’ She looked down at the laptop screen, and there was a picture of Emily, or at least the person who’d said that she was. It was a slightly blurred photo taken of her profile, surrounded by a crowd of people.
‘Where did you get this?’ she asked Mac.
He flushed and looked away. ‘I took it. When you said you were going to meet her in the bar that first time …’ He met her astonished gaze. ‘I was worried!’ he said defensively. ‘I know you didn’t want me to come with you, but I needed to make sure it wasn’t a trap, that you weren’t meeting someone dangerous. I’m sorry. I waited in a doorway down the road from the bar, then when she left you I followed her to see where she was going. It all seemed so suspicious.’
Her eyes widened. ‘So I did see you that night! I thought I’d imagined it.’ She turned back to the picture. ‘Where did you follow her to?’
‘Shoreditch Tube. I had my Leica around my neck as usual. When she was buying a ticket, I took a picture of her but she turned around and saw me. I just brazened it out and kept walking, got on the Tube and went home.’
Clara stared at him in horror. ‘What camera did you say it was?’
‘The Leica, the one that—’
‘Went missing from your flat?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could she have followed you home that night?’
He thought about it. ‘I suppose. I didn’t see her, but it was busy, rush hour, there were a lot of people.’
‘So she could have followed you. She could have broken in later and stolen it from your flat, knowing you had her picture stored on your camera?’
He looked at her. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he said.
‘So if this person isn’t Emily,’ Clara said, ‘then who the fuck is she? Who have I been meeting with?’
Tom was still looking at the picture on the laptop screen. ‘I know her,’ he said. ‘I know this woman.’ They turned to stare at him. ‘I met her when I was qualifying in Manchester, about – what? – ten years or so ago. Her name’s Hannah.’ He shook his head in confusion. ‘But I don’t understand. Why is she pretending to be my sister?’
‘How did you know her?’ Mac asked.
‘She answered an advert for a room in a house I shared. We gave the room to someone else, thank God, but after that she seemed to be everywhere. Wherever I went – supermarket, pub or gym or whatever – there’d she’d be. I’d turn around to find her staring at me. If I approached her, she’d just walk off. It was really fucking weird. Then suddenly, she disappeared. Vanished out of the blue and I never saw her again.’
Clara listened to him in amazement. ‘But who on earth is she? None of this makes any sense.’
At that moment they heard footsteps on the stairs, and Oliver and Rose, crumpled and dazed in their dressing gowns, came into the room. ‘What’s happening?’ Oliver asked. He started in surprise when he saw his son. ‘Tom? What are you doing here?’
Clara glanced at Tom, then said to Rose and Oliver. ‘Something very strange is going on.’
Rose put her hand to her mouth. ‘What?’ she said nervously. ‘What is it?’
‘I found this picture in the flat,’ she said, passing it to her. ‘I thought it might be someone who … well, anyway, I didn’t know who it was.’
Rose visibly flinched when she saw it. ‘Emily,’ she whispered, her face stricken.
Oliver came and stood behind her and the two of them looked down at their daughter’s face in silent anguish.
‘The thing is,’ Clara said, ‘after the TV appeal I was contacted by someone saying they were Emily.’
Their eyes shot to her face. ‘What?’ said Oliver faintly.
‘I met with her … and a while later I found this picture in Luke’s filing cabinet, not knowing that this was the real Emily.’