Page 18 of The Other Twin
When Jade was six weeks old, the social worker said that she thought Nicola had borderline postnatal depression, and so her GP referred her to a therapist. She started seeing her the week after Easter. Her name was Helen, and she wore chunky jewellery and never asked about anything unless Nicola brought it up first. She liked that abouther. Helen let her talk about her childhood, about the day Penni fell out of the tree, about how she and her sister had previously sworn never to let anything come between them. She didn’t tell Helen she regretted breaking that promise. She just told her she didn’t know how to fix it.
‘You’re grieving two separate things,’ Helen said. ‘The future you thought you’d have, and the relationship you lost with your sister.’ She sipped her tea and waited for Nicola to speak. She never did. She just let the words hang there, solid and irrefutable. That was the last time Nicola attended. It was too real. Too painful.
Now she’s living a new reality with her daughter. Just the two of them. It’s lonely, but she doesn’t have the energy to fix that. To go out and talk to people. She met up with Leila, the girl from antenatal classes, a couple of times. But, aside from their babies, they didn’t have anything in common. Leila’s married with a supportive husband, and a big, loving, noisy family close by. Nicola felt too overwhelmed by all that, as well as a little envious, so she pulled back, made excuses not to meet up. She knows it was a silly thing to do. Leila was sweet, generous, good company. But Nicola couldn’t handle it. It made her feel socially awkward and unworthy.
So, here she is, pushing a pram along the streets of Middlesbrough alone. Drizzle turns to great splattering raindrops that ping against the rain guard like popcorn in a pan. Cars sweep past, spraying puddles, and Nicola is soaked through, her hands frozen and stiff as they grip the handle. It’s at moments like this when she understands how big a mistake she’s made. What the hell is she doing with a baby? She’s single with no family, hardly any friends. She’s only twenty-nine years old, and her life feels like it’s over. Part of her really did want to keep Jade, but the other part did it to spite Penni. She can admit that to herself. Although if she were given the opportunity to go back and reverse it, she knows she never would. Jade has somehow burrowed her way into Nicola’s heart.
Penni and Paul haven’t been in touch, other than to tell her they’re moving down south because of the business.Bullshit. Nicola suspected they might do something like that. That they’d want to get away from her. Penni’s probably scared Nicola might try to lay claim to her other daughter. If Nicola had a partner, she probably would. But it’s enough to deal with one baby on her own. Two might finish her. At least she has Paul’s money to tide her over for a few months, along with the lump sum to buy a nice little terraced house. That was the plan, anyway.
But now that Penni and Paul are relocating from Whitby, Nicola has the germ of an idea. It’s not definite yet, but it’s something that could become a reality if she makes it happen. Once her sister is settled down south, Nicola is going to find out where. It shouldn’t be too hard, as they’re moving their business too. She seems to remember that Paul’s originally from Hampshire, so maybe that’s where they’re going. Once they’re established, Nicola will use her funds to buy a little flat nearby. Not too near that they run into one another, but close enough that she can keep an eye on her other daughter. To stay close to her. To shorten the mother–daughter cord that will be painfully stretched to breaking point if she’s taken too far away.
The rain is hammering down now, so Nicola takes refuge in an empty bus shelter. She rubs her hands together to warm them and wipes the droplets from her face before peering into the pram to see her daughter sound asleep.
Despite the hardship and the loneliness and the fear and sleep deprivation, despite the fallout with her family, and the slow road to her mental and physical recovery, she still can’t believe this little human being is hers. She can’t believe any of it. For the first time in her life, she feels like she has something to lose. And she’s going to do everything she can to keep it.
Chapter Thirteen
Jade
The next day, I creep out of Zac’s house with the stealth of a cat burglar, my trainers making no sound on the stairs. Much as I was grateful for his arms last night, I’m not in the mood for conversation today.
Outside, the sky is as grey as a bruise, the air filled with the sound of birds who have urgent business. I cut through streets that feel unfamiliar in this light, like the world’s been freshly shaken up and all the shops have moved an inch to the left. I don’t want to go home, but there’s nowhere else to go.
At the flat, I hold my breath in the lobby and slide the key in slowly and carefully, imagining the sound waves radiating through Mum’s cheap-arse door. She’ll be out for the count, I hope, shrouded in Primark sheets, breathing like a congested pug. I tiptoe to the lounge, debating whether to make toast.
I settle for a cup of instant coffee and take it over to the sofa, remembering my phone’s nearly dead. I dig the charger out of my bag (it’s not even mine, it’s Zac’s, stolen with no shame), plug it in, and watch the screen flicker slowly to life.
And then I google her – like it’s an accident, like my fingers just kind of slide on to the keyboard and type ‘Bella Newbury’ out of muscle memory. It’s not an ordinary name, so the first hit is her, capital-H Her. A piece from a couple of years ago catches my eye – she’s on the front page of some local business rag, all teeth and ambition. She’s the owner of Newbury New Forest Property Group – a bit of a tongue-twister, but it’s a sleek little empire of lettings and sales, with more than a few million-pound mansions on the books. The kind of business my mum rails against when she’s had more than three vodka tonics. Now I know why she has an aversion to estate agents.
The article calls Bella ‘a disruptor in the housing market’, which makes me want to gag, and there’s a whole spiel about how she took over her parents’ company and doubled its size within a year. There’s a photo of her at some charity ball, arms linked with the local Tory MP, the kind of girl who stands in the centre of every photo. I’m halfway down her Insta, scrolling through shots of her in velvet blazers and swanky offices, when I hear the death rattle of Mum’s bedroom door.
I freeze, thumb poised mid-scroll, listening to the familiar rhythm: the pause, the sigh, the shuffle of her slippers on the carpet. She appears in the doorway, last night’s mascara smudged, her grey towelling dressing gown open over an ancient Sainsbury’s tee. I cock an eyebrow and pretend I’m just watching TikTok videos.
Mum makes us both tea and then slumps on to the sofa next to me, clutching her mug like a talisman, and looks at me. Just looks, for a full thirty seconds, until my skin starts itching.
‘So...’ She speaks finally, her voice gone all soft. ‘Did you talk to her?’
I shake my head. ‘Went to Zac’s.’
She exhales. ‘Would have been nice if you’d let me know.’
I shrug, unable to form the word ‘sorry’.
‘You okay?’ she asks.
I shake my head again, but only a tiny bit, so she can pretend not to see.
Mum exhales hard. ‘I’m sorry, Jade. I should’ve told you. Should’ve told you years ago.’ Her eyes go all watery, and she makes this strangled noise like she’s trying to swallow a sob. ‘I just... I didn’t know how.’
I want to shout at her, to throw my phone at the wall like a reality TV star, but all I do is blink at her. ‘Yes, you should have,’ I say, but it comes out small.
She looks so wretched, I almost feel bad. Almost.
‘I found her online,’ I add, just to twist the knife.
She winces and nods. ‘Of course you did. You always were good at digging.’
I can’t stop myself. ‘She’s loaded.’
