Page 37 of The Other Twin
Back in the hall, I’m about to open the front door when the landing outside creaks. I press my ear to the door and listen. The sound stops. I hope that’s not Bella returning. I don’t have a plan for what to do if I come face to face with her. For a split second, I consider bolting back across the flat and finding somewhere to hide. There must be a space in that gigantic closet. My heart is pounding as I try not to panic. I’m sure it’s just one of the neighbours. Or maybe it’s nothing. I linger for a moment, wishing there was a peephole. But all seems quiet now, so I risk it and dart out—
—straight into a woman coming out of the opposite flat. My brain short-circuits. How am I going to explain myself?
She’s petite, dark-haired, early thirties, dressed in a navy-blue Lycra set with neon orange piping, a smart gym bag slung over one shoulder. Her face is all angles and energy, with bright, dark eyes that glimmer with surprise, but also recognition.
She speaks first, her voice brisk and softly accented, Spanish maybe. ‘Oh, hi Bella!’ She beams. ‘Perfect timing! I wanted to ask if you got the email from the management company?’
I respond, as evenly as I can, ‘No... I mean... maybe, I’ve been slammed this morning. Haven’t checked. What’s it about?’ The words come out a little high, but the neighbour doesn’t notice.
She waves her phone in the air. ‘It’s the roof repairs. They’re asking for another contribution from each flat. I thought we agreed a cap last time?’
My mind blanks for a moment. I haven’t prepared for any of this, I don’t know anything about ‘contributions’ or ‘caps’. But then, feeling a crackle of something like dark joy, I lean into it: yet another person who’s mistaken me for Bella.
I flick my wrist, glance at my phone, and sigh. ‘God, seriously? I haven’t even looked; I’ve been on client calls all morning. Can we chat about it later?’ I say, calibrating my voice. ‘Running late for a meeting!’
I start to edge past, but she shifts to block me, smiling as she replies. ‘Sure, sure. But what time? You’re hard to get hold of, you know?’
‘Six o’clock?’
‘Great! I’ll come to you.’ She steps aside, and I make my escape, hoping my smile doesn’t look too forced.
I skip the lift entirely, terrified she might follow and spot the deception in such a confined space. I take the stairs, flying down three flights like a crash-test dummy, my feet barely touching each step, my lungs burning, legs almost buckling.
Outside, the sunlight is so stark it throws everything into high relief. I blink, momentarily disoriented by the sudden assault of brightness. The morning is so crisp it almost feels fake – the perfect blue sky, the cheerful birdsong, the distant rumble of a bus. But I welcome the icy air against my clammy skin.
I take a hard left down a side street and keep walking, my shadow stretching and shrinking on the pavement as I go. I force myself not to look back until I’m three streets away.
Only now do I allow myself to exhale and laugh, a wild, shaky bark that startles a passing dog walker. I’ve done it. I haven’t just bluffed my way out of danger, I’ve been accepted. Mistaken forBella by someone who actually knows her well. And, okay, it was fleeting, but it was also up close, for a full minute, in a real conversation with moving parts. My resemblance to her, the mannerisms I’ve studied and borrowed, the voice modulated just enough. All those secret rehearsals and mirror drills – they’re working. The ridiculous amount of detail I’ve poured into this persona is finally paying off.
But I realise it isn’t enough to just look like her. I think about the passwords, the outfits, her memories, the small tics and tells that make up Bella’s life. I’ll have to master them all, wear them like a second skin. I can pass as Bella superficially, but will her world truly accept me? What about her parents? They’ll be able to tell, surely. I might be able to fool her friends and neighbours, but her mum and dad are an entirely different matter. If they suspect I’m not her, they’ll instantly realise who I am.
The thought freezes my gut. Bella’s parents know her voice and body language intimately. I doubt I could fool them for five minutes, and yet I’ll need to. The questions crowd in, sudden and suffocating. I try to push them away, but they cling to me like her stolen clothes. Maybe I’m not cut out for this level of con. Maybe it’s time to call it off before it spirals even further. Or maybe I just need to rethink the plan. I guess, instead of taking over her current life, I could simply sell her business, empty her accounts, and run.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I think about any of that, I still need to scrape another chunk of cash together so that I can get Bella out of the way. After that, things should begin to get easier.
My heart is pounding. I want to blame it on my rushed exit down three flights of stairs and subsequent zigzag through the backstreets, but I know it’s proper nerves starting to kick in. I’ve already broken so many laws today. But that’s nothing compared to what I’m going to have to do. I’m in so deep: I can’t even think about turning back now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bella
There’s a knock at the door just as I’m wringing my hair, still dripping from the world’s fastest shower.
I’m expecting to see Reece, but it’s my neighbour, Marisol.
‘Hello, Bella. I know it’s a bit early, but I brought over a bottle of Rioja. Thought you might like a glass while we chat about the roof repairs.’
My stomach turns at the thought of drinking wine after last night’s binge-drinking session. ‘Hi, Marisol. Um,roof repairs?’
‘Yes, remember? We arranged to meet at six today to chat about it.’
I scramble for the memory, but my head’s still not right. It’s as if everything from the last twenty-four hours has been overwritten by a single, throbbing hangover. ‘I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. I have to be out this evening... a dinner thing.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Marisol’s smile flickers, then frays at the edges. For a moment, she just stands there, staring at the top of her wine bottle. I feel a stab of guilt deep in my chest. She only moved here a few months ago, and this block is full of card-carrying introverts who never say more than ‘morning’ and ‘bin day’s Thursday’ in thecommunal hallway. I don’t think she knows many people. I get the sense she’s not good at the making-friends bit.
‘Can we make it tomorrow instead?’ I ask. ‘I promise I won’t forget this time.’
‘Sure.’ Her face recalibrates, the smile reboots. ‘Tomorrow. Same time?’
