Page 42 of The Other Twin
I let the weed smooth out the jagged edges of my thoughts. My doubts. Because, despite my determination to see this through, I can’t help thinking back to when I first heard I had a twin. Back to that pure emotion when I realised this could be the connection I’ve been missing all my life. The thing that was going to make things better. Even now, as I teeter on the precipice, it’s not too late to turn back from my plan. But once I open my mouth to Steve, that will be it. There’ll be no changing my mind after that.
For a few moments, I allow myself to think about backtracking. About leaving here, calling Bella up, and introducing myself. Only thing is, I can still hear her snotty voice on the phone telling me I’m not up to scratch. Even the lies on my resumé weren’t good enough for her, so what would she think about the truth? A barmaid sleeping on her mum’s sofa with a mountain of debt and no life goals.
No.I shut down my doubts and harden my heart.
The plan stays.
I can feel the question growing between me and Steve, and I know that either I’m going to ask it or he’s going to ask what’s up, so I may as well get it over with.
‘Listen, Steve. If someone was hassling me, is there anyone you know of who could... make it stop?’
His eyes snap up, good humour vanished. ‘Who is it?’ he asks, eyes narrowing. ‘I’ll do it for you. I’ll dangle the fucker over the top of a multistorey. Tell him if he hassles you again, I’ll let go.’
I get the distinct feeling that Steve isn’t joking. ‘Thanks, but, no. I don’t want any ties back to this place. To you.’
He takes a deep inhale on the joint, weighing his answer. ‘All right, depends who’s doing the hassling,’ he says. ‘Most people can be discouraged with a fistful of dog shit through the letterbox. But if you’re thinking about something more long-lasting, that’s a different story.’ He studies me for a moment longer. ‘Who is it? Boyfriend? You in trouble?’
‘It’s complicated.’
He grins, but it’s joyless. ‘Want me to send round a couple of yobs with cricket bats?’
I’m starting to regret asking, but I can’t back out now. ‘No, that’s not what I mean. I just... I need to know my options for something more serious.’
He freezes, like a video on pause, and I see the whole spectrum of calculation cross his face – suspicion, then understanding, then a kind of professional curiosity. ‘Okay, right. Well, there’s one bloke I know who, if you’ve got the cash, can handle anything. And I mean anything. You want someone scared? Ruined? In jail? Dead? You just have to say the word.’ Steve speaks with unsettling calm, as if he’s recommending a handyman. ‘But it will cost you. A lot.’
I force myself to look him in the eye. ‘How much is a lot?’
He names a figure, and it’s not far off what I’ve saved so far – including tonight’s transaction – which makes me want to laugh and cry in the same breath. My heart is hammering.
‘Can you give me his details?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’ll contact him, then he’ll contact you. Cleaner that way. All right?’ I nod, and for a moment, I think we’re back in regular territory. But then he leans in, voice barely abovea whisper. ‘Jade, don’t fuck about with this. If you want a person gone, and I mean properly gone, you have to be sure. This isn’t like shoplifting. You can’t just say sorry and put it back. Once you go down that road, you don’t turn around.’
I swallow. ‘I know. I get it.’ But the truth is, I don’t get it at all. I can’t even imagine the road, let alone what lies at the end of it. All I know is that I’m so tired of waiting for things to happen to me, of waking up every day knowing that nothing will change unless I change things myself.
Steve absorbs my reply, finishes the spliff, grinds the glowing butt under his boot, then moves on, like nothing happened. ‘Anyway, I’ll have the cash for you on Friday, same spot. And bring any more jewellery you can get your hands on. I can shift gold easy as anything.’ He grins, reverting to his usual light-hearted self.
I nod, attempting to smile back, but all the energy’s gone out of me. The transaction, the information, the realness of the whole thing – it’s all a bit too much. And I’m not used to smoking dope. I think it’s made me a bit paranoid. I’ll stick to ciggies in future. I’m going to need a clear head for all this.
He claps my shoulder, not hard, but it still rattles my bones. ‘Don’t stress, yeah?’
I nod, but the tightness in my chest doesn’t lift as I walk away. I try not to think about what I’m about to do. Instead, I need to focus on the outcome. On living my best life. The one I was always meant to have, but by a random quirk of fate, I was denied. I tell myself that this, right now, is just the awkward, uncomfortable, transitional phase. Once it’s done, I’ll be free. And then I won’t have to think about debt or stealing credit cards or sleeping on sofas. About doing dodgy deals in back alleys and hiring scary people to do scary things.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jade
It’s the early hours of the morning, the kind of pre-dawn darkness that feels like a secret. I’m in Mum’s Clio parked in a gravel lay-by down a country lane that barely qualifies as a road. The engine is switched off, but the keys are in the ignition, radio on the lowest possible volume, the faint, familiar scent of Mum’s body spray. The only illumination comes from the clock on the dashboard. The time reads 02.17, and I’m ticking down the seconds to the strangest, most unthinkable meeting of my life – waiting for a hitman to show up.
I can see why he chose this location. It’s the back arse of nowhere. There’s no CCTV, no houses for half a mile, not even a reliable phone signal, unless maybe you stand on the verge and hold the phone at a sixty-degree angle while humming. I run a thumbnail across the Clio’s dashboard, tracing the outline of a sticker Mum put there years ago: ‘Minions Are Life’, it says. We went to see the movieDespicable Mefor my thirteenth birthday, and the Minions were our favourite characters.
The instructions I was sent, via my burner phone, were clinical and direct:Wait at 02:30 Precisely. Do Not Be Late.Vehicle Will Arrive, Park in Front and Flash Hazards. Get in Rear of Vehicle. It’s all caps, like the sender is shouting. I imagine the other end of the transaction, another burner phone held by gloved hands, a face with no expression. There were other messages before that, all variations on the same theme – no names, no faces, no questions. I find myself reading the text chain over and over, making sure I’ve got all the details correct.
I keep checking my face in the rear-view mirror. Not for make-up, not for stray hairs – just to see if I look different, now that I’m here to arrange a murder. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes are wide, almost cartoonish. I look like a teenager on her way to a house party her mum doesn’t know about. My hands keep finding their way to the steering wheel; they grip and relax, grip and relax, like I’m doing stress-relief exercises. I try to hold them steady, but the more I think about what I’m doing, the more they tremble.
It’s been a week and a half since I first asked Steve to help me out, and I still can’t believe I’m going through with it. There’s a part of me that wants desperately to believe this is all a joke, or a test, or a dream. Or that any second now, Mum will bang on the window, mascara streaking, and drag me home in a swirl of angry perfume and threats to call the police. Instead, the only thing in view is the hedgerow – a knotted black mass that looks like it wants to swallow me and the car whole.
Obviously, I’m glad that Mum hasn’t picked up on any of my plans, but it’s also pretty crap that she hasn’t noticed anything different in my behaviour. Or maybe she has noticed, but has chosen not to say anything. I get that – despite living together, we have separate lives – but it would have been nice to think that Mum paid more attention to what I do. Perhaps if she’d interfered a bit more, asked what I was up to, pushed to get to the bottom of things...perhaps then, I might have changed my mind. Or maybe not. I think I’m just getting the jitters.
