Читать книгу Copycat - Alex Lake, Alex Lake - Страница 11

Sarah parked next to Ben’s car – a dark blue (night mineral blue, according to the salesman who had sold it to them when Miles was an infant) family sedan. America’s favorite: a Toyota Camry. Sensible, reliable, fuel-efficient, strong residuals. And needing to be replaced, soon.

A few weeks back, Ben had mentioned getting a convertible to replace it.

OK, but get one with five seats, she said.

They don’t make them with five seats, he replied. The roof has to fold into the body of the car so it reduces the space available for a back seat. It’s normally two at most.

She looked at him, her expression a mixture of amusement and incredulity. But we have three kids, Ben. What’s the plan? Make Miles ride his bike?

We have your car if we need to go somewhere all together, he replied. I only really drive this to work. And it’d be nice in the summer to have the top down.

But what if you do need to take all three? What if I’m away for the weekend and something happens?

I’d get a cab, he said. And you can always think of reasons why we would need two big cars. But most of the time we don’t.

Fine, she said. If that’s your priority.

It’s not a question of priorities, he replied. I’d simply like to have a convertible. But never mind. Perhaps it’s a stupid idea. Early onset midlife crisis.

And they left it there. She felt bad about having dented his dream; in truth, she wasn’t sure why she didn’t want him to get a convertible. It would have been nice for her to drive it, too. It was simply … well, it did reek of a midlife crisis. In some vague way she found it a threat, a sign he was making decisions based on his own needs and not the needs of the family. Anyway, she’d tell him to go ahead and get his convertible. She’d be happy for him. At least, she’d try to be.

That was for later. For now, she was glad his current car was there. It meant he was home.

Ben was sitting on the couch, Kim on his lap. He was reading the book of the moment, Hairy Scary Monster, which Kim demanded incessantly. Ben was a very patient dad – it was one of the things Sarah loved about him – but even he would balk at the seventh or eighth reading of the same kids’ book during the same bedtime.

‘You’re reading Hairy Scary Monster,’ Sarah said. ‘Imagine.’

‘Only the second reading today,’ Ben said. ‘So it still retains that fresh feeling common to all great literature.’

‘Daddy, read,’ Kim said. She fit the profile of a third child exactly: with two older siblings she had learned to fight for her fair share of whatever commodity was up for grabs – attention, cake, time on the trampoline. She was desperate to be in the gang, whatever the cost, which was what had led to the sand sandwich episode on the beach.

‘Hey,’ Sarah said. ‘Something pretty weird happened today.’

‘At the clinic?’

‘No. I got a friend request from someone I went to high school with. She’s moving back to Barrow.’

‘What’s weird about that? Plenty of people move here. I moved here from London.’ He grinned at her. ‘But then I had a good reason to.’

‘That’s not the weird part.’

‘Daddy,’ Kim said. ‘Read!’

‘One moment, petal,’ Ben said. ‘Mummy and I are talking. So what was the weird part?’

Kim grabbed her dad’s hand and put it on the book. ‘Read!’ she said. ‘Read Hairy Scary Monster.’

Ben rolled his eyes. ‘Can we talk about this later?’ he said. ‘I don’t think Kim is too keen on having her story interrupted.’

It was nearly nine o’clock by the time they got round to talking about it. As she was putting Miles to bed he started telling her about farm camp – they had washed a pig with a hose and he was wondering whether they could get a pig as a family pet. Sarah explained that pigs weren’t really pets, and they didn’t have time to take care of one, but Miles demurred: he would take care of it, he insisted. And not only would he look after it night and day, he would do lots of jobs to earn money to buy it fun toys.

Let’s start with a pet which is a bit less ambitious, Sarah told him. Like a goldfish.

Or hairless rats, Miles said. Anthony has hairless rats.

Sarah shook her head. She’d seen those hairless rats; she wasn’t squeamish – she was a doctor – but they were not the most beautiful members of the animal kingdom.

Goldfish, she said. And if you can take care of those, maybe a hamster.

And then a pig? Miles said.

Maybe then a pig, Sarah said, confident they would never make it to that point.

Downstairs, she poured two glasses of wine. Ben was on the couch, his laptop open on his knee. She handed him a drink.

‘Work?’ Sarah said.

‘Cleaning up email,’ Ben said. ‘No big deal.’

With Ben it was never a big deal. He was a lawyer and she knew he had some stressful cases, but he never brought it home.

There’s no point worrying about work, he’d say, adding his favorite quote: ‘worry is a dividend paid to disaster before it’s due’. You spend your time thinking about things that might never happen. It’s pointless. If it happens, figure it out. If it doesn’t, don’t worry about it.

And he didn’t. Which was one of the things Sarah – who did worry, who had always worried, to a fault – loved about him.

‘So,’ she said. ‘Miles wants a pig.’

‘Presumably his desire for a pig is not the weird thing you mentioned earlier? Because it seems exactly the sort of thing Miles would want.’

‘No. I’ll show you the weird thing.’ She picked up her phone and opened the fake Facebook account. She passed it to him. ‘Take a look.’

He scrolled down the screen. ‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘What’s weird about this? I know I don’t use it, but isn’t this what Facebook is for? Sharing photos? Telling people that you have alfalfa sprouts in your smoothie?’

‘It is. And I’m amazed you know what an alfalfa sprout is.’ She paused. ‘But this isn’t my account.’

Ben frowned. ‘What do you mean? The photos are of you. And the kids.’

‘I know. But I didn’t know it was there until today. Rachel, the friend who sent a friend request, asked me which account was mine. I hadn’t set eyes on it until then.’ She took the phone and switched to her account. ‘This is me. The real me.’

Ben looked at the screen for a few seconds, then put the phone on the couch next to him. ‘So who set it up?’ he said.

‘That’s exactly what I want to know,’ Sarah replied. ‘I have no idea.’

Ben stared at her. ‘This is weird,’ he said. ‘But let’s think about it logically. Who could have set it up?’

‘I don’t know. No one.’

‘It would need to be someone who was at those places. And there aren’t many photos. About eight, in total? So it wouldn’t be too difficult to do.’

‘But no one was at all those places.’

‘Maybe it was someone who has access to your phone,’ Ben said.

‘But I didn’t take all those photos. Like the one of me and you at the Japanese restaurant. It looks as though it was taken from somewhere inside. It wasn’t me who took it.’

‘So either it was someone who happened to be at all those places, but who would have had a good reason to be there so you wouldn’t have noticed anything out of place, or it’s someone who knew you would be there and went – surreptitiously – to take the photos.’ He raised his hands in mock fear. ‘Which would mean you have some kind of stalker.’

‘Ben!’ Sarah said. ‘Don’t joke about it! It’s not funny!’

‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you have a stalker.’

‘Maybe not. But no jokes.’

‘OK,’ he said. ‘No jokes. But let’s see if we can narrow it down. Let’s start with the most recent photo. We’ll remember that best. Who was at the beach yesterday?’

‘Lots of people. It was a hot Sunday in summer in Maine. Everyone heads to the water.’

‘Let’s list them.’

‘Mel was there, with Anthony and James. I think I saw Bill, her husband, as well. Then there was Jean and her two kids. Lizzie and Toby were there with their girls. And I saw Miles’s kindergarten teacher. She was at the other end of the beach to us.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘There were lots of people.’

Ben puffed out his cheeks. ‘All I can think is, it’s some kind of a joke,’ he said. ‘Someone’s winding you up.’

‘It’s a possibility,’ Sarah said. ‘But there’s still the question of who would do such a thing. Whoever it was would have to have been in all those places.’

‘Not necessarily. It could be a few of your friends. They could have shared photos with each other.’

‘I suppose,’ Sarah said. ‘But it seems a very elaborate trick.’

‘Well,’ Ben said. ‘I wouldn’t worry—’

Sarah’s phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and held up her hand to silence him.

There was a notification. From Facebook.

She opened it, and blinked. She did not believe what she was seeing.

‘Holy shit,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘It’s a friend request.’ She looked at her husband. ‘From me. From Sarah Havenant. From the fake account.’