Читать книгу Copycat: The unputdownable new thriller from the bestselling author of After Anna - Alex Lake, Alex Lake - Страница 22

Sarah was finishing a quick coffee in the break room at work when her phone rang. It was Anne, her college friend. She was due to see a patient in a few minutes, but she picked up the phone.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How are you? I have an appointment coming up, so I can’t talk for too long.’

‘I’m good,’ Anne said. ‘Enjoying summer. It’s been lovely up here.’

‘Up here’ was Burlington, Vermont, where Anne was a high-school science teacher. She was married to her college boyfriend, Don; they’d had kids early. Melanie, who was ten, and Parker, who was eight.

‘I wish I had your holidays,’ Sarah said. ‘It must be amazing.’

‘Mel’s at her first sleep-away camp this week, and Parker’s always with his buddies, biking round the neighborhood. Don’s working, so I have a lot of alone time.’

‘God, stop. You’re making me jealous.’

‘It is nice,’ Anne said. ‘But I do miss the days when summer was me and the kids hanging out by the lake or in the backyard. It feels like they’re growing up too fast. In eight years we’ll be dropping Mel off at college. I’m already traumatized by the mere thought of it.’

‘I know. It goes so fast.’

‘Anyway, I was chatting to Toni yesterday. She paid us a visit.’

Sarah couldn’t help the small twinge of resentment that flared at the news Toni and Anne had got together without her; without even informing her. She wouldn’t have been able to go, but it would have been nice to have the option. It was stupid, she knew, but it did feel as though she had been left out.

‘Oh,’ Sarah said. ‘I spoke to her the other day.’

‘She mentioned it. She told me about the weird Facebook thing. Is everything OK?’

‘Yeah,’ Sarah said. ‘I think so. The account has gone now.’

‘Right,’ Anne said. ‘I was wondering where it was. I had a look, and I couldn’t find it.’

‘I think it may have been some kind of Facebook error,’ Sarah said. ‘They have access to so much of your data, who knows what can happen? I was going to send them a note to ask, although I’ll probably never get around to it.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I have to go, but it was great to talk to you. I’ll call you one evening?’

‘OK. And let’s get together this summer. It’s been too long.’

‘Way too long,’ Sarah said. ‘We’ll find a date.’

She cut the connection and put her phone in her bag. As she did it buzzed. It was a text message from Carla, a friend with a son and daughter who Sarah had used to hang out with often. She didn’t see her as much since Miles and Ricky, her son, had started kindergarten; they were in different school systems so their orbits drifted apart. Still, they liked to get the kids together sometimes and arranged periodic play dates.

Hi, it read. Are you running late?

Sarah frowned. She hadn’t planned to meet Carla today. She had to see her patient, but she texted back, quickly.

For what?

The answer arrived seconds later.

The play date. I’m at your house with Ricky. No one’s here.

Sarah felt a slow churn in her stomach. The taste of the coffee soured in her mouth. She hadn’t spoken to or emailed or texted Carla in a week.

Which meant this was not a simple mix-up. It couldn’t be.

Did we plan a play date? I’m at work. Miles is at camp.

The dots signifying a reply was coming scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

Really? We emailed about it last night. You said to come at ten.

She hadn’t sent any emails the night before. She’d come back from the beach, fed the kids then curled up in front of a movie once they were in bed. And even if she had emailed Carla, she wouldn’t have arranged a play date, for the simple reason she was at work and the kids were either at camp or in day care.

She checked her phone. Nothing to Carla in the sent email folder. Which meant, unless Carla was making it up, someone else had emailed her.

Someone claiming to be Sarah.

She felt faint, dizzy. It was an effort to focus. Hands shaking, she typed a reply.

Sorry. I think I have an idea what happened. Can I see you at noon? I’ll be free for lunch then.

Sure, Carla replied. Call me.

Sarah shook her head. That wouldn’t do.

Can I see you? Sorry to be a pain, but you’ll understand.

Carla’s reply hinted at a little irritation.

I have a gym class starting soon. But I could meet around 12.20?

Sarah accepted. It would be a short lunch, but she needed to see her friend.

In the end Carla showed up at the Little Cat Café at twelve thirty. She was wearing yoga pants and a finishers’ T-shirt from the 2014 Lobsterman Triathlon. She looked – post-exercise – in a good mood.

Sarah waved at her and pointed to the cup of coffee – a skinny cappuccino – she had ordered as a peace offering. There was also a blueberry smoothie on the table.

‘Where’s Ricky?’ Sarah said. ‘I got him a smoothie. Help him get over the missed play date.’

‘He went to Logan’s house,’ Carla said. ‘Sandy’ – Logan’s mom – ‘had mentioned Logan was free, so I gave her a call.’

‘Sorry about earlier,’ Sarah said. ‘But it’s not what you think.’ She leaned forward. ‘Is there any way I could see the messages you got from me?’

Carla frowned, puzzled by the request. ‘Why? You sent them.’

‘I don’t think I did. Can I see them?’

‘Are you OK, Sarah?’

Sarah nodded. ‘Fine. But let me see and I’ll explain.’

Carla tapped her code on to the screen and scrolled through the messages. She handed the phone to Sarah.

There they were. Three messages, in a thread titled Play date?, all from Sarah Havenant. Sarah opened one and looked at the email address.

It was her name, but it wasn’t her account. It was Gmail, and Sarah used Outlook.

‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. ‘This is a fake email account.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean someone set this up and is impersonating me. My email address is Outlook, not Gmail. It’s easy to establish an account and set the name to show as whatever you want. So all you see is the name Sarah Havenant, and unless you bother to look at the address you wouldn’t know it wasn’t from me.’

Carla shook her head. ‘So you’re saying someone set up an email account in your name so they could fake a play date? So they could piss me off? They must have known you’d find out.’

‘I don’t think they minded getting caught,’ Sarah said. She was feeling very calm, almost like she was observing herself. It was a form of shock, she realized, her body’s way of stopping her going into a full-on panic. ‘I think getting caught was the point. This is not the first time this has happened.’

‘Are you kidding? What’s been going on?’

‘There was a Facebook account,’ Sarah murmured. ‘I thought it had gone away.’

‘What kind of Facebook account? What’s wrong with a Facebook account?’

‘It was a fake one,’ Sarah said. ‘In my name. With photos of me and Ben and the kids and the house. Recent ones.’ She looked at Carla, blinking. ‘Someone’s fucking with me, Carla. I don’t know why, and I’m scared.’ She pushed her coffee across the table. ‘Very scared.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Carla said. ‘Just a joke or …’ she paused, at a loss for words, then finished, limply. ‘Or something.’

Sarah didn’t reply. She looked around the Little Cat Café. There were couples, young women with laptops, college-age boys with books and iPads. Was it one of them? Was it someone who was here, now, in the café?

‘Hey,’ Carla said. ‘I need the bathroom. I’ll be right back.’

Sarah watched her walk across the room. It was as though she couldn’t wait to get away from her, as though she thought Sarah was contaminated, dangerous, spoiled goods. Well, when she got back, Sarah would tell her she had to be back in the office, release her from her obligations.

A few minutes later the bathroom door opened and Carla came out. Her face – summer-tanned when she went in – was chalk white.

She walked over, her phone in her hand.

‘Did you …’ she said. ‘Did you send this while I was in the bathroom?’

‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘I didn’t send anything. What is it?’

She handed her phone to Sarah.

There was another message in the thread. Another message from Sarah Havenant.

Where were you? Miles was disappointed you didn’t show up.

‘He’s at camp,’ Sarah said. For some reason – perhaps, she thought, to maintain her grip on reality – it was important to her to state the facts. ‘Miles is at camp.’

‘This is fucking weird,’ Carla said, her voice loud enough that a few other customers glanced at her. She lowered her tone and stared at Sarah. ‘Very fucking weird.’ She looked at Sarah. ‘Should I reply?’

‘No,’ Sarah said, quickly. ‘No. There’s nothing to reply to.’ She hesitated. ‘This isn’t a message to you, Carla. It’s a message for me. It’s a message to let me know this isn’t over, after all.’

‘Should I delete it?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘No. Would you forward it to me? Thanks. I have to go. I need to call Ben.’