Date: 2014-04-07 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery; Thriller; Fiction
Description: When Lorna Thomas is found dead in her car everyone believes she killed herself. But the day after her death Lorna was set to sell a scandalous story to one of Britain’s biggest tabloid papers. For six months she had been the Deputy Prime Minister’s mistress. Will Lorna’s secret die with her? While her family try to move on and come to terms with her death one person refuses to believe that Lorna killed herself. Her twin sister, Laurie is convinced that Lorna was murdered and she’ll stop at nothing to prove it, even if that means teaming up the very man her sister had been having an affair wit
Publisher: Carina UK
Rights: Copyright © 2014 by Carys Jones

Poised to print headlines so scandalous they would have rocked the entire nation…now the front page of every newspaper starkly proclaims only one word: MURDER

John Quinn, an investigative journalist on England’s biggest-selling and most notorious tabloid newspaper, is about to write the story of his life – a scandalous exposé of one of the country’s most powerful men. But the story dies when Lorna Thomas, the kiss in his kiss-and-tell, kills herself on a quiet country road.

For six months Laurie Thomas’ twin sister had been the Deputy Prime Minister’s secret mistress – and following sister’s footsteps to London, and to the heart of government, Laurie grows more convinced that Lorna did not take her own life.

But if Lorna didn’t kill herself, who did? There’s only one person who can help Laurie - the very man who’s bed her sister had illicitly been sharing

Prime Deception

Carys Jones

www.CarinaUK.com

CARYS JONES loves nothing more than to write and create stories which ignite the reader's imagination. Based in Shropshire, England, Carys lives with her husband, two guinea pigs and her adored canine companion Rollo. When she's not writing, Carys likes to indulge her inner geek by watching science-fiction films or playing video games. She lists John Green, Jodi Picoult and Virginia Andrews as her favorite authors and draws inspiration for her own work from anything and everything. To Carys, there is no greater feeling than when you lose yourself in a great story and it is that feeling of ultimate escapism which she tries to bring to her books.

For my number one fan; my Dad

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Endpages

Copyright

Prologue

The Shadow newspaper offices, London

Dawn had not yet broken over the capital and yet the offices of The Shadow newspaper were already a hive of activity. Eager and ambitious journalists were bent over their computers, furiously typing away, some not having left from the night before.

The Shadow was England’s biggest selling tabloid newspaper and, as its name suggested, it was ever present amongst society, exposing every ounce of scandal and corruption as it occurred around the country. The paper had grown in notoriety over the last decade, being linked to practically every sin committed by a member of the elite. If someone had behaved badly, The Shadow knew about it and exposed it, casting the delinquent into darkness.

Part of the paper’s success was easily attributed to the doggish determination of the staff who listed eating and sleeping as a low priority compared with work. In such a fiercely competitive field, they were each trying to make a name for themselves by catching that one big story which would set the country on fire.

John Quinn had that story. He almost trembled with excitement when he thought about it. He ran his hands through his thinning black hair as he sat slumped over his desk, going over the questions he needed to ask for what felt like the hundredth time. He had been up all night since he had received the call. It was a young girl wanting to make money on a kiss and tell story, standard stuff really, except the man involved was no ordinary man. John had run into her at a party a few months back, and she had been really drunk, and talkative. He’d held back on revealing his occupation until she completely divulged her extra-curricular activities to him. She had seemed genuinely horrified when he offered her his card, professing how she most certainly did not want to sell her story. But he knew she would. The money was too good to pass up; dignity always had a price.

So, as John had predicted, she had called. Now all he had to do was capture her side of the story and run with it. It would be front page news and he would instantly have made a career for himself. Having spent four years at university, followed by three as an unpaid intern, five being the office gopher then three as a struggling journalist, John felt he was long overdue some success in his field. He needed to go home, shower and make himself presentable, but he was afraid to even leave his desk; afraid someone might snap the story up from right under his nose.

He remembered how desperate the girl had sounded when she called and almost felt guilty. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she had been crying. John had seen so many young women, naively lured in to bed by rich and powerful men, selling their story out of spite or desperation. He failed to empathise with their plight – after all, they had willingly engaged in events. But this time something felt different. Perhaps it was because the man in question appeared whiter than white to the rest of the country and exposing this girl and their sordid affair would tarnish and possibly destroy his reputation.

John Quinn was rarely shocked, but her story had genuinely caught him off guard. He did wonder if perhaps it had just been drunken ramblings, but then she had called, confirming everything she had said and insisting she wanted to take him up on the offer of writing a piece. He’d named a price to her which few people would be strong enough to turn down, because he knew just how valuable a story of that calibre was.

Aware that time was pressing on, John took one last glance at his notes and put on his jacket, intending to return quickly to his flat and then meet the girl. He had just pushed his arm down in to the second sleeve when the internal phone on his desk began to ring. Sighing, he leant forward and picked up the receiver, tersely announcing himself to the caller.

‘John, its Maria,’ came a soft female voice. Maria worked in the news department, unlike John who was in features. She was one of the few people within the tangled structure of The Shadow who he trusted. They had slept together a few times, and continued to do so on the rare occasions that he wasn’t too exhausted or was feeling particularly lonely. Maria was nothing special; you could easily pass her by on the street without feeling the need to take a second glance, but she was kind and trustworthy. They were qualities which John figured he might one day be looking for in a woman and so he attempted to keep her relatively close.

‘I’m just on my way out.’

‘I know, to meet with that girl, right? What was her name, Lorna Thomas?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ John inwardly grimaced at the accuracy of Maria’s memory. During their last night together, pillow talk had wandered across into work territory and John had disclosed that he potentially had an amazing story in his hands regarding a kiss and tell but he’d managed to stop himself before he revealed any further details. Whilst he was close to Maria, she was still ultimately the competition and he didn’t want to risk her stealing the story out from under him.

‘I’ve just had a police report come through about her.’

‘Oh?’

‘Apparently she committed suicide last night. Want me to email the report to you? I figured you’d probably want to run with the story yourself. Chief says no more than a hundred words on it.’

‘Right…okay, yeah.’

In a daze, John took off his coat and repositioned himself in his chair. He suddenly felt a pang of remorse run through him that he had not been more responsive to the girl’s sadness over the phone. He had propositioned her to sell her story; he hoped he had not driven her to take her own life. John shook his head in disbelief. The story that would have made his career was now gone, never to be confirmed. He read the report with dull eyes as it arrived in his inbox.

It made for sombre reading. There was nothing about the girl Lorna had been, nothing about the prestigious internship she’d had in London, nothing about her history. Her death had no relevance within the paper, there was seemingly no story there and so she was resigned to a mere hundred words to mark the finite end of her young life.

Sadness slipped over him as he placed his fingertips to his keyboard and began to write a brief obituary for the girl he was supposed to be interviewing. His heart felt heavy with each letter he pressed. John finished the piece and got up and walked away from his desk, but not before calling Maria and asking her to come round to his flat that night. He didn’t feel like being alone.

22-year-old Lorna Thomas of Kent was found dead in her car in the early hours of this morning. Police have ruled that she committed suicide.

Chapter One

A tabloid tale

Charles Lloyd awoke as he did every morning, after a fitful night’s rest where he barely managed to sleep at all. He stretched his arms out, yawning, before rubbing his tired eyes. Beside him, his wife continued to sleep soundly, her auburn hair swept across the white pillow case like a consuming fire. Charles went to wake her and then thought better of it, deciding to let her continue to rest.

With all the stealth his weary body could manage, Charles removed himself from his marital bed and tiptoed over to his impressive ensuite bathroom, to wash and prepare himself for the inevitably manic day ahead.

The ritual was always the same: shower, shave and dress. Charles enjoyed these moments alone in the mornings; it was the calm before the storm. He relished the monotony of getting ready; it gave him comfort in a world which was growing increasingly chaotic.

For some reason, on that morning, he paused before placing the shaving foam upon his dampened cheeks and really absorbed his reflection; something he rarely felt he had the time to do. Charles Lloyd was forty-five and worn out. The bags beneath his eyes and the lines etched into his forehead declared to the world that he was a man sinking beneath an immeasurable weight. He sighed as he squinted and scrutinized the blue of his eyes which had once been so piercing but now had dulled. His wife, Elaine, always insisted that it was his eyes which had first attracted her to him. But his eyes, like the rest of him, had changed. He was no longer the man she had married twenty years ago. He cracked the door to the en-suite ever so slightly and glanced affectionately at his sleeping wife. She was happy, he knew that. He just hoped that she was happy enough for both of them.

Charles returned his attention to the task at hand; of shaving away the shadow which had formed overnight. As a young man he had found shaving a chore. He’d longed to grow some stubble, even a beard, in his desire to be ‘edgy’, but he had always been warned against it. It wasn’t befitting of a man in his line of work. Now, he found shaving therapeutic. The act was familiar and predictable and he liked that about it. So few things in his life were familiar anymore that he cherished those that were.

Dressed in one of his finest suits and his signature blue tie, Charles was at last ready to start the day. He fingered the tie dubiously as he regarded his reflection once more. He found it a rather crass addition to his ensemble, but his aides continued to assure him that it was vital. He missed being able to dress how he wanted to. Charles would have loved nothing more than to put on a pair of jeans and an old jumper but that would never do. He had an image to maintain, as everyone kept insisting to him.

‘Darling, are you going?’ Elaine stirred from her peaceful slumber long enough to see her husband about to open their bedroom door. She gazed at him through half closed eyes, not yet fully awakened.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ Charles whispered guiltily.

‘Well it’s lucky you did,’ Elaine declared, raising herself up in the bed so that she was now sat upright.

‘It is?’ Charles questioned, surprised.

‘Yes, you were about to leave without kissing me goodbye and we can’t have that now, can we?’ she smiled at her husband, her eyes now wide and teasing.

‘How very careless of me,’ Charles joked as he walked over and promptly placed a brief kiss upon Elaine’s lips.

‘You know, I much prefer it when you don’t wear lipstick,’ he commented.

‘Yes, but the cameras don’t.’ Elaine replied sternly.

‘Any big plans for the day?’ Charles asked, quickly checking the watch sat upon his left wrist; another aspect of etiquette within his outfit. He would much prefer to wear his watch upon his right wrist, as he had done growing up. but formalities dictated that a gentleman must wear his watch upon his left wrist. Goddamn formalities.

‘I’m meeting with my book club today.’

‘And what will you ladies be discussing?’

‘Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov.’

‘Oh, how very controversial,’ Charles joked.

‘Indeed. It wasn’t my choice, it was Miranda’s I swear the woman would have us reading Mills and Boon if we’d allow it! Talk about repressed desires!’

‘Not everyone has such a stud for a husband,’ Charles said winking.

‘She should do, she’s already been through four!’ Elaine scoffed in disapproval.

‘Anyway darling, I must dash, my car will be here,’ Charles said, glancing at his watch once more.

‘Alright, alright, duty calls I suppose,’ Elaine smiled as she dramatically rolled her eyes. ‘Remember that we have that gala dinner tonight for the Children’s Benefit Foundation.’

‘Oh yes, where would I be without you reminding me of all my engagements?’ He smiled fondly at his wife before dashing out of the door, down the stairs, quickly grabbing his coat and entering the crisp morning air. Charles walked over quickly to the awaiting black Bentley, noticing the look of quiet awe from his neighbours who were attending to their own early morning duties of walking their dogs or putting out the bins.

‘Good morning, sir,’ the driver greeted Charles as he settled himself in the back seat, powering up his Blackberry® in anticipation of the flurry of messages he would have received throughout the night.

‘Morning Henry.’

‘Traffic is bad this morning, sir. Might take us at least thirty minutes to get into town.’

‘Don’t worry Henry, just do your best.’

‘You can count on that, sir.’

The Bentley slid away from Charles’ house and from suburbia, teleporting him away from normality and into his hectic, professional life. Charles attempted to gather his thoughts in the car as his Blackberry® beeped at him continuously, alerting him to urgent emails which required his attention. He loved his job, he did. But lately he felt like a fraud. All the posturing drove him mad. He knew what had changed in him; he’d not been the same since it had happened. Charles closed his eyes in frustration; he had sworn to himself that he would not think about it anymore. Yet here he was, performing the same dance with his mind that he did every morning. He rubbed his temple in desperation.

‘Headache sir? There are some ibuprofen in the cabinet back there,’ Henry said, glancing at his boss in his mirror.

‘Oh right, thanks.’ Charles leant forward and found the box of capsules and took two, knowing that they would be unable to alleviate the cause of his pain.

Charles began to scroll through his Blackberry® whilst gazing out of the car window, watching London begin to rise up all around him. The city was bustling, even at this early hour.

The Bentley weaved through the city streets, sharp and black like a bullet heading for its target. The traffic wasn’t as bad as Henry had anticipated and within twenty minutes they had paused at the black gates which were eagerly parting to grant the car and its important occupant passage.

The car door opened and Charles stepped out, immediately greeted by another man in a suit who shook his hand eagerly.

‘Good morning Deputy,’ Simon Pruit smiled enthusiastically.

Charles didn’t relish being addressed as Deputy. It made him sound like he belongedin an American sheriff’s office, rather than being the British Deputy Prime Minister. He was certain that Simon used the greeting just to get under his skin.

‘Morning, Simon,’ Charles smiled in response, finding the man, as always, irritatingly eager at such an ungodly hour. He envisioned Simon thrusting caffeine straight into his veins in an attempt to keep a permanently preppy demeanour. But Simon was loyal and hardworking, if overly hyper, which were qualities Charles valued highly in his Cabinet.

‘How was your commute this morning? I hear that the traffic was terrible. I suppose it’s the price you pay if you desire to live out of the city-centre,’ Simon rambled the words out quickly as they turned and passed through the most famous door in England; number 10 Downing Street. The door was as black as the Bentley which had bought Charles there and the suit he was wearing. The only dash of colour was the striking blue of his tie, a permanent symbol of his political allegiance.

‘You’ve got the meeting with the American Ambassador at ten,’ Simon began reeling off Charles’ itinerary for the day as the man walked further into the building, delivering brief ‘hellos’ and ‘good mornings’ as they went. It always surprised Charles how many people were present so early in the day, already hard at work. It almost made him feel guilty that he hadn’t dedicated as much time, but then he wasn’t willing to give up sleep altogether, as he assumed they must have.

‘Good morning sir.’ Faye Smith, Charles’ assistant, handed him a stack of pre-opened and date-stamped letters as he rounded a corner to his office. Simon instinctively ceased to walk with him, knowing that the next half hour was when Charles was alone in his office to catch up on correspondence.

‘See you at ten,’ Simon called after him as they parted ways.

‘Good morning, Faye,’ Charles smiled at his hardworking assistant, knowing in his heart that lately there was never a ‘good’ morning.

Charles Lloyd’s office was the epitome of opulent grandeur. The furniture was made from the finest mahogany wood and his chair, and the couches which lined the other two walls, of the softest, most exquisite leather. It was the same office which had hosted Deputy Prime Ministers for decades before him and little had changed.

Personally, Charles was not fond of his office. The décor was not to his taste but he knew better than to attempt to alter it or even vocalise his opinion. The office, and everything in it, was a part of British history; it was he who was interchangeable. The men in the chair came and went, none naïve enough to make the space their own.

In the grand scheme of things, Charles spent very little time in his office; even less time over recent months and that suited him just fine. He found the room almost oppressive. It reminded him too much of his grandfather’s old study; all that was missing was the constant cloud of cigar smoke misting the air. Charles had never been fond of his grandfather, finding the old man far too judgemental of those he was supposed to love and cherish, and sitting each day in a room more befitting to his tastes than his own made him feel uncomfortable and out of place. The office symbolised everything in Charles which he tried to forget; the history, the tradition. He had been born into the elite, and studied at Eton College. From a young age he had shown leadership skills and therefore had been groomed for his current role for many years. His grandfather did not live to see his grandson’s triumph, not that it mattered – he had already done enough during his lifetime to orchestrate the event.

The presence of Charles’ coffee, bagel and morning papers were a welcome distraction from the barrage of thoughts which had begun to penetrate his mind. They rarely stopped these days, with even sleep refusing to offer him the solace he so desperately needed. Faye, ever efficient, always ensured that he had a copy of each of the broadsheets on his desk almost the second after they had been pressed, along with a coffee – black, two sugars – and a bagel with a side helping of cream cheese. The bagel was a relatively new addition to Charles’ breakfast. He acquired a taste for them after a trip to meet with the new American President. He’d also grown particularly fond of pancakes, but he knew that he could not indulge that desire every morning if he intended to keep fitting into all of his suits.

One thing Charles did like about his office was the quiet. He welcomed the solitude he found in there. Outside of the office, people constantly had questions for him, urgent matters they simply had to discuss. Charles never shied away from his duties, always embracing them with dignified sincerity which made him popular amongst the people of England. But he liked that, for half an hour each morning, Faye would intercept his phone calls and he could be truly alone with only the newspapers for company.

Faye would usually highlight key pages which he should read. Whilst Charles was grateful for her zeal, he did sometimes worry that she had little semblance of a life beyond the duties of her job. He had once tried to make idle small talk about her plans for the weekend but the poor woman had appeared so uncomfortable that he chosenever to attempt it again. He would gently berate her if she worked late or emailed him on the weekends but it fell on deaf ears. Elaine would point out when he raised his concerns to her that it was not that she was working too hard, but rather that he lacked the required level of dedication.

In those moments, where Elaine would insinuate that Charles did not work hard enough, he would feel the anger rise up inside him to the point where he had to leave the room for fear of boiling over. Charles had all but forgotten who he was, so consuming was the role of Deputy Prime Minister. He barely had a moment to himself. His circle of friends had thinned to the point where it barely existed, as people tired of his lack of availability. Evenwhen he was available, his security always had to go and survey venues first and often accompany him on trips, which didn’t go down well when he was merely attending a friend’s child’s birthday party. If Charles worked any harder, he would completely fade away and he was determined not to lose himself. He clung on to the tiny shreds of his personality which remained with an intense ferocity.

Recently, things had been even more intense after there was a terrorist threat made on Downing Street. It turned out to be a hoax but now Charles was constantly monitored by his security. A part of him felt sickened to be a target. He valued his life as much as any man and felt foolish to have so openly put himself out there, to become a public figure. But this had never been his dream. His natural charisma and charm had just made him a perfect candidate and those around him who were supposed to love and nurture him had modelled him in their desire to satiate their own needs.

Sighing, Charles shook his head and tried to shake away the angry thoughts which were brewing like a storm. He took a bite from his bagel and began chewing on it as he shifted through the first of his papers. He hadn’t always felt this bitter. It was only recently that he had begun to think about things differently. He loved his job, he loved being a voice for the people, but his heart didn’t feel in it anymore. He felt numb. He was only too aware of the cause of his despondency but he refused to acknowledge it. He hoped that if he ignored the problem it would go away but each day felt a little bit harder than the one before, the lines around his eyes growing deeper, the shadow over his heart darkening.

The first paper offered nothing unexpected. There was a brief mention of the latest arguments brewing about changes to NHS funding which Faye had dutifully highlighted. Charles drank his coffee, the warm fluid as dark as his furniture giving him a welcomed increase in energy levels. Caffeine was his only vice these days. As a young man he had smoked and drank in frighteningly large quantities, but these were attributes which were not befitting a man in power and so he was forced to stamp them out to the point where it was never talked of, like some dirty illegitimate secret. He couldn’t even enjoy a whisky on a plane or at a gala event. Elaine handled his life with such military precision that he never even had the opportunity to be tempted. He remembered fondly how she had gone away for a spa weekend, and home alone he’d drank and smoked to his heart’s content, feeling like a naughty teenager which added to the excitement of it all. The day before her return Simon had helped him air his house and destroy all the evidence. Charles had really enjoyed that weekend.

The first tentative rays of morning sunlight snaked their way across the carpet lining Charles’ office. Aware that time, ever the inpatient mistress, was fading fast, he began to shift through his pile of papers with increased vigour. With his coffee cup now drained, Charles felt renewed and alert. He consumed the remainder of his bagel as he scanned the third paper in the pile before reaching down to pick up the fourth and usually final paper. To his surprise, a fifth paper was concealed beneath the last of the broadsheets, a paper he did not normally read. Bemused, Charles picked up the copy of The Shadow, a notorious tabloid which revelled in stories of smut and scandal. He wondered if perhaps Faye had accidentally placed it there; maybe it was the paper she normally read and had bought it with his own papers and merely forgotten to remove it from the pile. But that wasn’t like Faye; she rarely ever made a mistake. If she had put the paper on his desk there must be something in it she felt he should see.

Charles riffled through the pages of The Shadow but didn’t spot any articles highlighted for his attention. He furrowed his brow in both frustration and annoyance. It simply wouldn’t do for him to be seen reading a tabloid newspaper. He wondered what on earth Faye was playing at? Determined to believe that the presence of the paper was deliberate, he began reading through it once more, this time in more detail. He found himself blushing at the young woman topless on the opening pages; it was so brazen and un-ladylike. He felt that it cheapened sex when women would remove their clothes for money; Charles preferred the mystery of it all and the act of seduction itself.

The second read through still failed to offer any explanation for the paper being on Charles’ desk. Exasperated, he put it down, his hand hovering over the phone on his desk, wondering whether he should call Faye and ask her what, exactly, he was supposed to be looking at.

He cast his eyes over the page which was currently spread open across his desk and he felt his heart momentarily stop beating in his chest. There it was, small and seemingly insignificant, tucked up in the far corner. To everyone else it was barely newsworthy, but to Charles, it was everything. He re-read the same section of the paper over and over again, not quite believing the words which lay before him in stark black and white.

Tears began to gather behind his tired blue eyes and Charles felt his throat throb and ache with the exertion of suppressing a sob. He ran a shaking hand across his face in an attempt to calm himself before reading the words again; trying to absorb the information they held, trying to accept the reality of it.

22-year-old Lorna Thomas of Kent was found dead in her car in the early hours of this morning. Police have ruled that she committed suicide.

The statement was so clinical, so simple. To the world, Lorna Thomas was no-one, just another tragic young death. Her suicide was so inconsequential in the grand scheme of national news that her death didn’t even warrant the inclusion of a picture. Charles was grateful for the omission of her image. If she had been there, gazing up at him from beyond the grave, the news would have been all the harder to bear. Charles reached down and let his fingers rest over the words. They lingered there longingly, as if wishing the subject would somehow manifest herself right there in the office.

Charles closed his eyes and tried to forget where, and who he was. He tried to picture Lorna’s face, her delicate features ever the image of perfection. The thought of her gone was overwhelming, Charles began to feel as though he were drowning, like he couldn’t breathe. Desperately he pulled at the tie that hung around his neck like a noose, loosening it and alleviating some of his tension. There, in the privacy of his office he let his head fall in to his hands and released one solitary tear for the dead girl. It was all he could risk doing whilst at work, beneath the scrutiny of his staff. He needed to be alone; he needed time to think, to process his thoughts.

The benefit. Charles groaned as he recalled the event his wife had reminded him of earlier that very morning. Every night there was a different benefit or gala to attend, a constant parade of charities vying for his allegiance, all of them equally worthy in cause but he himself feeling like a shambled commodity. He attended so many, and with such frequency, that he wondered what integrity his presence even carried anymore. He couldn’t go. He knew that. He was in no mind to be around people, to smile politely and greet complete strangers with the same warmth he would extend to old friends. He needed to let Elaine know. She would be angry, he expected that, and ultimately she would attend without him, which meant that he could spend the evening alone, which was what he needed.

Charles had the receiver in his hand and was about to press the button which would link him to Faye’s desk when he paused. Normally, he would just ask Faye to connect him to his wife, and Faye would dutifully track her down. But Faye had left The Shadow in his office which meant that she knew about Lorna and suddenly Charles felt sheepish. He decided to bypass his assistant and called his home directly. After seven rings his wife answered, sounding clearly displeased to have done so.

‘Lloyd Residence,’ she said tersely down the line.

‘Darling, it’s me,’ Charles tried to keep his voice level and steady, attempting to mask his pain.

‘Charles! Why are you calling me? Is Faye off sick?’

‘No, no, Faye is fine just … busy,’ Charles lied.

‘Busy! Too busy to assist the Deputy Prime Minister?’ Elaine sounded genuinely outraged as she spoke. ‘That girl needs to sort her priorities out!’

‘Darling, its fine, I wanted to speak with you directly.’

‘Oh, I see, what a lovely surprise,’ Elaine’s anger momentarily thawed. ‘As much as I appreciate the call, dear, don’t you have a country to run?’ she said mockingly.

‘Oh, yes that’s right I do, thanks for the reminder!’ Charles joked back. ‘It is just a quick call darling, about the event tonight.’

‘Black tie as usual,’ Elaine answered, presuming the reasoning behind the call.

‘Actually I can’t make it.’ Charles braced himself for his wife’s response.

‘Charles, why ever not? I have promised the organisers that you will be there!’

‘I’m so sorry, darling, but something has come up.’

‘Something? What sort of something?’

‘You know that I can’t discuss those sorts of things with you.’ Charles didn’t enjoy hiding behind his job, but he had done it so many times before that the charade came naturally to him.

‘Right, well, fine. I will have to go though, to represent us,’ Elaine sighed into the receiver.

‘Thank you for understanding.’

‘Yes, well, being married to one of the most powerful men in the country can have its downsides you know, like having to deal with disappointments.’

‘As always, you conduct yourself with grace and poise my darling. I know that you will be an asset to the Lloyd dynasty tonight when you attend.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Elaine was smiling now as she spoke, Charles could tell. ‘I’d picked out the most wonderful Vera Wang dress to wear.’

‘I’m sorry but I must go, duty calls.’ As the conversation veered towards fashion Charles knew it was time to bail out.

‘Have fun tonight.’ He hung up, three last words sticking in his throat, refusing to be released. It had been years since he had signed off a phone call to his wife with the words, ‘I love you’.

Charles thought of the day which lay ahead of him, of the meetings he must attend, the smile he must fake for so many hours before he would be alone again. Until then, he had to push Lorna out of his mind but he knew that would be impossible. For months she had tormented his thoughts, lingered in all his dreams. He knew that even her death would not cease her from haunting him.

He read the tiny excerpt once more. Suicide. The word jumped out from the page, wretched and cruel. Charles failed to understand why a young woman so vivacious and brimming with youth and an insatiable lust for life could suddenly decide that she wanted to die. What could drive her to do something so drastic? Guilt suddenly pinched at the base of Charles’ neck. His own actions could have been responsible for this. He looked down at his hands and wondered if they were potentially drenched in her young blood?

A brisk knock upon his office door disturbed Charles’ thoughts. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the image of Lorna which had settled within his minds’ eye, and cleared his throat.

‘Come in.’

Faye entered his office. She always appeared alert and eager, like a kitten, constantly glancing around for something to do, seeking out any task or errand which needed her attention. But when she saw her boss her features saddened.

‘You saw the paper then,’ she said, bowing her head slightly in respect for the deceased.

‘Yes, thank you for bringing that to my attention.’ Charles tried to appear composed but inside he was starting to fall apart.

Faye Smith had worked for Charles Lloyd since he had first begun his political campaign. She had helped him progress to his current position and felt that she knew him well. She saw now that he was in pain, which was what she had expected would happen.

‘I’ve arranged for flowers to be sent to the family.’ she told him gently.

‘Thank you.’

Charles suddenly wished that he was a nobody. That way he could attend Lorna’s funeral and no one would care, his attendance would go unnoticed. But being somebody meant that if he went there, he would cause a sensation, and detract from the tragic girl within the coffin which would not be his intention at all.

‘Would you like another coffee?’ Faye asked. Charles merely shook his head, his eyes downcast, lost in thought.

Faye hesitated for a moment. She knew what she wanted to say, what Charles needed to hear, she was just unsure if in saying it she crossed a line which she should never stray over as his employee. But she saw his pain, and knew she had to ease it any way she could. Charles Lloyd was a good, kind man, which she knew from first-hand experience. She would not have him feeling any other way.

‘It’s not your fault, you know.’

Charles looked up at his assistant, grateful for her words even if he did not believe them himself.

‘The Ambassador has already arrived. Would you like me to stall the meeting?’ The moment between them had passed and Faye had resumed her role as assistant, effortlessly breaking away from counsellor and confidante.

‘No, no, I’ll be fine,’ Charles said, knowing that, outwardly at least, he would be presentable for his meeting.

‘Alright then.’ Faye removed herself from the office, wondering if she had made the right decision in placing the newspaper on his desk. Perhaps she could have softened the blow for him, but then she had no idea of protocol in these sorts of situations.

Charles closed the copy of The Shadow, sealing away the news of Lorna’s death. It pained him to see how little the media cared, the pittance of a piece she had been given. If they knew the truth, her suicide would have been sensationalized, so perhaps it was best that to them she was still a nobody. Now, only he and Faye knew the truth; that for six months, Lorna Thomas had been having an affair with the Deputy Prime Minister of England.

Chapter Two

An affair to remember

The day flew by in a blur of insincere handshakes with intermissions of coffee. Charles felt like a zombie as he attended his morning meetings, going through the motions but feeling detached from the events which were unfolding before him. He was grateful when he bid the American delegates goodbye and could retreat back to the comforting solitude of his office.

As promised, Faye had cancelled all his meetings that afternoon, leaving him with time, which Charles had discovered to be the most precious commodity. He wanted to sit in his antiquated bat cave and think of Lorna, but he didn’t dare to. To remember her there would make the pain too fresh, too raw. He would wait until he was home alone, choosing to spend the remainder of the day trawling through the mountain of emails which had built up for him since that morning.

Charles sat and hammered away at his keyboard, hoping that keeping up with his correspondence would help dull the throb of despair which was pulsating at the back of his mind. But with each word he typed he sank further into a mire of misery. He wanted to go home but he knew he could not face Elaine. He had no choice but to wait until a later hour when she would be at the gala event. It was either that or book into a hotel but he felt like he needed to be in familiar surroundings. A foreign place, especially a hotel room, would only pour salt onto an already gaping open wound.

As the sun began to set, Charles decided to take his leave. Faye had kept a respectful distance since that morning.

‘See you tomorrow, sir,’ she nodded at him as he passed by her desk, his Bentley waiting patiently outside for him.

‘Hope you sleep well,’ Faye added as an earnest afterthought, aware of her employer’s ongoing battle with insomnia.

‘Thank you,’ Charles smiled, knowing that if sleep had evaded him before, that now with this extra woe, it would surely forever be beyond his grasp. He felt tired just thinking about it all.

In the back seat of the Bentley, Charles could feel his emotions scrambling to the surface, excited by the prospect of at last being released.

‘Did my wife get to the benefit alright?’ Charles leant forward and asked Henry, wanting to ensure that his house was going to be empty when he arrived home.

‘Yes, sir, she did.’ Henry answered politely.

‘Good.’ Charles felt relieved. Alone, he could grieve.

Dusk had set in when Charles Lloyd arrived back in suburbia. He left his car and walked up to his front door, his free hand proffering the household key. He waited until the door was firmly shut behind him before leaning against it and sliding to the ground, his arms locked around himself in a solo embrace. Now was when he wanted the tears to come, the tears which he had fought against all day long, but there was nothing. He wailed out in the emptiness; a cry of anguish and pain. The house was silent in reply and he wailed again, louder this time.

‘She can’t be dead,’ he whispered to himself. ‘She just can’t be.’

Charles remained on the floor by his front door for what felt like hours before eventually hauling himself to his feet and walking in to his now darkened home. He put the lights on sparingly, preferring an atmosphere of gloom than one of radiant light. He wandered upstairs and removed his suit – the uniform he was forced to wear – and put on something more comfortable; some jeans and a pullover sweatshirt. It felt liberating to be wearing something so casual.

‘Lorna.’ He muttered the dead girl’s name, his lips forming the familiar letters with tenderness.

He leaned back, closing his eyes and allowed himself to think of Lorna. Not of her gone, but of when they first collided into one another’s lives. He forced the memory to the surface, welcoming the pain it would undoubtedly bring, because he wanted to remember her; he wanted to relive the excitement of when he first saw her. In his mind he could keep her with him, their love never ending.

Lorna Thomas had recently graduated from Cardiff University with a first-class honours degree in political history. She was a fiercely intelligent girl, her impressive mind matched only by her unwavering ambition. On leaving higher education, she quickly acquired a placement as an intern within Downing Street. For a girl who one day dreamed of being the second female Prime Minister, it was an ideal job.

Charles Lloyd had just completed his first year in the role of Deputy Prime Minister. He felt that he was beginning to find his feet and establish his authority over the Cabinet and the rest of the country. He’d implemented some major changes which, whilst met with a lukewarm reception initially, were now revealing positive outcomes. His political career had reached the biggest peak he had ever known.

Traditionally, interns within Downing Street would be assigned a junior member of staff to shadow for their time there, the goal being to learn as much from them about the role as possible and then to take their newly acquired talents on with them. Charles was a firm believer in the intern system as he felt that it gave an invaluable opportunity to those who were young and eager to learn. He wanted to play a part in helping to shape the minds of future leaders. The positions were highly sought after, with applicants having to go through numerous rounds of testing and interviews before the elite few were chosen to take up the internships for the next cycle.

Lorna Thomas was delighted when she was offered an internship, especially as it was to shadow Faye Smith, the Deputy Prime Minister’s personal assistant. Faye was not quite so thrilled by the prospect, feeling that an intern would merely be a hindrance to her work. She carefully broached the subject with Charles the morning before Lorna was due to commence her internship. Handing the Deputy Prime Minister his coffee, Faye cleared her throat and nervously made her feelings known.

‘As you know, I will have an intern working with me for the next six months.’

‘Yes,’ Charles said his attention now on his morning papers.

‘And as I work in such a … sensitive position, I just wondered if it would be appropriate? Perhaps they should be placed elsewhere?’ Faye held her breath when she finished speaking, awaiting her employer’s response.

Charles looked up from the paper and smiled at his assistant.

‘Do you know why I chose you to have an intern this year?’

‘No, I do not.’

‘Because you are the most diligent and noble member of all my staff. And those are qualities which I want others to learn. You should be honoured by the opportunity to pass on your knowledge to someone else, Faye, not annoyed.’

‘Yes, I suppose so, sir.’

‘And if they get under your feet too much, just say and I’ll have them reassigned. Deal?’

‘Deal, yes – thank you.’

Lorna was three weeks into her placement when Charles first noticed her. It shamed him to admit it, but he paid little mind to the interns who floated in and out of the building on rotation. He wasn’t even involved in the interview process. To him, they were just nameless young faces who would soon move on somewhere else; occasionally they retained a job there but it was unlikely. During his first few months, he endeavoured to seek out new interns and employees and greet them personally, but he soon found that his incredibly tight schedule did not permit him to do this. He had to choose which new additions to his workforce he should introduce himself to, and interns were just not important enough. Moreover, he was barely around. Charles would rush into his office in a mist of phone calls and papers, lock himself in as he dealt with a variety of issues and then leave amidst just as much chaos. The interns surveyed his goings on from afar in quiet awe.

On one ordinarily busy morning, Charles came bustling towards his office, holding out an expectant hand for Faye to drop his messages into, when he noticed the unfamiliar blonde hair shining from behind his assistant’s desk. He stopped abruptly in his tracks and took in this new face.

He instantly found Lorna beautiful but quickly dismissed those thoughts, knowing that he was old enough to be her father. He felt momentarily foolish to have even noticed her striking physique.

‘Is Faye not in?’ he asked quickly.

‘No, I’m afraid she’s off sick,’ Lorna answered, her voice soft and sweet, like birdsong.

‘Oh right, oh dear. So, you are standing in for her today?’

‘Yes sir, I’m an intern here. I’m Lorna Thomas,’ Lorna said eagerly, extending her delicate hand towards him by way of introduction. Bemused, Charles went to shake her hand, which was so small and white, like that of a china doll. He was afraid that his large, manly hands might break her. Her skin was soft and cool within his palm.

‘Nice to meet you, Lorna,’ he said sincerely.

‘You too.’ She looked up at him and her smile was so pure, yet tainted with nerves. Charles realised that he had held her hand a second too long. He hurriedly released it before instructing the pretty young intern to bring in his messages in a moment. It was only when he was in his office that he realised that he normally asked Faye to just leave them on his desk; he rarely invited her in. He groaned at his clumsy handling of an encounter with a beautiful woman. It was like being an awkward teenager all over again. Despite the extra years and the successful job, Charles was still as uncomfortable around certain women as his sixteen-year-old self.

Not that Charles had much experience with the fairer sex. He had met Elaine at college and she was his first and only girlfriend. She was from a good family; ‘well-bred’ his grandfather had said, as though he were referring to a race horse. The courtship was encouraged and Charles’ family dictated his behaviour, right down to when he should propose and where he should marry.

‘Here are your messages.’ Lorna came in with a handle of post-it notes, each neatly detailing the time of the call and the contents of the conversation which had transpired. She kept her gaze to the floor when she came in, visibly nervous. She wore a knee length grey skirt and a green cardigan; the outfit was fitted enough to hint at her modest curves concealed beneath. Charles watched her, mesmerised by her movements. Her every step was elegant as she crossed his office floor with the poise of a ballet dancer.

Lorna hesitated at Charles’ desk, unsure how to proceed, before dumping the notes down and hurriedly retracing her steps.

‘Lorna,’ Charles called out to her in spite of himself. He wanted her to look at him; he wanted to see her face.

‘Yes?’ She turned and their eyes locked, and for a split second Charles felt his heart cease to beat. Lorna’s eyes were dark and absorbing, like pools of melted onyx. The world seemed to stop turning, everything pausing for this moment.

‘Thank you.’ Charles forced the words out, aware that he was staring at the poor girl who now probably believed him to be a pervert. But, as she placed her hand on the door to leave, Lorna turned to look at him, blushing. There was nothing sexual or flirtatious in her gaze, it was more tender than that. She smiled, knocking back a strand of blonde hair which had fallen loose, before leaving the office.

Charles felt inexplicably drawn to the young intern. But at the same time he knew he was being naïve. Lorna was merely being polite, she did not look at him with the same desire as he did her. And he was a married man; he was not supposed to want other women. But then, he had never wanted the woman he had, not really. Their sex life was stoic and predictable; there was no fire, no passion. Elaine had never made his heart almost stop beating.

On the journey home, Charles found himself replaying his encounter with Lorna over and over in his mind. He tormented himself, trying to force meaning out of her smile. He tried to convince himself that it was nothing; that she was just being pleasant. But that night, as his head hit the pillow, she was all he could think of.

Charles sat in his lounge and continued to recall, with a bittersweet pleasure, his first encounters with Lorna. After their initial introductions in his office, they had danced furtively around their mutual attraction for one another, cautiously exchanging lingering glances. Still, Charles berated himself for being foolish, but took a childish joy from entering into the game of flirtation. Each time she caught his eye he felt his heart race; he had never felt so alive.

Lorna’s mere presence was distracting. Instead of focusing on the financial economy for the impending year, Charles would be wondering where she was, or recollecting how enticing she had looked that morning in whatever ensemble she had thrown together. He should have been paying more attention to matters at hand and worrying about igniting the flames of idle gossip with his behaviour, but Charles was too caught up in the heady ecstasy of a crush. Lorna dominated his thoughts.

In the evenings, Charles would sit and ponder over his interactions with Lorna that day, trawling over the finest detail to try and surmise if she too wanted him as much as he wanted her. When they exchanged morning pleasantries he would analyse her tonality to the point where he was driving himself to distraction. Even Elaine commented on his unusual behaviour one night over dinner.

‘Charles, dear, you’ve seemed most distracted this past week. Are things a little intense with work?’

Charles glanced up from his roast lamb dinner and seized the opportunity of deception, knowing that his role as Deputy Prime Minister was the perfect veil to hide potential indiscretions behind.

‘Yes, work is extremely busy lately. I’m going to be staying late indefinitely.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Charles felt a pang of guilt when Elaine appeared genuinely dismayed.

Another week of coy glances and shy smiles began. Charles found himself wishing the day away, just for those precious moments when he would walk past Lorna, sat diligently working at Faye’s desk. Faye herself seemed oblivious to the flirtation and appeared to be warming towards the young intern whose presence she had originally protested.

It was an evening in early spring when the situation intensified. Charles was working late, finishing off a manifesto he was due to present the following day. Sat now in his lounge, Charles could still smell the faint aroma of warm rain, carried in from the open window in his office. It was a characteristically wet April, and there had been a sudden downpour hammering against his window, yet the wet weather was accompanied by unseasonal heat. London had felt more like a rainforest than a city.

A gentle knock rapped against his office door, disturbing him from his work.

‘Come in,’ Charles instructed.

The door creaked open and Lorna appeared, soaked to the bone. Her golden hair lay wet and matted to her head, her neat outfit, so carefully put together, now dripped onto the carpet of the Deputy Prime Minister’s office. The young woman put on a brave face and lifted her frame into a more dignified stance.

‘I got caught in the rain,’ she said. ‘I was sent to deliver some urgent mail and didn’t predict the sudden downpour. Foolish really, to have left without an umbrella. I do have one, but I left it behind at my desk …’ Lorna was rambling. Charles realised that she was nervous. He chose to believe that this was evidence for her feeling the same way about him as he did about her. He rose to his feet, not quite knowing what he was doing.

‘Anyway, I came to tell you that I am working late tonight. Faye had a family party to attend so I offered to work here until you were finished.’ Lorna looked up at him when she finished speaking and gone was the timid young girl who fluttered her eyelashes at him each morning; she had been replaced by a woman whose eyes now burnt with need and desire.

‘Close the door,’ Charles told her, still unsure what he was doing, instead running purely on instinct rather than logic. Lorna obliged as Charles crossed the short threshold of his office and came and stood beside her. He cupped her damp face in one hand, and with the other produced a key from his pocket and locked his office door. His heart was racing and his blood sped through his veins with such intensity that he felt as though his skin were covered in flames. He wanted this fire within him to consume Lorna; for them both to be devoured by his heat and leave only ashes behind.

Charles gazed at Lorna; he had never been so close to her before. She smelt of fresh rain, but beneath that he could smell roses. He wanted to say something to her, something wonderfully romantic and poetic to capture the moment, but he knew that he did not possess the words. Instead, he let his actions communicate his feelings.

Leaning forward, Charles pressed his lips against Lorna’s and kissed her. She melted into the passionate embrace and as they stood, kissing, time seemed to melt into obscurity. Lorna pulled herself away from him for long enough to release the noose around his neck and to unbutton the suit he’d had tailor made. Her wet clothes were soon scattered around the floor of the office. Charles carried her over to his desk and there made love to her for the first time. It was the most exciting moment of his life. He was no longer Charles Lloyd, married Deputy Prime Minister of England, he was just a man, and Lorna was just a woman. Having sex with her felt so natural and so right that he could not believe for even a second that what he was doing was wrong.

And so the affair began. Charles tried to be as discreet as possible, leaving hotel bookings to Lorna so as not to rouse suspicion in Faye, always under the provision of working late. They would arrive at the hotel at different times and leave separately. But there, within the luxury of whatever room was the setting of their current love nest, they could be together and shut the rest of the world out.

At first it was the sex which blew Charles away. Lorna knew things, did things, which he had never encountered. She was vastly experienced for her age, and this dismayed him somewhat when he realised that he was falling for her. The thought of her being with another man began to make him feel wretched, which he knew made him a hypocrite as he himself was married to another woman.

It was the moments after the fire and the passion, when Lorna would lie in his arms and they would talk, that the affair began to take on a deeper meaning. She shared his love of classic Hollywood movies, and so together they would watch Casablanca and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Lorna would fall asleep in his arms; his own angel. During the first flushes of romance, Charles thought of nothing but Lorna. He would arrange for bouquets of roses to be delivered to her London flat, anonymously of course. He had never done anything like that before. He was in love and the sensation took him by surprise.

The couple tried to limit anything occurring at Downing Street again for fear of being caught. Hotels were their favourite location for romance but Charles found it increasingly difficult to be near Lorna in a professional sense and not be able to have her. He stole countless kisses behind closed doors, always feeling like it wasn’t enough. Charles Lloyd began to live in the present, something he had never been able to do. He was used to always planning ahead, always looking to his future. But with Lorna, the future was so uncertain; he had to exist in the here and now with her.

‘Eggs Benedict,’ Charles said the words aloud to his empty living room. It was Lorna’s favourite breakfast and she would order it each and every morning after they had spent the night together. She had tried it for the first time when they stayed at The Ritz and instantly loved it and would eat nothing else. Charles loved to watch her delight over the meal, savouring each bite. Lorna had a genuine love for life, from the food she ate to the movies she watched and the music she listened to. She was so passionate about everything and it was contagious. Charles was the happiest he had ever been, simply from having her in his life. But the reality of his situation was beginning to encroach upon their fantasy. One rare morning when he was at home, his wife got up and served him eggs Benedict, which promptly made Charles retch. The horror of who he was, of what he had become, was too much to bear. But Lorna was like a drug which he just could not get enough of. Away from her, he pined and longed for her; with her in his arms, he felt complete, content. He felt like he was home.

It was Faye who noticed. How could she not, with the affair being conducted right beneath her nose? She had remained silent for the best part of six months, turning the other cheek when Charles would request that Lorna work late for the fifth time that week. But as the months passed, she grew increasingly worried that her boss’ extra-curricular activities would cost him dearly if they were exposed, and that ultimately she too would be scalded when news of the affair boiled over. Her own reputation would become tarnished for having stood so close to a scandal. Faye couldn’t afford for that to happen; she had worked too hard for a rampant young intern to ruin things for her.

‘Your coffee.’ Faye placed the black coffee with a side of daily newspapers down and Charles looked up at her, surprised. Faye never entered his office uninvited, even to perform her usual duties.

‘I presume that Lorna will be working late for you this evening.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Charles answered, frowning in bemusement at the statement.

‘You work her very hard.’

‘Mmm, yes.’ Charles’ interest had already begun to wane as he started to peel back the front page of a newspaper.

‘Or is it the other way around, and she is the one who works you hard?’ It was a tacky comment, Faye was aware of that, and her crass approach was the culmination of months spent biting her tongue. Charles’ eyes grew wide with horrified understanding.

‘Thank you Faye, that is all,’ he said coldly, eager to dismiss his assistant.

Alone he contemplated the reality of his situation. People knew of his indiscretions, or if they didn’t they soon would. He could potentially lose everything, and more than that, he had let so many people down; Elaine to whom he had vowed to forsake all others and Lorna, who deserved more than a man who was already married. She was beautiful and vivacious; she should be treated like a princess not hidden in dark corners like a dirty whore.

Charles felt shame wash over his expensive suit and sink down to his skin. He felt filthy with it. He wanted to shower, to purge himself of his sins but he knew they would never wash away. He had been so consumed by his infatuation with Lorna that he had forgotten who he was. Charles Lloyd was the Deputy Prime Minister andhe was married. The relationship with Lorna had to end, else the two things that defined him would be gone. He sighed in despair and felt his heart ache within his chest. Running his hands across his desk, he recalled how he had held Lorna there, naked and damp in his arms; how his entire body had pulsated with desire. He remembered the words his father had once uttered to him; ‘passion has no place in politics’. How right he had been.

The evening unfolded as it always did. Charles would steal away to a suite at a fancy London hotel; shortly after Lorna would join him, always girlish and giggling, enjoying the way their rendezvous felt akin to espionage. Normally, his lust would overwhelm him and they would be making love even before the door had fully closed, but not this night. Charles stood, watching his beautiful temptress with sad eyes. Lorna regarded his unusual behaviour with confusion, before her own angelic features dropped. She’d had this conversation before; she knew how it went.

‘Your internship is almost up,’ Charles noted solemnly.

‘Yes, yes it is.’ Lorna hovered near the door, still wearing her black trench coat, unsure whether or not she should make herself more comfortable.

‘And you’ll be moving on to new things.’ Charles had to force his words as his throat attempted to seal them in.

‘Yes.’

‘So I think …’ The Deputy Prime Minister failed to finish his sentence, probably because he didn’t want to. His feelings for Lorna had not changed, he cared for her now more than ever.

‘You don’t have to say it, I understand.’ Lorna’s eyes grew heavy as she spoke, as past pain began to surface. Charles realised how little he knew about the woman who had successfully stolen his heart. He wanted to take his words back; he didn’t like seeing Lorna like this, so subdued. She wanted her as she was; bubbly and effervescent.

‘I have a wife,’ Charles choked on his words now and pinched his eyes closed, willing his tears not to fall. He was anguished by his betrayal to Elaine but also to the handcuffs which his marriage had placed upon him. As a single man, he could have taken Lorna out to meals, to the theatre. They could have dated properly and one day … who knew? Instead, their courtship was resigned to hotel rooms and had worn an expiry date ever since their first kiss.

‘It really is okay.’ Lorna took a deep breath before placing a delicate hand on the door handle behind her, preparing to leave.

‘We both knew what this was, that we wouldn’t be walking off in to the sunset together.’ She hesitated before suddenly walking over to Charles and gently placing a kiss upon his cheek.

‘It’s been a great six months,’ she smiled at him sadly.

‘The best.’ Charles watched her leave the room, his cheek still warm from the touch of her soft lips.

In the confinements of his lounge, Charles raised his hand and touched the cheek where Lorna had placed her last kiss to him which was now wet from his own tears. Their goodbye had been bittersweet. Lorna was accepting and dignified, he had no reason to believe that she was hurting. Could his ending their affair have driven her to take her own life? Charles wouldn’t believe it. Lorna Thomas was a happy, stable young woman. Whatever made her so desperate that so no longer wanted to go on living, it couldn’t have been him.

Charles finished his glass of scotch and felt it drop down into the hole which had formed inside him. A hole so cavernous and empty that he knew he would never be able to fill it. He now lived in a world where Lorna did not exist and he felt inside that a part of himself had died with her.

Chapter Three

And these wounds won’t seem to heal

Charles awoke as he always did, hot and panting, staring sightlessly in to the empty darkness of his bedroom. The sheets around him were soaked from his sweat.

With his heart pounding frantically in his chest, he tried to remind himself that it was all just a nightmare, that everything was fine. But in his dreams he saw her, falling away from him and no matter how hard he tried, how far he stretched, he couldn’t catch her.

Six months had passed since Lorna’s tragic death. Charles Lloyd had watched the seasons change twice over with an indifferent eye. He felt detached from the world around him, lost. Not that anyone could notice; outwardly he appeared his usual charismatic self, smiling for the cameras, shaking hands and continuing to represent his country as best he could. Internally, he was a mess.

Physically, Lorna was gone, but she haunted Charles’ dreams as she had done since he decided to end their affair. However, she now plagued his sleep with more ferocity, meaning that Charles was robbed of the little rest he managed to get. The moment he closed his eyes and felt blissfully transported from the reality where he felt constant pain, she would come to him through the darkness. It was always the same dream; Charles forever trapped in the moment when she kissed him goodbye on the cheek in a hotel room. However, in his dream she then doubles over in pain and collapses to the floor, dying right before his eyes. Unable to witness her demise, he tries to force himself to wake. Just before Lorna gasps her last breath he awakens in his bed, the sheets sodden from his sweat.

Elaine had grown so tired of his ‘night terrors’ that she had relocated him to the spare bedroom, which suited Charles just fine. He felt like a fraud around his wife, mourning for another woman and struggling to even look her in the eye when they talked.

Charles assumed that his nightmares were just his way of exorcising any guilt he was harbouring about Lorna’s suicide. Surreptitiously, he had gotten hold of the police report from Lorna’s crash. She had driven her car into a tree and died immediately on impact. Charles wanted to believe that it was an accident, but the words were there for him to see in stark black and white, cold and devoid of emotion in their summary of the situation; verdict, death by deliberate means. Suicide. As Deputy Prime Minister, Charles wielded certain powers; he could alter the law, distribute the national budget as he and his Cabinet deemed fit, but he lacked the power he truly needed – the ability to turn back time. He wanted to return to that moment in the hotel room and not hide behind his cowardice. He wished he’d had the strength to be truthful with Lorna and to tell her that he loved her.

What troubled Charles more than Lorna’s passing was the fact that he had never uttered those three immortal words to her. Their love for one another was assumed but never vocalised and regret hung heavy around the Deputy Prime Minister’s neck. He felt as though he wore the missed opportunity like a scarlet letter and Lorna continued to visit him at night, reminding him, tormenting him, about what could have been.

‘Another bad night?’ Elaine asked over breakfast one typical Sunday morning. Despite the early hour, her hair was already tidied into a bun, a fresh coating of lipstick on her lips. Her question was delivered tersely from behind her artificially crimson lips.

‘Yes,’ Charles said wearily, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

‘We really need to do something about it, it simply can’t go on. Look at you, you look a fright! You need to be projecting a certain image and haggard isn’t it!’ Elaine berated him as she would a naughty child; there was no concern in her voice.

‘Perhaps I’ll call in a doctor.’ Charles didn’t even look up as he spoke, instead stabbing half-heartedly at the boiled egg his wife had prepared for him.

‘That sounds like a good idea; I’ll call and arrange for them to visit you first thing tomorrow.’

Charles’ relationship with Elaine reminded him of his relationship with Faye. Both were formal and restricted. His conversations with Elaine resembled those he had with his assistant at work, detailing things that needed to be done, events which required his attendance. They didn’t discuss their feelings as though it were forbidden to do so. Both Charles and Elaine came from families who frowned upon displays of affection as ‘frivolous’. To them, a marriage was very much a business partnership and should be approached as such. You did not marry for love, you married to better yourself, or so Charles had always been led to believe.

For many years, he assumed that love existed only in Hollywood movies. When an actor would declare to his on-screen love that he couldn’t live without her, Charles would look on, bemused by such passionate feelings. He had never felt like that towards Elaine. He cared for her, certainly, but not to such extremes that his very existence would end if she were to leave him. He had a platonic marriage, as his father and his father before him had. It was considered normal and Charles had never questioned it. Until Lorna.

‘Charles!’ Elaine exclaimed in shock when her husband suddenly smashed the egg upon his plate with his fist.

Charles looked at her, his face contorted with anger and droplets of yellow yolk falling from his hand which was still clenched in a fist.

‘I’m sorry darling,’ he suddenly shook his head as if clearing away the demon which had briefly consumed him, and began wiping his hand clean with a nearby napkin. He went through the motions, apologising, claiming that he didn’t know what had come over him, attributing it to his lack of sleep. But Charles knew what was wrong.

Charles Lloyd was angry. He was angry and he was hurt. The great love of his life was gone. Like the Shakespearian tragedies which existed in his school books, he had found true love and it had ended in tragedy. Left alone in a world without Lorna, he felt trapped and disillusioned.

‘Look at the mess,’ Elaine berated her husband and his sudden impulse to destroy his breakfast. ‘Honestly, Charles, these past few months I don’t know what has come over you but I do not like it.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, really I am. The stresses of the job, they can be most trying.’

‘I’m aware that with great power comes great responsibility. You forget that I was bred from a family where all the women marry great men. Though none as great as mine,’ Elaine smiled fondly at her husband, who, even with bags hanging beneath his eyes, was still handsome. She loved how when she hung on his arm at events she was the envy of most women and she enjoyed gloating to anyone who would listen about his job and all the trappings that came with it. His job became her calling card, to the point where most of her sentences began with, ‘Oh my husband, the Deputy Prime Minister.’ It was with a mixture of pride and arrogance that she so often divulged information about his position. But she hid behind his job, as did Charles.

‘No, we don’t have time for children,’ she would tell family and friends. ‘Charles is simply too busy, he’s the Deputy Prime Minister after all. And when he’s done ruling the country it will be too late to start a family of our own. It’s a price I’ve had to pay for being married to a man at the top.’ People would roll their eyes, not knowing that Elaine was actually barren and could not bare children. The revelation had nearly destroyed her at the start of her marriage to Charles. But, ever the gentleman, he told her that they would be enough for each other, that children did not matter. And they didn’t. Elaine was more than happy to be the godmother, the aunt, but she had a constant niggling feeling at the back of her mind which rose up every time she drank or spent too many moments alone that she had failed Charles. Her end of the bargain was to give him children whilst he went out into the world and made the money. Beside her famous husband Elaine felt like dead weight. Charles and his career were all she had.

‘I’ll be fine, I’m sure. Perhaps I’ll try those sleeping pills again,’ Charles said as he rose from the table.

‘Whatever is troubling you, I’m sure that we will get to the bottom of it,’ Elaine smiled reassuringly.

‘Indeed, dear.’ Charles took his plate and the remains of his egg into the kitchen and Elaine sat contemplating her husband’s odd behaviour, as she had taken to doing most mornings. Whatever the matter was with him, she vowed to discover the cause of his distress and solve the problem. She mentally ran through a list of people she knew who might help, from sleep therapists to tarot card readers. Elaine couldn’t stand seeing her husband so miserable. If sleep was what he needed, that it was her job to ensure that he slept. She would do anything she could to help him.

It was a myth that time healed all wounds. Half a dozen months had passed since Lorna’s suicide and Charles’ pain had only intensified. Everywhere he went he was reminded of her, bar his home, which was off limits because he was struggling to face Elaine, sure that she could see through his work façade and knew deep down of his deceit towards her.

But his work offered some solace. He threw himself in to his role as Deputy Prime Minister with more gusto than ever. He accepted every invitation, attended every meeting. His face had never been more seen by the people of Britain. Little did they know that behind the beaming smile lay a cracked and broken heart.

As he undertook his sacred morning ritual, Charles would pause and regard himself in the mirror and pull his face into the Cheshire cat grin he wore for the media. Whilst his smile appeared warm and friendly, his eyes belied his inner turmoil. They sat lifeless in his head, without their former sparkle. A few of the tabloid papers had commented, attributing his saddened eyes to his inability to cope with current political issues such as the potential collapse of the National Health Service. But Charles was dealing with those issues easily – they were nothing compared to the battle he faced each and every day when he had to sit in his office, alone, his palms on his desk, unable to think of nothing but Lorna’s naked body writhing upon it.

‘Remember you have that press conference at ten,’ Elaine poked her head around the bathroom door, ever the eager assistant. She perused his appearance with interest before entering the room and realigning the blue tie he had just been securing into place. Charles stood, lifeless and submissive, and let his wife alter his collar and tie.

‘There – much better,’ Elaine declared triumphantly, patting down the collar with her freshly painted nails.

‘Come on now, dear, try and look less tired. What did the doctor say?’

‘More tablets,’ Charles said absently. He had tried every medicine known to mankind in his attempt to sleep through the night but Lorna’s ghost was persistent, being able to penetrate through the thickest drug-induced fog to find him and torment him; forever placing her last kiss upon his cheek before collapsing to her untimely death.

‘What are your plans for today?’ Charles asked, wanting to divert the conversation away from his ongoing fatigue, wary that his wife might continue to pry. He would have enough awkward questions to answer at the press conference; he did not wish to answer them in his own home.

‘Today,’ Elaine said with a hint of grandeur, clearly excited by her impending plans, ‘today I shall be choosing colours for the dining room as we are redecorating it, remember?’

‘Didn’t we decorate the dining room last summer?’

‘And then I’ve been asked to chair a book club somewhere over in Mayfair, which is exciting,’ Elaine continued, ignoring Charles’ question.

‘You do love your books.’

‘Oh yes, today we are discussing Wuthering Heights. Ah, I used to love that book as a girl. It’s all so turbulent and dark. I hate how Heathcliff ends up being haunted by Catherine’s ghost. I remember reading that bit as a young girl and being terrified!’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Well, writers love to dramatise things, don’t they. Love, in most cases, is simple. Look at us. It’s when you don’t go for your own kind, which is what happened in the book, that you end up in trouble.’

Charles frowned at the implications of his wife’s comment, but she had left the room, calling to him as she left about various shades of beige. He pondered on what she had said. Was he possibly now being punishedfor loving someone he shouldn’t have? Did all those who commit adultery suffer similarly?

‘Good morning, sir,’ Faye handed Charles his messages as he strode past her, heading for his office.

‘Good morning,’ he managed to smile at his assistant before thankfully entering the solitude of his office. For a brief moment, he would enjoy the quiet, but then the memories of Lorna would begin to surface and he would long to be released from what had started to feel more like a prison than a retreat.

Charles tried to occupy his mind with the papers left on his desk but everything in them felt superfluous to him. He tried to engage himself in the news stories but it was hopeless. His mind was already sinking into the pit of despair it did every morning. Clearly, the papers were not a strong enough distraction, so he turned his attention to his handful of messages.

There was nothing of note; a few calls he had to return, nothing more. As he was about to return to the papers he noticed the final note Faye had wrote down for him in her tidy, cursive hand and his heart sunk. In his eagerness to be more proactive at work in an attempt to place a plaster over the wound Lorna’s death had left upon him, he had agreed to a meet and greet session with the latest intake of interns.

The Prime Minister was always far too busy for such meetings and so in his role as Deputy he had the responsibility of being the face of the ruling political party, to be available for hospital openings, charity balls and any other relevant events.

As he sat behind the desk, which had once nearly been burnt to the ground by the fires of his own passion, he knew that he could not do it. Not enough time had elapsed. He was not strong enough to face a room full of interns, because any of them could be Lorna, young and eager to make their mark upon the world, and he did not want any further reminders of the one woman he had loved and lost.

He considered cancelling the meeting, but Charles knew that Faye would be aware of his reasoning which made him feel ashamed. The meeting was not until three that afternoon; hopefully something would come up before then relieving him of his requirement to attend. Until then, he needed to focus on his press conference, which meant, more than anything, perfecting his smile. He didn’t want the people to look at him and his tired, sad eyes and believe that it was because their country was beyond hope. In reality, everything was fine, more than fine. He had some very clever men in his Cabinet that had reduced benefits to the unemployed to the bare minimum, which meant that there would be additional funding for the health service, leaving the country in an even greater position than it had been for many years. But Charles knew that he needed to represent these positive changes in himself. People would not believe his good words if he delivered them from a haggard face.

‘Heavy is the head which wears the crown,’ his mother had said to him warningly when he had told her of his decision to accept the position of Deputy Prime Minister. It was a rare moment when she had spoken her mind to him. Usually, she kept herself in the background when it came to these sorts of decisions, leaving the men to plan out the future of the family.

‘I’m not trying to be king, mother,’ Charles had joked.

‘You know what I mean,’ she had said stubbornly, her always quiet voice still barely above a whisper. ‘I just don’t want you to end up unhappy.’

‘What, like you?’ Charles’ comment was cruel and it was the adolescent who still dwelled in him who did not prevent it being vocalised. His mother physically shuddered from the infliction of his words and she wrapped her arms protectively around her tiny, frail frame.

‘Yes, like me,’ she said bitterly, pools of tears forming in her grey eyes. ‘Your father is not always right. If you continue to let him make all your choices, you will never be happy.’

‘Then why do you let him dictate to you the way he does?’

‘The same reason you do, Charles. Because for some sadistic reason we want nothing more than to please him, and in doing so, sacrifice so much of ourselves.’

‘But I want to be Deputy Prime Minister, I want to make a change in this country,’ Charles said, still filled with the optimistic hope which only the young possess.

‘Okay, my son. I have no doubt that you will be a wonderful Deputy Prime Minister. But just be careful, as it can be lonely at the top.’ The ice between them had thawed. She had embraced Charles and he remembered thinking how she felt like a skeleton in his arms. The cancer had taken her before he had been appointed, so she never lived to see him become the Deputy Prime Minister and it bothered Charles to know that deep down she disapproved of his decision, because it was born of his father’s agenda.

Charles practiced his smile once more, his facial muscles already aching. He was lonely at the top, but with Lorna in his life, he had not been. Like the literary character Heathcliff, he was tormented by the loss of the woman he loved and trapped in an empty marriage. Sighing, Charles read through his speech for the press conference, determined to instil hope in the people of Britain even though all hope within him had died with Lorna.

The morning sped by in a blur of questions faster than Charles would have liked. It was soon afternoon and his meet and greet with the interns was creeping ever closer. All Charles wanted to do was hide in his office. He could not bear to face his past mistakes; not yet, not like this with Lorna gone.

Alone in his office, Charles contemplated plausible excuses he could use; he could feign illness or pretend there was a sudden crisis at home. Yet his own reluctance to attend made him feel wracked with guilt. He did not like to let people down, even those who were strangers to him. It was this sense of commitment which made him so capable within his role of Deputy Prime Minister. His innate need to please others, no doubt born out of his childhood struggle to seek his father’s approval, meant that he worked every hour that he could to do the best job possible. His efforts, though in vain, instilled in him an incessant need for praise. He didn’t like to think of the interns being disappointed when he failed to materialize at the meeting, but then, he did not want to present a fractured image of himself. He wanted them to see the warm and smiling Charles Lloyd which they knew from the television, not the broken man he was behind closed doors.

‘Sir?’ Faye knocked lightly and entered the office, having sensed her employer’s apprehension about the impending meeting.

‘Yes, Faye?’ Charles asked, pleased for her presence as it offered a distraction from his ever-darkening thoughts.

‘I thought perhaps you might want to run through the agenda for the meet and greet?’

‘No, it’s alright,’ Charles said, aware that he visibly tensed at the mention of the interns.

‘I think it would be a good idea …’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ It was unlike Charles to interrupt her but his anxiety was making him tense and impatient.

Faye turned to leave and hesitated. She had silently judged him throughout the affair, assuming he was another middle-aged man preying on a younger, weaker woman. She had found herself in a similar situation whilst a student at university with one of her professors, and it had ended badly for her. She had fallen in lov – he had chosen his wife. It was the age-old tale of silly young girl being used by older, bored man. But then Faye knew Charles, or at least she thought she did, and he wasn’t that malicious or calculating. And then he had been so crushed by the news of Lorna’s death. It had been months and yet still he appeared to mourn her. Faye did not believe that he deserved to suffer like this.

‘It’s not your fault,’ she said quietly. Charles looked at her in surprise, confused as to what she might be referring to.

‘Lorna,’ Faye explained softly, referring to the giant elephant which had taken up permanent residence in the office. ‘Her dying was not your fault.’

Taken aback, Charles could not find any words to form a response. The pain he carried from Lorna’s death was a burden he hauled alone. He had never talked to anyone about her passing, or about how it made him feel, and it felt surreal to have someone else refer to her. In his mind he had an entire world which had existed with Lorna which felt cut off from anything else, but hearing Faye speak of her reminded him that his reality and Lorna had once been interlinked.

‘I’m not comfortable …’ Charles did not want to talk about Lorna. Thinking about her was hard enough, talking would just be too much. He couldn’t finish his sentence; his throat was beginning to choke up as he struggled to discreetly suppress a sob.

‘I think that it will do you good to go and address the interns,’ Faye said sternly, feeling equally uncomfortable to see her boss crumble before her like a house made from paper.

‘How?’ Charles demanded.

‘Because she is dead and you are not. The dead die whilst we must go on living. You are not to blame. She killed herself. You cannot punish others, who are so eager to meet you, for your mistakes. You are better than that.’ Faye’s tone softened with fondness at the end. ‘I am sorry to speak out of turn like this, but for months I have watched you mope around and you are clearly beating yourself up about it all when you shouldn’t be.’

Again, Charles was lost for words, surprised to have been given a dressing down by his own assistant. It was unnerving just how similar Elaine and Faye’s behaviour towards him was; loving yet berating at the same time, a complete juxtaposition of emotions.

‘Faye, you are quite right, thank you. I shall prepare myself for the meeting,’ Charles suddenly came to his senses. Here, in his office, he was the Deputy Prime Minister. At home he could once more become Charles Lloyd and dwell on the loss of Lorna, but whilst at work he had to maintain the image he had worked so hard to build. ‘I appreciate the offer of some … perspective,’ Charles said a little uneasily.

‘Anytime, sir.’ Faye smiled and left the office. The moment had passed and she had succeeded in her quest to raise the Deputy Prime Minister’s mood, but knew better than to linger and risk pushing the boundaries between them further. She had already spoken to him inappropriately; she had no desire to make a habit of it.

Charles again practiced his smile and tried to completely banish Lorna from his mind. Obligingly, her memory retreated to the shadows of his thoughts, allowing him to resume his role of Deputy Prime Minister, if only temporarily. He knew she would return again that night as soon as he dared to close his eyes and lose himself to the darkness. She was always there waiting in his dreams, refusing to let him forget.

The main meeting room within Downing Street was the venue for the meet and greet with the interns. This suited Charles as it meant that his office, which had become his bolthole, was close by.

He gave a brief speech to the room full of fresh, eager faces, without lingering on any of them for too long, preferring to speak into empty space. Charles gave them the usual spiel of what a great opportunity this was and how it would hold them in good stead for their future career, and his ethos of work hard if you want to succeed. That was probably the best quality his own father had succeeded in instilling in him – his work ethic. Charles had been a devoutly conscientious student and was even more dedicated when he entered the working world. Arguably, it was born of his desire to please, but it was still an admirable quality which had earned him the respect of his peers.

Charles drew his speech to a close, willing the meeting to end, although he had to admit that it had been easier than he had thought it would be. When Faye suggested he take twenty minutes to mingle with some of the interns, he agreed – his old, social self beginning to resurface.

The interns who he spoke to were polite and hung on his every word, which always made Charles a little uncomfortable. Quiet awe he could tolerate but sycophants he could not. He was beginning to find the banter almost bearable. An intern would introduce themselves and he would show a cursory interest in them, asking where they were from and so forth.

He was mid-way through a conversation with a young man with short dark hair and trendy rimless glasses when he spotted a halo of blonde hair bobbing amongst the sea of interns just beyond his eye line.

Instantly his heart skipped a beat, his thoughts instinctively thinking of Lorna.

Discreetly, Charles glanced past the man he was engaged in conversation with. There again, he caught a glimpse of blonde hair which belonged to a petite young woman but her back was to him. Charles chastised himself for being ridiculous. Lorna was creeping back into his thoughts and playing tricks with his mind. There are millions of women with long blonde hair and small, slender frames, he thought to himself; he needed to gain some perspective.

But Charles could not tear his attention away from the blonde who was now talking to another intern on the other side of the room. If only she would turn around – if he could see her face, he could relax. Charles could feel his heart rate quickening with anticipation, the girl turned and … it was some nameless stranger. Charles felt his spirit sink but then realised just how foolish he was being. Lorna was gone, he needed to accept that.

Yet, from behind, there was every chance that she could have been Lorna. It was impossible, but like a child clinging to the myth of Santa Claus, he had willed it to be true with all his heart.

He dutifully continued his lap around the room, showing interest in each of the interns he spoke to. This was the part of his job that he enjoyed; meeting people and getting to know them. He liked it when he got to be out in the community, speaking with people about their lives and how he, in his position, could help to improve them. Some people were more polite than others. In the past, some women had been downright crude to him, commenting on how attractive he was in person and what they would like to do to him in the privacy of their own bedrooms. That sort of talk made Charles most uncomfortable and he struggled to identify with women of the ‘ladette’ persuasion. Perhaps he was old-fashioned in his views, but he liked women to be, well, women; well turned out, polite and feminine. So many women were trying to push those boundaries and he never understood why.

Charles was ready to leave the interns when he saw her, and this time he was not mistaken. His body trembled as he realised that there was a ghost in his midst. He looked on in disbelief, his mouth agape, as Lorna appeared and walked across to the other side of the room. It was utterly impossible. It couldn’t be! Yet there was no denying it was her – the blonde hair, the delicate features, and her gentle, almost dance-like gait.

Charles’ entire body went cold as though he had suddenly been plunged in to ice. It could not be Lorna, it was impossible. But he had just seen her, he was certain of it.

Vomit threatened to escape from Charles’ mouth as he absorbed the shock. Everything seemed to be running in slow motion as he contemplated what he should do; fear making his actions erratic and clumsy. He hastily made his excuses and almost ran back to his office, terror gripping him as he moved.

‘Impossible, impossible,’ he muttered to himself as he hurried past Faye’s desk and gratefully closed his office door behind him.

‘Impossible,’ he said again, breathless from his frantic rush through the building. There was no logical reason why he could have seen Lorna but he did not doubt his senses. She had been there, amongst the interns. Charles tried to will himself to think rationally, to try and make sense of the senseless. Looking down at his hands he realised that they were shaking.

Why was Lorna there? Was she haunting him, punishing him for her death? Or had he gone mad, his mind completely lost beyond salvation and driven to the brink of insanity?

Charles feared that it was the latter. He sat at his desk and tried to calm down but his heart continued to thump like a crazed drum within his chest. He wanted to believe that he had imagined her; that he missed her so terribly that he had started to hallucinate that she was there. But she had seemed so real, moving amongst the interns as though she belonged there.

Charles let his head fall into his heads. Clearly, he was more disturbed than he had originally thought. And if it wasn’t that and if Lorna’s spirit was haunting him, he wasn’t sure if he even believed in all that. Charles was an atheist – the notion of an afterlife was ludicrous to him. But Lorna had haunted his dreams for all these months. What if she had now leapt out into his life?

‘Lorna’s dead.’ Charles said the words aloud, knowing that he no longer believed them.

Chapter Four

These haunting memories refuse to fade

Alone in his office, Charles contemplated the very possible reality that he was going mad. The evidence was there; he had just seen Lorna, who was dead and had been for the past six months.

He sat and replayed the moment over and over in his mind, willing himself to find a flaw, to see that it wasn’t her, but it was hopeless. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. The shock of seeing Lorna had numbed his senses slightly, leaving him sat frozen behind his desk with only his thoughts for company.

Rubbing his eyes he feared for his own mental state. He was dangerously sleep-deprived – lulled into any rest by a cocktail of prescribed drugs – so it was completely plausible that he’d stated to have daylight hallucinations. The thought terrified him, making even the marrow within his bones shake. Like Ebenezer Scrooge once had, he tried doggedly to dismiss what he had seen as coincidence and nothing more.

Surely, he reasoned, it was just an intern who looked very similar to Lorna. Charles wanted to believe that but he knew her face too well as he saw it each and every night in his dreams. It was Lorna who had been amongst the interns; what was uncertain was the reason for her being there.

Charles almost wished it was her ghost reaching out to him, as much as that prospect terrified him. At least that meant that he wasn’t going insane. Morbidly, he began to recall a documentary he had once watched, about a man who kept having vivid hallucinations which doctors discovered were attributed to a giant tumour growing inside his brain. The tumour was inoperable and the man ultimately died a slow, unpleasant death. On reflex, Charles tentatively touched his forehead. Was Lorna a manifestation of something sinister growing within him?

Perhaps the dreams had been a precursor and now the tumour had grown so much that his hallucinations were spilling out in to broad daylight, no longer confined to the darkness of his dreams.

To think that all this was just the mark of an illness made Charles despair. A part of him yearned for it to be Lorna’s spirit because that meant that, even in the afterlife, she still wanted to cling to him as much as he did to her.

He thought back to the documentary he had seen and remembered another chilling addition to the man’s symptoms; uncharacteristic behaviour. Before the tumour was discovered he began liking food he had always hated and being spiteful to those he loved after spending a lifetime being a kind, gentle man. Charles had never before acted on impulse until he met Lorna. The whole affair was grossly out of character for him. Sighing, Charles rubbed at his temple which was potentially housing the source of all his despair.

With hands still shaking, Charles picked up his phone and dialled home. He knew that the most decisive course of action would be to see his doctor as soon as possible. He hoped that he was wrong – that there was no tumour poisoning his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought thar everything he had felt with Lorna was not real andwas merely the symptom of an illness. The notion tainted the love he had felt and made him feel sick, as though he had been deceived by his own body.

‘Lloyd residence.’ Elaine sounded particularly cheerful as she answered the phone.

‘Honey, it’s me,’ Charles said, his voice hoarse.

‘Oh Charles, perfect timing! I have the decorator here with me now and we are going through samples for the dining room. Would you prefer magnolia or ivory?’

‘What?’ The fog of confusion produced by the shock of seeing Lorna made Charles struggle to decipher his wife’s question.

‘Colours, Charles. What would you like?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Is something wrong, dear?’ Elaine suddenly focused on her husband, her intuition sensing that there was a problem.

‘I’m just not feeling very well.’ Charles said softly.

‘Oh no, are you coming home?’ his wife asked in a panic, perturbed to think that her daily plans might suddenly be compromised.

‘No, I think I can stick out the rest of the day, but can you call the doctor again for me?’

‘Yes, certainly,’ Elaine answered, relieved. ‘There are a lot of bugs going around at the moment, three of the ladies from the book club called off sick.’

‘Oh.’ Charles cared not for the trials and tribulations of his wife’s social circle. He was even less tolerant when potentially gravely ill.

‘Are you quite sure that you wouldn’t rather come home?’ It was an empty question but, bound by the code of wifely duities, one Elaine felt compelled to ask.

‘I can’t, I’ve too much work to do.’

‘Well, as Deputy Prime Minister you have more work to do than most!’ Elaine raised her voice ever so slightly as she spoke, no doubt to ensure that the decorator in the next room could hear that she was speaking with her ever-so-important husband.

‘If you can just call the doctor, please.’ Charles felt his temple begin to throb, either from the frustrations of speaking with his wife or a reaction to the fear he had placed within his mind of a tumour lurking there. He hung up without a formal goodbye, imaging how Elaine would still cling to the receiver and deliver a loving farewell to the dial tone, all in the name of maintaining the image she had so perfectly crafted over the years.

When Charles spoke with Lorna on the telephone she had always signed off the same way. He would say goodbye and Lorna, in her sweet, singsong voice would brightly reply, ‘Until next time’. He found it endearing and loved how it made him yearn for their next conversation, their next union. Charles imagined how, if their love had endured, they would have ended their conversations with undying declarations of love, each living for the moment when they next spoke again.

Lorna, and everything he felt for her, could not have just been the manifestation of a tumour slowing rotting his brain. He knew in his heart that it was real. But that meant that the vision he’d seen in the intern meeting was surely an apparition, and that Lorna must be haunting him. But she was so sweet and kind, how could her spirit be malicious enough to torment him? Unless he was the reason why she ended her life and now she despised him. Would she not cease to prowl around his sanity until he had scarified is own life also? The idea was preposterous and Charles quickly dismissed it.

In the quiet of his office, with his mind aching from attempting to make sense of what he had seen, Charles longed for a drink and the welcome release it would bring him from his tangle of thoughts. Elaine had ensured that there was no alcohol in his office, going to such lengths as having the fridge, which his predecessor had put in, removed. Charles resented how she behaved as though he were an alcoholic who couldn’t be near spirits. It was as though she only ever saw the very worst version of him, which antagonised him as he had only ever treated her well. He knew that Elaine’s father had struggled with a severe drinking problem which probably accounted for her often irrational behaviour towards drink. But Charles did not enjoy being treated like a child and having his toys of scotch and bourbon taken away from him.

Lorna enjoyed Malibu® and coke. She would always pour herself a small glass from the contents of the mini bar n the hotel rooms they stayed in. Charles detested the stuff, claiming that it smelt of suntan lotion. Lorna would smile and shake her head in disagreement.

‘It smells exotic,’ she would tell him, seductively inhaling from the glass, her eyes locked onto his.

‘When I drink it, I pretend I’m on some far flung beach, with white sand beneath my feet, the sun beating down from a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze whipping through my hair.’

‘You get all that from a drink?Heck, maybe I should try it sometime!’ Charles would tease her. But deep down he made a promise to himself that one day he would whisk her away to a white sand beach, and they would not have to hide away; they could be open in their love and affection for one another. That promise, and the countless others Charles had made towards Lorna in his mind, had been broken. Perhaps that was why she now pursued him relentlessly, refusing to rest in peace.

Charles leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, willing Lorna to materialise. No matter the reasoning behind the visions, he no longer cared; he just wanted to see her again. His heart ached for her. It was a pain unlike any he had known before. When he thought of her, it would surge through his chest, up into his throat and threaten to steal his last breath from him. It bemused him how love and pain could be so akin to one another.

Faye went to knock on the Deputy Prime Minister’s office door but then recoiled just as her hand was about to connect with the wood and alert him to her presence. She had seen him flee from the intern meeting, suddenly turning whiter than fresh snow, as though he had seen a ghost. She knew what had spooked him and she was reluctant to upset him further. She regretted her decision over not forewarning her boss; she’d thought that she wouldn’t need to, but blatantly, she’d misjudged the situation.

Facing the door, Faye quickly ran over how she should proceed. It was well beyond her comfort level and outside of her duties as an assistant. Her boss was clearly in the midst of a breakdown and she did not want to be the person responsible for making it worse. But then, perhaps she would actually be helping, providing him some salvation for his own sanity? Either way, Faye felt uneasy about the whole thing. Sighing, she raised her hand again and this time rapped three short, sharp knocks on the door.

Charles heard the knocks echo around his office which had become his bolthole and ignored them. He did not wish to be disturbed. He couldn’t even bring himself to respond to the caller at the door, let alone attempt to hold a conversation with them.

‘Dammit.’ Faye looked down, shaking her head and then knocked again, louder. When still no reply came she knocked again and again, until her knuckles were reddened and sore. It became obvious that the Deputy Prime Minister would not respond to her knocking. She tried phoning his office, but that too was ignored. Faye knew that she had to go in and speak to him directly, which meant behaving out of turn, but ultimately she hoped he would thank her.

Faye signaled her imminent arrival with a sharp knock, and then gently pushed the office door open, taking care to quickly seal it shut behind her. The door creaked in protest at having been pried open. Surveying the darkened office, she found Charles sat almost cowering behind his desk, his face still ashen which made his eyes appear sunken and hollow. In the low light, the shadows across his face were more prominent, revealing just how much sleep he had been losing these past months.

‘I want to be left alone,’ Charles said shortly, scowling at her.

‘I know that, believe me I got the message loud and clear when you ignored me for the past twenty minute.,’ Faye switched on the nearby light which bathed the room in a forgiving glow, making the shadows on Charles’ face recede so that he appeared less gaunt.

Like a vampire, Charles squinted in the light.

‘I’m sorry to intrude like this,’ Faye began, speaking calmly and quietly, still trying to configure a plan in her mind to make him come around to what she was about to propose.

‘Then don’t,’ Charles spat. He did not want her to see him like this – backed up into a corner like a frightened animal. He wanted to be left alone. Had he not made that clear?

‘Trust me, I’d much rather stay outside than come into your cave.’ Faye could feel her patience wearing thin as a result of his rude behaviour towards her. She tried to keep calm, reminding herself of the current hierarchy within the room. He could treat her as awfully as he wanted to, but if she said one wrong word, it could cost Faye her job and that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

‘Look, sir,’ Faye breathed deeply before continuing, ‘I appreciate that this isn’t the best time, but there is someone outside to see you and …’

‘No,’ Charles cut her off, still scowling.

‘If you would just listen to me!’ Faye pleaded.

‘Whatever they want, the answer is no.’

‘Seriously, I wouldn’t come in here unless …’

‘Faye, are you deaf? I said no!’ Charles didn’t like behaving in such a petulant manner towards his assistant but he theorised that the ruder he was, the quicker Faye would leave and then he could return to the darkness and his thoughts.

‘If you were anyone else, I would turn and walk out, not just of this room but probably my job too!’ Faye said indignantly. Her limits had been tested to the point of breaking and she refused to take anymore. She’d had more than her fair share of experience with pig-headed men and she would make Charles listen to her if it meant slapping him clean around the face to make him come to his senses.

‘I’m in here, asking you to see this person because I respect you, sir.’ The final word tasted bitter in Faye’s mouth, tainted by her current resentment towards his attitude. ‘I know why you are so upset.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Faye spoke slowly now, to ensure that her employer caught every word she was relaying to him. ‘You thought you saw Lorna.’

At the mention of Lorna’s name, Charles’ features softened and he looked as though he were about to weep. All he could think was that it had been real. He wasn’t mad; Lorna had not been a figment of his imagination as Faye had seen her too. He tried to process his thoughts, to understand the implication of it all.

‘You thought she was there, at the intern meeting. Seeing her spooked you and you ran in here.’ Faye herself began to thaw, understanding that Charles’ spite towards her had been born from his own fear. ‘I really think that you should see the person waiting outside.’

‘Why?’ Charles asked, puzzled.

‘Just trust me on this,’ Faye urged.

‘I’m not in a fit state to see anyone,’ Charles found himself searching for excuses.

‘Please, You’ll feel better if you see them.’

‘Fine.’ Defeated, Charles raised his hands before straightening his tie as Faye went over to the door. He watched his assistant open it just a crack and call out to the waiting visitor in the corridor. A second later she ushered Lorna into the office.

Inside his chest, Charles felt his heart suddenly cease to beat, frozen from its normal rhythm by the sight his eyes were currently beholding. Vomit began to creep up the back of his throat, threatening to explode all over the ghost who now stood nervously before him.

Faye watched the Deputy Prime Minister’s reaction and immediately regretted her decision to let the girl in. If he had been pale before, he was now completely without colour; his eyes wide in terror.

‘Sir,’ Faye wanted to calm him, but didn’t really know how. She felt herself floundering helplessly in the situation like a fish removed from water, flapping and gasping for air, desperately stranded. She had already stepped so far over the line of decency within her job role that it had faded off into the horizon. Faye could not risk tarnishing her reputation with her employer any further; she had already done enough potential damage.

‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ Faye said quickly, relieved to be excusing herself from the situation and to return to the relative comfort of her own desk.

For a moment, Charles and Lorna stood in silence, each awaiting a response from the other. It was Charles who spoke first, his fear beginning to turn to anger as he processed what was unfolding before his eyes and began to piece together the truth.

‘This … this is impossible. You are dead!’ It was such an absurd statement to make when the girl was clearly far from deceased; she was standing before him, living, breathing, and thinking.

‘No,’ Lorna spoke but her voice sounded strange. The tone was duller than Charles had remembered, as though it were tainted with sadness.

‘Lorna is dead,’ the girl confirmed. Charles went to speak again but she raised her hand to silence him. ‘My name is Laurie Thomas. I’m Lorna’s twin sister.’

Charles gazed at Laurie in shock. The resemblance was quite exceptional; she was the perfect replica of Lorna. Now, as he scrutinized her further, he saw slight differences, such as the way Laurie held herself, less self-assured than Lorna was, and how her eyes were locked in a furtive, angry way, not kind and warming like her sister’s.

In the aftermath of Lorna’s death it had been easy for Laurie to play on the emotions of the Human Resources staff within Downing Street to pretend she cared as desperately for politics as her twin had and just wanted to fulfil her dead sister’s dreams. They’d offered her an internship position on the spot.

‘I’m so sorry, I did not realise that Lorna had a twin sister.’

‘No, I doubt that you did,’ Laurie said, almost bitterly.

‘I’m very sorry for you loss.’

‘Right, sure.’

Laurie’s rude demeanour made Charles feel taken aback. Lorna had always been so warm and kind but her twin appeared the exact opposite; cold and closed off. It was surreal to see Lorna standing there, behaving so differently, as though her body had been possessed by someone else. Even the way Laurie dressed was different. Lorna always wore very feminine, flattering clothes. Laurie was wearing skinny jeans with converse shoes, a green hooded jumper and a black biker jacket. It was very casual attire.

‘Please stop that,’ Laurie said suddenly.

‘Stop what?’ Charles queried, genuinely bemused by what he had just done to offend her.

‘Stop staring at me like I’m goddamn ghost. It’s all anyone does these days and I hate it.’

‘I’m sorry, that must be hard.’ Charles lowered himself into his chair and tried to gain a logical perspective on the situation. Before him stood Lorna – only it wasn’t Lorna, it was her twin sister. It was all so surreal.

‘Please … sit,’ he offered.

Laurie stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, her beautiful face locked in an angry scowl. Charles sensed the rage and anger within the young woman which threatened to rob her of her good looks. He could see that she was deliberating whether or not to sit down. Finally she chose to, her body language growing even more awkward as she settled herself across from him.

‘It’s very nice to meet you, Laurie.’ Charles said her name, hoping it would help to silence his mixed emotions over Lorna’s doppelganger.

‘All of us here were deeply saddened by the loss of your sister.’

‘Save the political bullshit,’ Laurie snapped venomously. ‘I know that you were fucking my sister.’

Charles blushed at the bluntness of the delivery. He tried to regain his composure, suddenly fearful that Laurie was here to blackmail him.

‘Look …’

‘I’m not here for money if that’s what you think. I’m not about to pervert my dead sister’s ill deeds for my own benefit, I’m not a monster,’ Laurie interrupted. ‘Nor am I about to go running off to the tabloids. My parents have had their hearts broken enough by Lorna’s death; it would destroy them if I were to remove the halo they had permanently placed over her head.’

‘Right, okay,’ Charles said cautiously, not wanting to antagonise Laurie further. She was clearly in a very volatile frame of mind.

‘Your sister and I …’

‘I care not for the details of your affair,’ Laurie interrupted him again. She delivered her words to him with such bitter resentment that it saddened Charles. Lorna was always so warm and affectionate. Her words came to him like the sweetest melody. Now, hearing that voice twisted with anger and despair sickened Charles. Seeing those sweet, angelic features all twisted and pensive seemed unnatural. He wondered if Hollywood had been right when they would label one twin as ‘good’ and the other as ‘bad.’ In this case, Laurie was evidently the evil twin and in no small measure. But then Charles wondered if she had once been just like Lorna, but the death of her twin had changed her and twisted her in to a darker version of herself. He would never know.

‘I cared for your sister,’ Charles admitted simply.

‘Really? I didn’t see you at the funeral.’ The darkness behind Laurie’s eyes intensified, threatening to spill out into the room.

‘I … I wanted to come, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate.’

‘What? You had to come as her seedy older lover? You couldn’t have just come as her employer? Jesus Christ are you that short-sighted?’

Since assuming the role of Deputy Prime Minister, people rarely spoke to Charles in a rude manner. Occasionally members of the public lashed out at events, angered over certain policies, but his security quickly intervened. Yet here Laurie was, being rude to him and not caring who he was, or what he did. To her, he was a man who had wronged her sister and he respected her ability to focus on that. He realised that there was something they shared; they had both loved Lorna dearly.

‘I know that I should have been there. I just didn’t want to turn Lorna’s funeral into a media circus,’ Charles admitted sadly.

Laurie was quiet, appearing to contemplate what he had said whilst interlocking her hands over and over as they sat in her lap.

‘I miss her,’ the young girl said and suddenly her hardened exterior melted away and she was vulnerable and soft. She was Lorna.

‘As do I.’

‘My Mom can’t even look at me anymore, and my Dad tries to hide it but I see it in his eyes as I see it in yours. She and I were one and the same and now she’s gone but I’m still here.’

‘I can’t imagine what that must be like.’

‘Yes you can. People look at you and see the man you are on television, but underneath you are just a normal guy. On the outside I’m Lorna, but inside I’m Laurie.’

Laurie had no idea why she was suddenly opening up to Charles. Perhaps it was the fatigue, as she was weary from travelling down to the capital city the previous day. Or maybe it was because she knew that she needed him to be on her side if she was ever to accomplish what she had come there to do.

‘Were you and Lorna very alike?’

‘No,’ Laurie scoffed. ‘Growing up, Lorna played with dolls whilst I’d spend days up in our treehouse, reading. We each lost ourselves in different dreams and fantasies. She wanted to be you –powerful and leading a nation. I wanted to be the ghost writer who would bring people like you down.’

‘I see.’ Charles felt himself warming to Laurie despite her hostile reception. He found her honesty, whilst cutting, refreshing.

‘I hate the city; all the fumes and people and pollution. But Lorna loved it. She would call me up raving about this show or that restaurant. Whereas I love to be in the country, enjoying as much solitude as possible.’ Laurie was rambling now but it was a long time since anyone had allowed her to speak openly about her twin. Most people in her life found the subject too painful to broach, which meant that she had been forced to keep the majority of her feelings locked deep inside her.

‘So, why are you here?’ Charles broached the question which had been on his mind since Laurie had first introduced herself.

‘Basically,’ Laurie inhaled, ‘I need your help.’

‘My help?’ Charles echoed, confused.

‘Yes … I,’ Laurie tried to find the words but couldn’t and dropped her head into her hands in frustration.

‘It’s okay.’ Charles leant forward to comfort her but then held back. Aesthetically she was still Lorna, and to touch her and feel her warmth would awaken too many conflicting feelings within him – feelings he was already struggling to deal with without adding a catalyst to the situation.

‘I need you to help me find out what happened to Lorna.’ Laurie managed to deliver her request, looking up with tears forming behind her eyes, the tough exterior well and truly melted away to reveal a vulnerable, grieving young woman.

‘I’m sorry?’ Charles frowned in bewilderment. ‘Lorna … she took her own life. I can’t help you.’

‘No,’ Laurie muttered despairingly.

‘Look, I wish I could help you, really I do. But the verdict was suicide which means that what happened to her was by her own hand. I know it’s hard to understand …’

‘No!’ Laurie’s protest was louder now, more impassioned. ‘Lorna did not kill herself!’

‘I know it’s so horrid to think about …’

‘Please, Lorna would not have done that. She wasn’t … like that. You knew her! She loved life – there was a light within her, and she would not have willingly put that out.’

‘People can be very good at hiding inner pain,’ Charles reasoned.

‘Lorna had no inner pain. I am her twin goddamnit! We were like two bodies with one mind. When Lorna cried, I’d cry without knowing why. And we shared everything, and I mean everything. I knew all about your affair.’

‘Perhaps when our relationship ended it hit her harder than I’d envisioned it would,’ Charles said gently, feeling sick to his stomach to be theorizing why the woman he had loved would kill herself.

‘Don’t flatter yourself!’ Laurie spat angrily. ‘Lorna knew what she was getting into from the start; it was always going to end. You were just a fling to her, she had many of them.’

‘I see.’ Charles tried to keep his composure but Laurie’s words hurt.

‘My sister would not kill herself.’ Tears began to fall down the young woman’s porcelain cheeks. ‘I would have known if things were that bad. You have to believe me.’

Despite himself, Charles reached forward and cupped one of Laurie’s tiny hands. Her skin was cool yet soft, just as her sister’s had been, and the sensation of touching her made his spine momentarily tingle with delight. Yet the sombre mood of the meeting kept his mind sharp.

‘I shouldn’t be telling you this really, but the night before Lorna … died,’ Laurie wiped at her wet eyes with the back of her free hand, ‘she told me she was due to meet with a reporter from The Shadow newspaper. The interview would have been on the day they found her. She was going to sell her story on you.’

Charles’ eyes widened in shock. He had no idea his own life had been so close to being destroyed.

‘Don’t look surprised,’ Laurie scoffed accusingly. A part of her prickled at the theory that she may well be looking at the man responsible for her sister’s death.

‘Why would she … why would she do that?’ He refused to believe that what he’d had with Lorna hadn’t been special – that he was just the latest in a long line of lovers.

‘Money,’ Laurie said simply. ‘A guy from the paper somehow heard about the affair and had been hassling her for weeks. They offered her twenty thousand and she couldn’t afford to turn it down. If it helps, I know it was tearing her up thinking about doing the interview, but then, you’d dumped her so …’

‘I thought she didn’t care that much about me,’ Charles challenged.

‘She didn’t,’ Laurie said quickly. ‘But still, the interview would change everything; everyone would know what she’d done.’

‘Perhaps then, she felt she only had one way out.’ Guilt began to set in once more as Charles spoke. Lorna’s death, he felt, would continually be interlinked with himself.

‘No, no! That’s not Lorna’s style. She was fine in the end to do the interview. She said she’d move back to Kent with the money and we’d buy a flat together like we’d always dreamt we’d do. Someone wanted her to silence her, permanently.’ Laurie released another tear for the dream that would never be. She felt so very alone without her twin. The world had become such a cold and brutal place and she no longer had her other half to share her journey with.

‘What exactly do you want me to do?’ Charles asked, his own mind weighted by the saturation of new information.

‘Help me decipher the truth. Find the police reports from her death; surely you have access to those things? And the guy from The Shadow, we could do with talking to him.’

‘We?’

‘Mr. Lloyd, I need your help, please. Alone, I’m just a girl with a vendetta. But you are the Deputy Prime Minister. People will listen to you – you can make things happen.’

‘I will only rouse suspicion if I begin investigating Lorna’s case,’ Charles argued.

‘You are a politician – I’d have thought the act of deception came naturally to you!’ Laurie’s fragility had faded away and been masked once more by her tough demeanour.

The desk which made a barrier between them had been where Charles had first made love to Lorna. Laurie was here in everything but spirit and whilst Charles wanted to dismiss the girl to save his own reputation, he knew he could not. More than anything, he felt that he owed Laurie his allegiance. He had loved Lorna more than he thought was possible, so the least he could do was aide her surviving twin, who was the last trace of her upon the earth.

‘I’ll help you as much as I can,’ Charles agreed, shaking the hand he had been holding to seal the promise.

‘Thank you.’ Laurie broke into a smile, the anger and pain momentarily thawing away from her beautiful features and suddenly she morphed in to Lorna.

‘Until next time.’ The gravel of despair was gone from Laurie’s voice, replaced by the singsong melody which danced through Charles’ mind on a nightly basis. He watched Laurie leave, still wary that he may be in the presence of a ghost.

Chapter Five

Every step I take leads me back to you …

‘I need this person to work beside you on the intern programme.’ Charles handed Faye a slip of paper with a name neatly written on it. Faye took the paper, read the name and scowled.

‘I don’t need your judgment, just your co-operation,’ he said tersely, angered by his assistant’s blatant disapproval.

‘Yes, sir, of course,’ Faye replied with all the sweetness she could muster.

When Charles returned to his office she begrudgingly began to carry out the task he had just assigned her. Sat at her computer, Faye uploaded the list of current interns and the departments they were to be assigned to. She scrawled down until she found the correct name and clicked on it, being given the option to allocate the intern to her own department.

Faye sighed as every instinct in her body told her that she was about to make a mistake, even though she were merely following orders. But what chance did she have? She could not risk further antagonising the Deputy Prime Minister by questioning his motives. The name glowed at her from the screen, taunting her.

‘This is dangerous,’ Faye muttered to herself, before taking the plunge and allocating the candidate to herself. On the main list, the name automatically updated. Laurie Thomas would now be working with the Deputy Prime Minister’s assistant. Faye felt a sickening sense of déjà vu.

‘So what do I do?’ Laurie asked into Charles’ mobile. He’d called her from his own personal handset for fear of the main system being monitored. He was outside, leant against his Bentley, with a faint breeze rustling through his hair. He’d feigned sickness to his driver so that they could pull over and he could get some fresh air and make a stealthy phone call. They were out on a deserted country lane, away from prying eyes.

Henry had used the impromptu stop to have a cigarette and he had wandered away from the vehicle. Charles’ security team would have lost their minds had they seen them both behaving in such a nonchalant manner.

‘You’ll be reporting to Faye, my assistant, and working for her,’ Charles explained, his voice low even though Henry was some distance away, preoccupied.

‘Working?’ Laurie repeated nervously.

‘Yes, as an intern, as we agreed. It’s the only way we can be close to one another without raising suspicion.’

‘Won’t people … recognise me though? Surely that will make them suspicious?’

‘Just give them some spiel about how you wanted to follow in your sister’s footsteps and that I was sympathetic to your cause.’ The answer came so quickly to Charles that it almost scared him. Perhaps Laurie was right, perhaps deceit did come naturally to him. He had conducted an affair for a number of months without anyone knowing, he could easily lead a covert investigation with an intern.

‘I guess.’ Laurie didn’t sound convinced.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s just … working for you … for the system as it were. It goes against all my beliefs, kind of makes me feel dirty.’

‘Perhaps I should be offended, I’m offering you a very coveted position,’ Charles smiled as he spoke, Laurie’s attitude humoured him.

‘It’s not me, though. It’s Lorna. I guess I need to be her for a bit to help get to the bottom of what really happened to her.’

‘I suppose.’ The last thing Charles wanted was for Laurie to begin behaving like Lorna. Currently, the two twins had very different traits which helped Charles keep some clarity on the situation. If Laurie acted as Lorna, the lines would become blurred and he didn’t want that.

‘Where are you?’ Charles asked suddenly, wanting to deflect the conversation away from Lorna.

‘At the Tate Britain.’

‘Where?’ Charles asked again, a rogue flurry of wind momentarily obscuring Laurie’s voice.

‘At the Tate Britain,’ Laurie almost hissed the answer. ‘I can’t exactly shout in here!’ she joked.

‘Oh right, okay. So you like art?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Sometimes?’ Charles smiled in bemusement at her odd response.

‘I prefer classic art, like Hogarth and Caravaggio.’

‘Not modern art?’

‘No,’ Laurie answered flatly. ‘There’s a Hogarth in here somewhere, I’ve just not found it yet,’ she mused as she wandered the gallery.

‘I like Hogarth.’

‘You do?’ Laurie suddenly brightened.

‘Yes, I admired his Dickensian sympathies for the poor and needy. Do you know that he helped establish London’s Foundling Hospital? There are examples of his art there.’

‘Really? Cool.’

‘I could always take you there some time,’ as Charles said the words it felt natural to extend the invitation to Laurie, but then he realised that he wasn’t, he was asking to take Lorna out. Laurie was a stranger to him. If their union to play detective over Lorna’s case was ever going to work, he knew he would have to keep the girl at arm’s length for fear of his emotions getting the better of him.

‘It’s alright, I’d prefer a more low-key visit,’ Laurie replied. ‘Directions would be appreciated though.’

‘I’m sure Faye can help with that,’ Charles suddenly tried to detach himself from the conversation.

‘Right, okay,’ Laurie sounded unfazed by the change in Charles’ tone. ‘So what happens now, with Lorna, I mean? What are you going to do?’

Charles glanced over at Henry to ensure he was still a considerable distance away, which thankfully he was; still enjoying a cigarette whilst checking messages on his own mobile phone.

‘I need to start calling in some favours to gain access to the complete police reports.’

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘I’m not sure yet, I need to figure out a believable angle.’

‘Okay, well I need to go now,’ Laurie informed the Deputy Prime Minister. ‘Nature is calling I’m afraid. I’ll see you at work tomorrow, joy,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Until next time.’

The call disconnected. Hearing Lorna’s sign off stung Charles, the pain emanating out from his chest. He took a moment to right himself before calling over to Henry.

‘I’m feeling much better now, Henry, we’d better carry on.’

‘Right, yes, certainly.’ The elder man quickly extinguished the remains of his cigarette and returned to the luxury of the Bentley.

‘Are you sure you are feeling better, sir?’ he asked, glancing at Charles in the rear view mirror.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘You just look a little pale still, that’s all. Like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Laurie wandered through the halls of the Tate Britain in quiet awe. On occasion, art could really speak to her, and since losing Lorna she had been more introspective than usual. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and she wore her usual uniform of jeans, hooded top and jacket. Her eyes darted over each piece of art, quick and inquisitive, like a small meerkat. Even though she was a twin, Laurie was used to solitude and her own company. Lorna had always been the outgoing one, off at parties and barely in touch when she went to university as she was so busy socialising. Laurie had remained at home whilst her sister went off to London to pursue her dreams with a fervent desire which the other twin never understood.

But despite their differences, the twin girls were the best of friends. They grew up, each forming their own path, but these would intertwine regularly, allowing them to reconnect with one another. Laurie always assumed that was how her life would play out; that Lorna would float in and out of her life, informing her of all the wonderful things she was doing, whilst Laurie wrote and stayed safe in her bubble of a quiet life. Knowing that Lorna would never call or text again, never pay an impromptu visit simply to have Laurie try on all these wonderful designer clothes she’d bought in a sale, was heart wrenching. Lorna and Laurie had been one another’s constant. However crazy their lives became, they had each other, and that knowledge kept them grounded.

Yet Laurie was now alone. Her confident, her counsellor, her stylist, her conscious was gone. Finally she located the Hogarth painting. . Standing before it, Laurie removed her mobile phone from her jacket pocket, pressed speed dial and listened to the familiar message.

‘Hi, you’ve reached Lorna Thomas’ phone, lucky you! Please leave me a message after the beeeeeeeeeeep! Haha.’ Tears pricked at Laurie’s eyes as she held the phone to her ear. Secretly, she continued to pay Lorna’s mobile phone bill, just so she could keep hearing her voice and maintain some connection to her.

‘Hey, it’s me. You’ll never guess where I am? London! And me being me, I’m straight to the nearest artsy place, know you’d disapprove. I should be over checking out all the designer shops, right? Well, I’m actually at the Tate Britain; there’s some impressive stuff here. I wish we could go round it together some time. I miss you.’ Laurie hastily hung up and ran until she was out of the gallery and out onto the street because she didn’t want anyone to see the tears which were now spilling down her cheeks.

Her phone suddenly buzzed to life and for one surreal moment she thought that perhaps it was Lorna calling her back. Looking down she saw Arthur’s name flashing on the screen. He was the guy she’d left back home, the guy who didn’t believe in her vendetta.

‘This isn’t a good time,’ Laurie declared in a hostile tone, tears still clinging to her face.

‘I need to talk to you. You’ve been ignoring my calls.’ Arthur sounded desperate but Laurie was in no mood to deal with him.

‘I said it’s not a good time.’ She ended the call and returned her phone to her jacket pocket, ignoring it as it continued to vibrate against her.

When Charles was next alone in his office, he began to implement a plan to investigate Lorna’s death. Ideas had been swirling around in his mind since he had agreed to assist Laurie but nothing had yet been formalised or cemented.

His mind was still struggling with the unusual predicament he was in. The woman he loved was gone, but now her doppelganger was in his life and every time he looked at Laurie, he saw Lorna. The following day, Laurie would step into her deceased sister’s shoes and begin her internship at Downing Street. Even though he knew it was wrong, Charles felt excited at the prospect. In an artificial way, Lorna had returned to him. He knew how foolish his thoughts were, but they refused to subside. Concentrating on the investigation at hand was the only thing which kept him from going insane.

As Deputy Prime Minister, Charles often backed certain public issues, such as a big anti-knife crime campaign where he spoke out about the dangers and agreed with the police to enforce zero tolerance on those found carrying an unlicensed weapon. It was this sort of angle, he decided, which would best benefit uncovering information around Lorna. He just needed to decide who of his staff he could trust to see to the task without digging too deeply.

Charles picked up the phone which lay on his desk and used the speed dial to access his assistant.

‘Faye?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Faye’s tone was brisk; she had clearly been in the midst of another task he had previously assigned to her when he called.

‘Can you give Simon Pruit a call? Ask him to come over to my office if he’s about.’

‘Right away, sir.’

Whatever Simon Pruit was currently engaged in doing, Charles knew that the second Faye made the call he would come dashing over to the office. A request from the Deputy Prime Minister always took precedence over anything else and Charles wondered if he was perhaps abusing this power now. The task he was about to assign to Simon, was, after all, of a personal nature. But then Charles was cunningly hiding his intentions behind a mask of public concern so he had no doubt that Simon would be both enthused and completely onboard with the idea.

As predicted, ten minutes later Simon Pruit was knocking upon Charles’ office door.

‘Come in,’ Charles summoned.

Simon bounded into the archaic office with more energy than a playful puppy. He clasped his hands in excitement and almost bowed a little as he addressed his superior.

‘A pleasure as always to be called over, sir.’ Simon almost faltered on his own words as he remembered how distasteful Charles found sycophants. It was his own nerves which drove him to be too demonstrative at times. ‘What can I do for you? Do you wish to discuss the commerce paper? I can assure you that things are coming along very well with that one.’

‘Sit down, Simon,’ Charles instructed.

Charles liked Simon but the man could talk to the point of distraction. He could make anything a topic, be it the weather, the colour of his shirt or the carpeting in the elevator he was currently travelling in. Charles had learnt to be silent and let the man muse and waffle away, sending his empty words out into the ether. But today Charles wanted to deal swiftly with the matter at hand and so had no time for idle chat. More than anything, he was aware that if he dwelled on the subject matter for too long his true feelings might manifest themselves, which was the last thing he desired.

Simon sat down and leant forward eagerly, awaiting further instruction. His ears were almost twitching in anticipation.

‘I’m looking to start a public appeal into suicide rates in young people.’ Charles felt oddly detached from his words as he said them.

‘Right, teen suicide, always an issue.’

‘Not teen, young people. We’ve looked into teenage suicides before; I think this should focus more on young people, in their early twenties.’

‘Demographic twenty to twenty five?’ Simon had whipped out his notepad and begun furiously scribbling notes.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Geographical radius?’

‘Erm …’ Charles took time to pause, wanting to appear as though the idea was currently forming within his mind. ‘Let’s start with the South, collate results and go from there.’

‘Right, got it.’

‘Perhaps start with contacting various police departments and getting hold of their records. Then once we have all the results we can start to try and identify trends.’

‘Yes, yes of course.’ Simon nodded eagerly. ‘When do you need this to be completed by?’

‘Let’s see …’ Charles again conducted the charade of thought. ‘How about this time next week?’

‘Next week!’ Simon gulped in shock.

‘Ideally, yes. I know it is a very big task, but in light of the upcoming elections I thought it would be a great campaign for us all to get behind and if anyone can do it, it’s you, Simon.’

‘Well,’ Simon beamed at the praise and mentally recorded the words. He would store up kind words, gathering them eagerly like a squirrel gathers nuts, and then in his emotional winter he would revisit these exchanges and the kind words would bring him warmth.

‘I really will do my best with it, sir.’

‘Thank you, I knew you would.’

Simon remained in his chair, appearing reluctant to leave even though Charles felt that their conversation had drawn to a close.

‘Something the matter?’ Charles felt forced to ask as the man continued to sit and look awkward, as though there were something he wanted to say but protocol wouldn’t allow him.

‘I was just thinking,’ Simon began, grateful for the invitation to voice his thoughts. ‘I’m not sure if you are aware, but a young lady from here, she was an intern I believe, took her own life around six months ago.’

Charles felt himself freeze at the mention of Lorna. Did Simon know of the affair; was that why he had chosen to mention her? Charles tried to keep his composure and remain indifferent on the topic. He felt, in not acknowledging his despair at her death, that he was failing Lorna somehow, being untrue to her memory, but he had no choice.

‘Yes, Simon, I was aware. It was actually what spurred the whole idea.’ It was a stock answer generated from a larger truth.

‘Terrible business,’ Simon shook his head. ‘I like the angle though – we address problems which even appear on our own doorstep, showing we are not free from the trials and tribulations of the population.’

‘Indeed.’

‘It really is a great idea sir. It will be my priority for the next week and I’ll deliver my results to you promptly.’

‘As always, thank you so much for your hard work.’ Charles smiled as Simon eagerly gathered up another praise nut.

Simon left excited by his task, leaving Charles to feel satisfied that he had put the wheels in motion for the investigation without arousing any suspicion. He wondered if he should call Laurie to update her, but then she would be in the office the following day. But to talk to her at work would be inappropriate, especially beneath Faye’s judging gaze.

Charles removed his mobile phone from his pocket and went to dial Laurie but stopped himself. Deep down, he knew that he didn’t really want to update her; he just wanted to hear her voice.

‘Until next time,’ he muttered sadly to himself, returning his phone to his pocket.

The hour was now late. Soon Elaine would call enquiring why Charles was not yet home. He was debating feigning some reason to remain in the city, some urgent work which required his attention. It would be easy enough to deliver the lie and then book himself into a luxury hotel. The trouble was that all of London’s finest hotels were now places where memories of Lorna lurked. Charles recalled how she would swoon over the decadence, throwing herself on to the king-sized bed in childish glee. He could not be alone in a hotel room. Elaine had her faults, but she was company.

‘Faye, call Henry and tell him to bring the Bentley around to the front of the building,’ Charles instructed his assistant.

‘And then go home, it’s late.’ He realised he was being abrupt to order her to leave, but she worked such long hours he worried that beyond her job she had no life. Or perhaps, like him, she was merely using her job as a distraction from her life.

When Charles emerged from the office Faye had already dutifully left, but not before preparing the desk beside her for the new intern who would be joining her. Charles studied the vacant chair and lifeless computer. He so wanted to help Laurie, perhaps learning more about Lorna’s death would help ease both their pain. But what if she was wrong, and her twin sister had killed herself? Laurie was already so fragile; he didn’t want to further inflict pain on her.

‘Doesn’t it just look wonderful?’ Elaine Lloyd enthused as she widened her arms to complete the grand gesture of unveiling the newly-decorated dining room. Charles peered round her to see the room, which appeared to him unchanged from how it always had been.

‘I suppose,’ he answered in bemusement, wondering what exactly his wife had spent copious amounts of money changing.

‘You suppose?’ Elaine exclaimed incredulously. ‘I don’t supposeyou could muster up a little more enthusiasm dear?’

‘It is wonderful, stupendous, simply amazing,’ Charles retorted sarcastically. He knew it was a childish response and would only antagonise his other half further, but he was tired and his threshold for the banality of domestic life had all but gone.

‘Sometimes Charles Percival Lloyd I just don’t know what becomes of you!’ As she grew enraged, Elaine’s cheeks reddened to match the shade which she had previously stained her lips.

Charles grimaced at his full title. He resented his middle name, which had been his grandfather’s. At school it had made him a mockery amongst the other boys and he knew that Elaine only used it when she wanted to belittle him. He chose to ignore her attempt to provoke him and turned to leave the room when she grabbed at him, the false nails on her hand digging in to his coat like talons.

‘You have disingenuous smiles aplenty for your constituents,’ she hissed, ‘but here, in your own home, you cannot even muster a kind response for your own wife.’ Elaine’s eyes almost bulged out of her head as she spoke, to the point where they were in proportion with her large bouffant hairstyle. The anger and venom in her voice reminded Charles of the terrible temper his wife had and he lowered his head in defeat. He was no match for the demon which lay beneath her perfectly made-up exterior, as he had learnt from past marital altercations.

‘Darling, forgive me, I’m just tired. The dining room looks amazing, you’ve done a wonderful job and I’m extremely grateful for your efforts.’ His words sounded convincingly sincere even though he didn’t mean a single one of them.

‘Thank you.’ Elaine instantly thawed, the beast within her disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared.

‘I went for the darker beige in the end and I think that it really works with the lighting in this room,’ Elaine explained excitedly.

Charles often thought of his wife as a caged tiger within their home; prowling the interior, looking for something, anything to attack and purge her pent-up fury. But if she were out in the world, she would potentially inflict harm on others, like the time at a family party where she drank and then accused Charles’ sister-in-law of ‘wearing an outfit that would make a whore blush’. From a distance, Elaine looked beautiful and exotic thanks to her expensive taste in designer clothes, but up close she could be ruthless and dangerous. Charles learnt long ago not to provoke his volatile wife.

‘I was thinking we should have a dinner party.’ Elaine was still rambling on about the room which bore no visible changes.

‘Yeah, sure.’ Charles was no longer listening to the words which fell from her mouth and splattered onto the hardwood flooring. His mind had once again ventured to Lorna. He thought of her sweet smile which was usually accompanied by her angelic laughter. He missed her so much that his bones ached with the desire to hold her once more. In his pocket his phone felt heavy with its connection to Laurie. She was so close to being Lorna that Charles could not help but feel tantalised by her. He wondered what Laurie was doing at that very moment, where she was and who she was with. Was she taking in some more art, or perhaps she had found her way to the Foundling Hospital? Perhaps he should call and enquire about how her day had been. After all, she was a stranger in London and would probably welcome the contact.

‘Charles!’ Elaine exclaimed, anger returning to her voice.

‘Yes dear?’ he asked innocently, his mind snapping back to reality.

‘You can’t even pretendto listen to me!’

‘I was, I am … I’m just so very tired.’

‘Then go and rest. We can discuss the dining room more tomorrow.’

‘Indeed.’ Charles kissed his wife gently on her forehead wondering just how much more discussion the dining room’s change of shade warranted.

Elaine stood in what she felt was a triumph in interior design. She should have been beaming with pride, but her husband’s indifference had soured her mood. When they spoke, she felt as though he were looking through her, not caring for what she said. There had been a time when he held onto her every word for dear life, not wanting to miss a single sentence which she breathed life in to. But for many years Elaine had felt him drawing away from her, growing increasingly attached to his job and his career. She understood the price a woman had to pay for supporting a great man; her mother had taught her that her own needs, wants and desires would come second to his.

What disturbed Elaine Lloyd most was that she sensed that she was now losing her husband. Not only did he fail to listen, but he appeared unmoved by her angry outbursts. She could not risk losing Charles. Being his wife defined her. Elaine wanted to cry but could not. Her latest botox therapy had welded her face to the point where it was almost impossible to convey emotion. Elaine looked at her hands, beautifully manicured, and felt her hair, styled to perfection, and wondered what more she could do to make her husband notice her? She let her hand fall to her stomach which felt concave and useless, for she knew that the thing which would bind Charles to her forever, she could never possess. Even the house and all her social engagements struggled to fill the gap left by her own infertility. If Charles left, the emptiness would be unbearable.

The following morning, Elaine awoke earlier than usual in an attempt to surprise her husband with breakfast before he left for work. Normally, she would remain in the comfort of her bed and call out her goodbyes, or sometimes she would be so lost to sleep that she wouldn’t even stir when he left for the day. But Elaine felt that she needed to endear herself further to Charles. He was becoming distant and it was up to her to rectify that. Elaine prided herself on her ability to flawlessly play the dutiful housewife, but clearly her role had been below par for her husband to be so despondent.

Before the sun had even had chance to creep over the horizon, Elaine was up, dressed, with lips and cheeks coloured rouge, and in her kitchen preparing an omelette.

The smell of the cooking breakfast danced up the stairs and laced the air around a dozing Charles. He stirred and inhaled, confused by the unusual fragrance. As alluring as the scent was, his hunger refused to be roused, instead replaced by a constant feeling of sickness. Lorna had once again haunted his dreams that night, leaving him with nothing but his own guilt for company. Food was the last thing he wanted.

Elaine heard the steady footsteps of her husband descending the staircase and so she braced herself for his entrance, quickly adjusting her hair after a rogue strand had fallen loose.

‘Good morning dear,’ she exclaimed as he opened the door, a broad smile plastered across her face. Charles squinted at her, a little taken aback by her Stepford wifes routine.

‘Morning,’ he answered coolly, still in the process of affixing his cufflinks.

‘Here, let me help with those,’ Elaine hurried over.

‘No, its fine.’ Charles withdrew his wrists from her grasp, hugging his hands into himself protectively. He did not wish to be touched. His cheek still felt the sensation of Lorna’s ghostly last kiss; he could not bear further physical contact from anyone.

‘Okay,’ Elaine tried to appear unmoved by his unusual hostility. ‘Well, you just sit down and I’ll bring your breakfast over. I’ve cooked your favourite – ham omelette.’

‘Just juice please,’ Charles said as he sat down and continued to fiddle with his cufflinks.

‘But I’ve made you breakfast!’ Elaine said indignantly, the façade of the perfect wife beginning to fall away.

‘Thank you but I’m not hungry.’

Charles was in no mood to deal with his wife. He wished she had just remained in her bed and he could have slipped away without a further altercation between them. Today Laurie would be stepping into Lorna’s shoes and he needed to remain focused. The thought of seeing Laurie filled him with both excitement and dread which left him feeling an overwhelming sense of nausea.

‘I go up early especially to make you breakfast!’ Elaine felt the blood rush to her cheeks as her anger began to take hold.

‘And I’m grateful, but you shouldn’t have bothered. I always eat at the office,’ Charles explained calmly.

Elaine stood over the now-cooked omelette and raised a hand to her temple. Her temper, she knew, was not the only fly in the ointment of her marriage but it was still an issue. If she flew into a rage now, she risked pushing Charles even further away.

‘You must sit on your feelings and concentrate on addressing his,’ her mother had advised her many years ago when she was a blushing bride. ‘His burdens become yours; it is the price we must pay for marrying men destined for greatness.’

‘Yes, mother.’ As a young woman, Elaine had been naïve as to how costly that price would be. Whatever dreams she had harboured as a girl had dissolved away until she was left an aging woman, lonely in a house too grand for its two occupants, estranged even from the man whom she had devoted her life to.

‘I’m sorry darling, I should have thought.’ Elaine smiled at her husband but her eyes remained sorrowful. ‘What juice would you like, orange or grapefruit?’

‘Orange please.’

Charles watched his wife reach into the refrigerator and retrieve the carton of juice. Her movements appeared sluggish and heavy, weighed down by her own sadness. There was a time when he would try to sympathise and understand what was wrong, but despite his efforts he had never been able to traverse the dark depths of Elaine’s mind. He had found that it was best to let her remove herself from her own melancholy than to intervene. Usually, when she appeared disillusioned, he would arrange for the delivery of flowers, and her fog of sadness would immediately lift as she was so easily appeased by the gesture of foliage.

‘I’m lucky to have such a wonderful wife.’ He paid Elaine the compliment as she laid down his glass of juice even though he didn’t truly mean it. Just like Simon in his office, she immediately brightened and mentally clung to the little nugget of praise.

‘It is I who is the lucky one.’ Elaine’s smile was now genuine as she leant and laid a kiss upon her husband’s forehead, slightly staining his skin to the colour of her lips.

‘Work is, as ever, horrifically busy, so I apologise if I can appear distracted at times.’

‘You don’t need to make excuses to me.’ Elaine smiled at her husband as he drained his glass of juice and then rose to his feet.

‘I’d best be off,’ Charles declared, still feeling awkward in this foreign morning routine.

‘Of course, you have a country to run,’ Elaine beamed proudly.

The Bentley entered the street with the finesse and stealth of a prowling feline. Charles was soon within it, being escorted into the capital city. Elaine watched the vehicle leave from behind her handmade silk curtains. She knew that, as perfect as her home was, it may as well have been made of cards because it could all so easily come tumbling to the ground all around her.

Chapter Six

Not all questions have answers

Simon Pruit placed down the documents which he had been cradling in his arms like a baby and beamed with pride. Less than a week had expired since the Deputy Prime Minister personally assigned him the task, and here he was, days before the deadline, delivering the results. Simon felt exhilarated by his own success.

He regarded the neat pile of papers, now sat upon the desk which belonged to Charles Lloyd, and allowed his mind to briefly fantasise about how his hard work could ultimately benefit him. Simon scanned the dated office, mentally noting the changes he would make if his dreams managed to somehow come true and one day he was settling himself into the seat of power.

Time was not on Simon Pruit’s side. He was already on the wrong side of thirty and far from settling down in either his private or professional life. In the mornings, he would notice how his hairline had begun to recede, and the hair that remained was thinning rapidly. Lines had appeared beneath his eyes which deepened day by day. Simon did not embrace these signs of aging, going to great lengths to hide them. His ritual every Saturday morning was to browse the local supermarket and surreptitiously purchase male hair dye in order to disguise the shades of grey which had started to flash beneath his naturally dark hair colour.

To Simon, the whole world felt youth obsessed and it was a race in which he was no longer eligible to enter. His job was good, but not great. At his age, social expectations meant that he should either be married with children in tow, or at least divorced, or almost at the pinnacle of his career. Simon Pruit was none of these. His infrequent rendezvous with rent boys dismissed the notion of a family, and his professional life seemed to have stalled.

But Simon trusted Charles Lloyd. He found the current Deputy Prime Minister to be enigmatic and sincere. It was these qualities which drew people to him and helped him retain his position amongst the party. Simon knew that if he aligned himself to Charles, he was protecting his own future. Behind his back, people mocked his loyalty, cruelly labelling him as ‘Charles’ spaniel.’ Simon was aware of the malicious comments but ignored them for they did not matter. He respected Charles and enjoyed working for him. His loyalty would not waver.

Simon cast one last cursory eye over the documents he had just bought in. The continuing focus on youth seemed to taunt him, yet Simon was certain of the Deputy Prime Minister’s true intentions for the investigation. Simon Pruit was many things, but he was no idiot. His power of perception only sharpened with age, and whilst Lorna Thomas had not been to his personal taste, there was no denying her beauty. The colour had flushed to Charles’ cheeks ever so slightly when Simon had mentioned her name, confirming what the loyal aide had long suspected. Simon recognised the shame of sexual deviancy when he saw it, as it was a look he had been forced to wear for many years.

Satisfied that his documents were in decent order, Simon left the office, giving a polite nod to Faye as he left, not noticing the petite blonde who was typing away on the computer beside her.

When Charles returned to his office later that day he was careful not to make eye contact with Laurie. He could make her out, just at the edge of his peripheral vision, working diligently, but he chose not to address her for fear of drawing unwanted attention to her. He had strictly instructed Laurie to talk to as few people as possible; ideally she would liaise only with himself and Faye.

‘Oh sir, Mr. Pruit left some documents in your office for you,’ Faye called after Charles. His quickened step past her work station had almost completely removed her opportunity to relay messages to him.

‘Right, great.’ Charles did not turn as he responded but was surprised by Simon’s efficiency. He had clearly underestimated just how determined the man could be.

The pile of documents loomed large on his desk, cutting a foreboding shadow across his floor. Charles sat down behind them and lifted the first half of the pile towards him. The papers were heavy with their morbid knowledge. Simon was renowned for being meticulously organised and he had not disappointed; the police reports were arranged alphabetically, making it easy for Charles to locate the file for Lorna.

As his fingers picked through the pile of paper, Charles felt his heart become weighted. There were so many names, so many methods of self-elimination:

John Callows, 22, overdose

Sarah Danbridge, 24, slashing of the radial and ulnar arteries

Dan Eastham, 23, asphyxiation

When did the youth of his nation become so disenchanted? Charles couldn’t help but feel as though he had failed the people whose final moments his eyes now scanned over. To feel so utterly desperate that the only release was to take your own life, the thought made Charles sick to his stomach. And to attach that mentality to Lorna was even worse. Lorna – who entered a room and bought the sunlight with her. To imagine such a self-destructive darkness within her was unbearable.

Towards the bottom of the pile, Charles found Lorna’s file.

Lorna Celia Thomas, 22

An officer with the Kent Police Constabulary had filed the report. When the emergency services arrived on the scene, Lorna was already dead, having crashed her car straight into a tree. She was declared dead on the scene and a preliminary examination of her car ruled out a malfunction of the vehicle, yet the full report from this was missing.

Charles read and re-read the report until his eyes stung, each time failing to absorb the facts. The coroner predicated that from the extent of the damage, Lorna had been travelling at least 60 miles per hour when her car collided head on with the great oak tree. Her small body had smashed against the steering wheel with such force that it had entered and punctured both her lungs instantly, as her head smacked against the dashboard and then ricocheted back, snapping her neck and disabling all her motor skills. Her death had been instant, and by all accounts, deliberate.

The words were there but Charles did not want to believe them. Lorna was his angel. Why would someone so wonderful and so precious want to cease to exist? And the thought which furthered his despair was that, possibly, his own actions had caused her to turn to such desperate measures. Had the pain of their affair ending made her want to end her life?

The report sat on Charles’ desk, refusing to change. It pained Charles how the description of events was so clinical. Lorna had been a person, yet here she was referred to as a thing, in the same way a child would recall the internal organs of a frog they had just dissected in a science lab. Charles was far too close to the case to be able to decipher the report clearly; his last ounce of common sense told him that. He needed someone else to review the report, someone more knowledgeable than him about the police and the systems they used.

He had a contact – most politicians did – who ran on the other side of the law. Charles’ man was an ex-policeman who had been stricken off for nearly beating to death a man accused of raping a ten-year-old girl. Charles could still remember the case and sympathised with the man in question, for he was only doing what felt natural. It was everyone else who suppressed their urges and somehow treated a monster civilly. It was out of this empathy that a clandestine friendship was born. The contact now lived his life beyond the law; having turned his back on a system which he felt had failed. But occasionally he assisted in certain matters, for a fee.

Charles placed the document in his fax machine and typed in the familiar number. No cover note was required; the recipient would immediately know what was asked of him. All Charles would receive in response would be a coded response and an invoice. The only time the two men met socially was when Charles visited Switzerland, where his contact now resided. His life and his money were untouched by the government he felt had left him down. Since becoming Deputy Prime Minister, Charles rarely found the time to make the visit, but their contact remained.

As he pressed send, Charles tried to suppress the niggling feeling of doubt which clung to the nape of his neck. He needed answers and there was no other way of getting them. It felt almost dirty to use this route for Lorna, who was so pure. But Charles was determined to uncover the truth, even if he had to use the back door to get there.

Removing the file from the fax machine, Charles knew he had to share its content with one last person.

‘Faye,’ he picked up his internal telephone and addressed his assistant. ‘Can you please send Miss Thomas in?’

Faye rolled her eyes at the instruction and shook her head. Even though she knew she should be obedient and follow orders, she couldn’t fight the urge to intervene.

‘What do you need her for?’ she asked the Deputy Prime Minister through the receiver, blatantly challenging his motives, aware that this subtle act of deviance could easily cost her her career but unwillingly to stand idly by whilst the man conducted yet another affair.

‘I need some help on the project Simon was working on, just basic filing. I’d ask you to do it, Faye, but I’m sure you have more pressing tasks to deal with.’ The response came automatically to Charles. He reconciled himself with the fact that it was only a half-lie. If he was annoyed by Faye’s behaviour, it wasn’t evident in his tone.

‘Right, I’ll send her in then,’ Faye scowled in annoyance as she hung up the receiver.

‘He wants to see you,’ she informed Laurie who was still typing at the other computer.

‘Oh, okay.’ Laurie stood up and smoothed down the pencil skirt she was wearing which felt tight and obstructed her movement in a way she wasn’t accustomed to. She missed the freedom her favourite pair of jeans gave her. The concept of dressing up for work bemused Laurie as it was hardly a cause for any sort of celebration. In her mind, comfort mattered more than aesthetics. But Lorna adored fashion and tolerated all the discomfort that came with it and so Laurie felt obliged to currently abide by her dead twin’s rules.

Of the entire outfit, Laurie’s least favourite article was the black stiletto shoes which had almost landed her a ride in an ambulance that morning. She precariously placed one foot in front of the other, trying to not let the veil of gracefulness she had so carefully applied slip.

Faye pitied Laurie. Not only had she lost her sister but now she was voluntarily walking straight into the lion’s den.

‘Do yourself a favour,’ Faye called to Laurie as she about to enter the Deputy Prime Minister’s office, ‘and don’t be as stupid as your sister.’

Whilst Faye’s words were unnecessarily harsh the meaning was not lost on Laurie. She nodded solemnly in acknowledgment and opened the door.

For a moment, Charles had to remind himself the Lorna was dead and buried, for had he not known this, he would have believed that she was now standing in his office. Laurie had completely morphed into her deceased twin. From the smart shoes, to the tailored clothes and the blonde hair neatly stacked in to a tight bun on the back of her head, Laurie was every inch Lorna. Even her mannerisms now mimicked her sister more, like the way her head titled to the side in awkward embarrassment as Charles looked her over.

‘I’m sorry,’ Charles tried to gather his senses, remembering that he should be behaving with more decorum. ‘It’s just, you look so much like her, even more than normal!’

‘Yeah, I know. It’s freaking me out too.’ Laurie shifted uncomfortably in her heels. She didn’t like how all her life she had tried to create an identity of her own, and yet here she was in this costume, becoming Lorna. It all felt so false and wrong.

‘Please, sit down.’ Charles sensed Laurie’s unease and pulled out a chair for her.

‘You don’t have to dress up every day if it makes you uncomfortable,’ he suggested as Laurie settled herself, instantly kicking off the shoes which were already turning her delicate feet red and sore.

‘But then I’ll stick out more. Everyone here dresses like they are attending a wedding, it’s so creepy. This morning, a girl asked me who my shoes were. She’s like, “who are your shoes?” What is that? My shoes are shoes, inanimate objects which protect my feet as I walk!’ As Laurie spoke she became impassioned and flung her hands around, just as Lorna had.

‘She’d have been enquiring after the designer. Some women are really in to that sort of thing. My wife, for example, won’t wear anything that isn’t couture.’

An odd hush fell over the room at the mention of Elaine. Charles had spoken of the elephant which sat between them, making him and Laurie instantly feel awkward in one another’s company.

‘I’m just saying relax, dress how you like,’ Charles backpedalled, hoping they could bypass the mention of his wife without encroaching upon the topic of his marriage. Laurie already resented him, he sensed that, and he did not intend on giving her further reason to hate him.

‘I feel like a monkey in a goddamn suit.’ Laurie tugged at the bun on her head and an instant later her blonde hair fell down her back and shoulders, perfectly framing her beautiful face.

‘Don’t worry; I’ll tie it back up before I leave. Don’t want your assistant getting ideas.’ Charles looked at Laurie in surprise, the thought not having crossed his mind that the removal of her shoes and hair now loose would imply that they’d had relations in his office. For a moment, the image of Lorna sprawled naked upon his desk flashed through his mind. Would Laurie be identical to her twin in the flesh? Charles physically shook the thought from his mind.

‘She knows about Lorna, doesn’t she?’

‘Yes, she does.’

‘Do you think she’ll go to the papers?’ Laurie frowned, scrutinizing Charles’ face.

‘No.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I trust her.’

‘Like your wife trusts you?’ Laurie said bitterly, her words penetrating Charles like tiny darts.

‘I’ve got Lorna’s police report.’ He slid the file across to Laurie, still reeling from her cruel jibe. Clearly, she held him responsible for Lorna’s death which was why she was so hostile towards him. In helping her see the files, perhaps she would warm to him more. But then that could be dangerous. Even now, Charles could barely take his eyes off her as she picked up the file and began to read through its contents.

As Laurie read through the report her face began to contort from confusion into anger.

‘This is bullshit!’ she declared vehemently on completion, smacking the report down on to the table in protest.

‘I know it isn’t what you were hoping for,’ Charles said gently.

‘My sister would not kill herself! Jesus Christ!’ Laurie threw her arms up in despair, a mixture of rage and anguish coursing through her veins. ‘You know this is bullshit, right? I mean, who drives a car into a tree? It makes no sense. She was fine. Everything was fine. She’d come home for the weekend, we watched a movie that afternoon, she was good. If something was wrong, I’d have known!’ The anger gave way to sadness and Laurie felt the all-too-familiar sensation of tears falling down her cheeks.

A part of her was terrified that perhaps she was wrong, that Lorna had ended her own life and she had just been too stubborn to see it. But she refused to accept, couldn’t accept, that. There had to be another explanation and she was determined to find it.

‘There was no way you could have known,’ Charles said soothingly.

‘The car. Where is the report on the car?’ Laurie ignored the Deputy Prime Minister and began to eagerly leaf through the report once more.

‘There must have been something wrong with the car,’ she theorised aloud.

‘Potentially, I guess,’ Charles agreed, aware that he too was clinging on to that same glimmer of hope. ‘I admit it was odd that the information on the vehicle was missing.’

‘This isn’t Lorna.,’ Laurie smacked the document down and then wiped her hand across her damp eyes, blackening her porcelain cheeks with mascara in the process. ‘Lorna would not have done this. She loved life. She had a million dreams for the future. People who wish to die do not dream. You knew her; you can’t believe she’d do this.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Charles felt relieved to vocalise the admission.

‘The stigma of Lorna having committed suicide is tearing my family apart. My parents blame each other. My mum is a wreck; she can’t handle the thought that she let Lorna down, that she couldn’t take care of her own. I can’t let them go on suffering like this. They need to be at peace, we all do. And the only way we can find respite from all of this is with the truth.’

‘I’ve called a guy; he’s looking into it for me.’

‘A guy?’ Laurie uttered with contempt.

‘He… he’s not in politics, or even with the police force anymore. But he knows his stuff. I use him a lot. He’s got contacts.’ Charles knew that he didn’t need to explain himself but felt compelled to. He yearned for Laurie’s approval with the single-mindedness of a child seeking sweets. She was becoming the centre of his world; the position Lorna had once held.

‘So you believe me? You don’t think that Lorna killed herself?’

‘I don’t know if I don’t believe it or that I don’t want to believe it. Either way, I think it’s worth looking into,’ Charles said cautiously, aware how dangerous it would be to raise Laurie’s hopes only to crush them to dust.

‘Thank you. Knowing that you are on my side, it helps.’ Laurie smiled at him and it was genuine. She looked so hopeless with her makeup smeared and her hair loose and free. Charles felt something stir deep within him as though it were awakening after a period of lying dormant; it was desire.

‘I just … I feel so lost without her,’ Laurie confided, her eyes trained to the floor as she spoke. It was out of character for her to make such a vulnerable admission. Perhaps it was being in the office where Lorna would have been, wearing clothes which she would have chosen, that suddenly made Laurie aware of just how desperately she missed her sister. ‘Until this is resolved I can’t move on. I need to know what happened because a part of me died that day too.’

The compassion Charles felt towards Laurie as she opened up to him welled up inside of him to the point where it felt as though it would come bursting out of his chest.

‘I’m going to look into this as much as I can, I promise you that.’ Charles liked playing the role of the hero. The ability to potentially wade in and rid Laurie of her tears made him feel more powerful and important than his role as Deputy Prime Minister ever had. Her heart was breaking and he was determined to mend it; in his mind there was no greater call to arms.

‘I really do appreciate you helping me.’ Laurie looked up now, locking eyes with Charles, which made his flesh prickle with heat as though his entire body had just caught aflame. ‘I forget that this must be hard for you too.’

As much as Laurie had initially harboured negative feelings towards Charles, he was the only person who was willing to listen to her talk about Lorna. Everyone else, her family, her friends, found it difficult. The resemblance she bore to her deceased sister meant that many people now kept their distance from her, leaving Laurie feeling isolated in her grief. When Charles looked at her, she saw warmth in his eyes, not sadness and pity. Being in his presence was a pleasant respite from the carousel of grief Laurie felt she had been riding upon for the past six months.

‘You just need to be prepared that I might find nothing, that perhaps Lorna did kill herself.’ The words felt bitter, leaving a sour aftertaste in Charles’ mouth, but he felt that he had to say them. He needed to protect Laurie. He felt he had failed one twin, he wasn’t about to do the same thing again.

‘No, you’ll find something. You have to. There is no way Lorna would do something like that. Just no way.’ Even as she spoke, Laurie was aware that she was pinning all her hopes on what was possibly an admin error. Even so, it was hope. And hope was something that Laurie had feared had left her life for good.

Sat across from the Deputy Prime Minister, Laurie began to nervously knit her hands together over and over, the movement distracting her from her own sorrow and from the awkwardness of being in the same room as the man whom her dead sister had indulged in an affair with. Lorna’s weakness had always been men. She had been reluctant to confide in Laurie about the affair, avoiding her twin’s probing questions and lying about her whereabouts.

But Laurie had seen the signs. Lorna was even more cheerful than ever, and would go days without being in touch which was unusual. The only time Lorna was ever not in contact was when she was in the first flushes of love. The real indicator of a man in her life was the designer clothes. Laurie recalled how she had rushed to greet her sister when she had returned home for a weekend from London. She barged into Lorna’s bedroom; the girls had always employed a no-knocking policy, often weaving between one another’s rooms freely, even when the other was away.

Suspicious of a blossoming relationship, Laurie had already scoured Lorna’s room for potential clues but found nothing of note. She felt that she had no choice but to interrogate her sister on a one-to-one basis. There were never any secrets between them; she knew it was only a matter of time before Lorna divulged all the juicy details.

Hindsight is a dangerous thing. Laurie saw now how she liked to live vicariously through her sister. Lorna was the more glamorous, more daring twin. Laurie would hover around her, like a hummingbird over nectar, waiting for the sweet details of gossip beyond the world of their home town.

It was the clothes which Laurie noticed originally. Lorna was busy unpacking, carelessly flinging the contents of her suitcase out onto her bright pink bedspread when Laurie noticed the designer label and squinted in bemusement.

‘Since when can you afford couture stuff?’ Laurie had the garment in her hands and was examining it before Lorna had the chance to retrieve it.

‘It’s a fake,’ Lorna lied, sneakily shoving the few other designer clothes she had with her under the bed.

‘No, it’s not,’ Laurie said after closer inspection. ‘I’m no fashionista but this is real. I’m sure of it.’

‘Honestly, it’s not.’

‘Maybe I’ll go check with mum; she loves labels, she will know.’ Laurie threatened parental intervention, knowing that it would make Lorna confess the origin of the blouse. The twins existed in their own world, without their parents. They once even had their own language. Any arguments they had, they settled themselves. They were a partnership, it was the way it had always been and their mother and father admired and respected the closeness between their two girls and as such always kept their distance.

‘Fine. It was a gift,’ Lorna conceded, the colour already rising to her cheeks.

‘A gift? From who?’

‘A guy.’

‘A guy? Ha! I knew it! I knew you were seeing someone!’ Laurie revelled in her victory, still eyeing the blouse with interest.

‘He must be bloody loaded! How much would something like this cost? Over three hundred pounds I bet!’

‘He’s got money,’ Lorna admitted.

‘Good for you! Who is he?’ Laurie was smiling, enjoying teasing her sister but her face fell when she looked over at Lorna who was staring at her hands, her beautiful features suddenly soiled by sadness.

‘What’s wrong?’ The designer blouse was now discarded as Laurie leapt across the bed and cupped her sister’s hands in hers.

‘I can’t tell you.’ Lorna bit her lip in an attempt to hold back the flood of tears threatening to wash down her face.

‘You can tell me anything.’

‘I know but … this is bad. I don’t want you to judge me.’

‘Lorna I’m your twin sister. I would never, ever judge you. I love you, remember?’

‘I love you too. But please, look, I never meant it to happen. But it did. And I wanted to tell you, more than anything, but I didn’t want you to hate me.’

‘Hate you? Don’t be ridiculous! I could never hate you!’ Laurie wrapped a reassuring arm around her sister, their blonde hair falling together to create one golden mass.

‘I’m sleeping with the Deputy Prime Minister,’ Lorna blurted out, before she lost her nerve.

The silence hung heavy between the two sisters as Laurie absorbed the shocking revelation. She kept her arm around Lorna, not wanting to break their embrace.

‘You know he’s married, right?’ she asked quietly after a few moments had passed.

‘Of course,’ Lorna answered, her cheeks now wet from tears which had stealthily fallen.

‘I hate myself, so much. But I care about him, I really do. If I didn’t, I would never have let things go this far.’

‘Okay, don’t cry,’ Laurie let her sister cry into her shoulder, absorbing her hurt and pain and making it her own. Her love for Lorna was as strong as it ever had been. Whatever mistakes they each made, they had each other to support them through it.

Laurie looked at Charles sat behind his desk and pondered on what Lorna had said that day. Perhaps she really had been devastated when he called off their affair. Maybe there was a possibility that she had been so lost over it all that she had taken her life. No. Laurie would not think like that. She couldn’t. Lorna would never leave her like that; someone must have taken her from her.

‘Did you love my sister?’

The question shot through the air between them, piercing Charles’ skin and stabbing him in the heart. He sat frozen in a shocked silence, unsure how to respond.

‘Lorna – did you love her?’ Laurie asked again, more insistently.

Charles sighed as he attempted to assemble his thoughts. Of course he had loved Lorna, and still continued to, there was no denying that. But he had never declared his love to her, leaving him with no idea how deep her feelings had once run. So now, to admit to her twin the words which he had failed to say to Lorna when she was alive, it felt wrong, like a betrayal. But a part of him resented himself for having never had the courage to tell Lorna how he truly felt. Perhaps now, if he admitted the truth to Laurie, he could start to make peace with that.

‘Yes,’ Charles said quietly. ‘I did love Lorna but …’ his jaw clenched, trying to contain the emotion which was threatening to blurt out all over Laurie. ‘But I never told her that.’

He watched Laurie digest the information, her eyes flitting all over the room, her hands still interlocking with one another.

‘I guessed as much,’ Laurie said at last. ‘To be helping me like you are, you must have really cared for her.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Why did you never tell her?’ Laurie had an innate ability to be incredibly direct with people, not caring for social etiquette or personal boundaries. It was a quality which made some people uncomfortable. As a child, her parents had attributed her constant, often inappropriate, questioning to a mild form of Asperger’s, rather than recognising that their child was just extremely inquisitive.

‘I guess, I guess that the time never felt right. I didn’t want it to be tainted when I told her,’ Charles was voicing feelings he had never even fully addressed with himself and it felt good, cathartic even.

‘So you were planning on leaving your wife for her?’

Charles looked up in surprise at the blunt delivery of such a heavily-loaded question. Laurie was still a stranger to him, despite appearances. But he did trust her; perhaps he was blinded by her resemblance to Lorna, or perhaps he was just in dire need of someone to talk with openly.

Laurie’s eyes were wide and expectant as she patiently awaited a response.

‘I never, I never really thought too much about it,’ Charles stumbled through his answer, the silver-tongued politician replaced by the shy and awkward boy he had been during his school days. ‘But I guess, had I not ended things, that potentially maybe. But I’d have left Elaine naturally, not because of Lorna.’

‘Even though Lorna is gone, are you still going to leave your wife?’

‘Yes, I plan on doing so.’

Charles was shocked by his own honesty. For a long time the thought of leaving Elaine had lurked at the back of his mind but he suppressed it for so many reasons; morality, public image. But within Laurie’s presence he felt freed from those restraints. His marriage was not a happy one and in his heart, he knew that it had to end. Elaine would not take the news well but she would be more than taken care of financially. They both deserved the opportunity to find happiness before it was too late. Charles only wished he’d had the courage to divorce her earlier in his life; it pained him to imagine how different his life might have been, the happiness he might have had.

‘Did your wife know about Lorna?’ Laurie continued to interrogate Charles.

‘No, she did not.’

‘I’m glad that you loved my sister. It means that we both want the same thing.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Thank you for helping me,’ Laurie smiled nervously at the Deputy Prime Minister. She did not enjoy being vulnerable or revealing too much of her own emotions.

‘Everyone else just believes that Lorna killed herself. It’s as if they never knew her at all.’

‘We will get to the bottom of it all, I promise.’ Then, despite the voices in his head screaming at him not to, Charles reached across his desk and grabbed Lorna’s hands. They were cold to the touch yet smooth and soft. The moment their bodies connected he felt his senses once more ignite. But when he looked in Laurie’s eyes, there was not the lust and the longing as there had once been in Lorna’s. Instead, Laurie looked fearful, and Charles realised that a part of him was also afraid, as they each considered just how far they were willing to go to uncover the truth.

Chapter Seven

Have you seen my ghost?

Laurie Thomas was not happy in London. The city moved at a pace which she was unaccustomed to. On the street, people pushed past her without so much as a backward glance of regret, lost in their haste to get to wherever they were heading. In the shops, assistants would serve her without even making eye contact. No one wished her a nice day, or enquired after her family as they would have back home. In London she was invisible, a ghost. A tiny part of her revelled in the anonymity of it all, of people not greeting her as though she had the face of a dead girl. But a larger part of her felt lost to the loneliness. Charles Lloyd was her only ally, and he was hardly someone she would call a friend.

Each day, Laurie left the modest hotel she was currently calling home and left for work, adorned in her Lorna costume. Within the office, Faye was always civil but Laurie sensed the woman’s unease. Not that she blamed her. It was a surreal situation for them all to be dealing with. The sooner she unearthed the truth about her twin’s death, the sooner she could return to her family, to some semblance of normality. Not that home was normal since Lorna’s death. Laurie clung to the hope that if she could prove that her twin did not commit suicide that her parents might finally thaw towards her and remember that they still had one daughter who was alive and needed them.

As Laurie sat and typed at the computer, completing yet another menial task Faye had set for her, questions would burn at the back of her mind to the point where her forehead throbbed with the heat. She needed answers. Sitting and waiting for Charles’ ambiguous contact to get back to them felt ridiculous. Each day that passed, Laurie grew more and more inpatient to the point where she decided to take matters into her own hands.

Laurie decided to approach those who would have worked with Lorna whilst she was on her internship first – most notably, Kaiden Collins. Lorna had regularly mentioned him; apparently they got along and she found his sense of humour appealing. They would go on nights out together and he even sent her a birthday card. Being such an unusual name, it wasn’t difficult to track him down from the roster of staff within the building. Kaiden worked in the Human Resources department which was useful. All Laurie had to do was make up some phantom mistake in her application papers and it would give her an excuse to seek him out.

Before speaking with Kaiden, Laurie gave Charles one last opportunity to have made some progress. She text him from her desk, careful to conceal her phone from Faye who disapproved of any activity of a personal nature whilst at work. Her message was simple:

Anything yet?

Only moments later, the handset shook as it received the Prime Minister’s response:

No, nothing yet, sorry. We need to be patient x

Laurie’s delicate fingers gripped her mobile phone with tense frustration. She had run out of patience.

‘Faye, I’m just heading over to the HR department.’

‘Oh?’ Faye looked up with mild interest, only ever interrogating Laurie when she was headed for Charles’ office.

‘Yeah, just need to iron out a few issues with my application papers.’

‘Right, okay.’

Kaiden Collins had done well for himself. At only twenty-four he had secured a full-time position within Downing Street. Even though he was tucked away in the Human Resources office at the back of the building, it was still an impressive achievement. Kaiden was popular amongst the staff who found him to be charismatic and hardworking. The only thing he pursued with the same intensity as his career was women, and the one came in handy for securing the other. His insatiable appetite for the fairer sex was notorious but a taboo subject around the office. As long as it didn’t interfere with his work, it wasn’t a problem. But the office still had a reputation to maintain, so those around Kaiden hoped he would soon tire of his cad routine. It looked better for all employees to be married; locked in marital bliss. Whether or not these marriages were happy didn’t matter – it was all about the appearance.

‘Hi, um … Kaiden?’ Laurie entered the office wearing the sweetest smile she could, hoping to adopt the ‘little girl lost’ routine which Lorna had so often used to her advantage.

‘I’m Kaiden, how can I help?’ The handsome young man to the left of the office door hurriedly got to his feet to greet the beautiful girl who had come enquiring after him, but the moment he saw Laurie’s face the colour drained from his face and his fake smile immediately fell.

‘Hi, I need help with the … copier.’ Laurie struggled to conjure a reason off the top of her head for him to leave the office so that they could talk privately.

‘The copier, okay right, yes. I’ll be right there.’ Kaiden’s eyes were fearful as he spoke to her. Laurie had forgotten how uncomfortable it made her feel when people looked at her like that.

Once they were alone in the copying room Kaiden noticeably relaxed, as though he had quickly put the pieces together and was satisfied with the conclusion he had reached.

‘So you are Lorna’s twin?’ he asked.

‘Your powers of deduction are mind-blowing,’ Laurie said flatly, still smarting from how he had first regarded her.

‘I’m sorry if I got a little freaked out back there. You just took me by surprise, that’s all. You look exactly like Lorna. It’s a little unsettling.’

‘Yeah, for you and me both.’

‘I was sorry about Lorna … passing,’ Kaiden tried awkwardly to convey his sympathies. He was hardly a man who was in touch with his emotions. ‘She was nice girl.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So … why are you here exactly?’

‘I wanted to follow in Lorna’s footsteps, carve out a career in politics which had been her dream,’ Laurie gave him the spiel which she had now perfected, completing the charade with a sincere nod and a slight smile.

‘Right, okay. So why are you really here?’ Kaiden asked. Whilst he struggled to deal with emotional situations, Kaiden was well-versed in the art of deceit. He lied continuously to women to woo them into his bed.

‘I’m looking for answers,’ Laurie answered simply. She was unsure if Kaiden was someone she could trust, but she felt that she had no choice if she ever wanted to find anything out.

‘Answers?’

‘Yes, about Lorna.’

‘But she killed herself, right?’

‘I’m not so sure.’

Kaiden raised his eyebrows in surprise and ran a hand down his face. Now that the colour had returned to his cheeks, Laurie noticed how he was faintly tanned, and given the weather in London, she could safely assume that it wasn’t natural.

‘I have to admit that I was surprised when I heard the news. Lorna was so … full of life. Always friendly, always smiling.’

‘Did you know Lorna well?’ Laurie queried.

‘Sort of, yeah. I mean, we were interns together, so as a group we would go out and socialise but then she kind of dropped off and we didn’t see her so much,’ Kaiden said, reminiscing about his own tentative first steps in to the world of politics.

‘Why did she stop going out with you all?’

‘Probably met a guy. People change when they get into relationships. It’s the reason why I avoid them.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Is it really a good idea for you to be here, trying to find out what happened to her? Aren’t you just going to get yourself upset?’ It was rare for Kaiden to show genuine concern, but like most men he had felt protective towards Lorna and now those feelings had transferred to Laurie.

‘I need to know the truth. Lorna would never have killed herself, I know that.’

‘I respect what you are doing, but sooner or later you are going to have to let go – but you know that, right?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I’d say come find me again when you’ve made peace with everything, but like your sister, I reckon you are too smart to get caught up with a guy like me.’ Kaiden smiled and Laurie saw how women could be just as addicted to him as he was to them.

‘Thank you for talking to me.’

‘Anytime.’ Kaiden rummaged in his jacket pocket and passed Laurie a small white business card.

‘This is the club where we all used to go. Not sure if it will be of any help.’

‘No thanks, this is great.’

As Kaiden settled himself back in to his chair he thought of Lorna and how he had never really dwelled on the fact that she was gone. Seeing Laurie had been a surreal reminder that he had lost a friend and colleague. Dwelling on the fragility of his own mortality was not something Kaiden liked to do. That evening, he intended on drinking until the sadness, which now ebbed at the back of his mind, went away.

‘She seemed nice,’ a colleague noted, referring to Laurie.

‘I don’t deal with nice girls,’ Kaiden said flatly.

Elaine Lloyd was accustomed to nice things. Her father had been a successful doctor, so as a young girl, Elaine had all the finest toys, all the prettiest clothes. Having nice things made her feel special, like a princess. It never troubled her young mind to wonder where these things came from, or how they were acquired. They just materialized in her home, and with the naivety of youth, she took them for granted.

When Elaine became a teenager, her mother sat her down and explained that if she wanted to keep having nice things, it was important that she find and settle down with a man who was destined to succeed. Elaine had initially queried why she herself could not fund her own lifestyle, following her father’s footsteps into medicine, but her mother had quickly dismissed this notion. Growing up, Elaine ignored books and studies in favour of playing with her masses of toys. As her mother so tactfully put it, she was not ‘of the right mind set’ to achieve greatness. But, as her mother had, she could learn to nurture it another way.

University had never been about obtaining a degree. Elaine’s father strategically resided on the board of governors, ensuring both her admission and her final result, leaving Elaine more time to pursue important things, like a potential husband. When Elaine first met Charles, she sensed immediately that he was destined for great things. Though slightly clumsy and awkward back then, there was a still a light within him which drew others in like a moth to a flame. He took the time to talk to people, and listened with sincerity beyond his young years. Charles possessed a kindness which Elaine had not seen in any man before and it intrigued her.

The single red rose he handed to her on their first ever date now resided in their spare bedroom, pressed and sealed away in one of Elaine’s old diaries. Back then they had all the time in the world for one another, and he would hang on Elaine’s every world. Now he looked right through his wife, as though she were a ghost.

Sat in the back of the Bentley, Elaine regarded her appearance in the compact mirror which lay in her palm, wondering who this aging woman was who had replaced the vibrant young girl she had once been. Elaine found time to be a most cruel mistress. Whilst Charles improved with each passing year, the shades of grey which appeared in his hair making him seem worldly, she merely looked more and more like a younger model that had been sent through the washing machine one too many times, covered in wrinkles which needed ironing out.

As the car weaved through the inner city streets, Elaine sighed, snapping closed her compact and returning it to her designer handbag. As a couple, she and Charles had endured their fair share of dark times. Ever since he had chosen to accept the position of Deputy Prime Minister, she had dropped frighteningly low on his list of priorities. Normally Elaine would not let this bother her. She had her nice things to comfort her. Instead of dolls and bicycles she now had china sets, couture clothing and luxury cars. These toys occupied her just fine. Usually. Elaine could sense another dark cloud looming on the horizon of her marriage and she feared that their love was not strong enough to endure it, leaving her no option but to take matters into her own hands. Charles needed to remember how much they had once adored one another. He needed to realise that he could not let her go. Elaine was not prepared to relinquish all her nice things.

‘Nearly there now, Mrs. Lloyd,’ Henry, the driver, called from the front seat.

‘Thank you,’ Elaine nodded.

In what was perhaps an act of desperation, Elaine had decided to drop in unannounced on Charles at his office, bringing him some cold sandwiches for supper as he was always working late. Years ago, when he first embarked on a career in politics, she always went to his offices so that they could eat their lunch together. Elaine was desperate to capture that magic again, refusing to believe that it was completely gone.

Faye had been unusually accommodating when Elaine called, insisting that she would clear Charles’ meetings for that evening so that he would be free to see his wife, and even sending over Henry with the Bentley to collect her. Elaine normally found Faye to be a stubborn nuisance and so was pleasantly surprised by the woman’s sudden thaw towards her.

The black gates slid open, granting passage for the Bentley into Downing Street and Elaine hastily reapplied one last coat of lipstick.

It felt as though it had been a long time since Elaine Lloyd had walked the famous cobbled street towards what had once been her home. Since the terrorist threats, she had remained far away from the building, safe in suburbia. She regarded the black door embossed with the golden ‘10’, recalling how she had stood proudly beside Charles the morning he had been sworn in as Deputy Prime Minister. The flash of the cameras as the world’s media looked on was almost blinding. As Elaine had stood on the step, grinning manically whilst attached to her husband like a limpet, she felt as though she were on top of the world. It was in stark contrast to her current reality, as with each thud her Louboutins made against the wooden floors she knew she was dangerously close to everything falling down. The smile, the glory – it could all be stolen away from her.

‘There will always be women lining up to take your place,’ Elaine’s mother had warned her, all those years ago.

‘You must always make yourself available and beautiful for him. Be the queen to his king.’ Elaine had followed this advice to the letter, and despite their decades of marriage, Charles had never seen his wife without some form of make-up on. Even when she had suffered so terribly with flu around her fortieth birthday, she used her last ounces of energy to apply rouge, for fear of looking too pale.

Faye smiled in greeting as Elaine strode past. Elaine liked Faye because she was plain, which made her safe. In Elaine’s mind, it was a myth that men were attracted to women for their minds. Inside every man, there still resided a teenage boy who felt drawn to the prettiest of things, be they cars or women. Aesthetics were everything.

‘Darling!’ Elaine flung open the door to the Deputy Prime Minister’s office, applying her broadest smile.

‘Elaine?’ Charles looked up from his computer, evidently startled, before furrowing his brow in confusion.‘Faye didn’t mention that you would be coming in.’

‘That’s because I wanted to surprise you. I’ve bought you dinner,’ Elaine came over to this desk and began unloading the savoury contents of her vastly large handbag.

‘I bought tuna and cucumber sandwiches – your favourite.’

‘Elaine I don’t have time for this,’ Charles sighed, tension in his voice.

‘Of course you have time to eat. I thought we could eat together, like we always used to do.’

‘I don’t have time,’ Charles repeated, this time with more anger.

‘I won’t stay long,’ Elaine countered, continuing to turn his desk in to a glorified picnic table.

‘Seriously, Elaine,’ he gripped her hand as it was about to drop down a package of sandwiches, holding it mid-air.

‘Stop, please. I do not have time for this. I’m in the middle of finalising something extremely important that just cannot wait.’ Charles regarded his wife for barely a second before returning his attention to his computer.

Elaine stood there, deflated and humiliated, turning her eyes skyward to try and contain the tears which were threatening to manifest themselves. With teeth clenched she began to return the food from the desk to her handbag, keeping what she felt to be a dignified silence.

‘Tomorrow,’ Charles suddenly declared, the stony silence making him uneasy. ‘Tomorrow I shall finish early and we can have supper together at home.’

‘Oh, I’d like that,’ Elaine smiled at this glimmer of hope. ‘I shouldn’t have disturbed you at work.’

‘No, its fine, it was a lovely surprise to see you.’ Charles reached again for her hand but this time held it tenderly. ‘I’m just so very busy.’

‘I understand that more than anyone,’ Elaine said sympathetically.

‘That’s because you are wonderful.’

As she left the office, even though the food had not been eaten, Elaine felt satisfied. Her small gesture had shown Charles just how much she loved him and his feelings were reciprocal, with the offer of supper. Elaine decided that to mark this triumph and to elongate her sense of euphoria, she would swing by Harrods before heading home to indulge in some retail therapy.

When the smacking of heel against wood had faded away, Charles called through to Faye. His message was short and formal.

‘When I am in my office I am not to be disturbed by anyone, understand?’

‘Yes, sir, I understand. My apologies,’ Faye responded obediently, knowing full well that Laurie would be the exception to this rule, but wisely choosing to remain silent.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, reminiscing for a brief painful moment of a time when his hairline used to be much lower down his forehead. Elaine’s impromptu visit had rattled him; it was completely out of character for her. She was normally so consumed in her own issues that she rarely thought of him, let alone his nutritional needs. He decided to plant the seed of another decorating project which should occupy her for a good few weeks. All he needed to do was look into a room and note how it looked ‘adequate’. It was a cruel game to play with his wife, but he couldn’t risk her hovering around the office.

However, Elaine’s visit had stirred up Charles’ previously dormant pangs of hunger. He dialled Faye’s extension number again.

‘Can you send Laurie out for some food, and then have her bring it in here? I’m famished!’

Faye scribbled down the brief food order that Charles gave her.

‘I’ll make sure she gets on with that as soon as she is back.’ Faye took a wicked delight in informing the Deputy Prime Minister that his beloved latest project was not present.

‘Oh, where is she?’ He sounded instantly panicked. The untrained ear would have mistaken his tone for annoyance, but Faye knew her employer better than that and recognised the fear which now coated the edge of his words.

‘She said something about going over to HR. Apparently there was an issue in her application paperwork that needed sorting. Would you like me to go and get the food instead?’

There was a pause as Charles absorbed the information, processing it.

‘No, no. Just send Lorna out for food as soon as she gets back.’ He suddenly realised his mistake. ‘Laurie, send Laurie out for food. Damnit, it’s been a long day.’

‘Shit!’ Charles declared angrily as he slammed down the telephone receiver. It was an easy mistake to make, to call either twin by the other’s name, but still Charles felt angered by it. His world was becoming increasingly confusing and it was imperative that he retain a strong grip on his sanity.

As the flash of anger subsided, Charles thought about what Faye had said, how Laurie had gone over to another department on the pretence of issues with paperwork. He immediately knew that this was a lie for a number of reasons. Firstly, her paperwork had been overseen by himself and Faye, so it was highly unlikely – leaning towards impossible – that there would be any error to report. And if there were, it should go through Faye; Laurie should not be dealing with such issues herself.

Secondly, and perhaps the most worrying point, was that Kaiden Collins worked over in Human Resources. Kaiden had forged a friendship with Lorna when they had both been interns, a friendship which Kaiden had wanted to extend to something else but Lorna did not. If Laurie was enquiring after her deceased sister she risked inviting Kaiden’s amorous attentions, something Charles did not want her doing.

Charles closed his eyes and sighed in frustration at how the women in his life were suddenly running amuck, none of them being where they should be. He knew that, rationally, he should not be angered by either his wife or Laurie’s actions, but he could not help but feel his blood pressure rise. Currently, it felt as though all of them were walking on broken glass. One misplaced step and they would receive a searing wound. Great care had to be taken. He did not want anything to interfere with his investigation in to her death. He felt that he owed it to her to uncover the truth. But what if he already knew the truth, and she had indeed taken her own life? Charles realised that he needed to believe it was a lie just as much as Laurie did.

In the solitude of his office, Charles allowed his mind to wander, recalling a conversation he had shared with Lorna during the midst of their affair. She had come in, as per his instruction, to run over his diary for the day with him but conversation had quickly turned informal and the two lovers were soon discussing their favourite literature.

Lorna was wearing a brown skirt which came to her knee and flared out, with a cream blouse tucked into it. Her hair was loose, apart from a black band which sat atop her head, perfectly framing her beautiful face. The previous night Charles had made love to her twice in his hotel suite, and now he had to use all of his self-restraint not to reach across the desk and attempt to ravish her once more.

‘A Tale of Two Cities, really?’ Lorna gave him a mockingly stern look as she ingested his response. ‘No, I don’t buy it. That’s the sort of book you tell people you like, to appear all learned and intellectual, but in truth, no-one likes it because it is unnatural for us to decipher the dialogue and prose because we weren’t born, like, a hundred years ago.’

‘I genuinely love it. It’s my favourite,’ Charles smiled bashfully, finding Lorna’s fervent response endearing.

‘Please! You are telling me you enjoyreading it? No way! It’s like Shakespeare – yes it is wonderful but no-one actually enjoysreading it.’ As Lorna spoke, her hands became animated, dancing through the space in front of her to help emphasise her point.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I adore reading Dickens.’

‘Geek,’ Lorna teased with a smile which hinted that her mind was also preoccupied with their antics from the previous night.

‘So what is your favourite book?’ Charles asked, glancing away from her alluring grin, knowing he did not have the strength to resist it.

‘Little Women of course.’

‘Of course?’

‘Yes of course. All girls grow up loving Little Women, it’s a classic.’

‘Sort of like A Tale of Two Cities?’

‘Geek,’ Lorna teased again. This time Charles’ resolve fell away and he left his chair and traversed the distance between them in one step before taking Lorna in to his arms for a deep, passionate kiss.

The sound of his telephone ringing rudely interrupted Charles from his blissful walk down memory lane. Feeling slightly dazed, he answered it.

‘I’ve just sent Laurie out for food, she will be back shortly,’ Faye informed him.

Laurie felt humiliated with her current task, which made her feel like a glorified waitress. In the cool evening air she had traversed the streets of London in her stupidly high heels, merely to collect boutique sandwiches. She was beginning to question why Lorna had ever wanted this life when at times it felt so demeaning. The only benefit of doing the food run was the opportunity to leave the confines of the office and take in some relatively clean air. Laurie didn’t enjoy the bitter tinge she tasted on each breathe of exhaust fumes, but it was better than nothing. The urban jungle she currently resided in was making her miss the lush greenery of home more and more.

‘Just take it in,’ Faye ordered abruptly when Laurie returned, not even glancing up from her computer monitor to address her. Laurie resented how Lorna’s baggage had somehow become her own. Being a twin made her no less a separate person; she wasn’t going to repeat her sister’s mistakes, she was merely seeking answers to Lorna’s demise. Not that Laurie would waste her breathe explaining this to Faye, who had clearly made up her mind about her.

‘Food!’ Laurie declared as she entered the office, dumping the bag of sandwiches onto Charles’ desk, having none of the finesse of Elaine, who had previously unpacked an entire meal before delicately repacking it all.

‘Thanks,’ Charles looked up at Laurie with a strange mixture of joy and sadness which unnerved her.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yes … well …’ Charles didn’t want to chastise Laurie but he needed to make her aware that her actions earlier that day had been wrong. ‘I know you’ve been talking to Kaiden Collins.’

‘So?’ Laurie retorted defensively.

‘About Lorna,’ Charles concluded softly.

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Well yes, actually it is. Laurie, I know it is hard but I need you to keep a low profile whilst you are here, for both our sakes.’

‘I’m just tired of it all. Of being here, of having no answers.’ Laurie collapsed into the chair opposite Charles, her shoulders hunched forward in defeat.

Charles rummaged in the bag and took out a sandwich for himself and tossed another across to Laurie.

‘My guy will contact me soon and we will go from there.’

‘And if he has nothing?’ Laurie challenged.

‘We will cross that bridge when we come to it.’

‘You are such a politician,’ Laurie scoffed.

‘How so?’ Charles enquired, bemused.

‘You have an answer for everything yet say nothing. Quite the skill.’

‘Hmm,’ was the only response Charles could manage, as his mouth was now consumed with his sandwich, which he was hungrily devouring.

He noticed how Laurie picked at her own sandwich, rather than delving into it; her manner akin to how a bird would methodically pick at a worm with small delicate bites. It was how Lorna would eat, which made his heart ache with longing.

‘You eat like a pig,’ Laurie noted when she saw that Charles’ sandwich was already gone whilst hers was still almost whole.

‘And you can be most brazen for a young lady.’

‘God, you sound like my grandmother!’

‘Thanks.’

In so many ways, Laurie was the complete contradiction to Lorna. She could be rude and contrite, she did not enjoy over indulgence and she resented authority. Yet she mirrored her deceased twin’s mannerisms. Charles wondered how the two girls behaved when they were together, and it saddened him that he would never get to know.

‘Do you think it strange that Lorna never told me she had a twin sister?’ Charles asked the question which had been dancing around the back of his mind ever since he had first been aware of Laurie.

‘Not really,’ Laurie shrugged nonchalantly, still picking at her sandwich. ‘Perhaps she was worried that you’d ask me to join you guys in the bedroom or something,’ she added teasingly.

Charles’ eyes widened in shock and his cheeks flushed the deepest red.

‘I’m joking, obviously,’ Laurie said, now also feeling embarrassed. ‘Some guys are into the whole twin thing. But Lorna not mentioning me, it’s no surprise. All through school we were this duo, a double act. Even when we weren’t in the same class, people just grouped us together. We even had a nickname.’

‘Oh?’

‘Double L. It’s lame and some of the more cruel kids would say it stood for ‘double losers’. But yeah, it wasn’t easy not having your own identity, so when we left school we drifted apart in our private lives, each forging out our own way I guess. It’s not that we were pretending we weren’t twins, we were just having a go at being individuals.’

‘Makes sense,’ Charles agreed. He noticed how a dark cloud had suddenly settled over Laurie’s angelic looks, as she realised she would forever now be an individual.

‘Books!’ Charles wanted to lighten the topic; it pained him to see Laurie downcast. He longed to lure her smile out so that it could light up his office. The topic of literature was still fresh on his mind after he had reminisced about Lorna.

‘I love to read, when I get the opportunity. My favourite book is A Tale of Two Cities.’

‘Yeah, that is good,’ Laurie nodded solemnly. ‘I enjoy Dickens.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘So what would your favourite book be?’

Laurie pondered on the question for a moment, her eyes skyward as if she were searching for the answer on the office ceiling.

‘Well, I guess it would have to be Little Women.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, all girls grow up loving Little Women. It’s a classic.’

It was so eerie to hear Laurie utter the same exact words as her deceased twin. It sent a shiver down Charles’ spine which ran all the way to his toes and spilled out past his physical being. For a moment it was as though Lorna was not gone, she was simply hiding inside Laurie, locked away, waiting for a moment to escape and live once more.

Chapter Eight

Tale for sale

Laurie read the email from Kaiden Collins with interest. It was early morning and she was in the process of trudging through all the emails which had filtered in over the previous evening, when she spotted Kaiden’s name. The title of the email was, ‘something potentially of interest’. Intrigued, Laurie immediately opened it. As she did so, a smile of relief spread across her beautiful features – she at last had a lead.

Hi Laurie,

When you came to see me, it got me thinking about Lorna. Nothing odd ever really happened, but just before she left here, we were on a night out and she seemed really down. She was drinking heavily which was unlike her. Anyway, she met a guy, he was a journalist, and she seemed pretty shook up about it afterwards. It could be nothing, but then it could be something, so I will text you the guy’s name and the paper he works for. Hope you find something out. Lorna was a nice girl, I miss her.

Kaiden

It wasn’t difficult to theorise why Lorna would have been upset about meeting a journalist. Kaiden was right when he noted that it was out of character for Lorna to drink considerable amounts of alcohol. The twins had both always been paradigms of virtue growing up, neither had even tried smoking. Sex and drinking were not something either girl entered into lightly. It was only when Lorna was separated from her twin, who had kept her morality centred, that she started to slip. Lonely, she sought comfort from the bottom of a glass. Lorna reasoned that having slept with a married man, anything else she did would be in the minor leagues. She had already tainted herself beyond reproach.

It saddened Laurie to imagine her sister like that; drunk and out of control. Worse than the sadness was the feeling of guilt. Even Kaiden, a colleague, had sensed that something was wrong. How could Laurie have missed the signs? How could she not have known that her twin was in pain?

A second email in her inbox caught her eye. It was sent from Arthur Dolan with the subject, ‘This is crazy’.

Sighing, Laurie went to permanently delete the message without even opening it but then decided to read it, more out of interest than anything else.

Laurie, it’s me. Again. All you do is ignore me. Your mum told me where you are. What you are doing is crazy. I’m worried about you. You need to come home.

Frowning, Laurie swiftly deleted the message. She didn’t like Arthur’s tone. He was trying to control her, telling her what to do. She didn’t need to come home, she needed to find out the truth about Lorna, once and for all. Her phone buzzed and she grinded her teeth, certain that the incoming text message would be from Arthur.

Checking her phone, she saw that the message was actually from Kaiden, containing contact details about the reporter as promised. He worked for The Shadow. It wasn’t a paper that Laurie was personally familiar with but she was aware of its reputation. She felt hesitant about contacting the journalist there, as a voice deep within the back of her mind warned that if she opened up this can of worms, there would be no going back and she might be unable to handle the truth. She’d accepted that Lorna was going to sell her story, she’d just never stopped to think about why she would so that; what would motivate her to sell intimate details of her life to the mass media? It pained Laurie to consider that perhaps she wasn’t as in tune with her twin as she’d always believed. This journalist might have answers, and Laurie needed them no matter how hard it might be to hear.

John Quinn finished typing up a story that was so mundane he struggled to stay awake as he wrote it. His insomnia had returned with a vengeance for the past couple of months and it showed. He was becoming sluggish and irritable. Even Maria, his one ally at the paper, had started to give him a wide berth. He needed rest but his mind continually whirred with a ferocious anger. He needed a big story; he needed to make a name for himself. He had been so close, so very close. He had seen the holy grail of stories, almost been able to reach out and touch it, but then, in an instant it was gone, and his quest had to begin all over again and he was too old and too tired for the constant searching.

He almost didn’t hear his telephone ringing through his fog of fatigue. Shaking his head in an attempt to rouse himself he reluctantly answered.

‘Quinn.’

‘Hi, is that John Quinn?’ came a fragile female voice, almost obscured by the sound of traffic around her.

‘Yes.’

‘Hi … um, look. I know that this is kind of strange,’ wind whipped past the mouth piece, completing cutting out the young woman who took the opportunity to pause and compose herself.

‘My name is Laurie Thomas. I believe that you knew my twin sister, Lorna. Can we talk?’

John instantly recognised the name. How could he forget it? The feeling of excitement and possibility began to awaken within him; feelings which he had believed had become extinct.

‘Yes, we can talk, certainly.’ John frantically reached for a pen and paper, hardly believing his luck to have received such an opportune phone call. ‘Can you meet me today, say for lunch?’

‘No.’ Laurie said abruptly. Then, more softly, ‘I’m working. I can meet tomorrow. But that is a Saturday.’

‘Saturdays are fine.’ For John and his colleagues, the attachment the rest of the world gave to days of the week was obsolete. Every day was potentially a working day; weekends did not exist, except for those who did not have the drive to progress.

‘There is a café called The 10 Stop, can we meet there?’

‘The 10 Stop, that’s near the Houses of Parliament?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do you want to meet there? Wouldn’t somewhere more central be better?’

‘No. It’s the only place I know.’

‘Right, okay. How come …’ John wanted to question Laurie further but she suddenly interrupted him.

‘I have to go. I’ll be at The 10 Stop for half twelve tomorrow. You’ll recognise me.’ And then the line went dead. Bemused, John just stared at the telephone receiver for a few moments, hardly daring to believe what was unfolding before him. He was being given a second chance to capture the greatest story of his career and he was determined not to let it fall from his grasp again. He quickly scribbled a note and left it prominently on his desk, relaying to anyone interested that he would be spending the remainder of the day working from home, when in reality he was going back to his cramped apartment to sleep, for tomorrow was going to be a big day for him and he needed his rest.

‘Are you feeling better?’ Faye enquired as Laurie returned to her desk, her cheeks flush from her brief excursion outside.

‘Oh yes, thank you, much better. I just suddenly felt so very sick.’

‘As long as you are feeling okay now,’ Faye managed to smile, aware that it would undoubtedly appear false.

Laurie felt quietly reflective as she sat her desk, carrying out the menial tasks assigned to her. She kept trying to unpick Lorna’s motives for associating with a journalist from a seedy tabloid newspaper, but she kept failing to reach a logical conclusion. She felt as though she was getting closer to the truth but her own fears were beginning to hold her back. Laurie was not ready to deal with the reality that perhaps she had not known her own twin sister at all.

Faye was not the most astute of women but she could not fail to notice how Laurie barely breathed a word to her that day, instead keeping her dainty head bent down to her keyboard, as if hoping it would swallow her whole and release her from the terrible world she resided in. Faye did not intend to be resentful towards her young intern, and was aware that she was transferring her tarnished opinion of Lorna onto Laurie which was not fair.

If Laurie was genuinely ill, which would explain her muted demeanour, then Faye accepted that the young girl should go home and rest. She was about to suggest as much when her telephone rang.

‘Good afternoon Deputy Prime Minister,’ she greeted Charles politely, having recognised the extension number from his office.

‘Can you send Laurie in, I’ve some work for her,’ he instructed bluntly.

‘Yes, of course.’ Faye managed to smile but behind her grin she was seething. Her resentful feelings towards the Thomas twins bubbled to the surface once more. Their angelic looks had gained them access to the Deputy Prime Minister and it made Faye feel sick with rage. It was a wicked world to live in where the beautiful succeeded on aesthetics alone. And whilst Laurie appeared quiet and demure, history was clearly repeating itself.

‘He wants to see you,’ she instructed her young intern rudely, no longer caring for any ailment she may be suffering from. Laurie sighed and hauled herself up from her chair as though her limbs were made from lead. If an affair was being carried out, she was a less than willing party to it.

Faye watched her leave, grinding her teeth in fury. She worked tirelessly in an attempt to get into the Deputy Prime Minister’s good graces and to no avail. He cared only for the young and the pretty, or so it seemed. But Faye learnt long ago, back on the playground, that she would not be able to rely on her looks as other did. Women like her would have to work hard to forge their way in life, and then enjoy watching the prettier exterior of those around them fade away, taking joy in their realisation that without their beauty, they had nothing. Faye may not have been beautiful but at least she was a woman of substance; she consoled herself with this fact each time she felt overlooked rather than looked over.

‘Laurie, hey.’ Charles felt his mood instantly lift as the delicate blonde entered his office.

‘Hi.’ Laurie barely lifted her gaze from the floor to look at him. She walked across to his desk and slumped her tiny frame down on to the chair opposite him.

‘Shit, I forgot my notepad,’ she said suddenly, looking mildly agitated. ‘Faye gets pissed off if I don’t go back to her with some fictional notes about stuff to do.’ Laurie went to leave but Charles raised his hand in a gesture to stop her.

‘Its fine, tell Faye I only gave you the one task.’

‘Okay.’

Charles noted the way Laurie’s shoulders appeared hunched forward, and the way her eyes suddenly seemed so weary, as though weighted down by the thoughts burning behind them in her mind.

‘Is everything alright?’ he leant forward and asked, concerned.

‘Sure,’ Laurie answered unconvincingly.

‘If something is wrong, you can talk to me. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Sure., came the same muttered response.

Even though Laurie was in her early twenties, and by that very definition an adult, lost in her melancholy she was behaving like a displeased adolescent. Charles recalled how Lorna had also been known to enter into a sullen disposition, granting him one word answers accompanied by sullen looks. It made him feel incredibly old when she behaved like this, as it reminded him how not so long ago she had been a child and that her immature characteristics had not yet faded away with age, as his own had.

‘If you don’t tell me what is wrong, I can’t help,’ Charles explained gently, imploring Laurie to open up with each word. He longed to be her confidant, to be the person to whom she turned to when she needed comfort. He yearned to be close to her and to fight against that felt unnatural.

‘Everything is wrong!’ Laurie admitted suddenly, the despair which had been brewing up inside of her since her phone conversation with John Quinn suddenly spilling out across the desk which formed the barrier between herself and the Deputy Prime Minister.

‘I hate this city, I hate being here, I hate working for you and I hate that my sister is gone!’ As she spoke, her hands formed tiny fists of frustration which came thumping down onto the cushioned arms of the chairs in which she sat.

‘It’s okay,’ Charles said soothingly.

‘What if she did it? What if Lorna did kill herself? If that’s the case, then what the hell am I doing here if not wasting my own life?’ Laurie now put her hands over her face but she was too angry for tears.

‘You are not wasting your life.’ Charles could feel the pain radiating out from Laurie’s tiny body, displacing the air around her. ‘What you are doing here, coming to investigate Lorna’s death, is amazingly brave and admirable.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes, I do. And even if she did kill herself, which I don’t believe for a second, being here will help you better understand her motives, which in turn will help you gain closure.’

‘I suppose.’

‘But why the sudden change of heart? You were adamant that she would not have done it.’

‘I…’ Laurie toyed with revealing how she was due to meet with John Quinn from The Shadow newspaper but decided against it, fearing that Charles would misinterpret her intentions and believe that she was selling him out. Laurie knew that her sister had toyed with exposing the affair simply for the financial benefit; seeing John Quinn would help her ascertain just how committed to this decision she had been.

‘I’m just not feeling well.’ It was a lame excuse by Laurie’s own admission but all she could muster up when under the spotlight of scrutiny. The twins had always feigned illness when faced with an uncomfortable situation.‘Lady pains.’ It broke Laurie’s heart to utter the words which had so successfully removed physical education from her and Lorna’s agenda at school. Together, the twins would giggle at how uncomfortable their male teacher looked whenever they informed him of their current inconvenience.

‘Right, okay.’ Not one to break the trend, Charles blushed and shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

‘Perhaps I can cheer you up,’ Charles said, relieved to be able to change the subject of the conversation and also hopefully improve on Laurie’s current mood.

‘Hmm,’ Laurie mumbled a disinterested response, her mind still held by the meeting with the reporter due to occur the following day.

‘I bought you a gift,’ Charles declared as he produced a small, flat package, wrapped in brown paper and adorned with red ribbon, from a drawer in his desk.

‘A gift?’ Laurie echoed, as her eyes widened with surprise. Tentatively she reached forward for the package.

The gift sat heavy in her hands for a few moments. Laurie was not accustomed to receiving gifts alone. Birthdays had always been a joint occasion, where she and Lorna would take joy in one another’s presents. The image of the blouse quickly flashed through Laurie’s mind, making her feel apprehensive about the gift she was now receiving. Perhaps the Deputy Prime Minister was just generous, or perhaps he was trying to entice Laurie and lure her under his spell as he had once her sister. But unlike her sister, Laurie was wise to the ways of men and resilient against almost all of their tricks. Chocolates, flowers and things that shone did not garner her trust.

‘Open it,’ Charles instructed eagerly, desperate to see Laurie’s reaction. Reluctantly, Laurie removed the red ribbon, letting it float to the floor, before ripping through the brown paper to reveal a book. She gasped in surprise in spite of herself.

‘Do you like it?’

‘I …’ Laurie held the book in her hands and gingerly opened it, taking care to be gentle with her movements for fear of harming it. She was lost for words.

‘Is it okay?’ Charles asked again, unaccustomed to being greeted with silence when having given a gift. Whenever he gave something to either Elaine or Lorna they would both fawn all over him in gratitude, but whilst Laurie appeared stunned, she was showing no desire to cross the emotional canyon which lay between them.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Laurie said at last, before placing the book down upon his desk. ‘It is simply too much, I cannot accept it.’

‘Please, it is for you,’ Charles pleaded.

‘It is a first edition copy of Little Women. I dread to think how much that cost. I cannot take it.’ Laurie was beginning to get angry. She hated being indebted to someone, and to accept such an elaborate gift would mean she owed Charles something and she was unwilling to give the Deputy Prime Minister anything, even her vote.

‘I want you to have it,’ Charles nudged the aged book back towards Laurie.

‘Why?’ the young woman challenged pedantically.

‘Because it is a gift.’

‘I don’t need gifts.’

‘Laurie, just take it. You are sad here, I know that. I thought this would help cheer you up, that’s all.’

For a moment, Laurie’s hand hovered over the book, her mind locked in contemplation. She wanted to believe that it was merely a kind-hearted gesture, but the seed of doubt which had lurked in her thoughts had now sprouted and was going out across her body, marking her movements.

‘This doesn’t make us friends.’ Laurie snatched the book to her chest like a child, as though afraid it might be taken from her.

‘We are at least allies though?’

‘Allies? Yeah,’ Laurie said, even though she felt no allegiance to Charles. If anything, she still viewed him as the enemy. Until she knew with certainty what had transpired with Lorna, he was still a potential catalyst who could have contributed to her untimely death. After all, he had the most to lose had Lorna gone through with her interview with John Quinn. In Laurie’s eyes, he remained very much a potential suspect, but she couldn’t let him see that. It was important that she kept him onside as he had access to invaluable resources which she could never acquire on her own.

‘You need to learn to trust me.’

‘I only ever trusted one person and she is gone,’ Laurie declared bitterly. ‘Are we done here?’

‘Yes, you can return to Faye.’

Disheartened, Charles watched Laurie leave, but just as she reached the office door, she glanced down at the book clutched to her chest with warmth and affection and Charles felt a wave of longing wash over him. He wanted Laurie to look at him like that. He wanted her to hold him against her as though she would never let go. He realised that he had not given the gift to cheer Laurie up; he had given it to help him earn his way into her favour. He wanted her to want him. The steely exterior which she had taken to hiding behind only made her all the more desirable. Charles knew that he had to have her, no matter the cost.

‘Did he give you plenty of jobs to do?’ Faye asked sarcastically as Laurie returned to her desk.

‘No, and I’m going home,’ the young girl declared angrily. ‘This place is making me sick.’

The 10 Stop was a small café nestled down a side street near the Houses of Parliament. It served simple food at a reasonable price, even by London’s extortionate standards, which suited Laurie. She often frequented there, sometimes just to enjoy a tea and a toasted teacake on her amble home after work. As such, it was a familiar place which helped her feel more comfortable about meeting with the journalist, John Quinn.

Laurie knew that she didn’t have to worry about the journalist identifying her, but still, as she approached the modest venue on a particularly blustery Saturday afternoon she felt sick with nerves. Gone was the Lorna-themed work attire; Laurie was now wearing her own style of fashion – jeans with a hooded top secured beneath a trendy leather biker jacket. And most importantly, flat converse sneakers, so in the unlikely eventuality that things at the rendezvous point turned sour, she could always make a run for home.

As expected, Laurie entered The 10 Stop to the gentle jingle of a bell positioned above the door, and a man sat towards the back of the café immediately looked up at her and turned the shade of freshly-fallen snow. Bracing herself for the usual fearful reception she had become accustomed to, Laurie headed over.

‘John Quinn?’

‘Yeah … yes …’ The journalist was quickly trying to compose himself after initially having been taken aback by Laurie’s immaculate resemblance to Lorna.

‘I’m Laurie Thomas.’ The manners which had been bestowed in both Thomas girls from a young age surfaced and Laurie extended her right hand in greeting. John shook it, his eyes still transfixed by the doppelganger before him.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said at last, as Laurie settled herself in the chair opposite him. ‘You are the spitting image of your sister, it’s kind of surreal.’

‘Yeah, I get that a lot,’ Laurie muttered dismissively.

‘You look exactly like her,’ John continued, fear now falling away to awe.

‘That’s kind of how it goes when people are identical twins,’ Laurie replied bitterly. All of her life, she had worn a face that wasn’t exclusively her own, and now, even in the wake of her sister’s passing; she was still forced to share her appearance.

‘I came here to talk to you about my sister.’ It was direct and to the point. Laurie had no intention of idling around; she wanted to extract the necessary facts and leave as quickly as possible. Strangely, she couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that she was conducting the meeting without Charles’ knowledge or consent. It felt as though she were somehow deceiving him, which made her feel uncomfortable, primarily because she did not want to feel that she owed him anything. Yet here she was, fretting about the clandestine questioning of the journalist. She was allowing the Deputy Prime Minister to get too close to her.

‘Ten thousand.’ John said suddenly, as he switched on the Dictaphone which he had blatantly placed on the table between them.

‘I’m sorry?’ Laurie asked, confused.

‘Ten thousand, for your story. I assume that is why you are here. I can’t offer the full twenty that we were going to give your sister because the story isn’t straight from the horse’s mouth anymore. Unless you are fucking him?’ There was no judgement upon John’s face as he delivered the crass question. In fact, his features were devoid of emotion, as if years of capturing the illicit movements of others had numbed him.

‘What? No! Jesus Christ!’ Laurie replied incredulously as her cheeks flushed with both anger and embarrassment. ‘I’m not here to sell my story. I have no story to sell.’

‘Then what are you doing here?’

Laurie eyed the Dictaphone which was monitoring their every word with caution.

‘Can you turn that off?’

‘What, you want this off the record?’ It was now John’s turn to be enraged. He thought for a moment before obligingly switching off the device. As much as it pained him to do so, he hoped that in gaining Laurie’s trust, he might eventually get the story he so badly craved.

‘Thank you,’ Laurie said sincerely, and even though it was against her nature, she flashed the journalist a sweet yet seductive smile, a skill which was in every woman’s arsenal but only few employed.

‘So why are we here?’ Predictably, John had thawed, his words now delivered with a trace of tenderness.

‘I need to know things about my sister.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like, when you last saw her, how was she?’

John saw the desperate hope in Laurie’s eyes and sighed. He was accustomed to shattering people’s dreams and illusions, not granting them. Any news he ever had to report on was always bad. Around London he felt like a harbinger of doom. If someone’s name landed upon his desk it was never for a good reason.

‘Is this because she killed herself?’ Again, he delivered an emotionally-loaded question in an almost robotic way.

Laurie flinched at the question. This man, this stranger, believed that Lorna had committed suicide, and to hear someone state it as such made Laurie feel like a foolish little girl. For a brief moment, she wished that Charles was there to support her. He would silence her doubts and reinforce her conviction that Lorna would never, ever take her own life.

‘I don’t believe that she did.’ It felt like a sheepish admission in the harsh light of day, like a child defying reason and still clinging on the belief that Santa Claus existed.

Despite dealing in the pain of others, John Quinn knew little of suffering. He had closed himself off from a great number of emotions to help him deal with his line of work more efficiently. Mourning and grief were foreign concepts to him. To John, a death was nothing more than an obituary to write and potentially a story, depending on the circumstances. But he knew that it wasn’t healthy for this young, beautiful woman to be dwelling on the demise of her twin sister.

‘I’m afraid that I don’t have answers for you.’ He picked up his Dictaphone and went to return it to his bag when Laurie reached across and grabbed his wrist, her eyes pleading.

‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please, tell me how she was when you met her, that night in the club.’

John sighed and dropped the Dictaphone and reluctantly allowed his mind to wander back to the night in question.

‘Honestly, she was a mess.’ He saw immediately that it wasn’t the answer which Laurie wanted but it was the one she needed to hear. ‘She was out with some other interns, blind drunk by the time we got talking. She was all over the place in more ways than one. Kept going on about some guy who had broken her heart.’ John hesitated before carrying on, unsure if Laurie wanted to hear more, but he took her silence as a signal to proceed.

‘I mean, being out, you get used to seeing girls who are a mess like that. I just assumed she was cut up about a boyfriend, and I won’t lie, I’m the sort of guy who would take advantage of that. So I talked with her for a bit, asked questions, and then she dropped the bombshell about who the guy was.’

Laurie’s composure was stoic at this.

‘Can you at least give me that? Can you confirm who the guy was?’ John asked, wanting to walk away with something, but Laurie merely shook her head in refusal.

‘You want answers, well so do I!’ he said angrily, his desire for the story getting the better of him.

‘No, you want to write a sordid story. I want to find out why my twin sister died when she was only twenty two!’ Laurie spat each word out with an angry venom which surprised John into submission.

‘Fine. Your sister suddenly became a potential story. I gave her my card, told her the paper would be willing to pay big, that sort of thing. She seemed so drunk I doubted that she’d taken any of it in. To her credit, she seemed pretty horrified when I told her I was a journalist, and swore she didn’t want to sell her story. Then a few months later, she called. They always do.’

It saddened Laurie to imagine her sister selling herself out like that.

‘How did she seem when she called?’

‘Down, really down. Most women, when they do a kiss and tell, have a lot of spite and resentment, but Lorna just seemed … sad.’

‘And that didn’t strike you as odd?’ Laurie challenged, anger rising in her voice once more.

‘Look, it’s not my job to be a counsellor,’ John reasoned to her. ‘I merely relay events which have already unfolded. Don’t shoot the messenger.’

Laurie was quiet for a moment, mulling things over. When she spoke, her voice trembled slightly, as though she were fearful of the truth she was uncovering.

‘Did you tell anyone else, about Lorna?’

‘And have someone try and steal the story?’ John scoffed. ‘No, I did not. Did she tell you?’

‘Yeah, we spoke about it. She said she didn’t want to do it, but that she couldn’t turn the money down.’

‘One thing I’ve learnt is that everyone has their price,’ John stated nonchalantly as though he were remarking on the state of the weather.‘So she didn’t want to do it, but she was going ahead with it anyway. A story which could potentially destroy a very powerful man and her own reputation?’

‘Yeah.’ Laurie shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

‘Either, you have all the answers you seek, and your sister did kill herself,’ John paused before delivering the second part of his conclusion, wanting to ensure that he had Laurie’s complete undivided attention. ‘Or, she was involved with a very powerful man who found out what she was going to do.’

‘No, I told him about it and he said he had no idea.’

‘He would say that, wouldn’t he?’

Laurie felt an icy blast whip around her frame and then sweep beneath her clothes, chilling her to the bone as she processed what the journalist was implying.

‘You seem like a smart girl,’ John continued. ‘I suggest you forget all about this little investigation you’ve been conducting and go back home. Losing your sister is an awful tragedy, don’t let things get any worse.’

It was strange to finally vocalise the dark thought which had been lurking at the back of his own mind for a considerable amount of time. Ever since he had received the call stating that Laurie had died, something felt odd. If the young girl was so against the interview, she was within her rights to just pull out – no-one was compelling her to speak. Which left the possibility that it was someone else who silenced her indefinitely, leaving Laurie and her probing questions potentially in grave danger, and John had no desire to write a twinned obituary.

‘Please, just forget about all of this,’ John pleaded.

‘I can’t,’ Laurie admitted sadly. ‘Lorna was my best friend; I owe it to her to find out the truth.’

‘Then just be careful, I implore you. If you find that you are in over your head, call me. You know my number.’

John Quinn made a hasty exit from The 10 Stop, fearing for his own safety as much as Laurie’s.

Alone in the café, Laurie felt as though she were in a daze. Her motor functions allowed her to order and consume a cup of tea before leaving to walk home. But as she did so, she turned and scrutinized those who walked behind, fearful that any of them could be someone who was sent to silence her. Of all her questions and all her theories, Laurie had never once considered the possibility that she had been looking across at her sister’s killer all along.

Chapter Nine

Like stars colliding we crash together

The conversation with John Quinn lingered in Laurie’s mind long after the weekend had concluded. His notion that she was in danger plagued her thoughts to the point where sleep was impossible. Instead she lay awake, pondering what she should do and whom she should trust. It was in these moments that she missed Lorna the most. Her twin sister had always been her confidante, the person she could always turn to for guidance.

Laurie curled herself up in the sheets of her bed, wrapping them around her to form a protective cocoon and wondered what Lorna would do if she were there. Would she shy away from the danger and the uncertainty, or would she confront it?

Tormented, Laurie sobbed and pleaded to the empty darkness, ‘Why did you have to leave me? I need you.’ Her tears soaked the bedding around her. Having spent all her life as a duo, this feeling of being alone, stranded amongst a sea of souls, felt new and cruel to her.

By Monday morning, Laurie had found some clarity through her despair. She needed to leave London and its bright lights and return to the greenery of home. Her soul was calling out to forge a connection with Lorna. Laurie needed to visit the place where her twin had taken her final breath.

First she needed to free herself from the restraints of her internship, if only temporarily. She knew better than to discuss her desire to go home with Faye, who would only dismiss the possibility and hide behind work protocol. Laurie needed to make her case to the Deputy Prime Minister himself, and she knew that the opportunity would soon present itself for her to do this.

As Laurie had predicted, it was still early Monday morning when Faye relayed the Deputy Prime Minister’s instructions for her to take some documents into his office. She knew the contents of the documents were irrelevant, it was just a rouse for them to be alone and discuss their clandestine investigation.

When she entered the office, documents in hand, Laurie suddenly felt a wave of nausea sweep over her, undoubtedly attributed to her new-found nerves. John Quinn’s warning continued to ring in her ears. She felt as though she were walking from the frying pain directly into the fire, and unlike her sister, Laurie vowed not to be quite such an easy lamb to slaughter.

‘Here are your papers,’ she said icily, placing the documents down on Charles’ desk.

‘Is everything alright?’ the Deputy Prime Minister enquired with genuine concern, noticing the lack of colour in her pallor.

‘Yes,’ Laurie answered with uncertainty. ‘Actually, no,’ she sighed, hastily recanting her first statement.

‘What is it?’ Charles asked, motioning for her to sit down across from him. Laurie obliged but she hugged her arms around herself, using her own limbs for protection as she felt vulnerable.

‘Something wrong?’ Charles queried when Laurie remained silent and failed to offer an explanation for her sour disposition.

‘I’m just…’ Laurie tried to find the words, tried to vocalise how she felt, whilst wanting to appear natural. The last thing she wanted was for Charles to sense that she now feared him.

‘I miss Lorna so, so much and I’m starting to wonder what I’m even doing here.’

‘You can’t give up now, not when we are so close.’

‘I’m not giving up, I’m just … struggling. I’m homesick and mourning Lorna. I think I need to return home, just for a few days.’

‘Oh.’

The Deputy Prime Minister’s eyes darkened with sadness and Laurie felt doubt creep into her mind and muffle John Quinn and his proclamations of danger. She watched as a flicker of despair crossed his features, but then he swiftly pushed it back down, deep within his soul. She realised that he too was dealing with the loss of Lorna, and that she had been providing some respite from that. But it was not her place to be the band aid he stuck over a gaping wound. She had her own demons to silence; she could not afford to be responsible for his too.

‘I’m going to visit the crash site, check for any potential clues.’ It was only a half-lie; Laurie had every intention of visiting the site where Lorna’s car had fatally collided with a great oak but she would not be scouring the area for clues, she would merely be seeking solace within herself. Linking her impromptu return home to their investigation seemed to please Charles, as the sadness lifted from his weary eyes and was quickly replaced by hope.

‘That sounds like a great idea,’ he enthused. ‘But … will you be alright?’ he added as an afterthought.

‘Yes,’ Laurie replied definitely. ‘I mean, I think so,’ she continued, the certainty slipping away from her voice. ‘It is just a tree now. There is nothing there, nothing which marks it as the site of the crash. It you didn’t know, it would just be like any other place.’

‘But you do know.’

‘Yeah.’

They were both silent as the mood between them grew heavy with sadness and regret. Charles noted the way Laurie hugged at her tiny frame, her beautiful face now featured the emergence of wrinkles, a telling sign of the hours she had spent frowning in pain and frustration at the loss of her sister. Again, Charles recalled Lorna’s bright disposition, and hated how her death had robbed Laurie of her own light. If nothing else, he wanted to restore that in the young woman. He felt as though it were his duty, his penance to pay for letting Lorna slip through his grasp.

‘Have you been there before?’

‘To the crash site? No. No-one has that I know of. My dad changed his whole route to work in order to avoid it, so that his journey now takes an hour instead of twenty minutes.’

‘So why do you want to go there now?’ Charles delivered his questions softly, seeking the answers only to belay his own fears for Laurie’s current state of mind.

‘I need to.’

‘Okay.’

‘I need to see it. To be there, to see the place which separated us forever.’

‘Would you like me to go with you?’

Charles’ offer caught Laurie by surprise. Up until that point, his input had been confined to the shadows. They met under false pretences; no-one would know that they were investigating Lorna’s death. If they were seen together beyond the office, people would talk and come to their own conclusions. It was a great risk that Charles was willing to take, and despite Laurie’s new-found reservations about him, she couldn’t help but feel touched by his gesture.

‘No, thank you. I think it is best that I go alone.’

‘Are you sure? I imagine that going there will be quite distressing. Are you sure that you wouldn’t want someone there with you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Laurie lied. She was prepared for how distressing visiting the crash site would be, but she was resolute in her decision to return home, to feel safe. Whatever feelings being there might stir in her, it would be preferable to the nights spent alone and fearful in a strange city.

‘When will you come back?’

‘I will be back in the office by next Monday.’

‘A week!’ Charles cried suddenly. It was only seven days but it felt like an eternity, and there was no guarantee that Laurie would even return.

‘A week is fine,’ he said, calmer this time, having composed himself. ‘We will note it as compassionate leave.’

‘Thank you. I really appreciate you letting me go.’

‘I’m happy to help. I bet your family will be pleased to see you.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Laurie scoffed. ‘I think they like me being away, out of sight and out of mind. When I’m around, they have to deal with losing Lorna all over again.’

‘Even so, I bet they have missed you.’

‘No, they miss Lorna,’ Laurie corrected him. ‘I’m just a painful reminder of the daughter they have lost.’

‘But they still have you which must offer them some consolation.’

‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you?’ Laurie sighed.

Smiling sadly at Charles, Laurie raised herself from the chair and left his office. It was only once she had delivered the news of her leave to a visibly annoyed Faye, packed her bags, left her modest apartment and was seated on the train, that Laurie let herself relax. As the carriage spirited along the train tracks, Laurie felt her bones ease in the knowledge that she was going somewhere safe, somewhere familiar. Home was home. Even as things changed, and people left, her home was the one constant which remained the same. Her parents may look at her differently, and her bedroom might seem quieter without Lorna causing a musical riot next door, blasting out the latest CD from the fad band of the month, but it was still home, and Laurie longed to be there, if only for a brief period of time.

The fact that Charles never attended Lorna’s funeral still haunted him. He often wondered if he had taken it upon himself to go and bid her farewell, would she not now torment him in his dreams. He knew that he should have been there, but at the time it felt impossible. And now Laurie was returning to Kent in an attempt to deal with her own grief further and he had just let her go.

In the solitude of his office, Charles sighed and shook his head wearily. He felt as though he were destined to only ever disappoint the Thomas twins. He had let Lorna down, he accepted that, and his actions may even have pushed her to end her own life. Charles already had blood on his hands, he wasn’t about to let it dry and carry it around with him forever. He wanted to wash them clean and to make amends and Laurie offered the opportunity for him to do that.

But Laurie had expressly stated that she wanted to return home alone. Charles had offered to join her, to stand beside her and act as the sponge which absorbed her pain, but she didn’t want him there. If anything, Charles felt that she was grateful to be getting away from him, but then he chastised himself for being so insecure.

As the day dragged on, Charles floated between various meetings, making the right noises but with his mind constantly preoccupied with the now absent Laurie. What he told himself was concern was actually him pining for her. A part of him feared that she may never return and that he could have lost his last connection to Lorna forever.

It was with clouded judgment that Charles called Henry directly and informed his driver that the following morning they would not be travelling into London as usual, but instead their new destination would be Kent. The call had taken the loyal driver by surprise, who was accustomed to dealing with Faye regarding such arrangements, never the Deputy Prime Minister directly. But Charles wanted Faye out of the equation. She would instantly know why he was going to Kent and doubtless be against it. Charles did not have the time to fight his assistant and her judgement; he just felt that it was imperative that he support Laurie. Even if she didn’t say it, he knew that she needed him. She had to, because he needed her.

That night, before Charles retired to bed, he went out into his back garden to make one final phone call, away from the office and on his personal mobile phone to avoid detection. He dialled the number cautiously, his nerves making his fingers tremble ever so slightly. Elaine was already in bed and lost to sleep so there was no risk of her overhearing him. Charles had only ever dialled the number once before, and he was uncertain of what drove him to again. Perhaps he wanted some pretence for driving out to see Laurie, to disguise his true intentions of simply longing to see her.

His mobile rang twice – slow, distant rings signifying that the recipient was in a foreign country – before a deep male voice answered.

‘Is this line secure?’ No greeting, just a simple question delivered abruptly.

‘Yes.’

‘The stars look beautiful tonight.’ To the untrained ear, this would be a strange observation to make, but Charles recognised the sign in code, and knew his next line.

‘Any brighter and they would be diamonds.’

‘Right, okay, what do you want?’ The tension in the voice on the other end of the line eased a little.

‘It’s Sovereign. How was that cake I sent you?’ They always spoke in code, for there was never a guarantee that any line was completely secure. The only way to ensure complete secrecy was to meet in person but, currently, that was not feasible.

‘Tasted a little off, perhaps there was something wrong with the recipe. Let me finish it and I’ll get back to you.’ And then the line disconnected.

Charles stood on his neatly manicured lawn, hidden amongst the shadows of the night and watched the light source fade from the handset in his hand now that the call had ended. He hadn’t learned much, but there was just about enough to warrant an excuse to go and see Laurie. Charles continued to study his mobile phone, locked in his own thoughts. It had been reckless of him to call his contact like that, and it was something he had not done for a very long time. It was frighteningly obvious to him that when it came to Laurie, he was willing to go to some extreme lengths.

‘Good morning, sir,’ Henry smiled cheerily as Charles got into the back of the Bentley.

‘Morning,’ Charles replied pleasantly, a smile on his face but his eyes distant and far away.

‘Do you have the postcode, sir?’ It was all very irregular to be departing from the usual agenda for the day at such short notice, but Henry knew better than to question authority and so he just kept his head down and followed orders.

‘Yes,’ Charles read an assortment of letters and numbers from his mobile phone which Henry punched in to the satellite navigation system which resided on his dashboard.

As the Bentley veered from its normal route into the city, and instead headed out towards the countryside, Charles sat and pondered how he would feel on visiting the crash site. He had been so preoccupied with fretting about Laurie that he had forgotten to consider how this excursion may impact on him.

‘Where I live is so lovely,’ he recalled Lorna telling him one evening as they lay together on the bed having previously made love. Her face had lit up at the mention of her home.

‘My house has a huge garden, with a little pond at the back. And there are fields all around; I used to have a horse when I was a little girl, called Sandy.’

‘London must seem very different,’ Charles had noted.

‘Yes, but good different. I love the pace of life here, and there is just so much to see and do. I hear there is a place in town now where you can get a boob job done in your lunch hour!’ Lorna had giggled at this, her face scrunching up. Charles had found the gesture so adorable that he had leaned over and kissed her, and they lost themselves in lust all over again.

Charles cherished the moments where Lorna revealed things about herself to him. He stored up everything she said in an attempt to gain a better understanding of her. Sadly, his picture of her was incomplete. There were so many crucial things he did not know; things which would have been integral to her being, and now there was no way of knowing. Even though Laurie was Lorna’s carbon copy, they were the antithesis of one another.

Green fields opened up around the Bentley and Charles could envisage a young Lorna frolicking through the grass with her beloved horse Sandy. But as he smiled as this notion, Charles found himself wondering what Laurie would have been doing. How had she spent her days as a girl? He doubted that she also had a horse; he imagined her with a treehouse where she would hide herself away and spend hour after hour devouring books.

The electronic cry of his mobile phone signalling a new text message disturbed Charles from his thoughts. Irritated, he glanced at his handset but his annoyance immediately subsided when he saw the name of the sender; Laurie.

I can’t do this.

Alone amongst a family who regarded her as a ghost, Laurie was feeling weaker than ever. Even though it was against her instincts to contact the Deputy Prime Minister, she felt that she had no-one else to turn to. Charles instantly felt his heart soar at the fact that she needed him, and wrote back with unnatural rapidity:

I am already on my way x.

The site of the crash was located on a secluded country lane. Huge, great oak trees bordered the winding road, but one stood out from the others because at the base of its trunk lay four bouquets of flowers which had just started to wilt, and beside the tree stood a forlorn-looking Laurie.

Laurie glanced up as the Bentley eased to a halt a few feet away from her. Her eyes were red and sore from the tears she had been weeping. As much as didn’t want to admit it, seeing Charles calmed her and even helped ease some of her pain. He understood her in a way that no-one else seemed to; he missed Lorna and continued to mourn her, but he didn’t associate her death with Laurie. He treated Laurie as the individual young woman that she was.

‘I knew you shouldn’t have come here alone,’ Charles rushed over and instinctively embraced Laurie, not caring what Henry or any other potential onlookers would think. Laurie buried herself against his chest, fresh tears soaking his coat.

‘It’s too hard,’ Laurie cried, her body trembling as she sobbed.

‘Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here now,’ Charles gently whispered into her ear as he stroked her golden hair.

As Laurie cried he looked at the great tree behind her, unscathed from the collision all those months ago. The only indication that a life had been taken on that spot was the meagre offering of flora nestled amongst the protruding roots. Charles envisioned how, when the tyre marks were still fresh on the road, that there would have been an abundance of flowers left there to commemorate Lorna. But time had moved on and now only the most dedicated made the journey there to place some carnations and pay their respects. It was sobering how time could erase someone so effortlessly.

‘I thought it would be okay,’ Laurie whispered, her voice hoarse. ‘That I could come here and just look, but I keep imagining her …’ her voice broke off as she struggled to complete the sentence.

‘Yeah, I know, it’s so hard.’

But for Charles, it wasn’t as hard as he had feared. Rather than being consumed by grief, his mind was instead preoccupied with concern for Laurie. Perhaps she was merely distracting him from his own despair, but she was a welcome distraction.

They stood there, Laurie still locked safely within Charles’ arms, as the Deputy Prime Minister scanned the area around them. It was an average country lane, pretty and narrow, with ancient strong oak trees standing guard over the road, and beyond them fields of luscious green vegetation. It was a beautiful piece of countryside, but what struck Charles was how it was hardly a spot which would attract those wishing to commit suicide.

Most places which tragically became associated with those wishing to end their life were bridges or railway lines, so that there was a guarantee that you would not live past your suicide attempt. Here, the road winded in such a way that it would be extremely difficult to generate enough speed to slam in to a tree at a high enough impact for it to be fatal. There were so many variables for why it would not work.

‘Why would Lorna have been driving down this lane?’ Charles asked, trying to think about the situation from a logical perspective.

‘Erm …’ Laurie rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to clear away the shroud of sadness and give her thoughts some clarity.

‘This is just the road we always used to use to get home. It connects us to everything in town, like the shops, the cinema. As I told you, it takes ages to bypass this area.’

‘So this road had no particular significance for Lorna?’

‘Not that I know of.’ Laurie frowned as she trudged through a lifetime of memories for anything relevant regarding the spot on which they were stood, but she came up with nothing.

‘I hate that she died alone.’ Laurie freed herself from Charles’ embrace and went and knelt beside the bouquets of flowers. She gently reached forward and placed a palm upon the tree trunk, at what might have been the point of impact, as if hoping the wood itself might burn with the imprint of what happened that night.

‘Apparently she had been dead for forty minutes before anyone drove past and saw her,’ the words sounded emotionless as Laurie relayed them, in the style of a news reporter, with cold indifference.

‘But I read the report,’ Charles came and knelt down beside her, placing a supportive arm around her small shoulders, ‘and she would have died instantly when she hit the tree. She would not have suffered.’

Laurie kept her palm pressed up against the tree trunk, silently cursing the world around her for taking away that which mattered most to her.

‘I called my contact,’ Charles said quietly, suddenly remembering the pretence he had orchestrated for his visit. Laurie remained silent and so he continued.

‘He was vague as he doesn’t have all the details yet, but something about the report isn’t right.’

‘What does that mean?’ Laurie’s words were sharp now as she grew tense at the possibility of hope which was being dangled before her.

‘I don’t know. I need more information, but there is something – I just don’t know what it is yet.’

‘She wouldn’t have done this. She wouldn’t have deliberately slammed her car into a tree. It’s not Lorna.’ Laurie turned to face him, her features dark and grave as she spoke.

Charles was struck by Laurie’s beauty; even when stricken with grief she had the face of an angel. She was right beside him, gazing into his eyes. Charles felt himself being drawn to her, leaning forwards, wanting more than anything to kiss her, to feel her lips against his. He went to move closer when his mobile phone screamed out, shattering the silence between them.

Flustered, Charles removed the ringing mobile phone from his pocket and noted the name flashing manically on the display: Elaine. With one swift movement, he cancelled the call.

Elaine Lloyd sat in her recently renovated dining room and listened to the familiar answerphone message as her hand clenched around the telephone receiver in frustration. When the beep came, signalling that it was her turn to speak, she inhaled before relaying her anger to the automated system.

‘Charles, where on earth are you? I called your office and Faye says that she doesn’t know where you are. What is going on?’ Elaine paused, trying to contain her fury.

‘It is now six o’clock. Six o’clock Charles! Have you forgotten the diabetic benefit we are attending this evening? For Christ’s sake, we are supposed to be leaving in twenty minutes and I’ve no idea where you are! Dammit Charles!’

As she disconnected the call, Elaine slumped down in her chair, feeling defeated. An angry fire continued to course through her veins but this was tempered by an overpowering sense of neglect and disappointment. It was her duty, as a wife, to at least know the physical whereabouts of her husband. Elaine let her head fall into her hands in despair. She was failing. Every day, Charles became more of a stranger to her.

The clock positioned on the wall opposite mocked her, reminding her with each passing minute that her impending engagement grew ever closer and that her husband would not be by her side. She would have to face yet another event alone and lie about how Charles was too tired or too busy to grace them with his presence.

Elaine felt ridiculous, sat in her ballgown in her elegant home, waiting on the man whom she had vowed to love until the end of her days to return. What unsettled Elaine most was that even Faye was unaware of his current whereabouts. Whilst Charles’ assistant had her flaws, she was diligent and managed the Deputy Prime Minister’s official diary with military style precision. Wherever he was, it was a safe assumption that it was somewhere that he shouldn’t be.

Feeling desperate, Elaine called Charles’ mobile phone again and was greeted by the same voicemail message.

‘Dammit!’ Elaine angrily slammed her own telephone against the table, her hands shaking. She wanted to cry. She needed to cry but she couldn’t risk ruining the makeup she had meticulously applied only a half hour ago for she did not have time to paint on her face a second time. And Elaine wasn’t about to send her apologies to the benefit. Image was everything in the world of politics; the minute you stopped attending to your duties, the vultures who permanently circled around you would immediately swoop in and pick at your carcass until there was nothing left. Elaine wasn’t about to let the empire she and Charles had worked so hard to build begin to crumble. As with most of her decisions, Elaine would attend the benefit for Charles, for their legacy.

A car pulled up outside, ready to take Elaine over to the venue for the evening. She raised herself up and gave a curious glance out of the window. Even though Elaine was no connoisseur when it came to vehicles, she knew that it was not the Bentley. She wished she had taken the time to become better acquainted with Henry, so that he could now be used as an ally, but she had always found the man crass and so had kept her distance from him.

Even though it was pointless, Elaine dialled her husband one last time, only to be greeted by his voicemail. This time there was no anger on Elaine’s part, only acceptance. She left the dining room and entered the hallway, where she put on her Burberry trench coat and grabbed her clutch bag. Before leaving, she stopped and regarded herself in the mirror.

By any standards, Elaine was a beautiful woman, but her looks had inevitably faded with age. But more than that, it was as though the light which had once flickered within her had gone out. The young, hopeful girl Charles had met at university was long gone, replaced by a woman withered by bitterness. Elaine scowled at the memory of who she had once been, and tried to push her worries about Charles to the back of her mind.

‘We are women, and as such, it is our lot in life that when things are bad, we put on our rouge, our high heels and step out into the world as though we don’t have a care in the world,’ Elaine’s mother had instructed her many years ago, and the old woman had been right. No matter what inner turmoil Elaine was feeling, it was her duty to Charles to maintain an image of calm perfection. She would attend the benefit and everyone would comment on how well she presented herself, how demure she was, and the Lloyd legacy would endure.

Elaine, nestled within the back of the car, was almost at the venue when her mobile phone suddenly whirred to life. Intrigued, she picked it up to see a message had come through from Charles.

Darling, I’m so so sorry but simply can’t make the benefit tonight. Work is so horrifically busy I just can’t get away. I know you will look wonderful and do great – just like you always do x

Normally, the heavy layering of compliments would appease Elaine and erase whatever wrongdoing Charles had previously done. She would smile and blush girlishly and chastise herself for being foolish enough to have been angry at her husband. But not this time. Elaine was not prepared to turn the other cheek yet again. Charles had angered her and no amount of flowers and diamonds could amend the damage he had done.

Chapter Ten

Forever means never letting go

‘Are you certain you won’t return to London with me?’ Charles asked Laurie, who rolled her eyes in boredom.

‘Honestly, I’m fine now. That little blip at the crash site was just that, a little blip, and I’m grateful that you were there for me but I’m okay. I just want to spend a few more days at home.’

‘But I’m worried about you.’ To vocalise his concerns was akin to admitting how deeply he cared for Laurie but that didn’t trouble Charles. He had grown close to her at the crash site, but as suddenly as Laurie had let him in, her walls had been hauled back up again and now she was treating him with cold indifference. He was determined to tear down those walls once more. Having achieved it once had raised his hopes.

‘Really, it’s fine,’ Laurie repeated stubbornly, her arms folded across her chest and an angry scowl on her face. She was annoyed with herself, but this internal conflict was manifesting itself in her behaviour towards the Deputy Prime Minister. She had let him comfort her at a time when she was vulnerable, which she now regretted. She needed to keep her distance from Charles in order to fully understand what happened to her sister.

‘I don’t like leaving you here alone.’

‘I’m not alone!’ Laurie snapped angrily. ‘I have my family.’

‘Your family don’t understand you – you said that yourself!’ Charles retaliated, his cheeks flushing as he grew impassioned. To anyone observing their exchange of cross words, it would appear that it was a lovers’ quarrel, not a disagreement between a boss and one of his interns.

‘You know nothing about my family!’ Laurie was seething as she spoke. ‘You know nothing about me or Lorna so stop pretending like you do!’

Charles was genuinely hurt by this last comment. The accusation that he had never truly known the woman he loved left him reeling.

Laurie wasn’t accustomed to inflicting pain on others via her words and so when Charles became subdued she was unsure what to do. She went to touch him, but then hesitated, her arm left indecisively in mid air.

‘I’m … I’m sorry,’ she attempted to apologise, fearful that she had said too much and that her words had penetrated deeper than the skin.

‘You’re right,’ Charles looked up at Laurie, his eyes glistening from the threat of tears. ‘I never knew Lorna, not properly, and I regret not knowing her.’

‘It’s okay,’ Laurie shifted uncomfortably. It felt surreal to see a grown man on the precipice of crying and she didn’t want to provoke him any further. She had already clearly said enough.

‘I want to know you.’ It was a bold statement to make, but Charles felt consumed by the moment which had almost occurred before his phone had shattered the atmosphere. He couldn’t help but wonder what had almost transpired between them, and he was determined to find out. His heart had already begun the insane drumbeat of irregularity usually reserved for teenagers in love.

‘I can’t be her. I can’t be Lorna for you.’ Laurie spoke softly, as in her mind she had a sudden flash of a memory where she and Lorna were sat watching a movie with their grandfather one Sunday afternoon. It was an old one and neither of the twins enjoyed it all that much. It was an Alfred Hitchcock film, which their grandfather insisted was ‘wonderful’ and that the girls ‘just had to see it’. In it, the main character lost the woman he loved, and then he met another woman and started dating her but made her dress exactly like the first woman he had loved in an attempt to replicate her. At the time, the twins had struggled to interpret the movie as they were barely in double digits. Lorna had turned to their grandfather with a puzzled expression.

‘Why was the woman so sad to have been made to look like the dead woman?’ she had asked earnestly. ‘I don’t understand. I mean, there is two of me, I have Laurie.’

It was a flippant comment shrouded within the naivety of youth, but even a young Laurie knew to be alerted by it. Looking back, she knew it had troubled her but failed to understand the reason why. Now, without her twin’s influence she realised how Lorna had always been the dominant twin, and Laurie had spent most of her years trying to forge a life for herself beyond her sister’s shadow.

Laurie felt incredibly foolish to have chased Lorna’s dreams down to London, and to have masqueraded as her there, leading a life which was not hers. She had tried to convince herself that it was all in aid of uncovering the truth about Lorna’s death, but really, was Laurie just hiding? Was it easier to conceal herself within the identity of her twin than to deal with her loss?

‘I don’t want you to be Lorna,’ Charles said softly, reaching forward and running the tips of his fingers down Laurie’s cheeks. ‘I want to get to know you.’

For a moment they stood and regarded one another, their chests rising and falling as their breath quickened in excited anticipation. Then Laurie looked away, breaking the spell, and Charles let his hand fall back to his side.

‘I’ll be back in London on Monday,’ she said coldly, physically retreating from the Deputy Prime Minister. ‘Until then, I need to be with my family.’

Rather than being hurt by this, Charles felt buoyed. There was something between himself and Laurie, he sensed it, and it was only a matter of time before he would be able to cultivate it further.

After agreeing to leave Laurie in Kent, Charles returned to the Bentley and to the responsibilities he had neglected back in the capital. He yearned to remain there with her, to linger in her world, but he could not ignore his own duties.

As the Bentley whipped through various country lanes, Charles tried to navigate his way through the flurry of emails and messages which were awaiting him via his mobile phone. He was halfway through typing a response to an urgent query when an incoming call from an unknown number flashed on his screen.

Normally, Charles would ignore such a call, but he sensed that it might be important and so answered.

‘I found something,’ the caller stated simply. Charles instantly recognised the voice as it belonged to his contact abroad.

‘So the cake did taste off?’ Charles asked, lowering his voice an octave to prevent Henry from listening;even though he trusted his driver implicitly, he wasn’t prepared to take any chances.

‘Yes, very. So I had a little look, made some calls, to see if I could discover the problem.’

‘And?’

‘And there were some ingredients missing.’

‘Oh?’

‘But there is no recipe; there is just the cake, as though someone misplaced the recipe, which would explain why it tastes so bad.’ The contact’s voice was low and steady, ensuring that Charles absorbed every word.

‘Well, thank you for looking into that, I’ll make sure to compensate you for the cake.’

Charles hung up and smiled. He smiled, not because he had uncovered a hole in Lorna’s case, but because he now had an excuse to call Laurie back to London earlier than she had intended. His fingers still tingled from where they had stroked her soft cheek.

Then, perhaps out of guilt, Charles called Elaine. When she didn’t answer he assumed it was because she was already at the gala which he was currently missing. He anticipated that his absence would be met with some negativity and so he quickly ordered a bouquet of flowers online to be delivered the following day. When he was on the final page of the order, he contemplated ordering a second bouquet and having it sent to Laurie, anonymously of course. It was a gesture which Lorna would have adored but Charles felt uncertain how Laurie would perceive it. He really didn’t know Laurie very well at all, but he vowed to get to know her. Everything about her intrigued him.

‘Shall I take you straight home, sir?’ Henry asked from the front seat, aware of the late hour and the failing light.

Charles pondered for a moment before responding.

‘No, it’s late, I’ll just go and check in at a hotel rather than risk disturbing Elaine.’

‘Of course, sir.’

Charles didn’t feel like playing the role of the loving husband that night. Like Laurie, he craved solitude and wanted to have only his thoughts for company.

Laurie wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to return to London. Home was not the haven it had once been but it was a welcome change from the relentless pace of city life. She spent a lot of time just sat in Lorna’s room, on her twin’s bed, just contemplating things. Lorna’s bedroom was untouched since her death, right down to the untidy array of clothes she had sprawled across the stool by her vanity unit, forever waiting to be worn.

There were three CDs piled next to the small stereo system which sat on the floor on the far side of the room. Laurie went over and studied them. They weren’t to her personal taste, but they were the music which Lorna enjoyed. The top CD was by her favourite band, and one of their songs had been played at her funeral. Switching the stereo on, the familiar song immediately flooded the room and for a moment, Laurie tried to pretend that everything was normal.

She sat on the bed and let the melody wash over her, imagining that instead of being gone, Lorna had merely left the room for a moment and would soon return, full of excitement about her latest adventure. The two girls would lie on the bed and gossip and giggle together for hours, the stereo providing a comforting soundtrack to their discourse.

Leaning her head back in the pillows, Laurie tried to breathe life into her memories, thinking that if she imagined it all hard enough, things might just return to normal. It was a foolish notion, but lying there, listening to the music her sister had so loved playing, Laurie felt comforted for the first time in a long while.

‘What is this?’ The tranquility within the room was quickly shattered when Laurie’s father threw the door open, a look of furious disgust on his face.

‘Dad?’ Laurie sat up, bewildered by his hostile attitude.

‘How can you do this to me? To your mother?’ he raged, before stomping across the room and switching the stereo off, plunging the bedroom in to a deathly silence and returning it to the morgue it had become.

‘Sorry, what?’ Laurie shrugged helplessly, unsure what she had done to offend her father.

‘You shouldn’t be in here!’ he cried angrily. ‘Do you have any idea how upset your mother is? To hear that music, are you that fucking insensitive?’

Laurie went to respond but she was so taken aback by the unprovoked attack on her that words failed to materialise. She just sat, open mouthed, bewildered by the situation.

‘You are not to come in here!’ her father roared. ‘This is your sister’s room!’

Laurie wanted to point out how, when Lorna was alive, this room was as much hers as her sisters. It felt absurd to suddenly make it out of bounds. And Lorna was dead, which meant that she held no claim at all over the room. Laurie fought the urge to spit angry words at her father, and refused to let him have her tears. She had grown accustomed to this sort of behaviour over the past couple of months.

‘I’m sorry,’ Laurie said as she walked out, refusing to look at her father. Then she stopped on the landing, and added as an afterthought, ‘I’m still here. You should remember that sometime.’ And then she returned to her own bedroom. She didn’t see her father enter Lorna’s bedroom and place his head into his hands and sob.

Whilst she had been out of the room, Laurie had received a text from Charles. It was brief and ambiguous but it provoked her interest.

My contact found something. Can you get to London any sooner than planned? x

London wasn’t a place Laurie liked, it was actually somewhere she quite passionately disliked. But home was no longer a sanctuary. Her parents were becoming increasingly fragile which meant that she had stayed too long. Her presence was resurrecting their suppressed feelings about Lorna and Laurie felt cruel to linger there. She knew she must leave them to handle their grief. She just hoped that they wouldn’t be left too scarred by it all and could one day be her parents again. She missed feeling loved.

There was only one person in Laurie’s life who was a constant, but she kept pushing him away. She found that she felt guilty to be loved, to be held and consoled, as though she should be suffering and miserable and alone, because if Lorna did take her own life, that was exactly how she had felt.

Arthur Dolan was of Irish decent and had been Laurie Thomas’ boyfriend since they were both thirteen. He had always been patient of her relationship with her twin, knowing that he would never completely have Laurie to himself. Through the years their loved blossomed and, despite time apart when they each went to university, their union remained strong. Arthur adored Laurie and would do anything for her. But since Lorna died, the girl whose name he had emblazoned across his heart had become a stranger. He tried to be understanding, to give her the space and distance she needed to heal, but he missed her and what they had once had.

Laurie decided to call Arthur, even though the young couple had not spoken in three weeks, and when they did speak, it was always brief and tense. Laurie anticipated that despite their many years together, Arthur would soon wish to sever their union, as her enforced solitude would test even the most patient of men.

‘Laurie!’ Arthur Dolan scrambled to answer his mobile phone, surprised to be receiving a call from his absentee girlfriend. He had all but fled the office where he worked when he saw her name appear on the display.

‘Hi, Art,’ Laurie tried to sound cheerful but the incident with her father had left her mood more sour than usual.

‘Hey, how … how are you?’ His voice was soft and full of concern.

‘The same,’ Laurie answered flatly.

‘Oh,’ Arthur echoed, disappointed.

‘I’m home now, but going back to London for a little while longer.’

‘What, why? You hate it there!’ Arthur raged angrily. He wanted Laurie to remain home, to let him complete his duties as her boyfriend and attempt to help her heal.

‘I’m close to finding out what happened to Lorna.’

‘Laurie,’ Arthur sighed into his phone. As much as he wanted to understand his girlfriend’s pilgrimage of justice, he couldn’t help but worry that the answer she eventually uncovered would not be the one she wanted and would cause even further damage to her.

‘I have to do this, Art. I need to know what happened.’

‘Yeah, I know you do.’

‘Once I know, things can go back to normal again. I can finally put everything behind me.’

‘I really hope so.’

‘I know so.’

Lorna had never liked Arthur. She was jealous of his bond with Laurie and would mock his quiet demeanour. When he came to the house, she would be subtly rude, mocking his clothes or his current hairstyle. It came to the point where Laurie felt she had to confront her twin about her negative attitude.

‘Why don’t you like Arthur?’ Laurie had asked one afternoon when they were lying side by side on Lorna’s bed. It was a summer day and the window was open, letting in a warm breeze which played with their hair.

‘It’s not that I don’t like him,’ Lorna began, choosing her words carefully. ‘It’s just …’ her words fell away and when Laurie turned to face her twin she saw that she was crying.

‘It’s just that one day you are going to marry him and leave me and then I’ll be all alone!’

‘Oh, Lorna,’ Laurie wrapped her arms around her sister. ‘I’d never, ever leave you. We will always be together, I promise.’

‘Forever and always?’

‘Forever and always.’

Ironically, despite her protests, it had been Lorna who left Laurie. Laurie suppressed a sob as she sat on her own bed, talking to Arthur.

‘I miss you so much,’ she admitted to him, fearful that she was close to losing the only other person who mattered to her.

‘I miss you too,’ Arthur replied and the warmth and sincerity in his voice comforted Laurie.

‘I can’t say that I understand it all, what you are doing,’ Arthur continued. ‘But I’ve told you that I’m happy to wait until you’ve got it all figured out in your head. I’m just worried you are only hurting yourself even more. I just want this all done and dusted. Then we can be us again.’

‘I’d like that,’ Laurie whispered as tears silently washed down her cheeks.

‘I love you Laurie Thomas, you know that. Just come back to me.’

‘I will.’

Laurie told herself that once she had uncovered the truth that she would finally lay Lorna to rest. But she needed this closure, this reassurance, because without it she was living in limbo. Despite evidence to the contrary, Laurie couldn’t believe that her twin sister would ever abandon her. She went to her dressing table and removed a locket from a small wooden box. It was half a heart, engraved with the words ‘Forever and Always’. Lorna had the second half of the heart and had been buried with it. They were friendship necklaces, which the twins had bought when they were twelve and visiting their grandmother in Wales. They had both cherished their necklaces and worn them religiously every day for years. But as they grew older they became more fashion conscious and the necklaces were resigned to rest in jewellery boxes. But Laurie wanted to wear hers now; wanted to have Lorna with her. She needed her twin to be her angel upon her shoulder as she feared that in returning to London, she was headed for danger.

Charles felt sick with excitement at the prospect of seeing Laurie again. She had texted him earlier that morning to say that she was travelling back down and the Deputy Prime Minister had instructed Faye to usher the girl into his office the moment she arrived. He noticed Faye scowl in disapproval but he no longer troubled himself with what she thought of him.

In his mind, Charles tried to imagine how he could manipulate the conversation so that he and Laurie had to meet beyond the office. He toyed with the idea of pretending that his contact would be meeting them at a restaurant, and then displaying dismay when the man didn’t show. But this was a reckless notion; as much as Charles wanted to extend the boundaries of their meetings, he knew it was ultimately impossible. His face, his identity, was public property. He couldn’t do anything without the entire nation looking on.

Meeting at a hotel was a far too obvious suggestion. It was not Charles’ intention to scare Laurie away from him, he merely wanted to create an arena where he could capitalise on the moment they had briefly shared at the crash site. A moment where she surely had felt the same magnetic connection between them as he had.

An email from Faye flashed up on Charles’ computer screen stating that Laurie had arrived and she was sending her in. His assistant was so appalled by the situation that she could no longer bring herself to converse with him via phone. Charles would smooth things other with Faye another time – concoct some fabrication of a story about why he had to meet with Laurie.

‘Hi.’ Laurie’s golden halo of hair tentatively crept round his office door.

‘Laurie, come in.’ Charles instructed.

With heavy limbs, Laurie entered the office. Gone was her pristine Lorna-themed attire, replaced by clothes in which she felt more comfortable. She still looked smart, wearing a knee length navy skirt with a beige cardigan and dark ballet style pumps on her feet. Her hair was partly pulled back, revealing more of her beauty.

‘You look … different,’ Charles commented.

‘I look like me,’ Laurie replied bluntly. Her face appeared as pained and angry as Faye’s had earlier. Charles assumed it was because she was displeased to be back in London. He hoped that her sour demeanour was in no way attributed to him personally.

‘So how are you?’

Laurie rolled her eyes with impatience at the Deputy Prime Minister’s attempt to make small talk.

‘How I am is irrelevant,’ she replied angrily. ‘All I care about is the information your contact gave you. The sooner I know the truth, the sooner I can return home and start picking up the pieces of the life I’ve left behind there.’

It pained Charles to think of this life of which Laurie spoke, because it did not involve him. She wanted to sever their ties to one another as quickly as possible. Rather than be displeased by this, Charles rationalised that she was merely acting out of fear of what had almost transpired between them at the crash site.

‘Anyone would think that you weren’t pleased to see me!’ Charles mocked, but behind the humour he was being earnest.

The warning words from the journalist suddenly circled Laurie’s mind for the umpteenth time. She could not risk angering the Deputy Prime Minister; it was imperative that she appease him, just for the time being. Even though she had sworn not to, she channelled Lorna once more, mimicking how her twin would bat her eyelashes and toss her hair at men in a flawless attempt to get her own way.

‘Of course I am pleased to see you,’ Laurie smiled. ‘I’m just tired.’ The façade of interest had only been there for a second but it was enough to tantalise Charles.

‘Well, as I said, my contact called,’ he began, blushing profusely.

‘And?’ Laurie prompted, her patience already beginning to run out.

‘You were right to be suspicious. Lorna’s case file was tampered with.’

‘Tampered with? How?’

‘There were files removed. Most importantly, the vehicle assessment is gone.’

‘What does that mean?’ Laurie asked, her eyes wide and desperate as she wanted so much to believe that this was the tiny ray of hope which she had been searching for.

‘It could mean nothing,’ Charles admitted sadly. ‘But then it could mean everything. If, say, Lorna’s car had been tampered with, that would be on the vehicle assessment.’

‘But who would take it?’ Laurie pleaded, knowing already that Charles would not be able to offer her an explanation.

‘I’ve no idea I’m afraid. I need to look into this further.’

‘So that’s it? Some missing files?’

‘It’s something,’ Charles said softly, wanted to dispel the disappointment in Laurie’s voice.

‘But it could just be an admin error?’ she challenged, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly.

‘Possibly. Until I look into this further I won’t know.’

‘So what am I supposed to do until then?’

‘Keep working here.’

‘No, no way!’ Laurie cried angrily, rising up from her chair. ‘I am done with this charade. I just want all this to be dealt with.’

Even though Laurie’s face was locked in a defiant expression, her lip quivered, belying the sadness which was welling up inside her.

‘You need to be patient for just a little while longer.’ Charles rose to his feet and walked over to where the young girl was standing, anticipating that she would again seek solace in his arms and weep against his shoulders.

But when Charles grew close Laurie physically pushed him away.

‘Just figure this out,’ she spat angrily before turning and walking out of the office, leaving a bemused Charles standing in the middle of the room. He regarded his empty arms as though it had only been a dream when Laurie had been wrapped up in them. His confusion quickly evaporated, leaving him feeling angry at the apparent rejection. But there had been a moment between them, he was certain of it.

Elaine Lloyd paced the lower level of her luxurious home. Charles would soon be there, and she refused to tolerate any excuses he could muster of fatigue from working late. She was going to tell him just how angry his absentee behaviour had made her. She was currently trying to find the words, wanting there to be no confusion over how much he had hurt her.

The soft whir of an engine carried across from the driveway, following by the mechanical unlocking of the front door. Elaine braced herself, puffing her chest out like a bird before a territorial display.

Charles entered his home, his face pale and downcast, but this didn’t deter Elaine. She immediately set upon him.

‘I have had enough!’ she declared angrily. Charles glanced up at her with disinterest.

‘I am sick and tired of you not being around. You are my husband for Christ’s sake and it’s about time you started acting like it!’

‘I’m also the Deputy Prime Minister of this country,’ Charles replied wearily, venturing deeper into the house and beginning to ascend the stairs, longing for the moderate release which sleep would bring.

‘Do not walk away from me!’ Elaine scolded, following her husband up the stairs with the helpless devotion of a lost puppy.

‘Elaine, please, I am very tired,’ Charles pleaded.

Having entered his bedroom, Charles began to undress but even this private act did not deter the militant tirade from his wife.

‘Well I am tired too! Tired of attending function after function alone! Charles it is important for your profile that you attend these things.’

Sighing, Charles sat down on the bed, his shirt almost completely unbuttoned, resigned to the fact that until his wife’s temper was appeased he would get no peace. Elaine immediately sat down beside him and took to completing the task he had begun; releasing the tie from his neck and taking off his shirt. Exhausted and still mentally bruised by his meeting with Laurie, Charles sat there like a giant doll and let his wife prepare him for bed.

‘You see, you need me,’ Elaine declared happily. ‘So stop pretending like you don’t.’

Charles was too tired to find the words and so merely sat there. He wanted to point out that needing someone was not akin to loving someone, but he decided against it. Any love that had once existed within his marriage was long gone, but to discuss its absence had become a taboo topic. Elaine needed the pretence of a happy union for her own sanity, and so Charles willingly gave her that.

‘Just tell me that it won’t happen again. That in future, we will attend engagements together.’ Charles looked into Elaine’s eyes, trying to find his wife, but all he saw was a vacuous stranger.

‘I don’t plan on attending any more galas or benefits,’ he admitted, watching how Elaine’s face instantly darkened at this.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Charles! You have to attend these events, especially with the public vote less than twelve months away.’

‘I don’t care anymore. I’m too tired. I’m happy to let someone else hold the reigns for a while.’

‘How can you say that?’ Elaine screamed, rising to her feet. ‘This is what we have worked for our entire life, and now you just want to throw it away?’

‘I’m not throwing anything away!’ Charles reasoned. ‘We achieved what we set out to do, we don’t need to keep holding on to it.’

The reality was that Charles longed for a life with some degree of anonymity. He didn’t enjoy his every move being scrutinized and he yearned for the freedom to be able to do as pleased. Elaine felt quite differently. Being the Deputy Prime Minister’s wife gave her life a much-needed purpose. Without that security, that title, she feared that she would inevitably flounder.

‘I don’t even know you are anymore,’ Elaine said bitterly. ‘You were ambitious once.’

‘I still am!’ Charles protested. ‘But there is nothing left. Can’t we just sit back and enjoy it all?’ Without realising, Charles had broken their unspoken rule and raised the taboo issue. His job, his career, allowed them to be together, as it gave their marriage distance – without that, all they had was a carcass of a relationship which had once been good but never great. The great relationships don’t decay, only the good ones.

‘What’s to enjoy? Our children? Our grandchildren?’ Tears began to streak the make-up Elaine had so carefully put on earlier that day.

‘Shhh, Elaine, don’t cry.’ Charles let his wife fall in to his arms, and unlike Laurie, she was grateful to release her tears upon his strong chest. Charles had to admit that it felt good to be needed, even though it was a hollow sensation as the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.

‘What about all those cruise ships you wanted to go on?’ he said as he tried to raise her mood.

‘But you hate the ocean!’ Elaine wailed, her voice muffled.

‘Yes, but you always go on about how you barely notice that you are at sea as the ships are like floating cities, so I’m sure I would be fine.’

Elaine pulled herself free from her husband’s embrace and looked him straight in the eye. She now resembled a sad clown, as her make-up had run and left great black streaks down her face.

‘I’ll never be enough for you though, will I?’ Charles thought he heard something accusatory in Elaine’s tone but he dismissed it.

‘Of course you will,’ he lied, when the truth was that Elaine had never been enough.

Charles kissed his wife on the forehead and she smiled at him but there was no warmth in her smile.

‘Everything will be okay,’ he reassured her.

‘I know, I’ll make sure it is.’

Chapter Eleven

Waiting for the resurrection

It was the midnight hour and the city of London still throbbed with life. Cars meandered through the neon metropolis of the city-centre, drunken revellers began to embark on their staggered journey home and theatre-goers exited auditoriums zealously adulating about their brush with culture. As they walked along the streets, people turned a blind eye to the less fortunate, cowered in shop doorways and huddling down into cardboard boxes which would be their bed for the night.

In the midst of this contrast between the sordid, the sublime and the suffering, Laurie Thomas lay awake on the bed in the apartment she would never regard as home. The apartment which had once belonged to her sister. She felt Lorna’s ghost in every corner of the place.

Sleep was, as ever, evading her. Her mind was a tangled web of a thousand questions which refused to weave together and form any sort of coherence.

The main topic of her thoughts was Lorna. Whilst her twin was no longer a physical entity, to Laurie she continued to exist in part in the memories she had carefully logged over their two decades together. Laurie replayed these memories as often as she could in an attempt to preserve them. She knew that if she stopped, if she let them fall to the back of her mind, then in time she would forget. Currently, it was easy to remember Lorna as she was, Laurie need only look in the mirror. But time would inevitably distort her beauty and Lorna would fade away completely, remaining only in the memories.

One of Laurie’s fondest memories was when the two girls would camp outside in the garden, much to their mother’s disapproval who found the whole thing ‘dangerous and unnecessary’. It was Laurie who pushed for these mini-adventures, longing to go camping far beyond the realms of their own property, but settling, for now, with the landscape of their ample back garden. Lorna was originally reluctant to participate.

‘I don’t want to go outside,’ an eight-year-old Lorna had protested, hands placed firmly on hips, chin jutting out in defiance.

‘It will be fun! I promise.’ Laurie had smiled and then listed all the wonderful things they could do outside which they couldn’t do indoors. It was a testament to the trust which existed between the twins even then that Lorna eventually agreed. She didn’t like the thought of camping one bit, but Laurie insisting it would be fun was all the convincing she required.

After their first initial night out in the tent, snuggled up in sleeping bags like little worms, the twins had so much fun that it soon became a weekly ritual. The camping game fell away as they entered into their awkward teenage years and found more enthralling ways to occupy a Friday night. But looking back, those few years when they would lie side by side, a thin sheet of plastic separating them from the stars, were a magical time. A time which Laurie cherished.

‘Did you hear that?’ Lorna turned, wide-eyed, to her twin sister who she could barely make out in the failing light.

‘It’s only the dog next door,’ Laurie replied sleepily.

‘Are you sure? What if it’s a murderer?’ Lorna asked. Cocooned within her bright pink polka-dot sleeping bag, she awkwardly shifted closer to her sister.

‘It won’t be a murderer,’ Laurie stated authoritively, although she sounded more awake as if the notion of a killer stalking them amongst the hydrangeas had troubled her also.

‘But it could be.’

‘No. Killers don’t come to places like this. They attack people in big cities, not houses out in the country.’

‘That’s not true,’ Lorna answered after a moment’s pause.

‘Yes it is.’

‘How is it?’

‘More people are murdered in cities, everyone knows that.’

‘But that’s just because there are more people, it doesn’t mean that killers aren’t in other places too,’ Lorna answered, surprising Laurie with her uncharacteristically insightful response.

‘Well, whatever, it was the dog you heard.’ Laurie said, wanting to get off the topic of crazed serial killers and go to sleep.

For a while the tent fell silent as both twins internally contemplated what they had just discussed.

‘It would be just awful though, to be killed by someone,’ Lorna said, as much to herself as to Laurie.

‘Well, yeah,’ Laurie agreed with a slightly sarcastic tone, as though Lorna had just pointed out how the sky was blue.

‘It’s scary to think that someone could come along and kill just one or both of us,’ Lorna continued, despair rather than fear creeping in to her voice.

‘But they won’t.’ Laurie said flatly; weary from the day’s earlier excursions at school and the current conversation.

‘But if they did,’ Lorna chose to ignore her sister’s tone. ‘I’d rather they killed us both.’

‘Oh?’

‘Like, I know it would suck for Mom and Dad, but I wouldn’t want to be without you or you without me.’

‘Well, since there is no killer in the garden, I think it’s okay to say that we will always be together, but not if you keep stopping me from going to sleep!’

‘Y you get so grumpy when you are tired!’ Lorna teased.

‘Aren’t you tired?’

‘A little … I guess.’

Lorna curled herself into a ball, bunching her sleeping bag up around her pre-pubescent limbs. She could hear Laurie’s breathing begin to slow as her sister began to drift off to sleep.

‘I love you, Lolly,’ she said fondly, releasing one arm from her nest to drape it over her sister’s cushioned form. It had been a long time since she had used the nickname, arguably not since the twins entered into double digits just over a year before. Perhaps it was the fear of separation which had rekindled the affectionate label, Lorna wasn’t even sure herself, but it had slipped out and it had felt natural.

‘Mmm,’ Laurie gave a contented, sleepy mumble in response and Lorna felt her own eyelids growing heavy.

‘I’ll never leave you,’ she pledged to her sister, before falling away to sleep, the talk of murderers soon forgotten.

A million miles away from the tent, Laurie at last fell asleep upon the double bed which she inhabited alone. Her eyes closed and darkness overwhelmed her mind, drowning out her thoughts, and granting her the respite she so dearly needed. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe. Her muscles relaxed and she sprawled herself out, rather than sleeping in the frightened huddle which had become her default position.

As she lay on the cusp of sleep, Laurie was certain that she felt a weight fall against her, like that of an arm. But by this point, she was too tired to be troubled by it. A sense of calm washed over her as the city around her faded away.

The sun was struggling to penetrate through the grey clouds which promised rain later that day as Laurie walked along the bustling pavement towards work. People shoved against her in their haste to reach their destination and didn’t even turn back to offer an apologetic glance. The air tasted of car fumes and decay with an undercurrent of takeaway food which always made Laurie want to heave. She missed the clean air of home, the scent of fresh woodland flowers which would be carried along on the breeze. She knew in her heart that her time in London would soon draw to a close, regardless of what she uncovered about Lorna. She simply could not take anymore. Lorna had loved the city of London dearly but Laurie was identical to her twin in looks alone.

‘Good morning,’ Laurie offered Faye her warmest smile as she came in and began unbuttoning her coat. The Deputy Prime Minister’s assistant was already sat at her computer working diligently and looked like she had been there for some time.

‘Morning,’ Faye said dryly, not turning away from her monitor, her fingers still weaving across the keyboard, compiling an email.

‘Nice to see you too,’ Laurie said, her mood further soured by the less than warm reception Faye had given her.

‘He told me to send you in when you arrived; I’ve only just taken his papers and coffee in so give it a minute.’

Both women knew who the ‘he’ to whom Faye referred was. So disillusioned was she by her employer that she struggled to even speak his name now.

Laurie spent ten minutes glancing at her emails with no desire to respond to or action any of them. She felt detached from her current situation to the point where it no longer mattered if her façade of interest fell away. She would soon be home, away from all of this, locked in the security of the familiar.

‘He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,’ Faye said sharply after a further few minutes had elapsed, more for her sake than Laurie’s. She knew it would fall on her unfavourably if Charles came out of his office and saw Laurie there after expressly requesting her immediate presence in his office pending her arrival.

Reluctantly Laurie raised herself out of her chair and headed towards the Deputy Prime Minister’s office.

It pleased Charles to see Laurie despite her rebuff the last time they met. He loved the way she moved her slight frame; so graceful were her steps she almost danced across the floor. Without the towering heels which Lorna adored, Laurie looked even more small and delicate. She was like a rare, wild flower – beautiful and exotic yet frail and vulnerable; the slightest breeze could uproot her.

‘Good morning,’ Charles smiled fondly. ‘How are you?’

Laurie scowled angrily. She didn’t like this pretence of care which Charles seemed intent on keeping up. They were investigating Lorna’s death, nothing more; her wellbeing should be of no concern to him. If anything, his concern was merely masking his guilt over Lorna’s death.

‘I’m okay but I shan’t be staying here much longer,’ Laurie’s words were barbed and hostile.

‘Oh?’ Charles queried, taken aback by her anger. It was as if she was once more the young woman who had originally entered his office as a ghost and asked for his help. The time they had spent together, the moments they had shared, seemed to have evaporated away, leaving them as strangers once more.

‘I plan on returning home indefinitely as soon as possible,’ Laurie explained. ‘I hate it here.’

Then, as she sat there the anger faded away slightly to reveal the frightened, lonely girl hiding behind it.

‘Hopefully we will have some answers soon,’ Charles said gently, trying to placate her.

‘Even if we don’t, I want to go home.’

‘I know it must be hard for you to be here, but if you can just be a little more patient we will get answers. We will find out what happened to Lorna.’

Laurie’s shoulders trembled slightly as she suppressed a sob. Charles immediately dashed from behind his desk and came and knelt beside her. Raising one hand, he gently stroked her cheek and this time she did not knock him away.

‘It won’t change anything,’ Laurie’s voice was small as she spoke. ‘The truth won’t bring Lorna back.’

‘I know it won’t,’ Charles cupped her face with his hands, her skin cool to the touch. ‘But if we can prove that Lorna did not kill herself, won’t that help you and your family find closure and then you can start living your own life?’

‘I don’t think it will change anything for my parents. Besides, if Lorna didn’t kill herself, someone else did. Closing one door will just open another and my parents will hate me for that.’ Laurie turned away, releasing herself from Charles’ grip, but she did not recoil, instead remaining within his grasp. ‘They hate me so much, I can tell. Nothing will change that.’

‘They don’t hate you Laurie, they are just hurting.’

‘Why don’t you hate me?’ Charles frowned at the absurdity of the question. ‘I mean, you loved Lorna,’ Laurie explained. ‘And yet you don’t see her when you look at me, you see me. And when you do look at me, you don’t look like you’ve just had your heart ripped out and then smashed on the floor, you look pleased.’

‘That’s because I am pleased,’ Charles was so close to Laurie, knelt beside her still, that he could smell the gentle citrus fragrance of her perfume which floated on the air between them and intoxicated his senses.

‘You are very kind. I can see why Lorna was so fond of you,’ Laurie smiled whilst the voice at the back of her mind screamed in protest, reminding her how he may well have been responsible for her sister’s death. But for the moment Laurie chose to ignore her internal warnings. Charles was her only ally in London, and if she had to remain there for a few more days, she didn’t want to have completely alienated everyone. ‘But what does it all mean?’ Why would someone take evidence from Lorna’s case file?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ Charles rose to his feet, his knees creaking angrily at the unfamiliar movement of kneeling, and returned to behind his desk. Being in such close proximity to Laurie was clouding his thoughts and the temptation to reach out and kiss her had been almost too much to bear. He needed some physical distance to regain some clarity.

‘Have you contacted the police? Asked them where the missing file is?’ Laurie asked demandingly.

‘I’m doing everything I can,’ Charles sighed. ‘But I can’t exactly call up the station personally, and nor can you. We need to be more subtle in our movements. If someone is hiding something then we don’t want them to realise that we are looking.’

‘But I don’t understand who would do that!’

‘Well, that’s what we are hoping to figure out.’

Laurie shook her golden hair in frustration and crossed her arms across her chest in a stubborn gesture.

‘I hate all this waiting around,’ she protested.

‘I know,’ Charles agreed, and then, lowering his tone he asked, ‘Do you know anyone who would want to harm your sister?’

‘Only you!’ Laurie wanted to blurt out, but instead she looked at him incredulously.

‘No, no-one. Everyone loved Lorna; she was like this ray of sunshine that everyone wanted to bask in.’

‘Yes,’ Charles mused in agreement. It occurred to him again how very different the Thomas twins were. Lorna was self-assured and vibrant, whilst Laurie appeared wracked with insecurities and inner turmoil. One twin could be a pop star, the other the troubled lead singer for an indie band. They were the antithesis of one another yet Charles had felt equally drawn to both twins.

‘Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m here and she’s not,’ Laurie confided.

‘Well, you shouldn’t.’

‘Lorna’s the one everyone loved; I was just the sidekick.’

Charles tried to think of the right words to console Laurie as she glanced sadly around the room, her arms still wrapped around her, now offering comfort rather than forming a barrier.

‘If things were the other way around,’ Charles queried. ‘Do you think she would come here and investigate things as you have?’

‘I have no doubt,’ Laurie answered without hesitation.

‘I think that going back home right now is a bad idea.’ Charles said the words even though he didn’t truly believe them. It was obvious how unhappy being in the capital made Laurie, she would undoubtedly benefit from returning to familiar surroundings. But Charles didn’t want her to leave again. He was willing to say or do anything to keep her close to him.

‘I don’t know,’ Laurie shook her head uncertainly. ‘I just don’t think that I’m strong enough to see any of this through.’

‘But you are!’ Charles encouraged. ‘Look how far you have come, all the progress you have made. Once we know where the missing file went, we will all but have our answer.’

‘That’s exactly the point,’ Laurie enthused. ‘What if the file was merely misplaced as an admin error, and it transpires that yes, Lorna did take her own life. I don’t know how I’d take that. I’ve tried to prepare myself for it, but in all honesty, if that is the truth, I’d rather spend the rest of my life being ignorant to it and pretending that she didn’t willingly leave me, that she was taken.’

Charles understood Laurie’s perspective on the situation. Both of them were clinging to the notion that Lorna had been killed, because if it weren’t true, if it had been suicide, then it tainted that love which had ever existed between them either as her sister or her lover.

‘But we need to see this through,’ Charles urged, but Laurie just looked at him with weary eyes.

‘When do we stop torturing ourselves for her death?’ she queried.

‘You tell me.’

‘And what if we find out who was behind her death, what then?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Charles said quietly. It was a notion he had briefly entertained but he was wary to get his hopes up too much.

‘What would you want to happen?’ he turned the question back around onto Laurie.

‘No idea,’ Laurie shrugged flippantly. ‘Six months ago, I’d have gladly killed whoever had taken my sister’s life because I was so … angry back then. But now, I realise that revenge wouldn’t change anything. But still, I’d want them brought to justice, Lorna deserves that much. Not that I trust in our current justice system all that much; it’s like a revolving door policy, no offence.’

‘None taken.’

‘I’ll stay in London until the end of the month,’ Laurie stated after a brief silence had settled between them. ‘That gives us two weeks which I think is adequate. But I will be going home this weekend regardless.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s my birthday, which means it would have been Lorna’s too,’ Laurie explained quietly.

Charles felt as though his chest was collapsing in on itself but he tried to retain a calm composure. How could he not have been aware of something so pivotal? His cheeks flushed red with shame and a sob began to claw its way up along the back of his throat.

‘You’d better get back to work.’ He managed to dismiss Laurie and wait for the door to click shut behind her before he let the tears of shock and anguish fall. It had been one year, how could he not have known?

As Laurie walked home, slowly becoming accustomed to being jolted by eager passers-by on the pavement, she felt her phone whir to life in her coat pocket. Instinctively she ignored it. She was still cautious about city life and felt that wandering around with a phone stuck to her ear would make her a target for potential muggers. When she was within the relative safety of Lorna’s modest apartment she removed the phone from her pocket and noticed that she had seven missed calls from Arthur. Sighing, Laurie flung the mobile device onto her bed.

When she returned from showering, the number of missed calls had risen to twelve. Whatever Arthur wanted, it was important enough to warrant persistence and so Laurie felt compelled to return the call. She dialled his number and he answered after just one ring.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ he greeted her angrily.

‘At work,’ Laurie answered flatly, in no mood for an argument.

‘Well, I’ve been worried about you,’ Arthur continued, his voice softening.

‘Why?’

‘You’ve not been in touch since you went back to London.’’ There was an element of hurt within Arthur’s voice which made Laurie feel guilty. She kept vowing to stop neglecting the man she had once loved so dearly and yet she seemed fated to remain on her current path of self-sabotage.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve just been so busy.’ It was a poor excuse but it was all Laurie could muster under pressure.

‘Right, okay.’

‘So is everything alright … back home?’ Laurie crossed her legs beneath her as she sat on her bed.

‘Same as ever,’ Arthur replied sadly. ‘You’ll be home this weekend, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Apparently there is going to be a memorial service at the town hall to commemorate her birthday which everyone is going to.’

‘What bullshit,’ Laurie said nastily.

‘How is it?’ Arthur asked defensively.

‘We’ve had the memorial service, at the funeral. Why do people insist of reliving truly terrible things? It’s ridiculous!’ Laurie fumed.

‘Yeah, I guess it is,’ Arthur reluctantly agreed. ‘I guess that means you won’t be going to it?’

‘No, Art, I won’t. Seems people forget it’s my birthday too.’

‘People are just trying to come together and make sense of it all. Not everyone is as strong as you are, Laurie.’

‘I’m not strong,’ Laurie protested.

‘It shook the whole community up, a beautiful young girl taking her own life like that.’

‘Lorna did not kill herself!’ Laurie screamed the words so loud that she feared the entire apartment block would have heard her.

‘Yeah, of course,’ Arthur answered but it was obvious from his tone that he was not convinced.

‘Why have you even called me?’ Laurie asked angrily, her mood now well and truly soured.

‘Because, I think that when you come home this weekend you should stay. No more running off to London and no more running away from me. Laurie, it’s been months. I’m tired of waiting around for you to love me again.’

‘Are you giving me an ultimatum?’

‘No, no nothing like that. Just think about what I’m saying, please. We need to be a couple again. We can be great again, I know it.’

‘I’ve changed.’

‘People do, it’s fine. Things change and we adapt, it’s what growing up is all about.’

Laurie had worked hard at suppressing her feelings for Arthur so that she could concentrate on gaining closure over Lorna’s death. But now, speaking to him at length, those feelings were threatening to resurface and Laurie couldn’t deal with them, not yet.

‘I need to go.’ She felt cruel to be cold and indifferent but she felt like she had no choice. Really, she knew that she should let Arthur go, release him from the mess which was their relationship. But she still loved him, and perhaps it was out of selfishness that she didn’t want to relinquish him to someone else. Laurie wanted to believe that one day they could be normal again, even if she doubted that it would ever be possible.

‘You need to come home,’ Arthur said, his voice strong and commanding. ‘Either you choose to come home or else I’m going to come to London and drag you back,.’ He said the latter in jest but there was a hint of sincerity to it. ‘Laurie, I miss you. I need you. Come back to me, please.’

‘I’ll be back this weekend.’

‘Dammit, I don’t know why I bother,’ Arthur said angrily before hanging up the phone.

Laurie sat with the handset cradled in her hands, pondering on the mess which was now her life. Twelve months ago, everything was perfect. Lorna had come home, she and Arthur were in love, the world was as it should be. But one night, one accident had irrevocably changed everything.

‘What do I do?’ Laurie asked the empty room. She needed more than ever the guidance from her twin. She could almost envision what Lorna would say. She would lie on the bed beside Laurie, listening to her sister offload her troubles and then she would laugh and prop herself up one arm and scrutinise Laurie with a steely glare.

‘Arthur loves you. What is the problem?’ she’d ask.

‘Stop overthinking things. You always overthink things, Laurie, it’s a curse not a gift. That boy thinks the world of you; do you know how lucky you are? I’d give anything to have someone look at me the way he does you.’

Releasing the phone, Laurie stroked the empty bed beside her in the space where she imagined Lorna would lie. A solitary tear fell down her cheek and rather than wipe it away she let it fall and then softly land upon the duvet beneath her, briefly darkening the floral pattern.

‘I need you, Lorna,’ she whispered, before grabbing her phone once more and dialling her deceased twin. She sat and listened to the familiar voicemail message and then lay back on the bed and wept.

That night, Charles didn’t go up to bed. Elaine lay and waited for the soft thud of his footsteps ascending the stairs but they never came and at three in the morning she gave up her silent vigil and let sleep take over.

After Laurie left the office, Charles had spent the remainder of the day in a dazed stupor. He was desperate for Laurie not to leave. She had promised him only two more weeks of her time and that didn’t feel like nearly enough.

Back home, Charles sat in the chair which had first absorbed his grief over Lorna and poured himself a whisky, much to Elaine’s disapproval.

‘Charles, what are you doing?’ she had scolded when she spotted the glass of liquor in his hand. ‘You are drinking! And on a work night no less!’ Elaine continued her vitriol even though Charles was paying her no attention.

‘This is ridiculous, put that glass down!’ When she moved to retrieve the glass from her husband’s hand, Charles abruptly moved it from within her grasp and stared at her coldly.

‘Please, Charles,’ she pleaded. ‘Just put the drink down and go to bed.’

‘Unlike you, I am not controlled by my demons,’ Charles said coldly.

‘Charles …’ Elaine wanted to respond but the words refused to manifest themselves. She looked at her husband who was regarding her how he would an unsightly insect which had crawled into his home.

Years ago, the demons he spoke of had nearly pulled their marriage apart. Elaine lost count of the times she would awaken, disorientated in bed and fully-clothed, only to have the forgotten events from the previous night relayed to her by a weary Charles. She drank to numb the pain of being infertile. She drank until the world went black. And then Charles, back then a loving husband, would hold her head over the toilet for hours on end as she purged, before putting her into bed and watching over her all night long. Then, in the morning he went out to work to helpt run the country. In those days, despite her inner turmoil, Elaine idolised Charles and had no doubt that he could rule the world if he so desired. What plagued her then, and still, was the notion that she had failed on her part; the Lloyd legacy would die with them because of her.

‘But you are not this man,’ Elaine said through tears. ‘You were great once.’

‘No, I was never great,’ Charles said pitifully. ‘I’ve always been just a man. That’s the problem; you never saw that, you always wanted me to be more.’

‘That’s not true!’ Elaine protested but Charles looked away, for him their conversation was over.

Distraught, Elaine retreated to bed, and lay in silence, listening for sounds of movement from her husband below.

Charles wanted to drink the pain away but he knew better than that. He left his third glass half-full, refusing to succumb to the emptiness inside him which longed to be blotted out. He sat and thought of Lorna, and of Laurie, and it occurred to him, as it had many times, how strange it was that he never knew that Lorna had a twin. And Laurie, being so different, had seemed at first like an impostor, like a fake Lorna. But Charles soon realised that she had her own mind; her own views completely separate from those he had associated with Lorna. It pained him to realise how little he really knew of Lorna, and he wanted to rectify that by getting to know Laurie. But if she left now, he would still barely know her and that would mean that he had failed.

Two weeks was all she had given him and she couldn’t have picked a worse two weeks. The refined budget went to the vote the following day, which meant that Charles would have to endure hours within the House of Commons which he detested. It bored him, how insolently the members of parliament would behave, heckling one another after every little comment. It was completely counterproductive; what should take an hour took six as a result. And being locked away with Parliament meant that he would be inaccessible to Laurie.

Charles wasn’t about to shun his duties as Deputy Prime Minister; that was something he would never do. But he also felt that he had a responsibility to be there for Laurie which he wasn’t upholding. As he sat and contemplated, the hours spun past and without realising, his head grew heavier and closer to his chest until he at last fell into a restless sleep.

When he wearily rubbed his eyes, the first few tentative rays of sunlight were reaching across the floor through a gap in the curtains. Charles got up, smoothed down his slightly crumpled suit and left the house in the clothes he had worn the previous day. He thought about going upstairs to change but he didn’t want to risk waking Elaine; the last thing he needed was a repeat of their argument from the night before.

Elaine awoke when she heard the front door slam shut, signalling Charles’ departure. She rolled over and groaned in annoyance. It felt as though her hard work to keep some semblance of a marriage together was being ignored and almost thrown in her face. Elaine spent the morning angrily attending to some minor duties, but not before first carefully dressing and applying her make-up. But her anger soon subsided when at eleven in the morning the doorbell rang and she was greeted by a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Smiling, Elaine arranged the flowers in a vase and made them the centrepiece on her dining table. The card accompanying them was succinct but it had done what it had intended. Elaine was now appeased.

I’m sorry. Charles.

But as beautiful as the flowers were, they would soon die, leaving only the decay which had begun to rot away at the relationship.

Chapter Twelve

Rest in pieces

The last time Laurie had visited the cemetery which lay behind her small local church it had been raining. Mourners gathered in their black attire, huddled beneath umbrellas, a parade of darkness, watching the casket which contained the mortal remains of Lorna Thomas being committed to the ground.

Laurie stood alone at the back, in a black shift dress which until that day had been one of her favourite items of clothing. Unfortunately she did not own a black coat, and the weather had shifted so suddenly that morning that she had not had the time nor the mind set to go out and purchase one. So she stood there, wrapped beneath her green jacket, which was the only blast of colour amongst the black of everyone else. It made Laurie feel even more alienated.

As she stood and watched the events unfold from a safe distance, a few well-meaning relatives approached her. Unsure what to say or how to behave, most merely offered her the use of their umbrella. But Laurie didn’t want it. She wanted to feel the rain splash upon her and didn’t care that her hair was now soaked against her scalp and that intermittently her body shivered with the threat of the fever which would soon come.

Laurie wanted the rain to wash it all away. She was grateful that the rain drops hid her own tears, as though even the heavens were crying over the loss of Lorna. Standing away from the open grave helped Laurie feel detached from it all. But only slightly. She didn’t want to see her sister lowered in to the ground to sleep evermore amongst the dirt. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

It was Arthur who came and ended her rain-drenched sentry duty. In silence, he came through the crowd and stood beside Laurie. Then he opened the umbrella he was carrying and positioned it above them both. Laurie turned to look at him, her skin now frozen beneath her wet clothes, her skin ghostly white. She wanted to thank him for doing what no-one else could; for understanding. But her teeth began to chatter with such ferocity that it disabled her ability to speak.

‘Happy birthday. We can leave now if you want?’ Arthur whispered gently, as a number of feet away from them, the vicar called up to God and asked him to watch over Laurie, which sent her mother in to a distressed burst of sobs.

‘Father Collins is an asshole,’ Laurie managed to chatter bitterly.

‘He’s just doing his job.’

‘Yeah, but Mom thinks Lorna killed herself. Whilst not true, it means that God won’t take her soul; he won’t want anything to do with it.’

‘But, if it’s not true, then its fine,’ Arthur reasoned kindly.

‘Yes, but everyone thinks it’s true. So Father Collins is being a dick, because he doesn’t believe for one minute that Lorna is going to heaven. Not that it even exists. It’s all bullshit.’

‘Shall we just go home?’

‘Yes.’

Back within the warmth and dryness of her home, Laurie removed her once cherished black dress and immediately put it in the bin, knowing that she would never be able to wear it again. Then she wrapped herself up in her dressing gown and sipped on the hot tea which Arthur had kindly made her. She felt numb, and the numbness went further than the cold of her body brought about by the rain. Laurie felt empty, as though she no longer existed; like she was a ghost.

Once warm, Laurie went to bed and there she fell in to a deep, dreamless sleep which lasted for hours. She wished she would never awaken, that her soul would find Lorna’s deep within the ground, and that they would lie there together for evermore.

Many months had passed since that awful day, but Laurie felt locked in time, unable to move on. Back in that same churchyard, even though the sun was shining, she still felt plagued by feelings of anguish and despair. She had not seen her sister’s gravestone, had played no part in the choosing of the design or its resurrection. Her parents had dealt with that side of things, mainly her father as her mother had been inconsolable back then. She was a little better now that time had made her wounds less raw, and the two of them would pay weekly visits to the grave of their daughter and leave fresh flowers behind.

The whole ritual of visiting the grave felt absurd to Laurie, which was why she had never entered into it. She would hear her parents discussing how her disinterest wasn’t healthy, that she clearly wasn’t accepting things. But in Laurie’s mind, it was them who were delusional; them who so easily accepted that Lorna had taken her own life. And if that were the truth, the last thing Lorna’s spirit would want is a weekly offering of flowers.

Laurie knew that she had become bitter. She could taste it upon the foods she ate. She accepted her bitterness, almost embraced it, as it made dealing with awful things a little bit easier. But now, enough time had passed that she thought she should visit the grave, out of interest more than anything. She did not associate the place with her sister. It was merely the plot in the ground where Lorna’s body was rotting. The crash site was more significant, but she had already been there.

And so Laurie had come and walked in the sunlight past the rows of headstones until she found the one which belonged to her twin sister. The black pearl of the stone sparkled in the sun, glistening in a boastful show of how new it was compared to the others around it.

Etched gold lettering contrasted against the black, and the image of a single white dove was emblazoned in the top right corner. Laurie knelt before the stone and read the words;

Here lies Lorna Thomas

Beloved daughter, granddaughter, sister and friend.

Forever in our hearts and minds.

Laurie sighed at the words and shook her head sadly for she knew it was not what her sister would have wanted. It was too impersonal, too standard. It would have aggrieved Lorna had she known how average her eternal resting place was. Laurie considered that if she had spoken up, expressed what Lorna would have liked, things might have been different. The words upon the black stone might have now meant something. But her efforts would have been in vain. Laurie’s parents shut her out the moment they lost Lorna. Her opinions and thoughts meant nothing to them.

With the sun gently warming her neck, Laurie reached out and placed her palm upon the centre of the stone. It was cold to the touch, a macabre coincidence. In the small metal flower holder at the base of the stone was a bunch of fresh daffodils, no doubt lain there earlier in the day.

‘It’s good that you came here,’ a kind voice said from behind, making Laurie jump in surprise. She turned as her grandmother’s shadow fell over her. The old woman smiled fondly at her sole granddaughter. She was carrying a bunch of pink carnations and dressed smartly in her beige trench coat.

Lorna had adored their grandmother, who was their mother’s mother. Even in her seventies, she had been fashion-conscious, always dressed smartly and with her lips painted rouge. She had doted on the twins, but Lorna soon emerged as the favourite as she had the most in common with their grandmother. They were both very feminine and enjoyed pretty things. She was always loving towards Laurie but it was obvious, even in childhood, that once again, Lorna was the firm favourite.

‘I was just about to leave,’ Laurie said nervously, rising to her feet and brushing the dirt from her knees.

‘No, stay,’ her grandmother said. ‘Please.’

Laurie stood and awkwardly waited whilst her grandmother arranged her carnations amongst the daffodils.

‘I never knew her favourite flower,’ the old woman mused as she poked the stalks down into the metal holes of the holder. ‘I suppose you would have though. You knew everything about one another,’ she turned and said to Laurie.

‘Roses,’ Laurie replied bluntly. ‘They were one of her favourites.’

‘Ah,’ her grandmother acknowledged as she finished her task and came to stand beside Laurie.

‘But no-one is going to pay for a dozen roses just to sit out here on a gravestone,’ Laurie said bitterly.

‘Still, it is nice to have somewhere to come and speak to Lorna.’

‘Grandma, she’s dead. Anything I say to her she will never hear.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Laurie felt her grandmother wrap an arm around her as they stood gazing down upon Lorna’s gravestone. It made Laurie uncomfortable to be so close to the grave after trying so desperately to avoid it.

‘I still talk to your grandfather sometimes.’

‘But it’s all pointless,’ Laurie said sadly.

The sun continued to shine even though the atmosphere around the grave had darkened.

As much as Laurie cared for her grandmother she no longer had much time for her, nor any of her family. When Lorna died they all shed their tears but they forgot about Laurie, or like her parents they were just avoiding her. And in turn, she learnt to avoid them.

‘All this anger you have, it’s not healthy,’ her grandmother said, her arm still cupped around Laurie’s shoulder. She felt her granddaughter stiffen beneath her touch at the comment.

‘Not healthy? None of this is healthy!’ Laurie shook loose of her grandmother’s touch. ‘Lorna was my twin, she was twenty-two and she is gone. And I didn’t just lose her, I lost my whole family simply because I look like her. You all abandoned me and don’t even bother denying it Grandma because you know it’s the truth.’

Laurie felt guilty to unleash all her anger upon the old woman but seeing her there, at Lorna’s graveside, after not seeing or hearing from her for almost a year was simply yet another painful reminder of just how unbearable the aftermath of Lorna’s death had been. Her grandmother recoiled in pain from the outburst and she appeared genuinely hurt.

‘I know we let you down,’ she said softly after a couple of minutes. ‘It has been hard on all of us.’

‘But that doesn’t excuse anything,’ Laurie said, still angry. ‘You adored Lorna and being left with me, well, it’s not good enough for anyone.’ As she said this, her anger dissolved i to sadness and she felt the familiar sensation of her eyes welling up with tears.

‘You shouldn’t think like that,’ her grandmother coaxed, drawing close once more to wrap an arm around her granddaughter. ‘We all love you very much. But after Lorna died, you pushed everyone away. But that was always your style; even as a twin, you were always very solitary.’ Her voice was gentle and soothing as she spoke. Laurie drank up the words and tried to console herself that there was some truth within them. even though she didn’t really believe it.

‘I just…’ Laurie looked down sadly at her sister’s grave. ‘I just know that she didn’t kill herself.’ Her grandmother shot her a pitying look at this which Laurie chose to ignore. ‘Everyone thinks she did, but they are wrong, Lorna would never do that.’

‘Sometimes people are hurting and we don’t see it.’

‘No, not Lorna. I knew everything about her. I was a part of her,’ Laurie replied defiantly.

She noticed now how her grandmother seemed to search carefully for her words, as though she had been prepped on how to cope with the situation of Laurie’s denial over the suicide allegations. It angered Laurie that these clandestine conversations had been held in her absence, no doubt with her parents. They all cared enough to meet and discuss her actions, but no-one cared enough to talk with her directly. Even this meeting with her grandmother was purely coincidental; she had not sought Laurie out to check on how she was coping.

‘You were both always such passionate girls,’ her grandmother stated diplomatically.

‘There is a difference between passionate and suicidal,’ Laurie said angrily. ‘How can you come here and pretend to care about Lorna when you believe she would do that? You can’t have known her at all!’ Laurie shouted the last two words before turning and fleeing from the churchyard, leaving her grandmother standing alone and feeling distraught.

It occurred to Laurie, as she settled herself in her car and prepared to drive away, that her family had chosen to give her such a wide berth because they were waiting for her to fall in line with their way of thinking, to believe that Lorna did kill herself. And when they realised that she would not buy in to the police ruling, they wrote her off as a lost cause. It infuriated Laurie how they would all so readily attach the stigma to Lorna. If it were true, she would readily accept it and the guilt which came with it also. But it wasn’t true. Laurie knew that, so why didn’t everyone else?

‘People are just stupid,’ a twelve-year-old Lorna had declared to her sister one afternoon when they were sat on her bed listening to music pretending to be older than they were.

‘Not really,’ Laurie had answered.

‘Yes, really. April Connors is a stupid little bitch to make fun of us like she did.’ Lorna was referring to a dispute which had occurred at school a few days earlier, when the girl in question, April, had pointed out to Laurie that she need never invest in a mirror as she had her twin sister, unless of course, ‘one of you gets fat’.

‘She was just being ignorant,’ Laurie said, wanting to change the subject and move onto a more pleasant topic.

‘But it’s just not on. Do you know that, years ago, twins would join the circus and people would pay to see them as they were such an oddity?’

‘That’s not true,’ Laurie answered dismissively.

‘The point is,’ Lorna continued, lost in her vitriol, ‘that people do not understand what is like to be us. To be two rather than one.’

‘I guess.’

‘So the next time ‘April fat nose’ makes a bitchy little comment, you tell her we are so great that when God made us, he made double!’

‘Yeah,’ Laurie agreed but with an air of melancholy.

‘Why are you still sad?’ Lorna asked with concern, resolving in her mind to challenge April Connors in the playground first thing the following morning.

‘I don’t know. I mean, do you ever wonder what it would be like to be … original? Just one?’

‘No, never,’ Lorna answered without hesitation.

‘Never?’ Laurie echoed in disbelief.

‘Never, because it is better to be two rather than one. All the best things come in twos. Eyes, ears, feet …’ The twins fell into fits of giggles at this and began to reel off a list of things that came in pairs. They didn’t notice their mother stop by the doorway, listen in on their conversation and smile fondly to herself.

Laurie ran her hands over the steering wheel and considered returning to the cemetery and apologising to her grandmother, but then decided against it. She was entitled to be strident about the death of her sister. Lorna had been right; life wasn’t so great when you were original and one of a kind.

Sat in her car, with the seat beneath her warmed from the sun, Laurie thought about what she would have instructed her parents to inscribe upon her sister’s stone had they sought her advice. It was a strange topic to dwell upon, but it felt oddly therapeutic. Dealing with Lorna’s death in a practical sense had a cathartic effect on Laurie. As she turned the key to bring the engine roaring to life, her mind was still flashing through all the potential dialogues which she would have chosen.

Pulling up on her driveway Laurie noticed the curtain twitch and sighted her mother peeping out with the telephone held against her ear. Laurie immediately concluded who was probably calling; her grandmother to report her outburst at the cemetery which meant that her parents would hardly be rolling out the welcome wagon for her. Even on a day as emotionally dark as this one, they would still chastise her for being rude and Laurie was in no mood for that.

For a brief moment Laurie was unsure where to go. Inside her home her parents lay in wait to scold her and she was in no mood to face them. Arthur’s home was a possibility, but Laurie was still processing her feelings towards him. To go there and see him now would only confuse matters further. The only place left was London, which meant returning far earlier than Laurie had planned. Her bags were still in the boot of her car, waiting to be unpacked. She dwelled on the idea for a moment longer.

By the time her father opened the front door the driveway was clear and Laurie was heading off towards the motorway.

As Laurie drove back towards London, weaving through traffic, she found the words she would have put upon Lorna’s stone, even though she knew that her parents would have disapproved.

Growing up, Lorna adored the book The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There was a whole year where she read it religiously each and every night. What fascinated her most was how the caterpillar eventually blossomed into a beautiful butterfly. And of course, a butterfly’s wings were perfect duplicates of one another, which gave added substance to the story.

‘When I grow up, I want to turn into a butterfly too,’ she would tell her sister, who would nod in bemusement, because in her eyes, Lorna was already beautiful and spectacular.

‘Lorna Thomas, always a butterfly,’ Laurie said the words aloud to herself and she found them comforting, primarily because she knew how much Lorna would have approved of them.

Charles Lloyd repositioned himself on the uncomfortable bench and continued to listen to the Chancellor of the Exchequer reel off numerous legislations which would soon be coming into existence. It was now his third hour within the House of Commons and the Deputy Prime Minister felt exceedingly weary. Yet he could not risk letting his fatigue show, as he was currently being filmed, with a live broadcast being fed out to the masses via a number of news networks.

The time with Parliament was not going well. As Charles had anticipated, the new legislations were being met with a harsh wall of negativity. Members from across the other side of the hall were guffawing in protest, ready with their teeth bared and their barbed comments to devour the flesh of the presiding political party. It all felt like a pantomime charade which Charles took no joy in participating in. He dutifully played his part as an impassive overseer, fighting the urge to berate more belligerent Members of Parliament. But he always felt that his time sat upon the bench, nodding solemnly on cue, could be better spent.

As the third hour rolled in, at least he could take solace in the fact that it would all soon be over. He could return to the welcome solitude of his office and bask in the peaceful silence within.

‘I hope you are ready with a decent rebuttal,’ the Prime Minister, Thomas Clarke leaned in and whispered after a particularly spirited show of disagreement from the other members which echoed around the room in a wave of chants, reminding Charles of when he would frequent rowdy outdoor concerts during his youth. ‘Our new implementations have not gone down well, at all, I hope you are prepared.’

‘We anticipated resistance,’ Charles whispered back. ‘But I won’t address them, not today.’

‘You won’t?’ Thomas asked, stunned.

‘Look at them,’ Charles indicated to the room around him with his hand. ‘They are enraged and behaving like a pack of wild dogs. Anything I say here now will fall on deaf ears. I’ll give my rebuttal, but when the time is right for it to be clearly heard.’

Thomas Clarke nodded with understanding, but not in agreement. He did not approve of Charles’ calm and methodical leadership style. Thomas was much more impetuous and hot-headed, which had made him an unusual selection for Prime Minister. But what Thomas Clarke lacked in charisma he made up for with quick wit and logical thinking. His visions of the party and for the country made him a worthy leader. Charles had always felt proud to help Thomas implement his plans for the future.

‘I should speak on your behalf,’ Thomas offered. Charles considered the offer for a moment and then shook his head.

‘No, it should come from me,’ he concluded, noting the disappointment flash across Thomas’ face for only a brief second.

‘You have enough to deal with,’ Charles smiled at the older man.

‘True,’ Thomas noted glibly.

Charles did not intend to run for Prime Minister in the next political year. Since Lorna’s death, a plan had been formulating in his mind and now his ideas had finally solidified. He would stand down, retire, and take up some semblance of a normal life. He knew that Elaine would challenge this with every ounce of her being but Charles had made his mind up. The role of Prime Minister would probably fall again to Thomas Clarke, and whilst Charles had once wanted to challenge him for his position, he wasn’t ready, he was too worn down by so many things to be able to continue. With his resignation, his biggest obstacle would be Elaine.

Glancing at his watch, Charles was relieved to note that it was almost time for the current session of Parliament to conclude. But when he looked at the hands rotating around the clock face, he thought not of the time it was, but of when he received the watch. It had been an anniversary gift from Elaine about two years ago.

‘The man in the shop said it was imported from Switzerland,’ she had noted boastfully as Charles unwrapped the silver paper from around the box.

‘Isn’t it exquisite!’ she had gushed, rushing over to procure the new gift upon her husband’s left wrist. Charles had found the watch a little extravagant for his tastes, but he had worn it to appease Elaine and, soon enough, putting on his Rolex had become as natural a part of his morning routine as brushing his teeth.

It was Laurie who reminded him of his dislike of the watch when she noticed it one day, the branding peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve.

‘You could buy a house for that,’ she said flatly, nodding at the watch. Embarrassed by the indulgent gift, Charles had quickly hidden it beneath his shirt, turning red.

But when he later thought about it, he himself had paid for the watch, and that angered him more than anything. Elaine was wasteful with money that wasn’t even hers. She enjoyed opulence but had not the capacity to fund it. Without his position as Deputy Prime Minister, she would have to sacrifice her luxury meals out and fancy holidays, as she would no longer be able to buy her way through life as ‘The Deputy Prime Minister’s wife’.

Charles pre-empted that her reaction to his resignation would be even more negative than the congregation of MPs had just been. And he knew that she would leave him, to seek someone richer and more powerful. Charles felt excited at the thought of relinquishing power. He had served his country well during his time as Deputy Prime Minister, but his bones ached and his eyes were always heavy. The country needed a strong, vibrant leader and Charles felt that they already that in Thomas Clarke.

The session of Parliament concluded and Charles left with the throng of suited men and women. Passing through the great, ancient doors he knew in his heart that it would be his last visit. He could sense how Lorna and Laurie had changed him in their own, unique ways. He was a better man for knowing them both.

After the raised voices of Parliament, the silence within Charles’ office felt more penetrating than usual. He had smiled and greeted Faye as he walked in and she had returned the gesture, her grin masking the cold sense of indifference she now felt towards him.

With the door safely secured behind him, Charles revelled in the absence of sound. He sat behind his task and soaked up the serene atmosphere. He was happiest at times like these, when everything was calm and quiet. The media circus which came attached to his job had always felt like such a hindrance but Elaine adored it. At functions she would pose for the cameras and flash them an insincere smile whilst Charles hovered awkwardly at her side. He was in it for the politics; she was in it for the fame.

Charles had always been aware of his wife’s intentions and there was a time that he believed that their differing agendas complemented one another well. She had handled the publicity side of things, leaving Charles free to focus solely on governing the country. But it soon became apparent that the differences between himself and his wife, now more evident than ever, were ultimately pulling them apart.

‘I don’t understand it Charles, why aren’t you happier?’ Elaine would protest as he reluctantly put on his shirt for yet another gala evening. ‘The entire country knows and loves you,’ she continued as she knotted her husband’s bow tie.

‘It’s just not me,’ Charles would sigh sadly.

‘Well, you are the Deputy Prime Minister now,’ Elaine said firmly, placing her hand beneath Charles’ chin and raising his face skyward. ‘It has to be you.’

For a long time, Charles struggled to identify why, despite having reached the pinnacle of his career, his life still felt empty and meaningless. He couldn’t discuss these feelings with Elaine as she would automatically jump to the incorrect conclusion that it was because she couldn’t have children, which would cause things to escalate into an argument which he didn’t want.

It wasn’t until Charles met Lorna that he finally realised what the cause of the vacuous hole within him was; he had never before known love. It sounded so contrite and cookie-cutter, but Charles knew it was the truth. Being with Lorna made him feel alive, as though before he had been living as a ghost. He continued to regret his decision to choose his career over Lorna. He should have ended things with Elaine and turned his back on politics over a year ago, and then he could have been with Lorna and been happy. But then there was Laurie.

Laurie made Charles feel alive but in a completely different way to Lorna. When they spoke, she engaged his very soul and it was enlightening. With Lorna, their relationship had very much been physical. Now, when he thought of Laurie, he wanted more than anything to consummate what he felt certain was between them. But he was determined to do things correctly this time. He would date Laurie, he would woo her, he would be normal for her.

He was too blinded by his own feelings to ever consider that they perhaps weren’t reciprocated.

The mobile phone in his jacket whirred to life and Charles retrieved it and glanced at the screen, feeling his heart sink when he saw Elaine’s name. He pressed the cancel button, sending her to voicemail already knowing what she would say. She would chastise him for appearing bored during Parliament. She always watched the live broadcasts from home and then tore him apart afterwards. What began as constructive criticism, quickly descended into a character assassination.

‘You were on television?’ Lorna asked excitedly one evening when they were together after Charles had spent the afternoon in Parliament.

‘Yes, on the BBC,’ the Deputy Prime Minister had answered, suddenly feeling shy and incredibly self-conscious.

‘Oh,’ Lorna had answered, her tone lowered in disappointment.

‘Oh?’ Charles echoed with interest.

‘I don’t watch the feed from the House of Commons,’ Lorna explained, her cheeks flushing with slight shame which Charles found endearing.

‘Why not?’

‘Because people behave appallingly in there. They shout and bark at one another with the vagrant demeanour of schoolboys. It’s embarrassing to see the people who are supposed to be leading this country behaving this way.’

‘It gets heated in there because everyone is passionate about running the country and people aren’t always going to agree about how things should be done.’

‘But there is a proper way to air your grievances and shouting isn’t it,’ Lorna declared sternly.

On reflection, Charles theorised that whilst Lorna disproved of the conduct within the House of Commons, Laurie would probably lap it up. Laurie devoured the news with interest and had an opinion on every political agenda. He found himself wondering with boyish interest if Laurie had watched him on television earlier that day. He hoped that she had, but he hoped that it had not been out of political interest.

His mobile phone vibrated again and Charles sighed in frustration but then felt his mood immediately lift when he saw that the movement was signalling a received text from Laurie. He eagerly opened the message to read it, his heart racing with anticipation.

Things weren’t good at home so coming back to London today. See you tomorrow x

The addition of a kiss on the end of the message left Charles feeling elated. He read those few words over and over until they were permanently etched into his memory. His concern over her mention of things being bad at home was overshadowed by his excitement of the implications of the inclusion of a kiss.

Clutching his phone, Charles sat beaming in the sanctuary of his office. Change was coming; he could smell it in the air. He continued to savour the quiet around him, inhaling it as he let his mind fantasise over what might transpire with Laurie. It was the calm before the storm and he wanted to enjoy every last moment of it.

Chapter Thirteen

Exit wounds

Arthur Dolan was angry. He read for the second time the message he had just received from Laurie and he felt the blood within his veins curdle with fury. She had returned to London despite his protests. As per what had become the usual trend, she had completely ignored and dismissed what he had said to her. At first, Arthur was patient and tolerant, constantly mindful of the tragedy which had struck his girlfriend’s family. But twelve months of being sidelined by the person he had initially planned to spend the rest of his life with had driven from him his last ounce of patience.

‘Why do you do it to yourself?’ his mother asked wearily when she noticed her son gazing out of his bedroom window pensively, his phone welded into the palm of his hand. She instinctively knew what was troubling his young mind and it pained her to see him suffer so greatly at a time in his life when he should be indulging in carefree and reckless behaviour.

Ignoring his mother, Arthur sighed and released his grip on his phone, letting it fall down to the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

‘No matter how hard you wish for it, she won’t come back to you,’ she continued, sitting on the edge of his bed and regarding him with a sorrowful expression. Arthur’s mother knew heartache far too intimately. His father had left her when he was only three-years-old for a younger woman. She had wasted her own life wishing for his return, only because she longed for the satisfaction of turning him away.

‘She’s just hurting,’ Arthur answered, feeling fatigued that he was about to enter into a conversation which he’d had with his mother a thousand times.

‘Of course. And you’ve been patient, far more patient than other men would have been. But you don’t deserve to suffer, Art. You need to live your own life and have fun. Young lads shouldn’t be cooped up in their bedrooms pining.’

‘I’m not Dad!’ Arthur scowled angrily. ‘I won’t leave her.’

‘But it looks like she’s left you.’

Arthur tried to block out his mother’s words. As long as he still loved Laurie, she must surely continue to love him in return.

‘Please, don’t be foolish Art …’

‘Get out!’ Arthur yelled, pointing to his bedroom door.

‘Sweetheart, please, I’m just trying to help,’ his mother reasoned as she slowly rose to her feet.

‘No, you are trying to dictate my life! I’m not Dad so stop acting like I’m as bad as him!’

‘I don’t think that you are behaving like your father,’ his mother answered indignantly. ‘I’m worried that you are behaving like me.’ Her tone was now sad and reflective as she obeyed her son’s orders and left his bedroom. She had hoped that could spare him the pain of unrequited love, but as she watched him gaze sadly out of his window at the rolling green fields in the distance, she knew that she had failed.

With his mother gone, Arthur leant down and retrieved his phone and read again the message from Laurie. He sighed in desperation, uncertain of his next move. Then, impetuously he dialled her number.

‘Arthur,’ Laurie picked up after four rings, her voice sounding distinctively annoyed.

‘Why are you in London?’ Arthur tried to conceal how hurt he was as he spoke. Laurie sighed deeply before responding.

‘I have some things to sort out still.’

‘You need to come home.’

‘No. I don’t.’

‘I want you to come home,’ Arthur pleaded.

‘Arthur I can’t, I’m sorry. There are things that I need to do here.’

‘Haven’t you already done enough?’

For a moment there was only static silence between them as Laurie contemplated what she should say.

‘I don’t expect you to wait for me forever,’ her voice was small and barely audible.

‘What?’ Arthur asked, suddenly disgruntled.

‘I know how awkward I’ve been,’ Laurie began to explain but Arthur interrupted her.

‘No! I’m not letting you do this!’ he cried in to the phone. He could feel his heart rate increasing in panic at the implications of her words. He wouldn’t let her go. He refused to.

‘Arthur, please,’ Laurie said sadly.

‘Laurie you are my other half, how can you not see that? I said I’d wait for you and I’m happy to keep waiting. I just need to know that you are going to come back to me.’

‘I can’t promise that,’ Laurie replied honestly.

‘But why not? There was a time when you would have promised me forever.’

‘Forever doesn’t exist.’

Laurie knew how brutal her words were as she said them, but her own ill-feeling from her encounter at the cemetery was spilling over into the conversation and she was powerless to stop it. Lorna had been her constant once, but that had changed. Laurie was fearful to place that level of dependence upon anyone else. She wanted to close her heart off from any future pain; to live a life of cold indifference. At least that way she wouldn’t hurt any more than she already did. She doubted she could handle any more pain.

‘I love you.’ Arthur whispered the three tiny words which had the potential to combust most situations. He felt like he had opened up his chest and revealed his beating heart to her, only to have Laurie stab a knife through the centre of it.

‘I need to go.’ She delivered the devastating blow and Arthur felt the pain of it within his chest which now felt concave. His heart continued to beat with a reluctant necessity, which to Arthur felt pointless.

Sat alone in her ghostly London apartment, Laurie hung up the phone and looked up to the ceiling, as if hoping to contact Lorna from the heavens above for some much-needed advice. She wanted to cry but nothing came; her body was currently dry of tears which didn’t surprise her. Over the past twelve months she had cried away her soul. She went to raise herself up to shower but her phone beeped, signalling a message. It was from Arthur. Laurie braced herself for whatever spiteful goodbye she had anticipated, but he simply said:

I won’t let you go x

There was a hint of menace within the message which made Laurie feel uneasy but she doubted that it was intentional. Dismissing it, she continued over to the bathroom.

Three hours went by before Arthur’s mother realised that her son’s car had left the driveway of her home. She had been sat at the back of the house, consumed by her television dramas and had failed to notice his exit. Curiously, she peered through her curtains and scrutinized the remains of the day outside which was rapidly turning to dusk. He had gone to Laurie, she was certain of it. She considered alerting the girl but then thought better of it. Perhaps her son had some romantic gesture planned to win her back and she would not want to obstruct that. But then again, she also wouldn’t want Arthur to waste his time and lose his dignity.

As his mother deliberated on what to do, she subconsciously wandered up to the spare bedroom and sat down on the locked trunk which was kept in there. Her mind was still consumed with potential courses of action when she noticed that the lid to the trunk seemed off balance. Intrigued, she rose to her feet to inspect it further. Indeed, the lid was slightly slanted as it was no longer locked. The padlock which was normally sealed tightly shut now hung open and she wondered how she had not noticed that the moment she came in.

Her heart suddenly shot in to her mouth when she remembered what the locked trunk contained. In a panic she threw the lid open and was devastated to look in and see nothing but the wood at the bottom.

‘You stupid boy!’ she declared angrily, her one hand now over her mouth in shock. The trunk had always remained locked ever since her husband had left her. The key for it was stored within the jewellery box on her vanity table, safe and secure and far away from the wrong hands. For in the trunk she kept the shotgun her husband had used for shooting game. When he left her, he also left behind the majority of his belongings, including the gun. And Arthur’s mother chose to keep it because she never knew when she might need it. If her husband ever did return, she would most definitely have found a use for it. But as it was, her son had beaten her to it and taken the gun for his own purposes and to dwell on what those purposes might be filled her with a fearful dread.

Faye Smith scowled at the back of Laurie Thomas’ head as the young intern worked diligently on her computer just a few feet away from her. Faye was angry. The fact that Laurie received such preferential treatment was tearing away at her like a bite on the back of her neck which continued to itch and refused to just scab over.

Recent events had not helped matters. Laurie waltzed in and out of the office with no regard for protocol. If she requested to go home for a few days, the Deputy Prime Minister immediately allowed it, without even running the leave past the Human Resources department. This leniency towards Laurie, coupled with the bypass of the usual administrative channels, left Faye reeling.

She couldn’t help but recall when she had requested two days leave some two years earlier, to accommodate her attending her youngest sister’s wedding in Italy. Faye had done everything correctly, filling out a leave form and giving Charles adequate time to approve it. When a week had passed and he had still not granted confirmation for her leave, Faye had felt as though she had no choice but to address him directly on the matter.

Faye chose her timing carefully, waiting until she was called into the office on other work. There, she answered his questions diligently before subtly slipping into the conversation the issue of her impending leave. Charles had appeared genuinely surprised and baffled by the query. He shook his head and ran his hands over his face.

‘Oh dear, Faye,’ he began insincerely, ‘I forgot to check your leave sheet and now we’ve that summit meeting booked for the Friday afternoon you want and you would need to be present to take minutes.’

At the time, Faye was flattered rather than angered by his negligence, as it made her feel important. She was too invaluable to take leave, or at least that was how she had spun the situation to her sister. In retrospect, Charles had deliberately feigned ignorance when she questioned him, as it would be inconvenient to source another secretary to take minutes. Faye was efficient and reliable; he didn’t want to risk using someone who might not be.

And so Faye had felt forced to forfeit her sister’s wedding which had not gone down well with her family. The now married sister continued to give her the coldest of shoulders; the only time they had spoken since was at their grandmother’s funeral when Faye remarked to her how unusually pleasant the weather was for February and her sister had merely grunted in response. Faye’s mother had forgiven her, just about, but that had taken time. And it wasn’t until she lost her own mother that she had started to thaw towards her eldest daughter.

So now, to witness Laurie swanning in and out of the office with no consequence left Faye feeling infuriated. She had discussed it with her girlfriends over mojitos the previous evening, and they were in unanimous agreement that the young and beautiful led a far more privileged life than anyone else.

‘The problem is that men constantly think with their dicks,’ Faye’s most outspoken friend Bonny had stated angrily after her third glass. ‘It doesn’t matter how shit a girl is at her job if she’s nice to look at. Fucking secretaries,’ she uttered maliciously, before realising her error and turning apologetically to Faye.

‘You are an assistant, not a secretary,’ she said gently, her words now slightly slurred. Faye let the insult slide, appreciating that it was aimed more at the two secretaries her last husband had indulged in affairs with.

Nevertheless, the point had been made and had been cemented in to Faye’s mind. Laurie did not deserve special treatment, nor did her sister. The Deputy Prime Minister was besotted and it was just ridiculous. Faye decided to take matters in to her own hands. If Charles insisted on making life so easy for Laurie, Faye would do her utmost to make things exceedingly difficult for the girl, and if the Deputy Prime Minister challenged her behaviour she would simply threaten to expose his affair.

Feeling empowered by her decision, Faye spent the day making Laurie do the most menial tasks possible, starting with emptying all the bins within the building.

‘Don’t the cleaners do that?’ the young woman had queried, looking confused.

‘Usually, but I offered your services for today. I thought it would help you become better acquainted with all the other offices.’

‘I suppose,’ Laurie answered reluctantly. She remained sat in her chair, looking uneasy.

‘Is there a problem?’ Faye snapped angrily.

‘Well, I was supposed to be keeping a low profile.’

‘He was fine when I ran it past him,’ Faye nodded towards the Deputy Prime Minister’s office, liking how the lie felt in her mouth.

‘Oh, in that case,’ Laurie stood up, silently grateful for the task, as she was tired of the way Faye’s disapproval of her had suddenly intensified. As dull a job as it might be, at least it would grant her some respite from the bitterness of the woman.

With Laurie gone, Faye set about preparing another nasty task for her intern. She logged on to her computer and placed in an unnecessary order for stationary. Then, she selected a delivery time of ten that evening, fully aware that the building would be all but empty by that time, as even the most zealous workers had to go home and sleep at some point.

Taking a devilish delight in what she had orchestrated, Faye sat back and waited for Laurie’s return, relishing in how she predicated the young girl might react, wanting more than anything to see the disappointment wash over her face. She did briefly consider that perhaps she was being unfair, that Laurie had done nothing to her to deserve being treated so harshly. But then she recalled how the Deputy Prime Minister had behaved when she queried the girl’s leave.

‘Faye, really, drop it. I’ve approved it,’ he said angrily when she suggested that it was inappropriate for Laurie to be returning home yet again.

‘She is making a mockery of the internship!’ Faye had raged.

‘Please, try and be more understanding,’ the Deputy Prime Minister had said wearily. ‘She has lost her sister.’

Faye fought the urge to point out how she had also lost a sister as a result of her own fervent dedication but chose not to.

‘All bins emptied out,’ Laurie declared as she returned just over an hour later, her shoulders slumped as she was clearly tired.

‘Some of them didn’t even have anything in,’ she added cheekily, as though blatantly exposing the task for what it was, which only added fuel to Faye’s already raging fire of anger which was burning up inside her.

‘Since you’ve so much capacity then, you won’t mind staying late to sign for an important order.’

‘Oh, okay. How late?’ Laurie asked uncertainly.

‘It should be here by ten tonight,’ Faye replied sweetly.

‘Ten!’ Laurie’s cheeks flushed with panic. ‘Oh, I really can’t stay that late.’

‘Whyever not?’

‘Please, Faye, I don’t want to walk home alone that late at night.’

‘Then use the tube.’

‘I’m all on my own. I don’t have anyone who can come and meet me,’ Laurie pleaded.

‘Well, I have plans this evening so you have to stay as the order needs to be signed for,’ Faye declared triumphantly.

‘Why don’t you ask the Deputy Prime Minister to walk you home?’ she mocked. ‘Oh wait, he won’t be here. He will have gone home himself, to his wife.’

Laurie just gazed silently at Faye, realising that no matter what she said, she wouldn’t be able to change the angry woman’s mind. Delighted with her victory, Faye smirked before ordering Laurie to go and make coffee, but not before asking the people in at least three other offices if they wanted anything. Before she left, Laurie regarded her with a look not of anger or resentment, but of pity. Faye wondered if the girl was going to challenge her but she said nothing, instead grabbing a note pad and heading off on the epic coffee run.

It was normally Lorna who encountered hostility from other women. She would recount tales to Laurie from nights out when a girlfriend would come up and push Lorna sharply, demanding to know why her boyfriend couldn’t take his eyes off her.

‘People think we have it easy,’ Lorna had theorised once, ‘because we are pretty.’

‘Looks are superfluous,’ Laurie had replied dismissively, lying back on her sister’s bed, her eyes trained on the patterned ceiling above her.

‘But it’s not easy. We stand out. People remember us; that’s not always a good thing. Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to be unnoticed, to just fade into the background.’

‘You would hate that,’ Laurie scoffed.

‘Yeah, I guess,’ Lorna admitted. ‘At least we will never be jealous of one another’s looks,’ she joked.

‘Just clothes,’ Laurie laughed.

The day fell away into the night and Laurie sat at her desk and patiently waited. Faye had left the premises promptly at six, continuing to discuss plans she had that evening which Laurie knew were false.

So, sat alone, Laurie idled away the few remaining hours until the package’s arrival, all the while aware of how eerily quiet the building had become. At around nine, she felt that the building was quiet enough for her to be able to walk around a little. Laurie meandered over to another office nearby and glanced out of their window to see that darkness had now smothered the world outside, which made her feel uneasy. She considered calling for a taxi but the late hour, coupled with the location, would have made the cost astronomical for what was only a short walk to her apartment.

Returning to her own desk, Laurie checked her own personal emails as there really was no work left for her to do. She expected to find a flurry of messages from Arthur declaring his undying love for her and so she was surprised to have not even received one. She felt a pang of worry for the boy that, deep down, she did still love. She considered calling him but decided against it. The solitude and the encroaching night were just making her feel especially lonely and vulnerable.

At last it was ten, but it was another agonising fifteen minutes before the promised parcel arrived with no word of apology with regard to the delay. Laurie accepted the package and signed on the courier’s digital device before carrying the large box to her work area.

‘Christ!’ Laurie cried out angrily when she looked down and examined the box she was carrying and noticed the familiar logo for a stationary brand.

‘Oh, really important!’ she cried angrily, flinging the box to the ground, caring not for its contents.

Disgruntled, Laurie immediately prepared to leave, determined to have more than a cross word with Faye the following morning.

Outside, the air was crisp and cold but deadly still; there wasn’t even the faintest breeze. Laurie stopped at the staff entrance and fastened her coat right up to the highest button. It did little to alleviate the chill around her, but made her feel a bit more secure.

Immediately, Laurie turned and began to walk home. The pathways which were usually bustling in the mornings were now all but deserted; no doubt most people had been deterred from leaving their homes by the cold. Laurie tucked her head inside her coat and walked quickly, her footsteps clear and determined. Her mind raced with a thousand horror stories she had heard about the city and the dark deeds which were conducted at night. Fearful of a potential mugger approaching her, Laurie clung to her handbag tightly with both hands. If someone wanted her belongings they would have to be willing to fight for them.

A few feet ahead of her Laurie noticed orange lights flashing on the pavement. As she drew closer, she realised that her route was cornered off for workman changing some pipes below street level. Agitated, she stopped and assessed her options. There was a diversion sign which would send her down a dark alley which she was unfamiliar with.

Even though she knew it was foolish to do so, Laurie retrieved her mobile phone from her handbag and accessed the satellite tracking system it had, all the while remaining under the relative safety of a street lamp. The system confirmed that the diversion would quickly lead her back out onto her familiar route home which made her feel slightly relieved. With the phone back safely in her handbag Laurie prepared to enter down to the dark street, planning to run almost all the way along it.

Her tiny feet powered down the cobbles of the alley, the exertion of such swift movement making her breath come in short, sharp gasps, but still Laurie didn’t stop. She didn’t like the darkness or the confined space of the alley. She was so lost in her sprint that she didn’t notice the shadowy figure appear at the far end of the alley, disguised by the dark and blocking her immediate exit.

With about ten feet to go, Laurie sensed the presence of another and looked up and stopped abruptly, her feet almost skidding beneath her. The lack of light made it hard to discern if it were a man or a woman up ahead, but whoever it was stood blocking the end of the alley with a stance which hinted at malicious intent.

Fearful, Laurie turned and began to retrace her steps back up the alley, in her mind resolving to just call a taxi as soon as she was back beneath the street lamp. Perhaps she would go all the way back to work and wait for the taxi there with the night guard to watch over her.

Glancing back, Laurie noticed that the shadowy figure had been lost to the darkness and she wondered if she had imagined them altogether. But she wasn’t prepared to go back and find out, so she carried on. She was almost out of the alley when the gunshot blasted through the night, shattering the silence in its attempt to reach her soul.

Some sort of innate animal instinct forced Laurie to the ground, her face against the cobbles. Her body shook with what she took to be fear but it soon became apparent it was shock. She felt the warm hot trickle of blood began to fall down her face and then the searing pain from her right ear surged throughout her body. Laurie gasped at the realisation that she had been shot. She remained still on the ground for a few moments in the hope that whoever had shot at her would believe her incapacitated and their work done. When she could wait no more, Laurie scrambled to her feet and ran out of the alley, her blood now trickling down and soaking her coat and clothes.

Panting, Laurie stood at the end of the alley, shock clouding her judgement. Adrenaline was surging through her veins, urging her to just keep running until her legs collapsed beneath her. But even in her shocked state she knew that was foolish. She needed to call someone; needed to get to somewhere safe.

Tentatively, Laurie raised a hand to her right ear. The instant her fingertips connected to one of the ribbons which had once formed part of the upper cartilage, thunderbolts of pain shot through her body. She immediately retracted her hand which was now painted crimson with her own blood. She regarded it with strange interest, for a moment feeling surreally detached from the whole situation. Then her fight-or-flight hardwiring kicked in once more and hurriedly she retrieved her mobile phone from her bag.

Stood beneath the street lamp, she held her phone in her shaking hand, hesitating on who exactly she should call. The obvious answer was the emergency services, but Laurie wanted to see a familiar face, not be swept up into a sea of strangers. Her family weren’t an option. Back home was too far away, it would be hours before they reached her and whoever had shot at her might well return by then to complete the job.

There was only one person Laurie felt she could call. Even though she was still reluctant to trust him implicitly, she knew that he would come and she knew that he would care. Laurie struggled to dial the number, her fingers proving almost useless from the amount they continued to shake. At last she was able to press the green button and the call connected.

Laurie had lost all concept of time; she only knew that the hour was late. If she allowed herself to dwell on it she assumed it was near eleven. The majority of people would be sleeping, preparing themselves for the following working day. She could only hope that the Deputy Prime Minister was not.

After three rings Charles answered, his voice thankfully bright and alert.

‘Laurie?’ he whispered with nervous excitement.

‘Help me!’ Laurie blurted out in a state of panic, tears forming in her eyes and falling down her cheeks, washing away some of the blood which was there.

‘Help you?’ Charles asked, confused. ‘What’s wrong?’ There was immediately concern in his voice which offered Laurie some comfort.

‘I’ve been shot!’

‘Shot? What? Oh my God, are you alright? Do you need an ambulance?’ Charles asked these questions as he was already pulling on his clothes, preparing to leave his house.

‘No, no. They missed me, well they got my ear. I just …’ Laurie tried to find the words to convey how she was feeling whilst trying to suppress the mounting sense of terror growing within her. ‘I need you.’ The plea was simple and heartfelt. Charles knew that this was his chance, his opportunity for redemption. He had failed to be there for Lorna when she needed him most, he would not let Laurie down too.

‘Where are you?’ Charles grabbed his car keys as he asked the question and opened his front door, not caring for any noise he created in the process.

‘I’m …’ glancing around Laurie tried to gain some clarity and relay her location. It was no good, the street seemed unfamiliar and there was no sign within her peripheral vision to help her place herself. Then, vaguely she recalled that The 10 Stop was just down the next street, and that it was open twenty-four hours a day, which was the norm for London but incredibly obscure to outsiders like Laurie. She remembered noting the sign on the café’s door and pondering on who would ever want to visit the place in the small hours of the morning. Then again, the people who went at that time were probably of a salubrious nature.

But The 10 Stop would be warm, light and full of people. Laurie didn’t want to wait for Charles out on the street alone, a target just waiting for a second shot, which may well not miss this time.

‘The 10 Stop, do you know it?’

‘What?’ Charles was now backing off his drive, his limbs easily remembering the logistics of driving even though it had been a considerable length of time since he had been behind the wheel.

‘It’s a little café, near Downing Street.’ Laurie suddenly felt extremely lucid as she felt a plan formulating. Her mind was already mapping out the exact route she would have to take to reach The 10 Stop, and bizarrely she found herself wondering if she had enough change in her coat pocket for a cup of tea.

‘Yes, I know where you mean, I’ve driven past there a couple of times.’

‘Well, I’ll meet you in there,’ Laurie explained. Then, with an edge of uncertainty she asked, ‘How long will you be?’

‘I’m on my way now,’ Charles replied. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes at the very most.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurie said into her phone and then disconnected the call, cutting off Charles as he relayed the last part of his message to her.

‘I love you,’ Charles told the empty car, disheartened to realise that Laurie had already hung up.

Laurie began to walk towards The 10 Stop and safety. She felt light-headed as she navigated the dark and deserted streets of London, no doubt due to the amount of blood she had lost. Her ear continued to throb with a warm discomfort which told her that it was still bleeding out, which wasn’t a good sign. Once she was with Charles she would have to go to the hospital. Laurie was so consumed by her own thoughts that she failed to notice that the shadowy figure from the alley had returned and was now following her.

Chapter Fourteen

When you can’t see for looking

It had been a considerable number of years since Charles Lloyd had driven a car. When he lived in central London, there was no need to drive due to the abundance of public transportation options. Then, when he assumed the role of Deputy Prime Minister, it was no longer a viable option for him to risk driving himself around and he was assigned Henry, his driver.

But as the ability to swim lies dormant in the mind until needed, so does the function of driving. Charles easily navigated between gears and sped through the suburbs, his heart racing.

His own personal car was a black Mercedes-Benz. It was top of the line and, Charles felt, completely pretentious. The car had been a gift from Elaine’s side of the family when he became Deputy Prime Minister. At the time, he did ponder on what a strange choice of gift it was as he would have little use for it in his new political capacity. And so Elaine had inherited the vehicle, which Charles imagined had been her family’s intention with the gift all along.

Not that Elaine ever drove the Mercedes herself. Apparently the two litre engine was ‘far too much to expect a lady to manoeuvre’. And so she had hired her own driver. Or rather, there had been a succession of drivers employed because, sooner of later, they said something out of turn and annoyed Elaine to the point where she refused to be in the same car as them. Charles never got into the details of these frays; he merely agreed to let her appoint a new driver. He knew his wife and how difficult she could be.

As the Mercedes drew closer to the city-centre, the buildings which lined the streets grew in height and felt as though were encroaching in upon the vehicle. Charles had never noticed before how suffocating London could be. Despite the late hour, there were people wandering along the pavement. The lights from various cafes and nightclubs spilled out into the night, giving the darkness an eerie, artificial glow.

Charles tried to concentrate on the task at hand. City driving was difficult, even on roads which were almost deserted. There was a maze of interlinking streets and one-way systems to navigate with the added obstacles of numerous roundabouts, pelican crossings and red light systems. The Deputy Prime Minister began to feel overwhelmed. In his current state, his mind had gone into autopilot and plotted the route he had seen Henry drive so many times before, but now he was close to his destination and panic started to set in, disrupting his thought process.

His biggest fear was finding the nearest hospital. Charles had no concept as to the extent of the wounds Laurie had sustained. If she needed immediate help she would be relying on him to get her to the hospital. There was a built in satellite navigation system in the Mercedes, but Charles had no idea how to sync it all up.

As he drove, Charles kept a keen eye on the time. The digital clock on the dashboard told him that it had been fifteen minutes since Laurie had called. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time, each minute was precious.

The impressive structure of Big Ben loomed up in the distance, signalling to Charles that he was almost at The 10 Stop, and also reminding him of the frightening rate at which time was slipping away.

The streets were quieter now as the medley of people who came out at night thinned away. There were no nightclubs in this area, no theatres. Only dark shadows existed down the various side streets, and apparently people with guns. Charles tried to push the thought of the gunman to the back of his mind. He could deal with that later. Right now, he had to focus on getting Laurie to safety.

His hands gripped the wheel tightly as he continued to turn and weave through the streets of London. The Mercedes slid effortlessly through the darkness like a black missile locked onto its destination.

For reasons unbeknown to even himself, Charles’ mind decided to taunt him, reminding him of the excruciating pain he had felt when Lorna died, the way his heart had felt as though it had been ripped in two. His chest gave a dull ache, a reminder that the pain would never be truly gone, that he would carry it with him until the end of his days.

He drove past the familiar entrance to Downing Street. The black gates were sealed shut, preventing access.

The 10 Stop was not somewhere Charles had previously frequented, having only ever driven past. His heart felt as though it had surged upward and placed itself in his throat when he saw the small illuminated sign twinkle out at him from the dark. A neon sign on the glass door indicated that the café remained open all twenty-four hours of the day.

Luckily, the road was quiet and Charles was able to park right in front of the café. The Mercedes looked awfully out of place; something so expensive and exotic parked up outside a modest little café. It suddenly occurred to Charles that his presence would attract unwanted attention. The car itself stood out like a diamond in a bowl of pebbles. He could only hope that it was quiet within the café and that he could enter and collect Laurie without being seen.

Charles felt almost frozen with fear as he left the sanctuary of the Mercedes, the night air cooling his already ice-cold skin as it swept across his cheeks. He steeled himself for the sight of Laurie injured and pushed open the door to The 10 Stop Café.

It was a nice enough little café. Modest by London standards but with a cheerful and welcoming ambiance no doubt attributed to the lack of excess which tainted most eateries within the city.

Had Charles come in under other circumstances he would have quite liked The 10 Stop Café, and had he not been such a famous face in the country it would potentially be somewhere he could stop and enjoy a cup of tea whilst reading the paper. But as it was, he had no time to take in the quirks of the venue. Instead, he entered through the glass door to the gentle chime of the soft bell placed above it and desperately scoured the scattering of late-night patrons for Laurie.

Due to the hour, the café was all but empty. Only two booths were occupied. At one, sat a young man in a cheap suit, furiously typing in to his laptop and neglecting the plate of sausages and mash beside him. He probably worked for one of the prestigious law firms nearby and was desperately trying to meet an important deadline before the sun rose the next day.

At the other booth sat a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She was wearing a considerable amount of make-up and a low cut top which accentuated her heaving cleavage. She nursed a cup of tea and glanced up momentarily when Charles entered. He didn’t like to make assumptions about people or cast judgement but he guessed that she was a prostitute. A number of politicians had a real taste for whores, Charles had discovered during his time at Parliament, and it was not uncommon for late night rendezvous to be set up so close to Downing street at unassuming locations such as this.

The Members of Parliament from more distant constituencies were the worst offenders, blaming loneliness for their indiscretions. Charles knew that he had no right to judge them, having broken his own marital vows a considerable number of times with Lorna, and so he turned the other cheek and let them carry on. The girl scrutinized him from beneath her false eyelashes, no doubt recognising his face but struggling to place it.

The rest of the café was empty. There was no sign of Laurie. Panicked, Charles paced to the back and craned his neck into the kitchen area, considering that perhaps she had chosen to go and hide in there, away from plain sight.

‘Do you need a table?’ a tired-looking waitress came out and asked. She looked to be about forty, although the bags beneath her eyes perhaps belied her true youth. Her dark hair was scraped back into an untidy bun and the steam from the kitchens had made her skin glisten with sweat. She held a small notepad in one hand, pen poised in the other, ready to take Charles’ order.

‘Oh, goodness,’ she said suddenly when her fatigue faded away and she realised who she was addressing.

‘Forgive me being so abrupt,’ she apologised hastily, her eyes now wide with awe. ‘It’s been a long shift.’

‘It’s quite all right,’ Charles replied, managing to smile.

‘Can I get you something?’ the waitress asked uneasily as if she were unsure of the protocol for the situation. Should she courtesy, or was that just for the Queen? Would he be offended if she showed her back to him?

‘Actually, I’m looking for someone,’ Charles explained. He no longer cared about his station, or that his motives might be questioned and anyone inside the café could run to the nearest tabloid and sell their story. All he cared about was Laurie.

‘Oh?’ the waitress asked, her eyes briefly glancing at the hooker as though she was familiar with the usual requests from politicians.

‘Did a young girl come in here? She is very petite, with blonde hair. She might have been hurt.’

‘Hurt? Goodness me,’ the waitress sounded genuinely worried by this part of the description.

‘No, sorry,’ she said slowly, scraping back through her memory of the night. ‘Ain’t no-one like that been in here. It’s been a really slow night, only had one or two customers in.’

‘Are you certain?’ The question sounded sharper than Charles had intended.

‘Yeah, pretty sure.’

‘Is there any chance you missed her? She should have come in about twenty minutes ago.’

The waitress chewed on her bottom lip as she pondered on the question.

‘I guess she could have come in whilst I was out back dropping off an order, but in that case she must have left right away. They’ve been here for the past hour or so,’ she nodded towards the two occupied booths. ‘If she was here, they would have seen her.’

‘Thank you for your help,’ Charles told the woman sincerely before heading over the nearest booth which was where the suited man sat working.

‘Excuse me,’ Charles addressed him. The man looked up from his laptop, clearing annoyed to have been distracted, but as soon as he realised it was the Deputy Prime Minister speaking to him, his frowns immediately dissolved and he blushed profusely, his eyes reflecting a mixture of awe and bemusement.

‘I’m looking for a girl who might have come in here. Small, blonde, possibly injured.’

The man ran a hand through his hair as he considered his time in the café, which reminded him just how tired he was. He made a mental note to order yet another coffee in his attempt to work through the night.

‘I … erm,’ he began before shaking his head apologetically. ‘If she came in I wouldn’t have noticed,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been pretty consumed with my work.’

‘Dedication is admirable,’ Charles smiled, unable to switch off the politician within him even at such a crucial time.

‘You should know more than anyone what a slog it is to get to the top,’ the man answered respectfully. ‘Is it worth it?’

The question caught Charles off guard. Normally, he would give a standard answer which would strengthen his public image, but preoccupied as he was, he found himself doing something he rarely did; giving an honest answer.

‘No, not at all.’

Having left that bombshell of disillusionment with the young man. Charles walked over to the girl with the painted face. She smiled as he approached her and extended her limbs slightly, like a cat presenting itself to a potential mate.

‘Hey there,’ her words were soft and alluring which made Charles flinch with discomfort.

‘Did you see a girl come in here? Small, blonde.’

‘No, I’m the only girl working here tonight.’

‘No, she’s not …’ Charles managed to stop himself before saying the word ‘hooker’ which he sensed would not be well-received.

‘If you are after some company I’m sure we could work something out.’ Her eyes grew wide as she spoke, like a predator closing in on its prey.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Charles answered abruptly.

He strode over to the entrance of the café and sighed in despair. Laurie was not there and by all accounts had never been there that night. Which meant that she was still outside on the streets alone and injured. Charles felt fear seize at his chest when he considered the possibility that she had collapsed somewhere, her body overwhelmed by the extent of the damage caused by the gunshot. Or worse, whoever had shot at her had returned and delivered a secondly, deadly blow.

Charles dashed out of the café, the bell signalling his exit, and began racing along the darkened path, heading towards Downing Street, determined to locate Laurie wherever she was.

The streetlamps cast an eerie glow over the darkened pavements of London. In the distance shone the neon lights of the theatre district, but their sparkle did not extend down to Downing Street.

The Deputy Prime Minister traversed the city, previously oblivious to the nocturnal activities which went on in the capital. Charles’ anxious footsteps thundered along the pavement as he picked up speed, desperate to reach Laurie, aware that he was possibly racing against the Grim Reaper himself to find her.

Each alleyway presented no further clue to where the young girl could be. Every street was the same – dark and empty. There wasn’t even the usual spattering of the homeless nestled in shop doors, as the foot traffic in this part of town wasn’t great enough to warrant their presence there.

Charles’ tension grew as he felt as though he were on the verge of something truly awful transpiring. It was as if he was standing upon the edge of a great cliff and the next footstep he took would plummet him into oblivion.

‘Laurie, where are you?’ he asked the night, hoping against hope that some heavenly intervention would offer him an answer but there was nothing. He retraced her steps as best as he could, venturing all the way back to the offices at Downing Street and questioning the surprised night guard.

‘There hasn’t been anyone here,’ the guard assured the Deputy Prime Minister, silently curious as to why he was there. Charles kept his questions vague to avoid any unwanted repercussions from their exchange.

‘So, no-one has returned to the offices this evening?’

‘No, not a soul. Why, should they have?’

‘I’m just trying to locate some important documents,’ Charles lied whilst searching his mind for another location where Laurie could possibly be.

‘I can check who the last person to sign out was,’ the guard offered, desperate to be helpful. Charles didn’t respond which the guard took to be a positive indication and so he consulted the sign-out sheet from the table within his station.

‘It was …’ he guided his eyes down the sheet of names with his index finger, ‘Laurie Thomas, intern. She left at 10.25.’

‘Right thanks.’ Charles felt his heart turn to ice at the mention of Laurie’s name.

He left the guard and began making his way back to the Mercedes, aware that he may need to widen the net of his search and therefore would be in need of his vehicle.

He failed to notice the man lurking in the shadows near Downing Street who had heard every word of his exchange with the guard and was now hailing a black cab.

As soon as Charles was within his car with the doors locked, sealing him in, he removed his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled Laurie’s number. It rang out until her answer machine intervened.

‘You’ve reached Laurie, lucky you. Leave a message and I’ll consider getting back to you. Au revoir.’

Hearing the soft intonations of her voice and the mockery in the cheeky message felt like a knife stabbing its way through Charles’ chest. He immediately dialled again only to receive the same automated message. His hand was now trembling as he held the phone from fear.

‘Please be safe,’ he pleaded. He could feel tears threatening to erupt from his eyes but he had to fight to overcome them. His thoughts had to remain focused if he had any hope of finding Laurie.

Holding a hand to his temple, Charles tried to formulate some semblance of a plan. He calculated all the logical explanations for Laurie’s disappearance and concluded that perhaps she had already gone to hospital. Charles dialled a telephone service and asked to be directed to the nearest hospital. After four rings a woman answered.

‘Royal London Hospital.’ Her voice was sharp.

‘Can I have your A and E department, please.’ Charles requested.

‘Are you in need of medical assistance?’ the woman queried.

‘No, but …’

‘Then I must ask you to clear the line,’ the voice interrupted with prompt efficiency. Her automated response indicated that she spent the majority of her evening assessing emergency calls.

‘It’s my daughter,’ Charles blurted out in a panic, immediately recoiling at labelling Laurie as such, but knowing that it might help him gain more swift access to vital information.

‘Oh?’ If the woman felt any empathy her voice did not show it.

‘She hasn’t come home this evening and isn’t answering her phone which isn’t like her. I fear the worst and just wanted to check if anyone of her description had been admitted.’

‘Age?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Age. Of your daughter,’ the woman asked coldly.

‘Erm …’ Charles was suddenly startled, struggling to remember Laurie’s exact age.

‘Twenty … twenty-two.’

‘Height?’

‘Five foot … one, perhaps two.’

‘Hair?’

‘Blonde.’

‘One moment.’ Charles could hear the woman typing, her fingers smacking against the keyboard as she consulted the hospital’s database.

‘No-one of that description has been admitted this evening.’

Charles went to thank the woman for her assistance but the line had already gone dead. For a moment, he felt relieved that Laurie was not in the hospital, but then the sense of panic swiftly returned as he realised that it left him clueless to her whereabouts.

Lost for inspiration of where to look, Charles called her phone again to be met by the same message. Defeated, he leant back in his seat and regarded the night beyond his windscreen, resenting the fact that Laurie was out there somewhere, in need of help and he did not have the capacity to find her.

On the brink of despair, Charles leant his head against the steering wheel as he tried to calculate what he should do next. In his mind danced an image of Laurie smiling up at him warmly, her head titled slightly to the right which was the stance she often had when she was processing a new piece of information. Then the image giggled girlishly and Charles realised that it was Lorna, not Laurie. Or was it? It was as if the two twins were merging into one.

‘Dammit.’ Charles sat back up and raked a hand through his hair but the Laurie/Lorna hybrid refused to disperse. She taunted him with her coy looks and knowing smile. Then suddenly, the smile fell away and was replaced by a look of terror.

‘No!’ Charles shouted loudly to his own imagination. ‘I will find you! I swear!’

The silence was unbearable as Charles had only his own thoughts for company. He ran over the conversation he’d had less than an hour ago with Laurie, searching her words for any potential clue, but it was in vain. Everything she had said had led him to the small café near Downing Street, but something must have occurred whilst he drove over and now Laurie had vanished.

Charles went to call her yet again, anticipating only to hear her answerphone message, when his own phone suddenly vibrated within his grasp, signalling an incoming message. Intrigued, Charles read the screen and felt his heart stop. The message was from Laurie.

I’m back at my apartment. I’m fine, don’t worry. Just go home.

The abrupt tone of the message caught Charles by surprise. When they had spoken on the phone Laurie had sounded desperate. How could her mood have changed so severely in such a short space of time?

The words shone out from the display screen of the mobile device, taunting Charles. He questioned whether he should even believe them. Laurie had claimed that she’d been shot, how could she possibly return home? Surely she required medical assistance?

Perhaps her wounds were not as severe as she had feared, and fatigued from her distress she wanted only to return home and rest. Charles concluded that it was a plausible enough explanation but he still doubted its credibility.

Another ten minutes passed as Charles sat and contemplated the message. His heart continued to smack against his chest with a frightening ferocity indicating that he was still very much shaken by the night’s events.

After toying with his doubts, Charles decided to call Laurie, but as before, the number merely rang out before her voicemail cut in.

‘Is she sleeping?’ Charles pondered aloud as a new fear crept in to his mind; that Laurie, in a panic from her afflictions, had downed too many painkillers and now lay on her bed in a stupor, hours away from forever losing her mortality.

The last three words of her message were the cruellest. Just go home. The subtext was obvious; return to your wife and your marriage. Charles groaned in desperation. Had he played things so wrong? Did Laurie now resent him? His own mind raged with a thousand questions, questions which had been dormant since Laurie had entered his life. Now it was as though Lorna had died all over again and Charles was overwhelmed with the torrent of doubt which was flooding his thoughts.

Just go home.

Charles decided to do as Laurie wanted. He himself was weary as the adrenalin began to leave his veins, reminding his body of the extent of sleep deprivation it had been forced to endure. He needed the release which only liquor could provide.

Turning the key in the ignition, the Mercedes roared to life and Charles manoeuvred the car forward and headed home, as behind him the black cab also slid out into the night, following his journey out of the heart of the city.

Chapter Fifteen

Darkened souls

Charles drove home in a trance, his mind elsewhere as his body went through the motions of changing gears and turning the steering wheel. The fact that he had not found Laurie made his stomach churn at the fearful notion of what could have happened to her. On more than one occasion he had to suppress the urge to wretch. He continually tried to console himself with the fragile theory that Laurie was fine and now back at her apartment. Perhaps she had never really been shot, perhaps a car had backfired and she had mistaken the sound, fallen and hurt herself. It was plausible but Charles didn’t believe it for a second.

So lost was he in his thoughts, Charles failed to notice as he brought the car to a standstill on his drive that the lights within his home were now on, making the building stand apart from the other houses on the street, as it was the only one with illuminated windows. His wealthy neighbours were lost to slumber, dreaming up ways to expand their various empires or how to reign in their over-privileged children.

Standing there in suburbia, Charles questioned why he had even returned to the place which had never felt like home. He would find no rest within its walls, no solace in the arms of his wife. He needed to be with Laurie. He should have gone to her apartment, but he had earlier realised guiltily that he did not know where that was. He chastised himself for the oversight, aware that he should have endeavoured to find out months ago.

When he turned his key in the door and pushed it open, Charles finally noticed that all the downstairs lights were on.

‘Elaine?’ he called out in bemusement as he walked further into the house.

‘Honey?’ he shouted out for a second time when there was no response.

Shaking his head with confusion, Charles threw his keys onto the side board and removed his jacket. He imaged that Elaine had heard him leave and was now maddened and the lights being on was merely a precursor to her fury which she would surely unleash upon him. Normally, Charles would brace himself for the onslaught but not tonight. He was in no mood for a fight. He contemplated leaving there and then and heading to the nearest hotel for the night when a strange noise caught his attention. It sounded like a whimper.

‘Elaine?’ Charles called again, much louder this time, suddenly fearful that his wife had fallen and hurt herself and lay paralysed, waiting for his return. As much as he did not love the woman, he continued to care for her and he instinctively began to search through the various rooms on the first floor of the house.

She was not in the dining room, nor the lounge or the study. The lights were on in all of the rooms and Charles took a moment to switch each of them off as he left, before continuing with his search.

He opened the door to the kitchen, Elaine’s name upon his lips ready to be called out once more, when his mouth instead fell open in horrified shock at the sight which met him.

The kitchen was as it always had been. Dark pine units set against granite work surfaces. All the kitchen utensils were stainless steel and top of the range, yet Elaine rarely used them. The floor consisted of deep terracotta tiles which Charles had always been personally fond of, as they reminded him of a holiday he took to Italy when he was a young man.

But now there was a new, ghastly addition to the kitchen. One of the chairs from the small dinette table in the corner had been moved to the centre of the room, and upon it sat Laurie, bound and gagged.

The young girl looked up wearily at Charles, her eyes red and sore but lacking focus as though she had been drugged or had taken a severe blow to the head. Grey masking tape had been crudely strapped over her mouth, preventing any communication bar the whimpering sound which Charles had previously heard. A brown stain covered one side of her face, falling down to her coat – the remnants of the injury she had received from the gunshot. Laurie’s arms were bound behind her back and her legs were strapped to the chairlegs, rendering her completely trapped and unable to move even a fraction.

Charles felt tears prick at his eyes as he tried to overcome his shock and formulate words. He begun to run towards Laurie, to untie her, when he felt the cold cylinder of the barrel of a gun press itself against the back of his head. The Deputy Prime Minister froze and waited to be addressed by his unknown assailant.

‘Not a wise move to go and help her.’ Charles recognised the voice instantly. He turned in anger and stared at his wife, the gun now pointing between his eyes.

‘Elaine, what the hell is going on?’

Elaine Lloyd was perfectly still as she held the gun up to her husband as though she were made of stone. Her hair was immaculately styled as per usual. Her eyes were framed by fake eyelashes, her lips a dark shade of red. She bore no signs of a skirmish. Whoever had attacked Laurie, it had not been Elaine.

‘Where have you been at this late hour, sweetheart?’ There was more than a hint of mockery to Elaine’s voice as she asked the question. Frozen with uncertainty, Charles tried to gain perspective on the situation, struggling to understand what was unfolding before him.

‘Elaine, what are you doing?’ he asked, his voice now quieter, calmer. He recognised the gun she wielded in her hand. His security team had left it within his home in case of an emergency. It was usually locked away in a safe, hidden behind a portrait of a tranquil country field. Only he and his Head of Security knew the code to assess the safe, or so he had thought.

It was a handgun, shipped over from America. It boasted all of the latest technology; quick fire release and such, and operated with deadly efficiency. Charles had opted to store the gun loaded, in case when he needed it he had not the time to load the cartridge.

And now it was within Elaine’s hands. Despite her appearances as a housewife, Elaine Lloyd had grown up around guns. Her family loved nothing more than foxhunting and from a very young age, Elaine had been taught how to handle both a rifle and a shotgun. In her eagerness to keep up with her brothers, she would accompany them all out on hunts and made her first kill at the tender age of twelve. Little had her family known that they were actually training a potential killer.

On her fourteenth birthday Elaine had received the usual gifts which teenage girls are accustomed to; vinyl records of the latest bands, pretty clothes and make-up. But amongst these traditional presents was her very own rifle. Eager to use her new gift, Elaine took up pheasant, rabbit and pigeon shooting. She practiced with such regularity that she was soon a better markswoman than her brothers. Her mother lamented that it was an unladylike pursuit whilst her father beamed with pride, deep down silently pleased that, whatever mistakes his daughter made in life or wherever she ended up, she had the ability to defend herself, and if necessary, take another life.

So here Elaine Lloyd stood, gun in hand, the weight feeling familiar and comforting. She was a sharp shooter and Charles knew that even if he turned and ran there was no way that she would miss.

‘Goodness, you don’t look pleased to see me!’ Elaine remarked sarcastically.

‘Please, stop this,’ Charles pleaded helplessly, trapped beneath the aim of the gun.

Behind him, Laurie squirmed and the chair squeaked on the tiles.

‘Stop that!’ Elaine screamed, her gaze briefly glancing past her husband at the girl bound to the chair. ‘You’ll ruin my floor you little bitch!’

‘Elaine …’ Charles tried to address his wife again, attempting to fill his voice with false warmth which had clearly failed as she looked at him and scowled with contempt.

‘Just shut up!’ Tears had started to fall down Elaine’s cheeks as she yelled. For a moment a flash of hesitation crossed her features and Charles seized the opportunity.

‘Let Laurie go, she’s just a girl. Whatever is going on, we can work through this together. Nobody needs to get hurt.’ Charles tried to look Elaine directly in the eye but his gaze kept shifting to the gun in her hand, aware that it was still aimed at him.

‘Nobody needs to get hurt!’ Elaine scoffed angrily, the steely look of determination returning to her face. ‘What about me, Charles? Did you care when you were hurting me?’

‘Hurting you?’ the Deputy Prime Minister queried, bewildered.

‘Do you really think me so very stupid?’ His wife’s voice was now low and menacing.

Elaine walked past her husband, towards Laurie, and now placed the gun to the girl’s temple and relished at how she whimpered with fear.

‘Please, don’t hurt her!’ Charles begged.

Laurie could feel the cold of the metal pushing against her head with fervent intensity, no doubt leaving a mark. She imagined what would happen if Charles’ wife pulled the trigger; how her brains would splatter across the immaculate kitchen. She closed her eyes in anticipation for the end.

‘She’s done nothing wrong, let her go!’ Charles pleaded, assessing the room around him as he spoke, looking for something, anything with which he could attack his wife and gain control of the weapon she wielded.

‘I knew about the affair.’ The admission left Charles momentarily stunned. He had always assumed that Elaine was oblivious to what had transpired with Lorna. He was careful to conceal his tracks, or so he had thought.

‘Listen …’ Charles attempted to seize the opportunity to explain but his wife interrupted him.

‘How could I not have known?’ she asked, a desperate sadness creeping in to her voice.

‘You stopped loving me a long time ago, I know that, but I never thought for one minute that you would love another. That you could betray our vows like that.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Charles admittedly earnestly, hanging his head in shame.

‘I heard the whispers from your office but I didn’t want to believe them. I didn’t want to think that my husband could cheat. And then I became invisible to you so I knew it had to be true.’

‘Elaine …’ It suddenly dawned on Charles just how much damage his actions had caused to everyone within his life, but he was adamant that Laurie would not pay for his mistakes. She was innocent.

‘You’re not the only one with contacts,’ Elaine snapped angrily, still holding the gun to Laurie’s temple.

‘I hired an investigator, had him follow you around. I needed evidence and he gave it to me. You were so careless, Charles, sharing hotel rooms with the little slut. You risked everything and I went to great lengths to stop the truth coming out.’

Elaine now turned to look at Laurie, who looked up at her from behind terrified eyes like a rabbit in the middle of the road gazing into the headlights of the car which was about to drive over it, crushing its tiny body and sending its soul in to oblivion.

‘She was going to sell her story, your whore of a sister was. She was going to ruin everything Charles and I had worked for.’

‘What does that matter now?’ Charles queried, hoping to distract her and lure her away from Laurie.

‘She had to be silenced; I couldn’t let her destroy our legacy.’

‘Silenced?’ Charles echoed as the implications of the word became frighteningly apparent.

‘People will do anything for money,’ Elaine explained coldly. ‘They will drain the brake fluid from a car and then ensure that the police investigation fails to notice anything untoward.’

Bound to the chair and coloured with her own blood, Laurie silently wept. She had at last found the answer she was so desperately seeking, but it appeared that she would have to forfeit her own life in exchange. But it meant so much to her to know that Lorna had not killed herself; that she had not left her.

‘You killed her?’ Charles uttered in disbelief. ‘You killed Lorna?’

‘I personally didn’t,’ Elaine explained with inappropriate casualness. ‘Her car killed her; I just ensured that it would. She was going to the tabloids, Charles. She would have ruined everything. You would have been left with nothing.’

‘She didn’t deserve to die!’ Charles cried in anger, feeling sick at the revelation. He had been partly responsible for her death. He should have been more careful or taken more notice of Elaine and perhaps he would have seen the signs that she had known of the affair all along.

‘I did what I had to.’ There was no regret or remorse in Elaine’s voice, only cold acceptance. ‘I watched you mourn your mistress and my anger only grew. After everything I have done for you, everything I have sacrificed, how could you love her?’

‘You’ve sacrificed nothing,’ Charles spat bitterly, no longer caring if she turned the gun on him and fired, he already felt dead inside. ‘I gave you everything you’ve ever wanted; wealth, fame. You killed Lorna because you were afraid of what you would lose. You are nothing but a self-centred bitch who deserves to be left with nothing.’

‘Now, now Charles, watch your tone. Remember who has the gun,’ Elaine said in a patronising voice.

‘Had I known the little witch had a double,’ Elaine’s attention returned to Laurie, ‘I would have sorted her out long ago.’ She removed the gun from the girl’s temple and swiftly smacked it against her cheek, leaving a bright red mark and a bloodied nose before aiming the weapon once more at her husband.

Laurie’s face burnt from the impact, pain searing across her left cheek. She wondered if the blow had broken the bone.

‘I knew when your mood lifted that something must have happened,’ Elaine continued to explain, as Charles squirmed awkwardly beneath the barrel of the gun. ‘It didn’t take me long to uncover the source of your jubilation. Faye sings like a canary when you offer her a possible promotion. Ambition isn’t always a good thing.’

Elaine found herself smiling. She had spent months plotting how to enact revenge upon her husband for his indiscretions, whilst at the same time removing any anomalies which could usurp his position as Deputy Prime Minister. She relished how her plans were now coming into fruition. Soon it would all be over, and, in time Charles would thank her for what she did and realise just how much she loved him.

‘I hired a shooter to follow her home. Faye kindly held her back at work for me without asking questions. I was hoping to make it appear like she had been mugged. But when you left the house so suddenly, I realised they must have missed and that you were running to little bitch’s aid like some lovestruck teenager. One call and some of my contacts kindly bustled her into a van for me and bought her here. Did you like the text I sent you?’

Charles grimaced as he recalled the message and how he had thought it uncharacteristic of Laurie. He should have immediately sensed that something was wrong.

‘Don’t hurt her,’ Charles pleaded. ‘Her family have already lost one daughter; don’t make them suffer the loss of another.’

‘Fuck her family!’ Elaine screamed passionately, her voice cracking from the pain contained within it. ‘At least they’ve had children. They’ve watched them grow, nurtured them. Any pain they suffer now will be consoled by the love they once knew. How can you pity them but not me?’

‘Because we didn’t need children,’ Charles explained, still searching the surrounding area with his eyes for something he could use to distract Elaine long enough for him to overpower her and get the gun. ‘We were …’

‘Happy?’ Elaine finished for the sentence for him and then laughed. ‘We were many things Charles but we were never happy and I accepted that. I supported you and, in return, you gave me security. What we had, it wasn’t conventional but it worked. We can get it all back, our life. This whole episode needs only to be a bump in the road. With her gone, we can concentrate on us.’

Elaine now placed the gun at the back of Laurie’s head, pushing the barrel through her blonde mane until it connected with her scalp. Charles looked at her frightened eyes and felt disgustingly helpless.

‘Even now you gaze at her like a lovesick puppy!’ Elaine declared venomously. ‘As long as she lives, so does the love you had for her sister.’

‘Don’t!’ Charles cried as the sound of a gunshot splintered the air of the kitchen.

Laurie felt the warm blood splash against her and grimaced. Charles watched in horror as Elaine fell back against the floor with a sickening thud. The point where a bullet had connected with her upper chest collapsed in to a dark red cavern, oozing crimson liquid out on to the terracotta tiles. Elaine’s body trembled from the shock, her legs giving out a few meagre twitches. Charles felt compelled to go to her but he could not move for fear that the unknown assailant might deliver a second deadly shot, but this time for him.

He looked on helplessly as Elaine shook a bit more before becoming deathly still. It took a second for his instincts to kick in and then he was over by Laurie, ripping the tape from over her mouth and releasing her limbs from their constraints.

When the tape came off her mouth Laurie gasped and greedily drank in the air around her. She looked up uncertainly, and Charles readied himself for what she was about to say but her gaze drifted past him to the doorway to the kitchen.

‘Artie,’ she whispered. Charles turned to find a tall young man with a slender frame on the periphery of the kitchen area, a shotgun now hanging down by his side, the ramifications of what he had just done beginning to twist his youthful features.

‘Artie,’ Laurie said again as she tentatively rose to her feet and tried to run over to the young man. She pressed her aching body against Arthur’s and realised that he smelt of home.

Arthur held the girl he loved tightly and planted a gentle kiss upon her head.

‘I came to see you, and when you weren’t at your apartment late at night I got worried and headed over to your offices. That’s when I saw you get dragged into a white van and I knew something must be wrong. I just assumed that you would come here.’

‘How did you know where I lived?’ Charles asked accusingly, standing back awkwardly from the young couple, feeling alienated in his own home.

‘I followed you,’ Arthur answered simply.

‘That’s impossible!’

‘Telling a cab driver to follow another car isn’t so hard. I’ve been tracking you since Downing Street. You really should learn to be more discreet.’ Arthur shrugged modestly and then tightened his embrace of Laurie.

‘You saved me,’ Laurie whispered in to his chest.

‘That’s my job.’

Charles skulked away, remorseful that it was not his arms in which Laurie was now seeking comfort. He wandered over to Elaine and knelt down beside her. Her eyes were wide and lifeless with fear and so he carefully closed her eyelids, sealing her forever more in darkness. His first thought was how angry Elaine would have been about the state of her kitchen and Charles realised in that moment just how much he would miss her wife. He looked over at Arthur, the shotgun now on the floor beside him, no longer needed. Charles knew he was not blameless in all of this; he may as well have pulled the trigger himself. But Laurie was safe. That was the main thing.

The Deputy Prime Minister noticed how Laurie pulled away from the man in whose arms she stood and smiled up warmly at him. Charles recognised the expression well for it was the same one Lorna kept reserved for him. A familiar ache tugged on his heart as he thought on how he would never get to hold Lorna again, but the pain had dulled from its original intensity.

Laurie at last pulled herself away from Arthur and came over to Charles.

‘Your wife,’ she said softly, not daring to glance down at the fresh corpse on the floor. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s alright,’ Charles replied and he knew that it really was. ‘She would have killed you had … Artie not shown up.’

‘Arthur is my boyfriend from home,’ Laurie explained and behind her Arthur beamed at the introduction, relieved to have finally been reinstated as her romantic interest.

‘I’m sorry about what happened, about all of it. About Lorna.’ Charles felt pitiful to have only words to console Laurie. ‘You have every reason to hate me.’

‘I could never hate you.’ Laurie moved forward and hugged Charles, resting her head upon his chest. He looked down and drank in her scent. Even through the blood and sweat he could smell the sweet floral notes which he had associated with Lorna.

‘My sister loved you very much,’ she said solemnly, looking up at Charles. ‘You should know that.’

‘Thank you, that means a lot.’

Charles held Laurie and for a moment he let himself pretend that it was Lorna, that they were locked in their final embrace. He tried to burn the sensation onto his brain so that he could revisit it until the end of his days. This was the goodbye he had for so long yearned for.

‘I’ll never forget what you’ve done.’ Tears glistened on Laurie’s bloodied cheeks as she spoke.

‘You gave me the truth about Lorna. Now I know that she didn’t commit suicide, I can let her rest in peace.’

‘Yes, perhaps we will both be able to let her go now.’

‘Laurie,’ Arthur called from behind them. ‘We need to go.’

The petite blonde glanced up at the Deputy Prime Minister and smiled sadly.

‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’ she quoted, to which Charles nodded knowingly. ‘What will you tell the police?’

Charles glanced at Elaine, silent and at peace. ‘I’ll think of something,’ he assured the couple. ‘Now go home and live your life with twice the tenacity of before, because now you are living for Lorna also.’

‘I’ll never forget you.’

‘Nor I you.’

Arthur came and took Laurie’s hand and guided her out of the kitchen and out of Charles’ life.

***

‘This is Tracy Hancock reporting for BBC news,’ the young brunette reporter addressed the camera, trying to conceal her excitement about the huge story which had unfolded over the last hour, which the station had decided she could lead on. She was about to deliver the report which would make her entire career and her heart raced with anticipation.

Only forty minutes earlier, she had been awoken by a frantic phone call instructing her to assemble a crew and immediately head over to the Deputy Prime Minister’s house on the outskirts of London. Bemused, she had complied with the orders, wondering what had transpired during the night to warrant her leaving the comfort of her bed at three in the morning.

‘I’m reporting live from outside Charles Lloyd’s home,’ she informed the viewers. Around her a media circus had already set up as various new stations clamoured to deliver what would be the news story of the decade. Amongst the cameras, local police and specialist officers weaved their way in and out of the house with severe looks of concern plastered across their faces.

‘Earlier this morning, an unknown intruder broke in to the Deputy Prime Minister’s home and shot and killed his wife, Elaine Lloyd, in cold blood. Police are already on the scene as a country wakes up and tries to make sense of such a wicked, merciless act.’

There was a sudden surge of activity as Charles left the house, flanked by policeman. He kept his eyes to the ground as he was ushered to the waiting Bentley. He was whiter than the cliffs of Dover, clearly shaken by the sudden tragedy which had befallen him.

‘Known for her ample charity work, Elaine was a much-loved public figure, who will be sadly missed,’ Tracy continued. She imaged people at home waking up and switching on their television sets to receive her dramatic news. The image of the heartbroken Deputy Prime Minister would soon go global and within less than an hour, the entire world would know of what had transpired.

Charles watched his home grow smaller in the rear view mirror of the car, relieved to be leaving the sudden influx of journalists who were constantly growing in numbers. Elaine would be remembered as a martyr which was exactly what she would have wanted.

Epilogue

Sat cross-legged on her bed with the sun from her window bathing her in warmth, Laurie hurriedly flicked through the paper to the relevant page.

‘Woah, go steady, you’ll rip it!’ Arthur teased from the other side of the bed, where he lay reading a book.

‘Shhh,’ Laurie said as she became locked in concentration, scanning the page of text.

‘Here it is!’ she suddenly proclaimed gleefully, as though she had just uncovered valuable buried treasure.

‘Let’s see.’ Arthur crawled over to his beloved girlfriend and wrapped a protective arm around her, a habit he had developed ever since the shooting which had now been just over a month ago.

They both peered over the paper and read the tiny article which was locked away in the bottom left corner, seemingly insignificant to the untrained eye. The author was none other than John Quinn.

Over a year ago this paper reported that Lorna Thomas, 22 of Kent had committed suicide when her car collided with a tree. However, new information has recently been passed on to us which states that, on further examination, it appears that the vehicle Miss Thomas was driving was faulty and the cause of her death. We apologise for our original report and any hurt it may have caused.

Laurie read the words again and again, her mouth curling up into a smile. A solitary tear of joy dropped onto the paper above the section she was reading and blurred the text.

‘Let’s go show your mum and dad,’ Arthur suggested brightly.

‘Yeah, good idea,’ Laurie agreed as she followed him out her bedroom, no longer feeling quite so alone.

CARINA™

ISBN: 978 1 472 09472 8

Prime Deception

Copyright © 2014 Carys Jones

Published in Great Britain (2014)

by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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