Free 1514642093 (R) by Amanda Dick Page B

leaning back on the counter, watching her. I wasn’t sure what to say. She had to have noticed the similarity between her and Em by now. Even though I could only see her face from the side, I knew she had. She stood there, transfixed, then backed up slowly and sank down into the couch behind her.
    “Who is she?” she asked quietly, turning to me. “The girl in the photos?”
    The girl in the photos.
    My heart wanted to argue that she wasn’t just the girl in the photos, but my head realised very quickly that that’s exactly what she was. She was past tense, not present.
    “Emily,” I said, just as quietly. “Her name was Emily. She was Bridget’s daughter.”
    “Was?”
    Was, as if she were no longer here, not as if she were dead. This was where it got tricky. “She disappeared, five years ago. We don’t know what happened to her.”
    She looked as if she was going to cry and I hoped like hell she wasn’t. I was only just managing to hold it together myself, but seeing her cry would tip me over the edge, I could feel it. The unresolved guilt, followed by a barrel full of grief, was burning a trail up from my gut, making its presence felt. I swallowed it down. Not here, not now.
    “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
    The kettle switched itself off, and I just nodded in reply, turning my back on her and grateful for something to do. I took my time stirring both coffees, then walked into the living room, handing one to her. She took it, looking up at me as I wracked my brains for something to say.
    “When I met Bridget, she said I reminded her of someone. She didn’t say who,” she said finally. “She was your girlfriend?”
    Was. Is. Who knew what she was – what I was – anymore.
    “Yeah,” I mumbled, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly.
    I sat down beside her on the couch. The horror of that night and the following weeks crashed into me. Endless days and nights of uncertainty. Mounting anger, building right along with frustration. Guilt. An empty bed. A heart that wouldn’t stop breaking, over and over again. Each morning, waking up with the hope that today would be the day. Each night, going to bed alone, with a fresh wound.
    Maia’s voice came at me from a distance, until I found myself fighting my way back to my living room again. “Sorry, what?”
    “I said no wonder Bridget was a bit strange the first time I met her. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.”
    I didn’t see any need to lie. “I think we were all a little blown away, to be honest. The similarities are…”
    “Yeah,” she murmured, turning back to the photos on the wall opposite. “I can see that.”
    She looked anxious, scared even. I tried to lighten the mood and make her feel more at ease. “They say everyone’s got a doppelganger. Y’know, someone who looks just like them, somewhere in the world? I guess you found yours.”
    I followed her gaze. Photos of Em, of both of us, of both our families. I knew them all by heart, yet I found myself seeing them for the first time, only from a different perspective. What did they say about me, what story did they tell?
    “It must be weird for you – for both of you,” she said.
    I tried to shake it off. “Must be even weirder for you, finding out you have a double.”
    She gave me a weak smile. She’d arrived here just minutes ago, excited. Now she looked close to tears. Maybe Alex should forfeit his nickname to me.
    “Yesterday was her birthday,” I said. “Same day as Vinnie’s, three years apart.”
    Maia cringed. “God. What horrible timing. I can’t believe she was so nice to me – and she gave me a job! I feel terrible.”
    “Bridget’s an old hippie at heart. She believes in signs, fate, karma – all that stuff.”
    “What about you? Do you believe in signs, fate, karma and all that stuff?”
    Normally, I was so good at dodging questions like this. A shrug, a smart-ass quip and a quick change of subject. I was an expert. But not with Maia, not