by Sue Fortin
I take another look and a surge of panic wells up inside me. I do not lose files. I am organised. I’ve never lost a file before in my life. I wrack my brains, trying to remember what was in the file. We’ve no doubt got copies of all correspondence on the digital files, but I’m not sure about originals. Shit, I’d have to reapply for certain legal documents. That won’t earn me any Brownie points, and then there’s the costs, not to mention the time delay.
I buzz through to Sandy. ‘Hi, Sandy, how much of the McMillan file do we have on digital?’
‘Probably about eighty per cent. Why, is there a problem?’
I don’t want to admit I’ve lost a file. ‘I’ve left the file at home. Where is the digital file stored?’
‘I’ll send the link through.’
‘Thanks.’ I didn’t miss the note of surprise in Sandy’s voice at my oversight.
The link comes through in less than a minute. I’d be lost without Sandy at times. God help me if she ever decides to look for a new job. I click on the link and open the yellow folder icon. I’m greeted with a blank screen and a message, which reads ‘this folder is empty’. That’s odd. I return to the link and go through the whole process again, only to receive the same message. I buzz Sandy again.
‘I’m getting an empty folder. Is that the right link?’
‘Er, it should be. Let me check.’ I can hear her tapping at the keyboard. ‘Right, here’s the file … open … oh, that’s odd. Let me try again.’ A sinking feeling drags from my chest to my stomach. ‘I’m sorry, Clare, I don’t know what’s wrong. The file’s empty. It shouldn’t be. I updated it last week.’
‘What about the office back-up?’
‘It’s a weekly back-up. I’ll ask Nina. She does that on a Friday.’
I sit patiently and when, some five minutes later, Sandy hasn’t got back to me, I get up and go out to find her. She’s at Nina’s desk. Both look up and I can tell instantly, by the looks on their faces, that it’s not good news. ‘What’s the verdict?’ I ask needlessly.
Sandy steps forwards. Nina had to go home early on Friday. She wasn’t well.’
‘Sorry,’ says Nina, her voice barely audible.
‘So who’s supposed to do the weekly back-up when Nina’s not here?’ I ask.
Sandy’s gaze drops to the ground. ‘Either me or one of the other secretaries. It’s no one’s fixed job.’
‘What? It’s just left to chance that one of you three will remember?’ That doesn’t sound like Carr, Tennison & Eggar. We’re much more organised than that. ‘What about last week’s back-up? They’re done on a four-weekly rotation aren’t they?’
‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, Clare, but I didn’t update the file last week,’ says Sandy.
‘How long are we talking since you updated the file? I mean, what weekly back-up will contain the most up-to-date information?’ I keep my voice calm. Inside I’m a mix of anger and panic. ‘Sandy, how far back are we talking?’ The impatience is surfacing.
‘Three weeks. I do it at the beginning of each month.’
‘Ffffff …’ I stop myself from swearing. Or at least I think I do. ‘For fuck’s sake! What sort of system is that?’ I don’t want an answer and march back down to my office, yelling over my shoulder. ‘The system is shit and needs an overview. We can all stay late tonight to sort it out and get a proper one in place!’
As I slam my office door behind me and slump into my chair, I’m hit with not only the hypocrisy of my rant, but how bloody rude I was too. There’s me criticising them, when, if I’d done my job right in the first place, the sodding file wouldn’t be missing.
‘Shit!’ I kick out at the wastepaper bin in frustration.
My door swings open with such force it bounces back from the rubber stopper that prevents it smashing against the wall. I jump and flinch as the memory of my father slamming open doors makes an unwelcome visit. I half expect to see Patrick Kennedy storming in. Instead, it’s Leonard. He throws the door behind him and it crashes against the doorframe as the latch clicks into the keep.
‘What the fuck is going on, Clare?’ He keeps his voice low, but the anger is apparent. ‘I could hear you ranting at the girls from my office. Good job I didn’t have a client with me. Not sure I can say the same for Tom, though.’
‘The back-up system has failed,’ I say in my defence. ‘The back-up system that isn’t actually a system – more hit and miss, if someone can be bothered to do it.’
‘That’s no excuse for you shouting and swearing, not at your staff, anyway. So unprofessional, not to mention downright rude.’
I hold up my hands in apology. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll apologise to Sandy and Nina.’ His eyes rest on me without moving. ‘It’s okay. You can quit with the death stare. I’ll apologise right now.’ I go to get up.
‘Before you do,’ says Leonard. ‘Can you explain to me what is actually going on?’
‘I haven’t got a file with me. I left it at home. I wanted the digital copy but it’s not up to date. Nina went home early on Friday and no one else thought to back up the week’s work. Sandy hasn’t updated the digital copy for three weeks. Subsequently, no one has up-to-date records. I have a meeting today and I need the info.’
‘What file are we talking about?’
I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. ‘The McMillan file.’
‘When you say you haven’t got it with you, where exactly is it?’
I feel like a naughty schoolgirl who has been caught out for not doing their homework. I briefly wonder if I could blame the dog for eating the file. I dismiss the flippant thought. I haven’t got a bloody dog anyway. ‘It’s at home.’
‘Can’t you nip back and get it, if it’s that important?’ I now wonder if I can buy a dog this afternoon and post-date the purchase to place the dog at the scene of the alleged crime. ‘You do know where the file is, don’t you?’
‘I thought I put it in my briefcase. Well, I did on Friday, but now it’s not there.’
‘You had it at home? Where did you read it?’
‘That’s just it. I didn’t. I was too busy in the end.’
‘The file’s lost. Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Possibly. But I need to check at home. Perhaps I did take it out and forgot to put it back. Or put it down without realising. Or put it in Hannah’s book bag.’
‘What?’ Leonard looks incredulous.
‘Sorry, that was a joke, that bit,’ I say, realising my attempt to defuse the situation isn’t going to work. ‘Look, I’ll postpone the meeting until later in the week. That will give me a chance to find the file.’
‘Of course, it would have to be the fucking McMillan file. You couldn’t lose some poxy petty divorce file, could you?’ I get the death stare again and look down at my desk, feeling truly admonished. ‘And don’t forget to apologise to Sandy and Nina.’
More door-slamming as Leonard leaves.
I debate whether to call home and ask Mum or Luke to have a look around for the file, but I decide against it. I’m not exactly flavour of the month there. In fact, I’m not flavour of the month here, either. I get up, grab my handbag and shoot out to the delicatessen over the road. I buy cream cakes and deluxe hot chocolates, with all the trimmings, squirty cream, chocolate sprinkles and marshmallows and take my peace offerings to Sandy and Nina, with grovelling apologies for being such a cow.
It’s good practice for the grovelling apologies I’ll have to make tonight when I go home. My phone pings with a text message. It’s Pippa.
Fancy a quick coffee aka a glass of wine? I’m in town. Xx
I smile at the message. I could do with a friendly face. I reply straight away that I’ll meet her across the road at the deli in an hour.
Sitting in the window of the deli, some sixty-five minutes later, my appointment with McMillan successfully postponed, albeit begrudgingly on his part, I start to feel myself relax for the first time today.
‘Your text couldn’t have come at a better time,
’ I say, wiping a line through the condensation on the glass of wine with my thumb. ‘Honestly, it’s been a pig of a day already.’ I fill Pippa in on the details, not just the missing file but the hoo-ha at home this morning.
‘What’s bothering you most? The missing file or Alice?’ asks Pippa.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply honestly. ‘The file, I can get over. It will be a pain, not to mention embarrassing, having to confess to losing all that info.’
‘And Alice? Can you get over her too?’
I stall for time by taking a sip of my wine. ‘I wish …’ I look away. ‘I wish it was easier with her. Everything has been turned upside down. I can’t put my finger on it but it just doesn’t feel right. Maybe I’m expecting too much. I’m not naive. I know these things take time, but it’s getting worse instead of better. It’s like she’s come into our lives in a blaze of glory and everyone has fallen in love with her, except me.’
‘Ooh, do I detect a note of jealousy?’
‘Is it that obvious? Jesus, I’ve suddenly found my jealous streak, the one I didn’t know I had. But it’s like …’ I struggle to complete the sentence, knowing it will make me sound so bloody childish.
‘It’s like she’s taking over your life,’ supplies Pippa.
‘Exactly. Don’t I sound pathetic?’ It’s a statement, not a question.
We finish our wine and Pippa orders us both a coffee. Personally, I could have done with another glass of wine, but knowing we both have to drive home at some point, a coffee will have to do. We sit in silence for a while and I can tell Pippa wants to say something. When the coffees arrive and the waiter disappears, she speaks.
‘I saw Alice in the village the other day. Did she tell you?’
‘No. I’m surprised you recognised her. I mean, you’ve only seen her once and that was at the party.’
‘Well, here’s the thing,’ says Pippa. She puts her cup down in the saucer and folds her arms on the table, leaning forwards. ‘At first I thought it was you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah, I did think it was funny that you were in the village on a working day but I thought maybe you’d taken the day off work, or something. Anyway, she was across the road, just coming out of the shop, and I was at the bottom of the hill. I called over, but she didn’t answer, so I shouted in that rather attractive fish-wife voice I usually reserve for Baz when he’s in his shed at the bottom of the garden and no one is about to hear.’
‘Why did you think it was me?’
‘I’m just coming to that. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, the way you do. The way you have now. She was wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans, a pair of Converse and, get this, a blue top with white and green fishes on it.’
‘A top just like my top,’ I say. ‘The one I bought when I was with you from that little boutique in The Lanes. The one I wore to the party on Saturday.’ I put my coffee cup down and lean towards Pippa. ‘She was dressed like me?’
‘So much so, as I said, that I thought it was you.’
‘And you spoke to her.’
‘Yeah, I said to her, I thought she was you and she laughed and said something about sisters looking alike, so I shouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Why would she do that? Dress like me, I mean?’
‘Look, Clare. I wasn’t going to say anything but, at the same time, as your friend, I feel I can’t not say anything. And feel free to ignore me. I mean, what do I know?’
‘Skip the disclaimer,’ I say. ‘Not necessary.’
‘There’s something about her I don’t like. It’s a gut feeling, women’s intuition, call it what you like, but there’s something off about her. A few times at that party I saw her watching you as if she was plotting some sort of revenge attack. She caught me looking at her once and the speed at which her expression changed, I almost thought I was imagining it. She smiled at me so sweetly it made me want to vomit. And you know how much I love sweet things.’
‘So I’m not imagining things, then?’
‘Nope. And the way she snuggled up to Luke at times, I did actually think it was a good job you couldn’t see her. If that had been my Baz, I would have marched straight over to her and donked her on the nose.’
I laugh at Pippa’s expression. ‘What even is a donk?’
She laughs too. ‘That’s what Daisy used to say she was going to do to Baz when she was about three and they used to play-fight. Daddy I’m going to donk your nose.’
I smile at the thought, momentarily distracted away from my troubles. I check my watch. ‘I need to get back,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the chat. I really appreciate it.’ Outside the deli I give my friend a hug, but before we part company, I can’t help myself ask one question. ‘Do you think I should be worried about Alice?’
‘If you’re asking me the question, then you already know the answer,’ says Pippa. ‘There’s something off-kilter with her. You may share the same DNA, but you definitely don’t share anything else. Although, I think Alice has other ideas on that score. The next thing you know, she’ll be turning up at the office pretending to be you.’ Pippa makes a loo-loo sound and twirls her finger at the side of her head before heading off to her car, giving a wave as she turns the corner.
I take a slow walk back to the office, pondering our conversation. By the time, I sit down at my desk, I’ve made up my mind about what I’m going to do. I get back up again.
‘Sandy, I’m going home early. I’ve a headache and I need to find this file. My diary’s empty for the rest of the day. If you take any messages, I’ll deal with it all first thing in the morning.’
‘Okay, no problem. Hope you feel better.’
‘Thanks. And I’m really sorry about earlier.’
I don’t bother telling Leonard and Tom I’m going. I’m too embarrassed to face them. I’ve no doubt Tom will say something about this morning’s debacle at some point, but for now, I’d rather not go over it again. I’ve more important things to do.
I get home some forty minutes later, the traffic a little heavy out of town, but once I’m on the B road to Little Dray, it’s a clear run. As I pull into the drive, I’m relieved to see two empty spaces in the carport. Mum and Alice have gone out. I think Mum said something yesterday about them going to Beachy Head. I ignore the suggestions that spring to mind as to what I’d like Alice to do at Beachy Head. Luke will have gone to collect Chloe from the nursery attached to the primary school in Budlington. I have about thirty minutes, tops, alone in the house.
Although I’m pretty certain the house is empty, I call out and do a quick sweep of the ground floor. Upstairs, I call out again and, confident everyone is out, I find myself standing in front of Alice’s bedroom door. There is always the possibility that she’s in there, resting or watching the TV, or whatever it is she does in there. I step forward and tap on the bedroom door.
‘Alice? It’s me, Clare. Are you in there?’
I’m met with silence. I place my hand on the doorknob and turn it slowly to the right. The spring inside the brass knob squeaks in protest. It’s squeaked for as long as I can remember. As a child, I always knew when Alice got up in the night, the squeak was a dead giveaway. The oak door brushes against the thick carpet as I push it open. I poke my head round into the room. The bed is made, the quilted blue-and-white eiderdown folded neatly down. The curtains are open and the sash window is raised a little, the net curtain flutters gently against the breeze.
I look further into the room at the door opposite. It’s the en suite. It used to be a big walk-in wardrobe, but it was converted as part of Dad’s renovation programme. He’d had a lot of things brought up to date in the old house, starting with en suites in all the rooms. I have a vague recollection of him and mum arguing one night in the kitchen. Something to do with bed and breakfast. I didn’t understand at the time but, looking back, as an adult, I think Dad wanted to open the house up as a B&B, but Mum didn’t. It was all academic, as it turned out. Dad was gone a few months later.
The en-suite door is ajar and I walk into the room, giving one more call of Alice’s name, just to be doubly certain she’s not in the bathroom.
The first thing I do is open the wardrobe. There are quite a few clothes hanging up and it strikes me Alice keeps her wardrobe in the same sort of order that I keep mine in. All the tops together, all the skirts, all the jackets, although Alice’s is a depleted version of mine. I reach for the tops and push apart the coat hangers. And there it is, the blue top with the green-and-white fish pattern is hanging up, right in the middle. So, Pippa was right, not that I ever doubted my friend, but it was something I needed to see with my own eyes. I’m then struck by the top hanging next to it. The blue-and-white striped t-shirt with the red piping on the sleeve. I have the exact-same one. I start to rummage through the rest of the clothing. A blue denim skirt, just like the one I wore with the fish- patterned top.
I take a step back from the wardrobe, as if I’m stepping away from the edge of a cliff. My head swims and I take a moment to steady myself as I feel off-balance. I close my eyes for a second and when I open them. I take another, more measured, look at the clothes. They are definitely the same as mine. Are they mine?
I dart out onto the landing and into my room, the next one along in the hallway. I yank open my wardrobe and pull at the garments, shoving the coat hangers apart, looking for the clothes I have just seen in Alice’s wardrobe. None of them are there.
‘They’re my bloody clothes,’ I say out loud.
The sound of my own angry voice pulls me up short. I can feel my pulse thumping in my neck and my breathing is coming fast and heavy. I need to get a grip. So what my clothes are in Alice’s room? She’s just borrowed them, like she did before.
I walk back to Alice’s room and go to retrieve them, but pause. Of course, I could play this to my advantage. I rearrange the coat hangers as neatly as I found them and close the wardrobe.
Looking around the room, my attention is suddenly drawn to the dressing table. In particular, the bottle of perfume on the side. It has a sliver top and the bottle is shaped like an hourglass. I know, without even smelling it, that it’s the Avon perfume I have on my dressing table. I smell it all the same to be certain. Where the hell did she get another bottle of that? It’s like gold dust, having been discontinued a couple of years ago. This will be just more proof.
