by Carys Jones
‘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 dru
nk 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.
