I don’t even know why I’m still writing this ‘diary’ in the fake essay folders and using initials . . . Surely ‘A’ can’t remotely access my computer? Can he? Am I just being paranoid? No idea.
Anyway – for the record I got a first for my Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland essay and that means I’m on target for a first overall. So proud. Mum will be thrilled. And ‘S’ promises me there’s absolutely no way he would grant favours. I earned the mark on pure merit, which is exactly the way I want it. He says I have a really bright future, whatever I decide to do – teaching or going into media or communications.
So I just need this period to come, please. Enough of a scare. Next diary entry I will be sharing my relief.
I mean – I can’t be pregnant.
I just can’t.
CHAPTER 20
THE FATHER – NOW
Ed takes in the wide-eyed stares, the matching scepticism on both their faces – Matthew Hill and DI Sanders.
‘You’re seriously telling us that your first wife believes you’re some kind of clone? That you’re a replica who’s replaced the real Ed Hartley?’ DI Sanders’ tone is unnaturally high. She glances at Matthew, eyebrows raised. This reaction, this precise look on their faces, is the very reason he never tells anyone . . .
‘Look, I know how it sounds. Trust me, I was every bit as thrown and as sceptical as you are right now. But it’s a genuine medical condition. Very rare but very real. Capgras Syndrome. Look it up.’
Ed watches the pair exchange another look of sheer astonishment.
‘Google it.’
Matthew’s taken his phone from his pocket. ‘How are you spelling that?’
‘Here. Look.’ For speed, Ed taps it out on his own phone and holds up the screen to show them.
He waits while they put in searches on their own mobiles and watches closely as they both read, frowning as they skim between pages. He remembers his own disbelief when he first sat across the desk from the specialist who diagnosed Laura.
He jiggles his right foot up and down. He wants them on side but also wants them to hurry up; to get on with it. Surely they must see now that all he needs, urgently, is official help to check that Laura’s OK. That she’s with her parents somewhere. That she’s in no way involved with what’s happened to Gemma.
‘Grief. I’ve never even heard of this.’ DI Sanders is wide-eyed. ‘So it’s mostly women?’
‘Apparently. Look – can you just phone Canada? The police in Canada.’ Ed uncrosses his legs. ‘I just want to know where Laura is, that’s all. She’s probably with her parents, don’t you think? If she’s been discharged. We just need their new address. They’ve obviously moved.’
DI Sanders now looks up at him directly. ‘First, you need to talk us through exactly what happened. I need to understand what we’re dealing with here before I speak again to the authorities in Canada.’ She’s checking her watch, probably working out the time difference.
Ed takes in a deep breath. It feels so alien, talking about this. Saying it out loud. He’s spent so many years burying this deep, deep inside himself, it’s almost as if he’s made it not real. As if Laura is right and he isn’t Ed Hartley; that this is the back story of a different person.
Who are you? What have you done with my husband?
It feels suddenly very hot in the room. Ed pulls at his shirt collar, wishing he was in a T-shirt. He looks up at the window in the corner of the room and, for a moment, it’s like time travel. He’s right back in his kitchen in Canada. He’s slumped at the kitchen table with his head in his hands – listening to the shouting from upstairs as Laura’s mother tries to calm her daughter down.
Go and look for yourself, Mummy. It’s not Ed. I don’t know what he’s done with Ed. He won’t tell me . . . We have to find Ed. We have to find the real Ed.
He remembers a shadow cast on the wall from a plant on the windowsill. Laura loved house plants. Green fingers. Why is he remembering that?
‘We had to call in a doctor, then a specialist. Laura moved in with her parents but she got worse. Became more and more difficult to manage. At first we all assumed it was something temporary. A psychotic episode that would pass. But every time we trialled her seeing me, every time I walked into the same room, she became hysterical. She couldn’t understand why other people couldn’t see what she was seeing. She insisted I wasn’t me. It took quite a long time to get the proper diagnosis. It was all horrible. At one point she had to be sectioned. They had to sedate her and take her away in an ambulance. It broke her mother’s heart.’