‘Ssshh,’ she says, finding his lips with her fingers in the darkness. She’s heard enough tech speak for one night. She doesn’t know whether he’s telling the truth or not. She doesn’t care any more. All she knows is that she’s got her man back.

  ‘I’ve lit some candles in the bedroom,’ she says, running a finger around his mouth.

  ‘I’m enjoying the darkness,’ he says, sliding a hand inside her dressing gown.

  ‘Me too.’

  Because she can’t see his face. And she has no wish to, either. Not in this moment, not tonight.

  ‘So what did you say to Jake?’ he asks. ‘We don’t want anyone worrying unnecessarily.’

  ‘I didn’t get through to him,’ she says, wishing they could talk about something else now. ‘I think the blinds shut out the signal.’

  ‘They’re a bit excessive, I know, but it comes with the package. I’ll get them fixed in the morning, when the power’s back.’

  ‘Why do you need to lock down this place anyway?’

  ‘Can’t be too careful,’ he says.

  They’ve talked about it before, his obsession with security. It’s one of the few things they disagree about, and now’s not the time for another argument.

  Two minutes later, they are undressing each other in the bedroom, where the candles cast a faint, votive light on their naked bodies. She keeps her eyes averted in what she hopes he interprets as shyness. As she thought, it’s not bright enough to see his face, but she doesn’t want to take any chances. She also makes sure he’s in her right field of vision.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ she says, disentangling herself from him. ‘Surprise time.’

  ‘That sounds exciting,’ he whispers.

  She reaches for the drawer beside the bed and removes a burnt-orange silk scarf that Rob bought her. She put it there earlier, before the power cut helped her out. All part of the coping strategy that Ajay suggested – using her brain’s auditory pathways to re-establish a connection with Rob. She’s not sure a scarf was quite what Ajay had in mind, but she blindfolds herself with it, tying the silk tightly, and lies down on the bed, wondering if it’s still necessary given the power cut. She can’t risk the lights coming back on without any warning.

  ‘You can open them now,’ she says, her heart racing.

  She hears a small intake of breath. And then he’s moving towards her, bending down, kissing her neck and breasts, her stomach. She knows it’s Rob – his voice, his touch, his smell and taste, each sense heightened by the darkness. She can feel herself relaxing.

  Their hands start to explore each other, reaching down and slipping between, searching and caressing. She could get used to wearing a blindfold. It makes her feel powerless and empowered, vulnerable and in control. Rob seems to like it too. His young body is taut and smooth, like a swimmer’s, hard and firm in her blind hands. He’s been dropping hints recently about being more adventurous in the bedroom, but she hasn’t had the energy until now. And then she tastes salt and realises that he’s crying. He’s never cried in front of her before.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she says, pulling away.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he says. ‘I just don’t want this to end.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to,’ she whispers, rolling over on top of him. The darkness is thrilling; it’s like it’s their first time as she feels her way around his body. She’d forgotten the intensity of physical attraction. Sex with Jake had become numbed by habit. No sparks any more. She leans down to nibble Rob’s ear and lets him in with a gasp. ‘As long as you can keep going.’

  And he does, gently at first and then more urgently, bringing her to a climax so intense that she finds herself shouting, purging her mind of tonight’s earlier dramas, all thoughts of doppelgängers. Maybe of Jake too. At least the shutters have some use, insulating their cries from the neighbours. Even creating ripples around the narrowboat used to make her self-conscious.

  Afterwards, they lie on their backs in the dim candlelight, Rob to Kate’s right. She’s taken off the blindfold and her eyes are closed. She knows she hasn’t got long before he falls asleep. She needs to ask him about what happened on the beach in Thailand nine years ago and she hopes that he will answer her questions in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

  ‘Rob?’ she asks.

  ‘Mmm?’

  She’s already losing him, but she needs to make a confession.

  75

  Jake

  ‘I think we should turn around and head home,’ Bex says as they drive along the almost empty motorway towards London.

  Jake glances across at her. The light from the car’s large landscape touchscreen between them casts an eerie glow on her face.

  He knows she’s right. They’ve discussed what Hart said about Rob, how Kate’s safe if she’s with him. Hart didn’t tell them why he’s so sure, but an iMessage has also come through to Bex’s phone from Rob. It’s in reply to the voicemail message Bex left earlier, explaining as casually as she could that she had been trying to contact Bex.

  Jake looks at her phone again and rereads the text, stroking Stretch, who has stirred on his lap.

  Hi Bex, just picked up your message. All good. Kate sleeping in the flat. Think the journey wiped her out! Sure she’ll call you tomorrow. R x

  ‘When do you think it was sent?’ Jake asks, putting the phone back in the dock. ‘Before Kate rang?’

  ‘Could have been any time tonight – iMessages seem to turn up when they want on my phone.’

  ‘Before she rang us?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Bex glances at a road sign that looms up in the darkness outside. ‘I’m coming off at the next junction, unless you’ve got any better ideas?’

  Jake thinks again about Kate’s voice on the phone. They don’t know exactly where Rob lives, that’s their problem. He’s never been able to find an address for Rob other than the house in Cornwall, where every one of his business interests seems to be registered. He suddenly despairs at the thought of driving around Shoreditch all night.

  ‘You’re right,’ he says.

  But he doesn’t feel comfortable at the thought of abandoning Kate. To distract himself, he starts to skim through the various settings on the touchscreen. He hears Kate’s voice again, her worried tone. And he’s haunted by the thought that Rob might not have met her by chance at the hospital.

  ‘Does Rob know his car’s not in Cornwall?’ he asks, still fiddling with the screen. It’s bigger than his old TV on the boat.

  Bex glances across at him and then the screen. ‘How could he?’ she asks.

  ‘This thing’s a computer on wheels, Bex. And there’s a feature here called “Tracking”.’ He opens up a new window on the screen. ‘I’m guessing it all works off an app on Rob’s phone.’

  ‘Shit, really?’ Bex throws him a nervous look.

  They drive on in silence, the Berkshire countryside slipping past them in the darkness. Jake hasn’t been this fast in a car for a long time. Another sign says that the next junction is in half a mile.

  ‘Thanks for letting me stay in your house,’ he says after a while.

  ‘Glad I could help. Not every day your boat’s gutted by fire.’

  The arson attack seems a long time ago already.

  Bex starts to tap her fingers on the steering wheel, as if she’s suddenly nervous. ‘Your beard’s nice by the way,’ she says. ‘Much better trimmed.’

  ‘Thanks.’ It’s the first compliment Bex has ever paid him. He hopes Kate liked it too. Noticed he’s making an effort with his appearance. She always hated his hands, but he hasn’t been able to do much about them. The oil stains seem to be ingrained, impervious to brushing.

  ‘You’ll blend in right well in Shoreditch,’ she adds.

  Jake is not sure if her compliment has just turned sour. He’s never seen himself as an urban hipster. More of a washed-up hick. They drive on in silence. Bex starts to indicate to turn off at the approaching junction. And then Jake has an idea.

  ‘Hang on,’ he says, leaning forward to use the display screen again.

  ‘What you doing?’ Bex asks, glancing at him.

  ‘This is Rob’s Cornwall car, right? But I’m guessing he’s kept it in London too at some stage?’

  ‘Nothing would surprise me,’ Bex says. ‘Although Kate did mention once that he was thinking of buying another one for London. Never likes to do things by halves, does Rob.’

  Jake googles the postcode for Shoreditch High Street and then fires up the satnav on the car’s display screen.

  ‘If I put in “Home” on the satnav,’ he says, typing on the screen, ‘it will take me to… Cornwall. OK.’ He glances at Bex’s phone again. ‘But what if I type in the postcode for Shoreditch… N1… Bingo.’

  Predictive typing has kicked in, as he suspected, and a full postcode in Shoreditch is now displayed on the screen, which means it must have been entered at least once before.

  ‘I bet you this is where Rob lives,’ he says, activating the route. ‘And where Kate called from.’

  ‘Keep going?’ Bex says, turning off the indicator.

  ‘We owe it to Kate.’

  76

  Kate

  ‘I have a confession to make,’ Kate says, pulling up the sheet, her eyes still shut.

  ‘Were you faking it?’ Rob mumbles, barely awake.

  She prods him in the ribs. They’ve just had the best sex she can remember.

  ‘You know when you said you’d seen me on Facebook and I denied it?’ she says.

  ‘Mmm…?’

  She takes a deep breath.

  ‘Well, I was on there.’

  ‘Worse crimes have been committed on social media,’ he says, his voice almost inaudible now.

  ‘I was talking to one of your old friends.’

  ‘Who?’

  That’s woken him up. Is she making a mistake?

  ‘I’d rather not say,’ she continues. ‘It’s not important. I was just trying to arrange a surprise.’ She thinks back to what Jake told her, keen to stick as closely as she can to his story. ‘For your thirtieth birthday.’

  ‘You know I don’t like being reminded of my age. Or surprises.’

  ‘That’s why I’m telling you now,’ she lies. ‘You liked my surprise tonight.’

  ‘That was different.’ His voice is fading. She hasn’t got long.

  ‘This friend of yours told me what happened in Thailand,’ she says, ‘on the beach.’ She tries to conceal her nerves, but her voice is shaking. ‘I realise you don’t want to talk about it,’ she continues. ‘I just want you to know that… well, that I know. And I understand. It must’ve been frightening.’

  It’s a while before he speaks. ‘That’s all in the past,’ he says. ‘And you’re right, I don’t want to talk about it.’

  She should leave it at that, but she can’t help herself.

  ‘Why?’ she asks. ‘Are you worried that he’ll come back?’

  Silence. And then he speaks again, his voice so quiet that she can hardly make out what he’s saying.

  ‘Every day I wake up scared, wondering if he has found me.’

  She lies there, frozen. Can he hear her heart? She’s suddenly conscious of how loud it’s beating.

  ‘Then we should talk about it,’ she manages to say, opening her eyes, relieved that he’s finally opening up. ‘Share these things.’

  But her relief doesn’t last long.

  ‘And do you know what frightens me the most?’ he continues. ‘The thought that he might do a better job at being me.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ she whispers, her mouth drying. ‘You’re doing so well. Look at everything you’ve achieved. No one could beat that.’

  More silence, broken only by the sound of his slow breathing.

  She stays awake for a long time, replaying his words. How could someone else do a better job of being him? She thinks of the Rossetti painting in Cornwall, the books on his shelf, including the du Maurier, the unnerving sight of him talking in fluent French on the TV.

  Just as she’s drifting off, the power comes back on, flooding the room with light.

  She blinks in the brightness. Rob is sound asleep beside her, his body turned away. She rolls off the bed, removing the scarf completely, and walks over to the light switch. The main bedroom light must have been on when the power went, but she hesitates as she reaches to turn it off. Trying to ignore a rising nausea, she creeps back over to Rob’s side of the bed and closes her eyes, standing to his right. One. Two. Three. And then she looks down at his him and gasps, this time in pure fear.

  Is it Rob? She needs to be brave, sort this once and for all. Feeling dizzy, she forces herself to kneel down beside his sleeping body. Her scalp begins to tingle as she looks at his legs first, tucked up towards his smooth, flat stomach, and then his chest, his bony shoulders, his long arms. Taking a hand in hers, she feels his fingers one by one, so clean and delicate, and rubs them gently. His breathing is steady, uninterrupted. And then she summons the courage to look at the full lips she has kissed, the curve of his resting eyelids, the hollow of his cheeks, careful to study each feature individually rather than look at the whole face, as she’s been trained to do. She reaches out, touches his hair. Is this the man she loves? He stirs a little. Has he heard her thumping heart? The voice in her head? Leaning forwards, she moves her mouth close to his ear. ‘Je sais qui tu es,’ she whispers. ‘Et je sais pourquoi tu es venu ici.’ She knows who he is – and why he’s come here.

  Rob’s blue eyes flash open. They stare at each other, his face a picture of pure shock. It’s not Rob. She gets up and starts to back away, one hand to her mouth, telling herself it’s all in her mind, that Rob’s had French lessons, that it was his voice tonight, that she’s suffering from Capgras syndrome. But it’s no good. He was to her right, she can’t deny it. She doesn’t have Capgras. When she’s out of the door, she runs to the bathroom and throws up just as she reaches the loo. Tears stream down her face as she retches and retches again. Every sense in her body told her it was Rob who came tonight. Every sense except her sight, her trusted eyes, and she did her best to stop them from ruining things.

  She so wanted to believe it was him, to prove to herself that she hasn’t been going mad. Now, though, it seems she’s wrong. The man in the bedroom is a stranger. The smoke has returned, swirling and choking. Should she go back into the bedroom and challenge him again? Ask him straight out if he’s his doppelgänger, Gil from Thailand, here to take over Rob’s life, this apartment, her?

  ‘Kate, are you alright?’

  Rob’s voice, behind her. She clutches at the loo bowl for strength. Or is it to stop her hands shaking?

  ‘I’m OK,’ she says, her back still towards him. Please don’t come any closer. ‘Must have been something I ate,’ she adds.

  ‘Kate, I’m sorry, I hope it wasn’t the crayfish. It’s usually so good.’

  ‘I don’t think it was that,’ she says. ‘Maybe I just drank too much wine tonight.’

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ he asks.

  Is he coming nearer? Please God, keep him away. She can’t cope with this any more.

  ‘I’m OK, just need to stay in here for a bit. On my own. You go back to bed.’

  ‘You sure?’

  Rob’s voice, Rob’s sympathy… What’s wrong with her? She should turn around to look at him again, but she can’t.

  ‘I might sleep in the other bedroom, so I don’t disturb you,’ she manages to say.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ he says kindly.

  She closes her eyes as she hears him walk back to the bedroom.

  77

  Jake

  ‘Do you trust him?’ Jake asks as they drive on towards London.

  ‘Who, Rob?’ Bex asks, moving to overtake a solitary lorry on the motorway.

  Jake nods, shifting in his seat. It might be his imagination, but it’s feeling a little warmer in the car than it was.

  ‘He’s been great for Kate,’ Bex says. ‘The Rob I know. The real Rob.’

  ‘But do you trust him?’ Jake repeats.

  ‘Yes, I trust him.’ Bex casts him another glance, as if wondering where he’s going with this. ‘So does Kate.’

  Jake turns away and stares out of the window, watching a group of workmen in high-vis jackets behind a line of flickering traffic cones on the motorway’s hard shoulder. He used to write from dusk until dawn in his last days with Kate, but it wasn’t because he was a natural night owl. It was because she was asleep in their bed and he couldn’t bear to feel lonely lying beside her.

  ‘She trusted you too,’ Bex continues.

  He squirms in his seat. It was inevitable that at some stage they’d talk about what happened between him and Kate. And now seems as good a time as any. According to the satnav, it’s another hour before they reach Rob’s house in Shoreditch.

  ‘That’s what made it so hard for her,’ Bex says. ‘We all know she can be a bit skittish, likes to flirt with everyone, but she would never have been unfaithful to you. Not in a million years.’

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I messed up.’ He thinks about opening a window. Maybe it’s hot in the car because he’s burning with shame.

  ‘Who was she, by the way?’ Bex asks, failing to sound casual. ‘Kate never said.’

  Jake tries not to think about that day if he can help it. It was not his finest hour. One of the worst in his life, in fact.

  ‘Kate never asked,’ he says. ‘And I never told her.’ He pauses. ‘I didn’t even get her name, her real one.’

  ‘No way.’ Bex throws him a mischievous smile.

  ‘I’d been drinking in Swindon,’ he says. ‘Dark days. Things were pretty bad between me and Kate. For some reason I decided to download a dating app. I’d never done anything like that before – no need – but I’d just read an article about the online dating scene and thought I might include it in the next book. At least, that’s what I told myself.’

  ‘All in the name of research.’

  ‘Exactly. So I downloaded the app and headed for the busiest area I could think of, the Brunel Shopping Centre.’