Copycat: The unputdownable new thriller from the bestselling author of After Anna. Alex Lake
photos? Telling people that you have alfalfa sprouts in your smoothie?’
‘It is. And I’m amazed you know what an alfalfa sprout is.’ She paused. ‘But this isn’t my account.’
Ben frowned. ‘What do you mean? The photos are of you. And the kids.’
‘I know. But I didn’t know it was there until today. Rachel, the friend who sent a friend request, asked me which account was mine. I hadn’t set eyes on it until then.’ She took the phone and switched to her account. ‘This is me. The real me.’
Ben looked at the screen for a few seconds, then put the phone on the couch next to him. ‘So who set it up?’ he said.
‘That’s exactly what I want to know,’ Sarah replied. ‘I have no idea.’
Ben stared at her. ‘This is weird,’ he said. ‘But let’s think about it logically. Who could have set it up?’
‘I don’t know. No one.’
‘It would need to be someone who was at those places. And there aren’t many photos. About eight, in total? So it wouldn’t be too difficult to do.’
‘But no one was at all those places.’
‘Maybe it was someone who has access to your phone,’ Ben said.
‘But I didn’t take all those photos. Like the one of me and you at the Japanese restaurant. It looks as though it was taken from somewhere inside. It wasn’t me who took it.’
‘So either it was someone who happened to be at all those places, but who would have had a good reason to be there so you wouldn’t have noticed anything out of place, or it’s someone who knew you would be there and went – surreptitiously – to take the photos.’ He raised his hands in mock fear. ‘Which would mean you have some kind of stalker.’
‘Ben!’ Sarah said. ‘Don’t joke about it! It’s not funny!’
‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you have a stalker.’
‘Maybe not. But no jokes.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘No jokes. But let’s see if we can narrow it down. Let’s start with the most recent photo. We’ll remember that best. Who was at the beach yesterday?’
‘Lots of people. It was a hot Sunday in summer in Maine. Everyone heads to the water.’
‘Let’s list them.’
‘Mel was there, with Anthony and James. I think I saw Bill, her husband, as well. Then there was Jean and her two kids. Lizzie and Toby were there with their girls. And I saw Miles’s kindergarten teacher. She was at the other end of the beach to us.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘There were lots of people.’
Ben puffed out his cheeks. ‘All I can think is, it’s some kind of a joke,’ he said. ‘Someone’s winding you up.’
‘It’s a possibility,’ Sarah said. ‘But there’s still the question of who would do such a thing. Whoever it was would have to have been in all those places.’
‘Not necessarily. It could be a few of your friends. They could have shared photos with each other.’
‘I suppose,’ Sarah said. ‘But it seems a very elaborate trick.’
‘Well,’ Ben said. ‘I wouldn’t worry—’
Sarah’s phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and held up her hand to silence him.
There was a notification. From Facebook.
She opened it, and blinked. She did not believe what she was seeing.
‘Holy shit,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘It’s a friend request.’ She looked at her husband. ‘From me. From Sarah Havenant. From the fake account.’
Friend Request: Sarah Havenant. Confirm / Delete.
Sarah knew it was nothing, just digital information rendered into text by some software, but that didn’t stop her from feeling very disoriented. It was odd to see your own name and photo asking you to be a friend.
I’m Sarah Havenant, she thought. Not you. Not you, whoever you are.
‘Can I see?’ Ben held out his hand for the phone. He stared at the screen. ‘This is weird,’ he said. ‘Really weird. It’s got to be some kind of a joke. There’s no other explanation.’
There was a confidence in his tone which Sarah found reassuring. Ben was quick to analyze a situation – a legal case, a friendship, a problem with the kids’ behavior – and quick to understand what was important, which gave him a sense of clarity in the stages before the facts came in. It was how they had got married. They met in a club in London when Sarah was at a work conference there, and they’d kissed. Nothing more had happened that night, but they’d arranged to get together before she left. It turned out ‘before she left’ meant the next night, and the next, and the next. The last night she was there he told her they were going to get married.
She had laughed. It’s a bit early for a wedding, isn’t it?
Take it the right way, he said. It’s not a proposal. It’s a prediction. I can tell. I get the same feeling at work. We have some case come in and there are all kinds of competing opinions and contracts and noise and I look the guy in the eye and know he’s a crook. Which is the only important thing to know. And it’s the same with you. The only important thing is that I already know we’re getting married. The rest is merely details.
But I live in Maine. I’m at the beginning of a residency in a hospital in my hometown. And I’m only here until tomorrow.
Like I said, he replied, mere details. They can work themselves out.
And they did. The next day she decided to change her flight and stay on a while. They went to Stonehenge and Edinburgh and Durham and Hadrian’s Wall and then she really had to go home.
Once she was back in Maine, they had a long-distance relationship, a kind of relationship which she had always been convinced would never work, but in this case, it did: and it did because of Ben and his certainty. He called almost every day, visited once a month – he always came to her – and then, nine months after they met, he asked her to marry him.
Are you sure? she said, aware this was not the normal response.
Yes, he said. I’m always sure.
And it was this certainty that had led them to get married and for him to give up his legal career in London and move to Maine and have kids. It was a powerful force, his certainty, and she found it, in truth, a little frightening. It was fine when it was working in the same direction as her, but she had wondered, more than once, what would happen if it started to work in a different direction. One day he might decide their marriage was over, might analyze their situation and decide it was hopeless, and then his certainty would take him inexorably away from her.
But for now she was glad he had decided this Facebook account was nothing more than a joke. She only hoped it was true.
‘Have you talked to anyone else about this?’ he said. He had a thoughtful look on his face, as if something had occurred to him.
She shook her head.
‘No one at all? No one knows you found out about this?’
‘No one. Why are you asking? What are you getting at?’
‘The timing,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit – well, it’s a little bit odd, don’t you think?’
‘The