Copycat. Alex Lake

       11

      In the evening Sarah googled herself again; in the morning she repeated the exercise. She was there – her MD page, some records from 10k and half-marathon races she had run, a photo of her and Jean at a charity dinner that had made it into the Portland newspapers – but there was nothing from her doppelgänger.

      The other Sarah Havenant was nowhere to be seen.

      She wondered whether it was an error of some kind in Facebook itself, a bug in the code that created shadow profiles then shut them down when it realized they were there. It was unlikely, but so were the alternatives.

      Either way, it was gone.

      ‘So,’ Sarah said. ‘What are you going to call it?’

      ‘Is it ours?’ Miles asked.

      ‘Sure,’ Sarah said. ‘All yours.’

      ‘And we can call it what we want?’ he said.

      ‘As long as it isn’t rude, then yes.’

      She, Ben, Miles, Faye and Kim contemplated the new goldfish. It swam contentedly around its new home.

      ‘I’m calling it Faye,’ Miles said.

      ‘You can’t call it after your sister,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s a fish.’

      ‘I want it to be called after me,’ Faye said. ‘Faye the fish.’

      ‘It’ll be confusing,’ Sarah said. ‘Let’s think of another name.’

      ‘You said it’s our fish,’ Miles replied. ‘And Faye’s not rude, so if we want to call it Faye, we can.’

      ‘He has a point,’ Ben said. ‘It is what you promised.’

      ‘But then we’ll have two Fayes,’ Sarah said. ‘And I don’t want to.’ What she was thinking about was the day – which was inevitable – when the fish died. She didn’t want the words Faye is dead spoken in the house, even about a pet fish.

      ‘But it’s ours!’ Faye said. ‘Mommy, we’re calling it Faye. And you can’t stop us.’ She turned to the tank. ‘Hello, Faye,’ she said. ‘That’s my name too.’

      ‘There you go,’ Ben said. ‘Faye the Fish it is.’

      Rachel Little, it turned out, was coming back to Barrow later in the week. She sent Sarah a message to let her know, and to ask whether she wanted to meet up over the weekend.

      Sarah didn’t, particularly, but it was hard to say no, so she suggested a coffee on Saturday morning at the Little Cat Café.

      I’ll have my youngest with me, she said. Hope it’s OK.

      Kim? Rachel replied. Fine. Would love to meet her.

      Sarah was jarred by the fact this stranger – because Rachel was a stranger, after all these years – knew her kids’ names, and she almost cancelled, but she reminded herself that, had it not been for the fake profile, she wouldn’t have noticed that someone knew what her children were called. The information was out there for anyone to see, after all.

      A lot of information was out there for anyone to see.

      We’ll be there, she replied. And welcome back.

      ‘Sarah?’

      The voice came from behind her and she turned to face the speaker. At first she did not recognize Rachel. The last time she’d seen her – twenty years ago – she’d been tall and gangly and wild-haired and badly dressed, but now she was totally different. She was wearing a pair of flat-fronted linen pants and a sleeveless olive blouse, her hair – tinged with auburn – was long and luxuriant, and her skin glowed with a West Coast tan.

      But those were outward changes; what Sarah noticed most was how much more at ease Rachel was. As a teenager she’d seemed a bit lost, a bit unsure of her place in the world. Now it was obvious she had grown into herself; all the awkwardness was gone, replaced by a calm elegance.

      ‘Rachel,’ she said. ‘How are you? It’s great to see you.’

      ‘I’m well. Glad to be back in Barrow.’ Her voice was different too. Fuller, more mature. Less reedy than Sarah remembered. ‘You?’

      ‘Despite college and medical school, sometimes I feel like I never left! But I like it here.’ Sarah gestured at Kim, who was playing with some wooden trains at a toy table in the corner of the café. ‘It’s a great place to raise kids.’

      Rachel’s smile faded for a second; she brushed her stomach with her hand. It was a gesture pregnant women often made, and Sarah wondered whether she was going to tell her she was expecting, but Rachel simply nodded agreement. ‘Where will you be living?’ Sarah said.

      ‘Gold Street. I rented an apartment there. I’m looking for a place to buy, eventually.’

      ‘A lot of houses don’t make it on to the market,’ Sarah said. ‘There’s a lot of private sales. Barrow’s become quite a popular place for people to live. Lots of families move back here – good schools, low crime. And there’s the college.’

      Barrow was home to Hardy College, a small, liberal arts college which had invested heavily in the town.

      ‘I know. I spoke to the realtor and she was bemoaning the fact,’ Rachel said. She smiled. ‘But something will come up. It always does. There’s no point worrying.’

      ‘You sound like my husband, Ben. He always says worry is a dividend paid to disaster before it’s due.’

      ‘I like it. Where does it come from?’

      ‘I think it’s from one of the James Bond books. Not exactly Gandhi.’

      Rachel laughed. ‘Well, it’s true all the same. Even James Bond has life advice for us.’

      ‘Anyway,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll ask around about any houses coming up for sale.’

      ‘Would you?’ Rachel said. She sounded genuinely touched. ‘That’s so generous. Thank you.’

      Kim toddled toward them. ‘Mommy,’ she said. ‘Can I have some water?’

      ‘Of course.’ Sarah handed her a plastic cup. ‘This is Mommy’s friend, Rachel.’

      ‘Hi,’ Kim said, her voice muffled by the liquid.

      Rachel leaned forward, her hands on her knees. ‘Hello,’ she said, her voice low and soft. She was smiling, and taking time with her movements. ‘Are you Kim?’

      Kim nodded, a matching smile on her face.

      ‘I’m Rachel.’ She held out her hand, palm upward, and Kim placed her hand in it. Rachel gave it a gentle shake. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’

      Kim gave a little giggle, then buried her face in Sarah’s hip.

      ‘I think she likes you,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s come over all bashful. It’s not like her at all. She’s normally all up in people’s faces. It’s the fate of the third child. They have