Copycat

‘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 to fight for everything.’

‘I know,’ Rachel said. ‘I was one myself.’

‘Were you?’ Sarah didn’t recall her having siblings, but then she didn’t know much about her home life at all.

‘Yes. The others were older, though. I had two brothers. Brian and Vinnie. Brian was six years older and Vinnie eight.’

‘I don’t remember them.’

‘They weren’t around much. Vinnie went into the army and Brian didn’t really … he kind of kept himself to himself.’

‘So what are you planning to do?’ Sarah said. ‘You’re a therapist, right?’

Rachel nodded. ‘I’m going to do the same here. I’ve not got anything in place yet, but I will.’

‘I might be able to help there, too,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m a doctor. Family medicine, mainly. Let me know when you’re ready and I can put you in touch with some people who might be worth talking to.’

Rachel shook her head, as though disbelieving. ‘You’re so kind,’ she said. ‘So welcoming.’

Sarah felt a little discomfort at her gratitude. ‘It’s a small town,’ she said. ‘Everyone wants to help.’

‘I guess so,’ Rachel said. ‘I guess I’d forgotten Barrow was like that. Makes my decision to come back all the better, I suppose.’

12 (#ulink_3570219b-d31d-5f69-89c0-3ee8b4c54906)

Sunday was forecast to be hot, up in the high eighties and humid with it. It turned out to be even hotter, and in town it felt worse: claustrophobic and suffocating. Along with the rest of the population of Barrow, Sarah and Ben headed to the beach.

It was a thirty-minute drive up the Phippsburg peninsula and by this point in the summer they had the trip down, as Ben would say in one of his incomprehensible British expressions, to a tee. Shovels, kids’ wetsuits, beach chairs, umbrella: all their beach stuff was put in the car in June and remained there until September. The only thing they had to add was dry towels, a cooler full of snacks and drinks and the kids themselves. Which was good, because on a day like this the beach filled up. Anyone who arrived there after around 10 a.m. would be facing a full car park and a return trip to the heat of town.

They pulled up alongside Jean’s battered minivan, the sandy gravel crunching under the tires.

‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Ben said. ‘I mean, wrangling our kids is hard enough with the two of us. She’s alone. It’s amazing, frankly.’