Someone You Know. Olivia Isaac-Henry

with where they’d been placed.

      ‘Quiet now,’ Mrs Armitage said.

      Edie stuck her hand up.

      ‘It’s Edie, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes, miss. I think there’s been a mistake, miss. I always sit next to Tess.’

      ‘Tess?’

      ‘My twin.’

      ‘No mistake,’ Miss Armitage said.

      ‘But we always sit together.’

      Miss Armitage pursed her lips.

      ‘You know, Edie, in many schools, twins are put in separate classes altogether. I’ve put you on tables according to your ability. At your next school, I doubt you’ll be in any of the same classes.’

      Deanne sniggered.

      ‘So I suggest you need to acclimatise to being a whole ten feet apart,’ Miss Armitage concluded.

      Deanne’s shoulders were shaking hard. Edie glanced at Tess, who was staring determinedly at the table.

      ‘Now,’ Miss Armitage said, ‘I’m handing out your new textbooks for English and maths. Your first homework will be to cover them in wallpaper to prevent their getting damaged. It will be your own responsibility to keep the books in good condition until the end of term.’

      She stood up and opened a cupboard, her back to the classroom.

      Deanne turned to Edie and rubbed her eyes as if crying.

      ‘Boohoo. I can’t be next to my sister all the time.’

      Edie kicked her under the table. Deanne yelped.

      ‘What’s that?’ Miss Armitage spun around.

      ‘Nothing, miss.’

      Deanne glowered at Edie.

      Miss Armitage returned to retrieving armfuls of books from the cupboard.

      ‘I’ll get you for that,’ Deanne said.

      *

      Until the morning break, Miss Armitage passed the time by explaining that the whole year was just a preparation for ‘big school’. Edie couldn’t help wondering if calling Bridges Academy, where most of them were heading, ‘big school’ was helpful in making them feel more grown up.

      She flicked through her new maths textbook. Whenever she looked over to Tess, she was staring out of the window. It wasn’t surprising she’d fallen behind. She never listened in any class except art.

      At last the bell rang. Tess was waiting for her at the door and they ran outside to catch up with Raquel, eager to hear about her new class. Deanne and Caitlin were waiting at the entrance to the playground with a handful of hangers-on. Deanne whispered something in Caitlin’s ear, a smirk on her face.

      Caitlin swaggered towards them. Edie caught a whiff of the slightly sweet-stale odour from her clothes. She wrinkled her nose and stepped backwards.

      ‘If it isn’t the famous twins,’ Caitlin said. ‘I heard you cried when you weren’t put on the same table.’

      ‘Shut up, Caitlin.’

      ‘Bet you’re gonna marry the same bloke, all share the bed together.’

      Titters rose from the hangers-on. Edie pushed past Caitlin. It was a mistake. Caitlin turned around and moved across, separating her from Tess.

      ‘I don’t believe you’re twins anyway. Look how small she is.’ Caitlin jerked her head backwards to mean Tess. ‘Reckon she’s adopted.’

      ‘Yeah,’ Deanne said. ‘From the special unit.’

      Edie tried to push back to Tess but Caitlin stood firm. Edie glanced around.

      ‘Looking for Raquel? Not coming out till lunchtime. Miss Clitheroe’s keeping her back. In trouble already.’

      Tess looked frightened. She was shorter than the other girls, who had begun nudging her with their shoulders.

      ‘She’s not special and she’s not adopted,’ Edie said.

      ‘Just thick then?’ Caitlin said.

      ‘Smarter than you.’

      ‘I could do it if I wanted. Can’t be bothered. Her, she’s just stupid. Staring into space like some retard.’

      Edie felt her face getting hot. Tess was no longer visible among the surrounding girls.

      ‘Actually, I do believe you,’ Caitlin said. ‘She’s not adopted. If there’s more than one it’s bound to happen. Like puppies. There’s always a runt.’

      Caitlin threw her head back and opened her mouth to laugh. She was cut short by a small fist, darting out from the group of girls and smashing into her nose. Caitlin looked more surprised than hurt, until another fist drove into her mouth. Blood spurted across her face and down her blouse. She fell to the ground. Tess jumped on her. It was like a terrier attacking a bear. Caitlin’s thick arms flailing around, unable to stop the blows being rained upon her by Tess’s skinny ones. Deanne tried to drag her off and received an elbow to her nose. She fell backwards and started whimpering.

      Edie stood, stunned and motionless. Tess had always relied on others to fight her battles. Edie was about to try and stop Tess, when Mr Everett dragged her off. Tess spun round, her bloodied fists balled, her arms straight and tense. For one moment, Edie thought she was going to hit Mr Everett. Her eyes bore into him, then she brought her fists to her face and started crying. Deanne was also crying, while Caitlin lay gasping on the floor.

      ‘She just attacked me. For no reason,’ Caitlin said.

      Tess pointed to Caitlin.

      ‘She said, she said …’

      But Tess couldn’t finish her sentence.

       Chapter 7

       Tess: June 2018

      I lean my head against the cold of the car window and watch people, shops and traffic stream past my eyes. Post-rush hour, the roads are clear, and we pass swiftly through the town centre and out towards the police station. It sits on the edge of town, where industrial estates mix with the suburbs. Most families of the missing long for resolution, an answer, any answer. But I don’t know what I’ll do if this body is Edie. Only hope has allowed me to survive this long.

      I don’t have to know the truth. I could get out at the next set of lights and walk away, start a new life and never come back, as I imagine Edie did. At this moment she could be harvesting grapes in the Loire or surfing in California. It can’t be her lying on a table, her bones being picked over, photographed and catalogued.

      Detective Inspector Vilas sits in the front passenger seat, his hands smoothing the light creases in his grey trouser suit, with his hair swept back from the temples, his appearance speaks more of business executive than serving police officer. He’s polite but distant. The driver, Detective Sergeant Craven, is a little friendlier.

      ‘I’ve daughters of my own. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you,’ he said when he picked us up.

      We turn off the main road, then down a small lane running between two neat rows of semis, the inhabitants probably unaware of the horrors adjoining their pristine lawns.

      Craven pulls up next to a police car and two other unmarked vehicles parked in front of a low concrete building with ramps either side of its main entrance.

      DI Vilas leads us inside and talks to the receptionist, who passes him two lanyards, one each for Dad and me. We’re then buzzed through a set of double doors and led down a long, narrow corridor to a windowless room with a desk