The Imposter, Anna Wharton [romantic story to read TXT] 📗

‘Oh, nothing, just a story I’m working on. I was just surprised I’d never heard about her disappearance before, you know, being the same age. She was never found, you know. There can’t have been many girls our age who went missing when we were growing up. It must have made people nervous for years afterwards, that’s probably why you remember it.’

‘Yeah, well I know what you’re thinking, and remember, it’s in the papers because it’s rare that people aren’t found,’ Hollie says, and she taps Chloe’s hand as she says it as if trying to reassure her.

‘But it does happen. The police officer told me seventy-nine per cent of missing people are found within twenty-four hours, but what about the other twenty-one per cent? What happens to them? To people like Angela Kyle?’

Hollie sighs. ‘Oh Chloe, don’t go overthinking, you know what you’re like.’

Chloe shifts in her seat.

‘Nothing like that is going to happen to Nan, OK? The police are going to find her any minute and bring her home and you’ll be back to slinging cans of rice pudding in the bin in no time.’

Chloe smiles a little.

‘Thanks,’ she says.

‘Any time,’ Hollie smiles back.

‘Anyway, how are you? I’ve been talking about myself so much I—’

‘Don’t be silly, I couldn’t believe it when you texted. Phil’s just got a big promotion at work – huge pay rise – he’s taking us on holiday. Fuerteventura, can’t wait!’

‘Oh, lovely.’ Chloe feels hot; she glances around the cafe for an open window.

‘And the new place is looking good – we’ve painted the spare room. It’s tiny but it looks much better, you know, fresh lick of paint. You should come over, we’re having friends around on Satur—’

‘Oh, it’s OK.’ Chloe starts slipping her arms into her coat and winding her scarf around her neck. ‘At the moment I’d rather just . . . you know, what with Nan missing . . .’

‘Of course, of course.’ Hollie looks away as she does up her coat.

Chloe stands up from her chair. ‘I’d better get back to work, but I might go to the cemetery at lunchtime, you know, just in case . . .’

‘Oh Chloe, it’s far too cold for that, and anyway, she’s got more sense than to be hanging around there. If she’s anywhere, it’ll be back at home, won’t it? You’ll probably go home after work and find her sitting there with a cup of tea.’

At the mention of tea, Chloe remembers the melted kettle she threw away. And then the fact she’s already ten minutes late for work.

Hollie stands up to hug her goodbye. ‘Promise you’ll let me know when they find her?’

SIX

After work, Chloe leaves the office and heads for the shopping centre. She walks against the tide of shoppers, scanning the crowd as she does for a navy parka, white hair and a wobbly gait she would instantly recognize. A group of teenage schoolgirls, skirts rolled up above their knees, pass her going in the opposite direction. Chloe stares at the tight circle they make. One bumps Chloe with her bag. They walk on chattering.

Chloe finds the department store and heads towards the electricals. Inside, she browses different models of kettles, walking alongside rows and rows of them. She watches the people around her, the couples taking time to choose; some pick up one kettle to test how it feels in their hand, how it feels to pour. Chloe copies them, testing kettles well out of her price range, before choosing one exactly the same as Nan’s last.

Nan’s house is a museum of her life. It makes Chloe feel safe that Nan’s world moves more slowly than the outside one, the things and people take longer to change. Chloe can relax in there. Outside the doors, the world is less reliable. The people are too.

When she was a child, she had a favourite teacher in year three. Her name was Miss Moore. Chloe had a book then, about a little girl who loved her teacher too, and when she read it she always thought of herself and Miss Moore. She once saw Miss Moore trimming a hedge outside her house. She often wished she could go into that house, that she could look behind her red front door. The teacher in the book left the school, and Chloe felt sure that Miss Moore would never do that to her. Then one morning she arrived at school and there was no Miss Moore in front of the blackboard. There was Mr Chadwick. The next time she walked past Miss Moore’s house she reached over the fence and pulled all the heads off her pink roses. It had made her feel better but only for a while. She feels safe with Nan, and she knows Nan feels safe with her, and that’s more than you can ask from a lot of people. In the electrical department, she feels wet tears on her cheeks. When will Nan be home?

She looks up and sees someone watching her. She dries her eyes. Hollie is right: the first thing Nan will want when she comes home is a cup of tea. And she will come home. She has to.

Chloe takes the kettle to the till. She waits in line to pay, gripping the box. A man and his daughter stand not far from her. The girl is about four, her hair in a plait, a navy pinafore peering from under her cerise woollen coat. She thinks of the missing girl in the news cuttings. Chloe watches her as she plays, balancing her shiny T-bar shoes on her dad’s giant ones and giggling as he walks her round in circles in his great big footsteps.

‘Excuse me? Madam?’

Chloe spins round. She hadn’t noticed the cashier calling her forward.

‘Sorry,’ she says, smiling back at the little girl and her dad and placing the kettle on the counter.

‘They’re lovely at that age, aren’t they?’ the cashier says.

At that moment, the father looks across to the tills and the cashier waves at the little girl. The man