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

much as put nail polish on her own fingers. She knows they must look odd sitting here in this cafe together. From the outside they are a mismatch, Chloe knows this. She’s always felt like the fat, ugly friend next to Hollie. But Chloe can honestly say she’s never resented her for it, perhaps because Hollie is the most loyal person she knows. Most people aren’t to be trusted; they always break promises in the end. But not Hollie. Chloe can’t remember a single time she’s ever let her down. And it wasn’t Hollie’s fault their lives turned out so differently. It could easily have been Chloe sitting across the table now, her nails perfectly manicured, her hair freshly blow-dried. She often thinks about this when she walks past happy dogs and their owners in the street, how easily someone might have stopped at the next kennel along. At the end of the day, it all comes down to fate. Which is why Chloe tends to take it into her own hands these days.

‘Hello? Earth to Chloe?’ Hollie laughs.

‘Oh, sorry, I was miles away.’

Hollie drops her hands back on top of her friend’s.

‘You’re bound to be,’ she says. ‘It would be a shock for anyone. Is there no one else you could—’

Chloe looks up quickly, and Hollie stops herself.

‘No, of course there isn’t,’ Hollie says.

Now it’s Chloe’s turn to look down into her drink.

The good thing about Hollie is she knows not to probe; perhaps that is why their friendship has endured. Hollie understands there’s a time to speak in clichés, that there’s safety to be found there for both of them. Chloe has seen it in other friendships she has observed, this dance two women can become accustomed to, a way of keeping their shared history preserved in politeness. Not that she can call to mind any other female friendships she’s enjoyed.

Hollie takes a breath. ‘Do the police have any leads?’

Chloe shakes her head, and as she does a tiny twig drops onto the table. Hollie collects it and holds it up like a question mark between them.

‘I searched a copse near the cemetery when I found she was missing, it must be from then.’

Hollie looks concerned.

‘But I feel helpless, just waiting for news,’ Chloe says. ‘I keep thinking, what if I missed something? Maybe I should go back for another—’

‘Chloe, you must leave it to the police, they know what they’re doing.’

Chloe nods.

‘But if there’s anything I can do, even if you just need company. You know you could always come over to us, Phil wouldn’t mind you staying for a few—’

‘I’m fine,’ Chloe says quickly.

Hollie looks away, scolded.

Chloe’s voice softens then. She never means to hurt her friend. ‘Honestly, you’re right, they’ll find her.’

‘They will,’ Hollie says. ‘And you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to help?’

Chloe nods, relieved her best friend has heard, as always, what was left unspoken.

‘Of course,’ she says.

Then Hollie dips her eyes, and with a whisper she says, ‘But when this is all over, we should . . .’ Her voice trails off.

It’s times like these when something ugly stirs inside Chloe. She knows it’s all right for Hollie, she had a family to call her own, she didn’t have the same chopping and changing that Chloe had. And now she has Phil, a new build on an estate and – Chloe notices – a new ring on her finger.

‘Is that a . . .?’ she says, grateful for a reason to change the subject.

Hollie twiddles the gold band of tiny navy stones around her ring finger.

‘Oh, no, not an . . . no, it’s an eternity ring. Phil gave it to me for our eighteen-month anniversary.’

‘I didn’t know people celebrated an eighteen-month anniversary,’ Chloe says.

Hollie shrugs. ‘We do.’

Phil works on an insurance helpdesk, like a lot of people in this city. He has the same small-town haircut, wears the same small-town uniform. Chloe used to see a lot more of Hollie before she met Phil; now she makes excuses so she doesn’t have to go round to their house for spaghetti carbonara and stand in their kitchen admiring their matching kettle, toaster and bread bin. Something about it makes Chloe feel claustrophobic.

Chloe starts playing with the tiny sachets of sugar and sweetener on the table. She empties them from their tub, separating them into white and brown sugar and sweetener and stacking them in piles.

‘I’m so worried about Nan out there, all alone.’

Hollie picks up her spoon and stirs her coffee.

‘I’m all she’s got in the world.’

Hollie shuffles in her chair and looks around the cafe. She sticks out her hand across the table. ‘These are actually sapphires, and these’ – she points to two barely there white dots – ‘these are diamonds.’

‘Nan has a ring just like it.’

‘Phil got it from that new place in town, by the market. He chose it.’

She blushes when she says that. Hollie and Phil share the same birthday. Chloe has always thought that makes them more like brother and sister. Hollie is besotted by him. Chloe finds him the dullest person she’s ever met. She’s often wondered how Hollie can find their life together enough, their weekend visits to garden centres or Saturdays spent looking for matching tea, coffee and sugar caddies. But then it depends on what you came from. They say you can go either way.

‘Hey, do you remember a story of a kid going missing when we were growing up? Angela Kyle?’

Hollie thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. ‘No, not that I . . . no,’ she says, dismantling Chloe’s sugar archive to take more for her coffee. ‘Oh, hang on, the little girl at the swings? I have a vague memory of people talking about it when we were kids. Hasn’t it been in the papers too?’

‘Yes, Angela – well, the papers called her Angie.’

‘Yeah, sort of. I remember her parents doing interviews about it, pleading for information and stuff. God, haven’t thought about that in years. She’d be about our age now, wouldn’t she?’

‘Yeah, she would.’

‘What made you