The Liberation of Alice Love (27 page)

The suggestion lingered between them, its implications clear.

“I’ll order now,” he said immediately. “Chinese? Pizza? Thai?”

“You choose.” Alice felt herself smile, already full of anticipation. The food was hardly the most important thing. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

***

The food was cold by the time they got around to eating it, but Alice nonetheless thought it the most delicious takeout she’d ever tasted—sprawled on his bedroom floor surrounded by hastily discarded clothing. Soon, however, tiredness overtook them, and they returned to bed, collapsing heavy limbed into a satisfied sleep.

For a few hours, at least. Then, Alice woke with a start. Faking their own deaths.

Her earlier comment in the club flared bright enough to cut through the sleepy afterglow of her late night and Nathan’s arms, warm around her. She sat up, breathing quickly as the possibility became solid: crossing over from a vague dream state to something real and full of potential.

The thought of Ella had woken Alice before, but this time, it wasn’t just a jumbled dream—this time, it was revelation. Nathan had said that there was no recent trace of this Kate Jackson aside from the address he’d found, that it was just another alias. But what if the opposite were actually true—what if Kate Jackson was Ella’s original identity? Alice considered it breathlessly. There had to be a starting point, surely, before the fake identities and lies had begun; there had to be a real person, buried beneath Ella’s casual deception. Perhaps this was it. That would explain why she hadn’t run up vast debts in the name or left the sort of wreckage she’d so casually inflicted on all her other victims. Because she’d wanted to keep it clear and unblemished, a sort of backup, for when the false names ran out.

The theory made sense. More than that, it seemed irresistible.

Nathan mumbled beside her, his arm still draped across her stomach, but Alice was suddenly too energized to sleep. Easing herself from under his embrace, she slipped out of bed and pulled a crumpled blanket around her shoulders. Tiptoeing past discarded clothing and her high-heeled shoe—tossed against the door in what had been a pleasant blur of hands and lips—she crept out of the bedroom, carefully pushing the door closed behind her.

Nathan’s flat was modern and minimal, with a study area set up on the far end of the open-plan living area, complete with gleaming desktop computer system. Alice padded across the room, her feet bare on the cool wooden floor. Settling in front of the computer, she said a silent prayer; after everything Nathan had learned from his career, she was expecting a raft of passwords and security checks, but when she reached for the wireless keyboard and hit the spacebar, the computer woke from sleep mode with a low whir.

Perfect.

The computer display showed four a.m., but Alice was wide awake as she reached for the mouse. She ran searches of the name, “missing,” and any other pertinent phrases she could think of, filtering to the rough time span Nathan had mentioned. If Ella really was Kate Jackson, then this Kate would have disappeared years ago: fading into nothing so other, false names could take her place.

Two dead, one missing—that was what Nathan had said about the original short-list.

Working swiftly, Alice quickly verified the deaths from online articles and local newspaper archives: a slow decline from cancer, a bloody car wreck. She skimmed over the web pages, already ruling them out. Besides, Ella wouldn’t be so dramatic as to fake her own death, not when it would be simpler just to slip away one day—go out into the world as one person and come back as quite another. No, Alice knew, that just wasn’t her style.

But the missing woman? Now, she had more potential.

Alice wasn’t sure how long she sat there, bathed in the pale glow from the desk light, but the longer she looked, the more the data led back to one specific suspect, the Kate Jackson from Devon, who had turned twenty-nine years old last Thursday—at least, that’s what she would have done, but since she disappeared during a trip to Australasia five years ago, nobody had a clue if she was even alive to celebrate. Alice read through every mention she could find, but sadly, a solo female traveler going astray in that part of the world wasn’t rare; the coverage was depressingly thin: a sidebar in a national paper and a few stories in the local press, showing her anxious parents and older brother urging for more police support—Alice squinted at the small photo that adorned every story, snapped from an earlier, happier stage of her travels. The woman was grinning in a pale blue bikini, brown hair, brown eyes, medium height and weight. Entirely forgettable. Easily disguisable. It could be her.

Gazing at the grainy photo, Alice tried to see Ella in the girl’s features, but no matter how long she stared at it, she couldn’t be completely sure if it was her—or not.

What had she been running from?

There was a sudden noise from the bedroom. Alice leaped out of the chair and quickly switched the screen off, casting the room into dark again. Dashing toward the kitchen area, she flung open the fridge just as Nathan padded in, sleepy in an oversized pair of athletic shorts.

“What are you doing up?” Yawning, he wandered closer, wrapping his arms around her in a lazy bear hug.

“Just getting a drink.” Alice relaxed back against his bare chest, reaching for the water purifier. She went through the motions of pouring herself a glass and sipping the drink, sneaking a look past his shoulder to check there was no sign of her online investigations. The screen was dark, her secret safe. “Come on.” She smiled up at him. “Back to bed.”

“Good.” Nathan yawned again, tugging her toward the bedroom. “I was getting lonely in there without you.”

Alice laughed. “Uh-oh. It’s too soon for you to be getting clingy…”

“Yup, that’s me. In fact”—he turned, pressing her up against the doorway with a dark grin—“I’m surprised you haven’t got tired of how needy I am.”

“Right,” Alice agreed, letting her head fall to one side as he kissed his way up her neck. “What with the constant travel, erratic schedule, stubborn streak—”

“Are we still talking about me?” Nathan reached her lips, kissing her for a long moment before pulling away. “Because I’m hearing a lot of you in there too…”

Alice wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the weight of his body against her and the soft slide of fabric as her blanket slowly fell to the floor. Kate Jackson wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Kate Jackson’s brother was named Carl: thirty-two years old, single, and—as Alice’s extensive online investigations had revealed—a senior market research analyst at a company in Kilburn. With a new focus, Alice quickly threw herself into the research: learning everything she could about the man, no matter how superficially trivial. The data never lie, after all, and soon she discovered that he liked sci-fi movies, Neil Gaiman books, and old episodes of
Battlestar Galactica
; he lived in a house on Bellevue Road with two other men who seemed similarly unencumbered by responsibility or female companionship.

It was almost surprising to Alice how little time or effort it took to assemble a profile of Carl’s every taste, using what she had gleaned from Cassie’s many stalking expeditions and her own new research skills. Abandoned MySpace pages, little-used LinkedIn profiles—the information was all there, waiting to be found. It helped that he was clearly active in several online communities, rich with past messages and profiles just brimming with helpful information—from his preferred refreshment (Starbucks vanilla lattes) to his opinion on the latest 3-D movie technology (
Avatar
was, apparently, the mark of things to come). Soon, after some careful cross-searching of user names and email addresses, she had acquired all his contact information, including mobile phone number, and—most important—his address.

Which was where Alice found herself one Thursday morning, having pulled herself from bed at a painfully early hour, just to cross the city and wait at a bus stop just up the road from Carl’s house. She’d located three Starbucks branches on his likely route to work, but Alice couldn’t just leave it to chance; if she was going to find a way of meeting this man, then she had to be certain of his routine. Sure enough, at eight thirty-two, he emerged from the front door and hoisted a nylon backpack up onto his shoulder. Alice readied herself for action, but Carl clearly wasn’t as prepared: he was barely five steps down the front path when he paused, patting his pockets and checking through his bag in a familiar panic. Turning back, he lifted a potted plant beside the door, fished out the spare key, and let himself back in. A moment later, he reemerged, setting off toward the Tube.

Alice followed, a careful twenty meters behind.

It was easy. She’d been worried about appearing suspicious or attracting his attention, but Carl remained entirely oblivious all the way to Kilburn, earbuds plugged in, and his attention entirely commanded by the thick, dog-eared novel he pulled from the pocket of his windbreaker. Clutching a newspaper as her own disguise, Alice was able to close the distance between them to a mere fifteen feet as he swiped through the barriers and headed up the road, stopping first, she was gratified to see, at the café on the corner. Option number three it was, then.

Alice pushed through the doors and took a place behind him in the busy morning queue, close enough to touch. Her heart was skipping at the prospect of perhaps being so close to the truth about Ella, but she forced herself to stay calm. Calm and casual, and faintly awkward—that was the way to reach him, she’d decided. And so, as he reached for a sandwich, she did too, grazing his hand with hers in what appeared to be a completely accidental move.

They both jumped back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you take it!” Alice gave him a nervous grin.

“No, you go ahead,” Carl replied, just as awkward. She’d thought him rather ordinary from afar, with short brown hair in a nondescript cut and a glazed, weary look as he shuffled through his morning commute; up close, however, she could see a certain delicacy in him—a cautious, introverted aura. She searched for a resemblance to Ella, but there was nothing decisive. Alice made her smile a little warmer.

“No, I couldn’t. Look, it’s the last, and you were here first…”

He shook his head. “See, I’d feel bad now. You take it, really.”

“Well, thanks.” Alice gave him a shy look, reaching again for the coronation chicken on whole grain she had absolutely no intention of eating. “That’s very sweet.”

Carl looked away, seemingly embarrassed, and there was a long pause while the woman in front loudly ordered a startling combination of tropical tea with espresso and vanilla. Alice couldn’t help but screw up her face at the thought. Noticing Carl was stifling a grin too, Alice caught his eye.

“Where do they come up with these flavors?” she murmured conspiratorially. “Maybe I’m a purist, but if you can’t even taste the coffee…”

“Right,” Carl agreed, louder than might otherwise be expected—if Alice hadn’t read his blog treatise on the proliferation of pointless flavors just the other night. “Next thing, it’ll be orange mocha Frappuccinos!”

Alice paused. “Wait, that’s from
Zoolander,
right? I love that film.”

Carl lit up. “It’s a classic. They’ve, uh, been talking about a sequel,” he added, almost awkward. “But I don’t think they should risk it.”

Alice nodded. “Right. They’ll probably just ruin everything, they always do, with those franchises.” She gave another shy smile as they edged forward, Carl now taking his turn at the register to order. He reached for his wallet, but Alice cleared her throat. “Let me. I mean, you let me have my lunch…” She held up the sandwich as evidence.

Carl began to flush. “Oh, I don’t—”

“Really,” Alice insisted, already passing coins over to the barista. “You can pay me back another time. I just started work around here,” she added, looking down briefly in a show of nerves before meeting his eyes again. “So, I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Carl swallowed. “Uh, cool.” He nodded. “I…I’m Carl.” He held out his hand abruptly; Alice juggled her bag and package to her other hand and shook it.

“Ella,” she said, trying to look flustered. “Um, nice to meet you, Carl. I have to…” She gestured toward the door. “So, um, bye!”

“Bye.” Carl was still gazing after her with a faintly shell-shocked expression when Alice turned and left the café.

It wasn’t much, she knew—just a passing flash of dialogue, but there would be more. You didn’t just spill about your missing sister to a complete stranger—no, those sorts of confidences needed time and familiarity. Alice had no doubt they would get there, eventually. Carl and Ella were set to become very good friends.

***

Her new clue about Ella aside, life went on as normal for Alice—at least normal as far as her new routine was concerned. When she took a moment to reflect on her hectic schedule, she realized happily that it couldn’t be more different from the life she’d had before. Instead of spending her days up in the attic, poring over fine-print legalese, Alice was meeting with casting agents and scouts, and booking her now-growing client roster a promising array of roles. Lunch was crammed with more appointments, or dance classes at the studio, meeting Flora for an occasional snatched sandwich in the park nearby. What with her developing relationship with Nathan too, she barely had time for breath—yet still, despite the hectic pace of her schedule, Alice refused to lose sight of her real prize.

Setting her alarm to wake her extra early three times a week, she continued to go meet Carl in the Kilburn Starbucks, extending their conversations to cover books, television, and the boredom of his job in research—and hers as an executive assistant—over coffee and, soon enough, muffins too, before they had to dash to work. Carl now seemed genuinely happy to see her each time, even working up the courage to falteringly ask for her number.

Alice felt guilty over her deception, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop—not when the answers about Ella were so close. All she needed was more information about Kate Jackson; Carl was the only one who could help with that. Just a few more weeks, she told herself, then she could find the answers she craved.

***

“Tell me again why I don’t just quit.” Nadia reached forlornly for her glass of wine one night at the end of a busy week. Alice met her for drinks at a bar near the gym, skipping the virtues of a hip-hop class for the more immediate pleasures of alcohol and molten chocolate cake.

Slumping back against the dark-red leather banquette, Nadia sighed. “He did it again today: just talked right over me all the way through our client meeting. Every time I spoke up, it looked like I was being needy and, I don’t know, an attention whore.”

“Dickhead,” Alice said sympathetically. An art director at one of the smaller advertising firms, Nadia was struggling with her assigned copywriter, an arrogant asshole who reminded Alice of her own pleasant exchanges with Tyrell. “You could slip laxatives in his coffee next time?”

“Oh, I wish.” Nadia broke into a grin. She pushed her glasses farther up her nose and paused. “Although, now that you say that, I’m sure the intern he has running down for drinks would go in on that plan…”

“Do it.” Alice grinned. “Right before a big pitch. I mean, it’s not as if he contributes anything. What was that last one you told me about, for the deodorant…?”

“Oh, God, the caveman and his harem of slave girls.”

“Mmm, original.” Alice giggled. “He’s no Don Draper, that’s for sure.”

Nadia gave a flutter of her eyelashes and faked a swoon. “Don’t even talk about them in the same breath.” She took another sip of wine. “What about you? How’s the dragon lady?”

Alice made a face. “Awful.”

“Oh?”

Alice tried to phrase her reply without revealing any specifics about agenting or the office. She didn’t like to lie, but she couldn’t risk Nadia calling Grayson Wells one day to speak to Ella Nicholls, so, to her new friend—like Carl—Alice was a supremely overqualified, if underappreciated, legal assistant. “She’s gunning for one of the associates,” Alice told her instead. It was, technically, the truth. “Trying to take credit for all her work. They both were attached to…this project, but Vivienne blocked her all the way. Now it’s a success, of course—she’s saying it’s all her doing.”

“Of course,” Nadia agreed. “And you’re stuck watching it all.”

Alice nodded slowly. She’d overheard Vivienne chat with a producer, gushing about how she’d personally saved poor Kieran from a life of obscurity with her single-minded tenacity and determination. It was all very well to keep Vivienne’s associations with her clients—since Alice could see her name still carried weight in important circles—but she was getting a creeping feeling that her own efforts to relaunch Kieran and Julia’s careers might not yet earn her the respect she desired.

“That’s the problem, sometimes,” she said thoughtfully. “You can work as hard as you want, but if someone’s not willing to recognize your achievements…”

“You can’t force them.” Nadia gave Alice a rueful grin. “Want to go halves on those laxatives?”

***

They were deliberating a second slice of cake when Alice’s mobile began to ring.

“Sorry.” She reached to switch it to silent.

“No, take it,” Nadia said, getting to her feet. “I’m just heading to the loos anyway.”

“OK. Shall I order, if the waiter comes by?”

“You’re a bad influence…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She waited until Nadia was out of sight before hitting redial. “Hi, Jules, what’s going on?” Alice tried to catch the eye of a passing waiter.

“Alice, I’ve been trying to reach you for ages.” Julian sounded anxious.

“I missed your call by about two seconds,” she pointed out.

“But I tried earlier, and I’ve been texting…” His voice dropped, and he announced flatly. “It’s over. Yasmin’s moving out.”

“Oh, God, what happened?”

“It just…” He sounded weary. “I don’t know, we’ve been fighting so long…Look, could you come over? All her stuff is here, and…I just want to get drunk. Can you come?”

“I…” Alice glanced around, the waiter finally choosing that moment to materialize by her side. “I’m kind of busy right now, but later?”

“Aly…” Julian drew the word out, part pleading, and she was reminded how many times they had played out the post-breakup ritual over the years. And not just for Julian; when James stopped returning her calls, Alice had spent three days in a pair of his old pajamas, crying on the sofa while Julian provided a never-ending supply of sympathy, tissues, and homemade blackberry crumble.

“Sure, fine,” Alice agreed at last, looking up at the waiter. She mimed scribbling the bill. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks.” Julian sounded relieved. “And bring vodka. I’m all out.”

Nadia returned just as she was signing the credit slip. “I’m really sorry,” Alice apologized, and explained about the call. “Can we do a rain check on that next slice of cake?”

“Sure.” Nadia was sympathetic. “Here, I’ve got the tip.” She rummaged in her bag, coming up with a handful of pound coins. “Is he going to be OK?”

Alice sighed. “I think so. I mean, he usually is. But this one lasted a while.”

“Well, usually for breakup wallowing I’d say
Dirty Dancing
and
Pretty in Pink
, but maybe he wouldn’t be into that…”

“Yes, I don’t think so.” Alice gave a grin. “Jules is more of a Woody Allen kind of a man. He’ll be sprawled out in front of
Annie Hall
, muttering about our inability to form meaningful relationships, I’ll bet.”