Alex Day - The Missing Twin - A gripping debut psychological thriller with a killer twist

Instead, she turned the corner, tugging a twin on each arm, and started down the boulevard. Each step was a step further into Hades. Bombs had fallen here; direct hits that had left craters in the road and taken rugged slices out of buildings as if a drunken giant had tramped down whatever lay in its path. Lazy flames licked around a battered, roofless estate car slung sideways across the road, the tyres on one side flattened so that it was crooked and lopsided like a small child’s drawing. For a terrible, fleeting second Fatima thought it was their car; that Fayed had been coming home as death rained down.

But then she saw that it was the wrong make, and the wrong colour, beneath the grime. The relief was momentary; behind the pitiful vehicle, a building’s steel rods, stripped of concrete and plaster, reached towards a sky leaden with dust and ash and full of the stench of obliteration. Fatima was staring all around her, struggling to make sense of the sights her eyes were relaying to her, when she heard the noise. Involuntarily, her gaze sought to find its source. With a sickening surge of terror she saw that there were people in the estate car, the fire-blackened corpses of a family who had tried to escape but been too late and too unlucky. And that one of them was moving, groaning, dying in excruciating agony and unimaginable fear.

Fatima froze to the spot, quite literally petrified. The feeling of being in a dream evaporated in an instant. This was reality and it was awful. Nothing in her life so far had prepared her for a moment such as this. She should help, do something, call an ambulance. She fumbled in her bag for her phone and drew it out, frenziedly trying to tap in the emergency number, forgetting that there was a shortcut button for this. She had never had reason or cause to use it before.

The children were whimpering in terror, but saying nothing, seeming to have lost the power of speech. She should get them away from this horror but still she hadn’t managed to make the call and she couldn’t leave that person to die like an animal. She stabbed furiously at the keypad again, missing the numbers, her hands trembling too severely to hit them accurately. It was a nightmare, one of those hideous ones where you are trying to run but your legs won’t move and you keep replaying, over and over, your efforts – futile – towards flight.

A blast of intense heat, accompanied by a loud, fizzing hiss and the whoosh of fierce flames, brought her struggles with the phone to an abrupt halt. Nearly knocked off her feet, instinctively she grabbed the girls to her, hugging them close as if just her embrace could save them. The car’s petrol tank had ignited and the vehicle was engulfed in a swirling ball of fire, blue, red and orange. A wretched, animalistic scream ripped out from its innards, rending the smoke-laden air apart. And then stopped. Even the roaring flames could not fill the silence that followed. The world whirled around her. Fatima was struggling to breathe, was drowning in fear. She turned towards the car as if she could help, realised immediately the stupidity of such an idea and tried instead to flee. Running, she tripped and fell, taking Maryam off guard and pulling her down with her. Dizzy and disorientated, all Fatima could think of was getting away from this apocalypse. She stumbled back to her feet, dragging Maryam up with her, not even checking to see if she were hurt.

She had to get home, to find Fayed.

‘Ready to paint that town red?’

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains and much vodka had been imbibed by the time Edie pulled the scooter out from the shade of a handy oleander bush, clambered aboard and revved the engine.

Laura giggled, delightedly and drunkenly. She had had more vodka than Edie, and nothing to eat.

‘Sis,’ she announced, whirling her sunglasses in an exultant twirl, ‘I’m so, so ready.’ She jumped onto the scooter behind Edie. ‘By the way, I hope you know how to drive this thing,’ she added, resting her feet on the metal supports.

‘Just call me Jensen Button,’ shouted Edie, already speeding off down the steep track to the exit gate.

‘He drives cars,’ shrieked Laura as Edie increased velocity alarmingly quickly. ‘Extremely fast cars!’

‘Whatever.’ Edie was having fun; she hadn’t had anyone ride pillion since she’d taken possession of the scooter and she wanted to make the most of it before Laura insisted on being the driver. ‘Hold on tight!’

‘I am,’ Laura hollered, ‘believe me.’ She gripped Edie’s waist and attempted to blow a stray hair from her forehead.

At this time of year the heat lingered long after twilight and there was not the slightest breeze to bring respite. Being on the scooter, even at top speed, was like driving through treacle, as if the warm air had to be literally pushed aside to allow them to pass. The vodka, plus the unaccustomed weight on the back, meant that Edie wobbled on the sharpest bends, inducing shrieks of alarmed laughter from Laura. They were still laughing when they arrived at the marina, parked the scooter and used its mirrors to put right their dishevelled hair and make-up, bending low to get the fullest view possible.

The marina was the place to come for the smart set, home of super-yachts and their super-rich owners. Edie had notched up a few successful conquests here – before Vuk, of course. The quays were lined with boats flying flags from around the world, and the people strolling up and down and drinking at the numerous bars were dressed to impress; all designer labels and immaculate hair and smile-free pouts. Heads turned as Edie and Laura promenaded past; a perfectly matched pair in tiny shorts and crop tops. Spotting a table just being vacated at the bar with the best vantage point, Edie seized Laura’s arm and dragged her towards it, ordering double vodkas for them both before they had even sat down.

‘I’m a tad short of cash, Ed,’ said Laura, pulling out the lining of her pockets in illustration. ‘I had a bit of a mishap in Italy, got my rucksack stolen with a whole load of euros in it. I was just lucky my passport didn’t go too.’

‘You idiot!’ Edie shook her head in disbelief. ‘First rule of travelling: never keep all your money in one place.’

‘Okay smart ass, rub it in.’ Laura took a swig of her drink. ‘It wasn’t all my money anyway. Just a fair amount of it. I had enough to get the ferry across the Adriatic, find my elusive sister and beg her to rescue me.’

Edie snickered. ‘Glad I’m useful every now and again.’ She clinked her glass against Laura’s. ‘I’ve got enough for us to get by on. My enormous earnings from my marvellous job, for a start, plus I’ve still got some savings.’

They both drank and put their glasses down simultaneously onto the high glass table. Edie could see her reflection, distorted and watery, in the sheen of the polished surface. She thought for a moment before asking the question, cautiously.

‘What about you? Have you spent all your modelling money?’

Laura was notoriously reticent about how she made her living and even more so about how she spent it. When they had finished university, they had both signed up with a minor modelling agency. At 5’9” (Laura) and 5’8” (Edie) neither was tall enough for catwalk work. Edie had got one job for a knitwear catalogue and then given up in disgust, finding it impossible to wear a pink fluffy tank top with a smile on her face.

Laura had done rather better, gaining work from various sources and going to America twice. Edie wasn’t entirely convinced that her earnings were exclusively gained from putting clothes on. She suspected that the reverse activity might be involved somewhere. But Laura divulged nothing and suddenly, without warning or explanation, had given it up and told Edie that she was fed up with being a clothes horse and that they were going travelling.