‘I’m not who you think I am,’ Sylvie said firmly.
The car swerved for a second before Anthea got control of it again. ‘What? Of course you are. Your name was sewn inside the bridesmaid’s dress. I googled you. You were in a play with Betty Massino. I saw your photograph. You’re exactly who I think you are.’
‘Who do you think she is?’ Auntie asked.
‘Sylvie Hampshire.’
Auntie raised an eyebrow quizzically at Sylvie.
‘No. Well, yes, but no,’ Sylvie said.
‘What?’
‘I am Sylvie Hampshire. But it isn’t Sylvie Hampshire you’re looking for. Flora took the stupid dress to the stupid shop. It was nothing to do with me. Flora is my sister. My twin sister. She took your stupid T-shirt. I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Twin? Don’t be ridiculous.’ There was a panicked edge to Anthea’s voice. ‘You’re just trying to wriggle out of this.’
‘She is not the one who has made a mistake!’ Auntie said forcefully.
‘You’re both trying to wriggle out of this!’ Anthea insisted.
Sylvie undid the clasps of her vanity case. She lifted the lid. The rubber smell of her plimsolls wafted upwards. ‘I’m going to show you something,’ she said. ‘If you tell anyone about this, I will be forced to take immediate and desperate action.’ Sylvie reached into the case and pulled out her purse. It was a neat little thing. Dad had brought it home from Japan as a present. It had a bright pink flap that folded out like a book cover. Inside the flap was a place for a photograph.
Dad had put a photo there. It showed him and Mum before they split up, with their two twin toddlers – Sylvie and Flora – dressed like something from a Victorian nursery. It was horribly embarrassing, but Sylvie hadn’t thrown it out for some reason.
She leaned forwards and waved the purse under Anthea’s nose. ‘Me. My twin sister,’ she said.
‘Twins?’ Anthea was obviously dazed. The car lurched left before she got it back under control. ‘Twins?’ Then a slow feline smile spread across her face. ‘Well, that changes things. To be honest, I was going to threaten Mrs Adesina here with deportation. But I wasn’t completely convinced that the threat would be enough to persuade you – or, rather, your sister – to hand over the T-shirt. After all, Mrs Adesina isn’t her granny. But to save you? To save her sister? Her twin sister? Well, that’s a different kettle of fish, isn’t it? I’d say that was much better bait. Sit tight. I think you’re staying with me for a while.’
Sylvie looked at Auntie. Fear and panic flashed between them.
What would the police commissioner do now?
They were moving through traffic. Cars and buses and cycles ran parallel with them, but Sylvie knew the drivers couldn’t see past the tinted windows, couldn’t hear if they shouted, couldn’t help them now.
Then the car turned, just beyond the hospital, into a rough, overgrown bit of ground that sometimes served as a car park on very busy days. There was no one there now.
No one except for one white van, parked at the far end of the open ground.
The car drove over gravel. The stones crunched beneath the tyres and the car slowed right down.
The van was parked beside some scrubby bushes. A tall man got out of the driver’s seat. Anthea pulled her car alongside and killed the engine. She got out and pulled open the back door.
‘Get out,’ she said. ‘You’re going with Omar.’
Sylvie unclipped her seat belt, grabbed her things and got shakily to her feet. She could feel her heart pumping, her blood racing. She tried to take deep breaths, the way actors with stage fright did. If she didn’t calm down, she would burn too much energy. It felt like a long time since she’d eaten that Mars bar.
The deep breaths didn’t work.
Omar opened the back door of the van. The inside had metal sides and a wooden floor. A couple of grey woollen blankets had been hastily thrown down. ‘Get in,’ he said.
‘You can’t do this! It isn’t right!’ Sylvie said.
‘Get. In,’ Omar said quietly.
Sylvie got in. Auntie scrambled up behind. It was uncomfortable, cold and smelly, but more than anything else it was terrifying, as Omar closed the door on them and plunged them into darkness.