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caused the upset. That girl who looked like her. Greta hated seeing her own features on someone else.
    At exactly noon she checked her watch, then fixed her gaze on the tide of workers leaving Dunwold Insurance. As they flowed from the building, many were wearing only lightweight jackets and so hastened past the others towards the warmth of the wine bars and coffee shops. Her elbows dug into the table as she tilted forward, her head closer to the glass.
    At two minutes past twelve she caught sight of him, carrying a folded umbrella but strolling along as if it was summer. He paused for a beat as he waited for a slim girl who lagged behind him, fiddling with the catch on her handbag. So he was still with Paulette. Greta could just pick out her features: milky skin, fair hair and large almond-shaped eyes.
    She didn’t know the colour, but guessed blue. Like her own.
    Paulette curled her arm through his and they walked in step, heading away from the window and out of sight.
    Greta sagged back into her seat and frowned as she mulled things over. Paulette resembles me – and so did the last one. What does Paulette have that I don’t? He obviously wants women that look alike . She gnawed her lip and stared into her coffee. But not me.
    She turned her face into the cold as she left the Flying Pig, crossed over to the newsagent’s, and bought the first edition of the Cambridge News . She glanced at the front-page photo but quickly turned her gaze away, clutching the newspaper under her arm and determined not to read it in the street.
    She fell into a jog down Hills Road, dodging the shoppers, and ran across Gonville Place, weaving through a muddle of cars and cyclists before scurrying into the nearest cubicle of the female public toilets. There she slumped against the partition wall, resting heavily on one shoulder, and raised the newspaper in both hands.
    She scanned the accompanying article, picking out the key phrases and searching for a sign, but her instinct told her, they still have no idea.
    Finally she drew a small pair of scissors from her inside pocket, letting the inner pages slide to the floor, as she carefully cut Kaye’s picture from page one, before she folded it neatly and slipped it inside her jacket.
    She paused for a moment to stare into the polished stainless steel that served as a mirror. Her reflection stared back at her like the face of a woman she recognized but no longer knew. Helen looked like you, Kaye looks like you. She turned away from her reflected image and whispered, ‘But you’re alive.’

CHAPTER 7
MONDAY, 28 MARCH 2011
    Pete Walsh called to Paulette as she again paused to fumble with the catch on her handbag. ‘I know we’ve got an extra half hour for lunch today but can’t you hurry up? It’s freezing out here.’
    ‘My bag keeps coming open.’ Paulette scowled as she strained to twist the clasp shut.
    ‘Why didn’t you fix it when we were still inside?’ He stopped and waited for her to catch up.
    ‘For God’s sake, Pete, be patient.’ She managed to persuade it to stay in place this time. ‘There we go … And you don’t look that cold anyway.’
    He turned towards the town again as she fell into step and slipped her arm through his. ‘Everybody’s cold. It’s winter.’
    ‘No it’s spring, and I’m not cold,’ she began, and Pete dragged in a deep breath before expelling it as a weighty sigh. ‘You keep me warm,’ she continued, and wrapped her fingers around his sleeve, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder.
    He gave her the flash of a smile. ‘Where do you want to go?’
    ‘I don’t mind.’ She shrugged. ‘There’s a new pizza place up on the corner.’
    ‘Really?’ He sounded surprised.
    ‘Well, no – not if you don’t want to.’ She shrugged again.
    ‘I don’t think it looks much, but if that’s where you fancy …’
    ‘No, I really don’t mind. That was just the first place I thought of. We can go somewhere else.’ But