Thursday, 25 July

Alix’s mother spends the night. She comes with Alix the following day to the end-of-term assembly in the overwarm school hall, where the doors are standing open but no cool air is getting in. They sit side by side on a bench, their knees bent up into sharp angles, and Alix knows that her mother, though young for her age, will be glad when it is over and she can stretch her legs again. It is the end of primary school for Eliza. In the world in which she lived before Saturday night, this had been the day that Alix had been feeling most anxious about. The end of an era. The end of the safety net of a kind, nurturing primary school. No more sky-blue polo shirts for Eliza. No more Velcro-fastening book bag. No more assemblies for Alix to join in, no more museum trips for her to accompany.

And then it is over, the school spills out, the sun is shining, the summer has begun, six weeks of innocence and freedom and the beginning of a new stage of her daughter’s life and she feels none of it. They go to the park and queue for ice creams. The children play with their friends. Alix sits with her mother, away from the other parents. They head home and Alix puts the children’s uniforms in the washing machine for the last time until September. She waits as long as she can, which turns out to be 4.58 p.m., and then she pours wine for herself and her mother.

And then, as she glances at her empty glass and considers the possibility of pouring herself another one, even though it’s not yet five thirty, her phone rings, and it’s Sabrina Albright.

‘Guess who’s just walked into the station, Alix? And wants to see you?’

Hi! I’m Your Birthday Twin!

A NETFLIX ORIGINAL SERIES

The screen shows a young woman sitting in a vintage armchair placed in the middle of an empty, softly lit room.

She has blonde hair, shaved short on one side and grown to shoulder length on the other. She wears a buttoned-up pale blue shirt and black jeans.

She has many earrings in both ears and smiles nervously.

On the screen below are the words:

Roxy Fair, daughter of Josie and Walter Fair

The screen cuts to the title graphics and the episode ends.

***

2.50 p.m.

Roxy picks at the skin around her fingernails and stares at the clock on the wall. She is about to find out what the hell is going on, if anyone would ever actually come and see her. A few minutes later the door opens and a pair of feds walk in, a man and a woman, Chris and Sabrina they’re called, and they smile and say how sorry they are about Roxy’s dad and then they clear their throats and open notepads and the woman says, ‘Do you know where your mother is, Roxy?’

Roxy shakes her head. ‘I haven’t seen her since I was sixteen.’

‘We’ve managed to get hold of your grandmother, Pat O’Neill?’

Roxy nods.

‘She’s in Menorca, but she’s heading back tomorrow. She says you’ll be able to stay with her, if you want?’

‘I can’t stay. I have work. I need to get back.’

‘OK. That’s fine. But you should know, if you haven’t already seen it in the news, that we are actively searching for your mother in relation to your father’s murder and the attempted murder of Erin.’

Roxy flicks a gaze at the female police detective and then at the male. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes. There’s a lot going on at the moment, Roxy. And I think it might be best to talk you through it a step at a time, so it doesn’t get too confusing. Is that OK?’

Roxy nods tightly.

‘It sounds as if your mum and dad had a row on the night of Friday the twelfth of July. They’d been for dinner at a friend’s house—’

Roxy interjects with a snort of laughter. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘A woman called Alix Summer had recently befriended your mother. They’d been working on some kind of project together for a few weeks. This culminated in a dinner invitation on that Friday night. A few hours after your mother and father left Mrs Summer’s house, your mother reappeared on Mrs Summer’s doorstep badly injured, claiming to have been beaten by your father.’

‘My father?’

‘Yes. That is what she told Mrs Summer. She told Mrs Summer that she and Erin had left the flat together in the early hours of the morning and implied that your father was alive and well. She then spent a week living at Mrs Summer’s house, before leaving on Saturday morning, telling Mrs Summer that she was going to her mother’s flat, your grandma, Pat. The same night, Mrs Summer’s husband disappeared after a night out in town drinking with friends. The two events would seem to be entirely unrelated, apart from the fact that the hotel room that Mrs Summer’s husband was staying in when he disappeared, and the car that was filmed collecting him from the hotel he was staying at, were both paid for by a debit card in the name of …’

The woman pauses, and Roxy stares at her as if to say: ‘Well, go on then.’

‘Erin Fair.’

‘What, sorry, my sister, who is currently in a coma, paid for a hotel room for some random guy?’

‘We don’t think it was your sister, Roxy. We think your mother has been using your sister’s card. And here’s the thing, we’ve been investigating your sister’s bank account and, well, there had been a remarkable amount of money in there. Over forty thousand pounds. And in the last two weeks, over ten thousand of those pounds have been taken out from cashpoint machines in Queen’s Park. And according to what your mother told Mrs Summer, your sister, Erin, had special needs. She ate baby food and didn’t leave the house and yet she had money coming into her bank account on a daily basis. All from a livestreaming company called Glitch. Do you know anything about this aspect of your sister’s life?’

‘Yeah, she’s famous.’

‘Famous for what?’

‘Gaming. People pay a subscription fee to Glitch and then they get to watch players online. And my sister is one of the best.’

‘So, she earns money playing video games?’

Roxy can’t believe how old some people sound, like they live in a different world to her, but she controls the urge to roll her eyes and she says, ‘Yeah. That’s right.’

‘So, erm …’ Both detectives adjust their sitting positions. The man stares at his paperwork; the woman glances up at Roxy: ‘Where do you think your mother might be?’

Roxy lets out a rasp of laughter. ‘You’re asking me that?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Not going to be able to help you, I’m afraid. My mother …’ Roxy stops, her spiky façade slipping for just a moment. ‘My mother hated me. My mother hated my father. My mother hates my sister. She’s obviously taken Erin’s money to start a new life without any of us in it.’

‘But is there anywhere in particular? A place that meant something to her? Mrs Summer suggests that your mother was very nostalgic about the early days of family life. Overly so, maybe? So was there somewhere you went as a family, maybe?’

Roxy shrugs. She doesn’t see her childhood in that way. There’s no golden glow emanating from any area of it. ‘We used to go to the Lake District every summer. For a week. I hated it, all of us stuck in a caravan, or some hairy cabin with, like, spiders everywhere. But she loved it. She used to drink wine every night and go on and on about the views.’

‘Can you remember whereabouts in the Lake District you used to go?’

‘Yes. Ambleside. Right by the water.’

Roxy watches them write this down. She narrows her eyes at them and says, ‘You know there’s no way my dad ever laid a finger on my mum, don’t you?’

‘Well, we do have photographic evidence that shows your mum’s injuries.’

‘How?’

‘Mrs Summer took them, last week.’

Roxy sighs and tuts. ‘Sorry, Mrs SummerMrs Summer . Who the hell is this Mrs Summer?’

‘She’s your mother’s friend.’

‘But my mother doesn’t have any friends.’

‘She’s a friend, but she’s also been making a podcast with her.’

‘A podcast? What sort of podcast?’

‘She was interviewing your mother about her life.’

Roxy can’t help but laugh. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes. We’ve listened to the recordings. They’re quite … harrowing.’

‘In what way?’

‘Your childhood. The abuse. What happened to your friend, Brooke.’

‘Brooke?’ Her heart turns black for a moment; her stomach churns.

The detectives exchange a look. ‘Yes. Brooke Ripley. She was your friend, from school. She had a relationship with your father?’

‘Had a relationship with my—?’

‘She went missing, you know, about the same time you left home, and we’re investigating the possibility that her disappearance might have been related to your parents.’

‘You’re joking, right?’

‘No. We’re not joking. We’re acting on the testimony left by your mother on Mrs Summer’s podcast recording.’

Roxy shakes her head and closes her eyes. ‘Listen. I can’t deal with this, OK? What else did my mum say to this woman?’

‘She shared hours of testimony with her. All of which pointed towards a very toxic domestic situation in your home, towards the possibility of spousal and child abuse, including the alleged sexual abuse of your sister.’ The woman stops, licks her lips, touches the paperwork with her peach fingertips. ‘By your father.’

‘My—?’ Roxy slams her hands down on the tabletop and the two detectives jump slightly. ‘Seriously? My dad? That’s what my mum told her, is it?’

‘She said that your father left the marital bed every night and went into Erin’s bedroom, then didn’t come back.’

‘Yes. He was gaming with her.’

‘Gaming?’

‘Yes. He was part of the thing, part of the act, you know. The subscribers loved my dad being there. He would just sit behind her and make wisecracks. He had a nickname. Pops. Erased and Pops. That was part of why her stream was so popular, because of him.’

‘So why do you think he didn’t tell your mother about it?’

‘She just couldn’t – could not deal with anything he had to do with either of us. She was so jealous of him, of the fact that we loved him. She was sick with it. You know. Sick in the head. So tell me, please, I can take it. Tell me what she did to him. Tell me what my mum did to my dad.’

Roxy sits outside the chichi coffee shop on Salusbury Road. Her brain is on fire. It’s hot with things, with thoughts rolling and jostling and images flashing and pounding, and she acts like she doesn’t care, she acts like she’s seen it all before, but she hasn’t and her dad is fucking dead and Erin is attached to a thousand wires in a hospital room, her life still hanging in the balance. She shreds a paper napkin with tense fingers, then realises what she’s done and balls the shreds together tightly. She glances up through the plate glass and sees a woman walking hurriedly towards the shop. She’s tall, and her hair is very blonde, it looks natural, but Roxy can see the roots starting to grow back in her side parting. She is wearing flared jeans and a sweatshirt, stack-heeled trainers and no make-up. She looks like she hasn’t slept for days. She sees Roxy as she enters the café and looks at her questioningly. Roxy nods.

‘Hi. Roxy.’ She sits down. ‘God. This is …’ She seems lost for words and her eyes scan Roxy’s face as though she’s trying to remember it for later. ‘I can’t believe it’s you. I just feel like …’ Her hands go up in the air and flutter around vaguely before landing in her lap. ‘Are you OK?’

Roxy nods. Roxy is always OK and would never want anyone to think otherwise.

‘I’m really sorry about your father.’

Roxy nods again. Then she looks at Alix and says, ‘What did my mum tell you about my dad?’

Alix eyes her uncertainly and then says, ‘I’m not sure how true a lot of it was?’

‘Just tell me.’

So Alix does.

3 p.m.

‘Is that comfortable?’

Alix looks across the desk in her recording studio at Roxy, who is adjusting her headphones. Roxy nods and gives her a thumbs-up.

‘Great.’

Roxy is five foot tall and terrifying. Her jaw juts defiantly, even when she’s being pleasant.

‘This is all bullshit,’ she’d said in the café just now, loud enough for the two young mums sitting behind to pause their conversation and turn slightly in their seats. ‘I can’t believe she told you that stuff. It’s—’ And she’d been about to launch into her own telling of her childhood when Alix put her hand up to stop her.

‘How would you feel’, she said, ‘about contributing to the podcast? Telling your side?’

‘When?’ Roxy asked.

‘Now? I live just up there. Two minutes away. Less.’

She’d expected Roxy to say no, to be cagey and private and prickly, but she’d immediately picked up her small rucksack and started to stand up. ‘Is this going to be like a true crime podcast, then?’ she asked, and Alix had felt a shiver run through her at the realisation that somehow, through the stultifying fug of fear and dread, it had escaped her that that’s exactly what she was now doing. She was making a true crime podcast, out of the events of her own life.

Now she plays Roxy a small part of one of Josie’s recordings. It’s from the day that Josie told her about Brooke. She watches Roxy’s face as she listens, the looks of confusion and incredulity that pass across her fine features. She shakes her head occasionally, as if trying to dislodge something from her ear. Alix presses pause and waits for Roxy to speak.

Hi! I’m Your Birthday Twin!

A NETFLIX ORIGINAL SERIES

The screen changes to a close-up re-enactment of someone pressing record on a mixer desk.

Underneath the text reads:

Over the next twenty-four hours, Alix Summer recorded nearly four hours of testimony from Roxy Fair.

Roxy’s voice plays over a blurred visual recreation of the Fairs’ apartment interior.

A teenage girl can be seen from behind, chatting to an older man in the kitchen.

‘Brooke Ripley started late at my school. Everyone hated her. I remember being glad because it took the spotlight off me for a moment. She was kind of pretty, looked older than fourteen, big boobs. And we sort of paired off just because everyone hated us. And yeah, she and I got quite close. Really close. In fact, Brooke and I ended up being, like, together, you know? I’d always known I was gay, from a really young age. But Brooke was my first girlfriend, and it was seriously intense for a while. We were really in love. Didn’t tell anyone about it, only Erin. But not Mum, not Dad. And I remember this time, it was Christmas, my dad was home. I remember that now. He was baking cookies, in his Christmas apron. We were listening to Christmas music. It was kind of nice, felt like a normal family for once.’

Alix interjects: ‘Were you not a normal family?’

‘No. We were not a normal family. Not by any stretch. But right then, in that moment, it felt normal. And my dad was laughing and joking and I looked at Brooke and I thought: I bet you wish your dad was like mine. I remember thinking that. I remember it really clearly. I felt proud. You know? And yes, of course my mum hated it. Hated seeing us all having a laugh. All being happy. Afterwards Brooke said something like, “I think your mum hates me.” I said, “Why do you say that?” She said, “I dunno. The vibes I was getting off her.” I think Mum just really resented her, because she could tell how much I liked her. How much we all liked her. She could tell that Brooke was more important to me than her, that I loved her, you know, and she couldn’t deal with it. She couldn’t deal with anything that wasn’t about her. She was sick with envy.’

The background scene changes to a school playground filled with teenagers in uniform.

Alix asks: ‘And then there was a fight? According to witnesses, you and Brooke had a physical fight on school premises towards the end of your last term of school.’

‘Yeah. She, er, or at least I thought she’d said something about Erin. Someone told me she’d used a derogatory word about her. So I just went in, like I do, stupid, no fact-checking, lamped her. School suspended me, even though I was about to start my exams.’

The screen changes to Roxy sitting on a stool in an empty bar.

She is smiling coolly.

On the recording, she can be heard sighing.

‘I was kind of impetuous, when I was young. I was kind of a nightmare, to be honest. And that was it for me and school. I was done with it. I was done with all of it. But mainly I was done with my mother. So I ran away from home. I wanted Brooke to come with me. She said she wasn’t ready. She wanted to do her GCSEs. She wanted to go to the stupid fucking prom. She wanted to do it all properly. So I just went without her. Hoped she’d come to her senses. Hoped she’d come and find me. But instead, she just went and disappeared. Into thin air. And that was that.’

Alix asks: ‘So you running away from home – it was nothing to do with your father and Brooke? There was nothing going on? Erin didn’t tell you she’d heard them having sex? None of that actually happened?’

Roxy raises her gaze to the camera and shakes her head.

‘I’ve never heard so much bullshit in my life.’

***

11 p.m.

Roxy sleeps in Alix’s spare bedroom that night. Despite her coarse bravado, Alix senses the soft child beneath, the sixteen-year-old girl living in a toxic environment who just needed someone to nurture her. As Alix shows her to her room, she explains that this is where her mother had slept for a week, just before she disappeared. ‘She had this key, hidden under her mattress. It had the number six written on it. I gave it to the police, but they couldn’t match it with any of the locks in your parents’ house. Do you know anything about it?’

Roxy shrugs. ‘No.’

‘You don’t have access to an outhouse or a shed or, I don’t know, some kind of storage unit?’

‘I don’t think so. Although my dad had a garage, I think. His dad kept some old banger in it, I think. I do remember going in there once or twice, when we were small. It was all, like, dusty and cobwebby.’

‘Do you remember where it was?’

‘Yeah. Round the back.’

‘Round the back of what?’

‘The house. There’s this sort of – what’s it called? A mews? Like two sets of garages, facing each other, about seven or eight of them, I guess?’

‘And how did you get to this mews from your house?’

‘Like out the front and then round the corner and through a gate. But we also had a window in the bathroom that opened up on to it too.’

Alix and Roxy exchange a look, but neither of them gives voice to their thoughts.

Hi! I’m Your Birthday Twin!

A NETFLIX ORIGINAL SERIES

Screen shows a mother and teenage daughter sitting on a sofa in a sixteenth-century pub, with a small brown dog sleeping between them.

The mother has cropped white hair and red-framed reading glasses.

The daughter has long, blonde hair that hangs in heavy, tonged curls to her waist. The text beneath reads:

Clare and Georgie Small: holidaymakers at Ambleside Manor Lodge Park

The daughter, Georgie, speaks first.

‘We were there in July 2019. Me, my mam, my dad, my brothers. We’d just arrived two days before. It was during that heatwave we had back then. It was so hot, even up there by the lakes. We didn’t see her come. Just woke up the next morning and she was there. Sort of waved at her across the park, didn’t we? She had a little dog with her, and she sort of waved back but I could see she wasn’t friendly. But that was OK. We weren’t there to make friends.’

Clare, the mother, speaks.

‘The lodges are built for privacy, you see. It’s not like an average holiday park where you’re all rammed in. The lodges are new, only built a couple of years ago, and they all face out over the lake and have space around them so you can’t see into other people’s properties. So yeah, we knew she was there, but we didn’t see much of her. She just sat out on her deck at night with a glass of wine staring across the lake at sunset. I raised a glass to her once. She raised hers back at me. But that was as far as any interaction went. Then one day, about three or four days after she arrived, she wasn’t there any more. She’d just upped and left. But the car was still there. Thought that was strange. But didn’t think a lot about it after that. We stayed for ten days all told. And it was on our last day that the police arrived in Ambleside.’

Georgie interjects: ‘Just unbelievable that we’d been there all those days. Just hanging out, drinking, doing water sports, admiring the views, having fun, living our best lives, when all along …’

Clare touches Georgie’s arm and Georgie wipes away a tear.

‘I mean, what’s the matter with people? Seriously. What the hell is the matter with some people?’