Redecoration
Part 2
Nicola awoke, feeling thirsty. It took her some moments to remember where she was. Vague memories of crashing on the sofa at Nikki’s flat came back. However, instead Nicola found herself in bed and rather than being in her business suit, she was in a black teeshirt and shorts. She guessed they were Nikki’s. They were certainly not the kind of thing she wore to bed. Nicola sat up and looked around. The bed looked undisturbed apart from where she had slept. She had thought that the flat had only one bedroom, but perhaps she was in a spare one. She got up and called out for Nikki. There was no response, and given the time, well into the working day, Nicola guessed she had had to get out to her job. She could have woken Nicola, but perhaps she had had to go early and believed Nicola needed the sleep. Clearly Nikki trusted Nicola sufficiently to leave her alone in the flat. Nicola walked to the kitchen and got herself some water then went in search of her suit. Having looked around the small flat, there seemed to be no trace of it. She worried a little that Nikki was in fact interested in her and had taken it so that she would remain. Nicola stopped herself, perhaps she was becoming too cynical, nothing Nikki had done had suggested ulterior motives. Nicola tried to remember if she had spilt something on her suit. Had Nikki taken it for dry-cleaning because it was covered in sick?
Nicola decided that the best policy now was to shower and dress in something of Nikki’s she could find. If needs be she could call Azed and find out where Nikki was delivering this morning or get her mobile number. As Nicola padded into the bathroom a flash of her reflection seemed wrong. She stopped and walked over to the mirror and saw that she was right to be concerned. As she looked at her reflection, Nicola was startled to see that her hair had been cut short and styled just like Nikki’s had been. Her ears also held the same set of studs and rings that Nikki had worn. Nicola stepped back and splashed water in her face, worrying for a moment that she was having some kind of hallucination. However, the dark red-over-black dyed hair was real and running her fingers along her ears she found the piercings were genuine. There was even the nose stud, something Nicola would never have considered having, but given that she now looked very much like Nikki had done, it fitting in perfectly.
It was her face, Nicola’s face, there was no disputing that. The high cheekbones, the straight nose, and rather small mouth with full lips were all that she was familiar with. Her eyebrows had lost their sculpted arc and were now straight as they had been when she was a girl. Her dark blues eyes looked out, seeming well rested, but somehow eager. Nicola looked at herself and then back at her reflection. She ran her fingers over the piercings and then the tattoos she found: the Celtic band around the top of her right arm, the double-headed on her left hip. They were all real. They seemed, as far as she knew, to be a replica of how Nikki had appeared. Nicola’s thoughts were confused, trying to work out why someone had done this to her. Was Nikki some psycho who loved to turn women into copies of herself? Was Nicola imprisoned here? She went to the window and opened it. She was going to try the front door next, but guessed it was better to put some clothes on first.
Heading back to the bedroom she found a wardrobe full of what she imagined were Nikki’s clothes. None of it was what Nicola wore, but for now she guessed she had no choice but to put something on. She was very self-conscious of wearing another woman’s underwear, but it was all more than clean enough. Given that the only tops were teeshirts and the trousers were either denim or leather, she knew she had to have at least some underwear to protect her soft bits. Soon she was a sleek but practical looking bra and panties, grateful that Nikki had, at least, not opted for pink frilly stuff. She put on the plainest long-sleeved teeshirt she could find but as she reached for some jeans she found her attention taken by the pairs of leather trousers. She had never worn a pair and some curiosity took over her, so that moments later she was sliding her legs into tight smooth leather trousers and buckling the belt closed. Nicola found she really like how they felt, the gentle creak as she moved, even the rich aroma. Then she put on socks and ankle boots. Everything seemed to fit her perfectly, but she gave no thought to that. Nicola headed to the front door, assuming it would be locked, but, in fact it just opened and she stepped out into the corridor of the block of flats she vaguely remembered from the night before.
“Hello, Nikki.” A young man said as he walked down the stairs passed her.
Nicola was slightly put out, but responded automatically, “Hi, Tom.”
How did she know the man was called Tom? Before she could ask him, he was down the stairs and moments later she heard the outer door close. Nicola was at a loss as what to do now. Was this some kind of joke by Nikki? Had she somehow thought she could turn Nicola into a lesbian by getting her to look the same? If it had been some kind of weird thing like that, then why had Nikki made no effort to confine her here? It seemed that Nicola was free to walk out of here and contact her solicitor about suing the biker for the unwanted piercings and tattoos she had given Nicola.
Nicola walked back into the flat and looked at herself in the mirror once again. The brief burst of anger at Nikki had faded fast and as she looked at what had initially been a strange reflection, Nicola found herself quite quickly unconcerned about it. She had probably been due for a change in style. A few discreet tattoos were nothing unusual these days and might appeal to some men; some women too. Nicola checked herself. Why had she suddenly thought about being attractive to women? Of course, Nicola always hoped that other women approved of how she dressed, perhaps even thought her stylish, but now Nicola found an interest in appealing to them in a different way, in terms of attraction, in terms of sex. Nicola expected to be shocked at that thought, but found instead, to her surprise, that the thought actually gave her a frisson. Dressed like this, she was sure she would have no problem picking up a woman to experiment with. What was the phrase: bi-curious? Had simply spending the night here at a lesbian’s flat have shifted her views so much? Nicola liked to think of herself as open minded, but she had to confess that she did nothing in her life that could be considered even remotely ‘alternative’.
Nicola stepped back into the flat pondering what to do. It was apparent that she could leave whenever she chose. However, she remained reluctant to do so until she understood better precisely what had been done to her. She guessed the best place to start was in the flat. She returned to the bedroom. Of course, the clothes were not hers, and the jewellery and make-up were not of the kind she ever used. The bed itself was nothing like her own iron bedstead with its layers of embroidered blankets. Instead this was a low, futon design with dark covers. The bedside light was a modern rather than classic design, but the clock radio was as precisely as she remembered it. The watch left beside it, however, again jarred, it had a large face with numerous dials and a heavy metallic strap. Nicola picked it up, her own watch having presumably gone the way of her suit. It felt heavy on her wrist, but fitted well; Nicola imagined it was some fake version of a high end watch. It certainly did not match her style, well the style she had had until yesterday, but it went well with what she was now wearing. For a moment Nicola felt uneasy at simply taking Nikki’s watch, but dismissed it as only fair given where Nikki had landed her; she would give it back once she had her own things again.
Nicola moved from the bedroom into the living room. As she remembered from the night before, this too was decorated in a sleek modern style. By the door sat on a unit was a small leather rucksack, which Nicola imagined was what Nikki used as a handbag, as she looked at it, she remembered her carrying it as they got up to the flat. Perhaps she did not take it with her to work. Nicola felt a little guilty snooping into Nikki’s bag, but then told herself, that it might have contact details which would allow her to track down Nikki and get her to explain what she had done. Furthermore, the woman had sort of kidnapped her and certainly done things to Nicola without her consent, and with more confidence now Nicola told herself that she should not feel any qualms about behaving like this in return. After all, presumably Nikki had had enough time while Nicola slept, to conceal anything she wanted kept secret. The bag contained the usual things that a woman carried with her. The mobile phone was identical to her own; pretty high spec for a courier, Nicola thought, before chiding herself for being a snob. The keypad was not locked and Nicola was able to look through saved numbers and recent calls. There were a string of numbers and names that were unfamiliar to her, bar that of Azed, Nikki’s courier company.
There were a set of what Nicola took to be keys to the flat. There were two sets of keys with company key fobs: one Honda, one Kawasaki suggesting they for motorbikes not cars. There was a driving licence and a red polyester tri-fold wallet. Nicola took out the driving licence. The shock was that the picture seemed to show herself. Of course, Nikki had borne a passing resemblance to her, and the similarity had been heightened by what had been done to Nicola’s hair. However, it was clear to Nicola that the licence showed her, with the hairstyle she now had. The name, however, was different, rather than ‘Nicola Jennifer Taylor’ it said ‘Nicolette Samantha Wilde’. Nicola had not asked Nikki’s full name, these days that contraction could have been it. However, it now appeared that it was short for Nicolette. Was this just another sign of Nikki’s crazy plan to make Nicola somehow appear her replica? What was that movie she had seen one evening: ‘Single White Female’, had that not had a plot like this? Nicola wondered what risk she faced. It was now clear she would have no problem getting out of here, presumably there were hours before Nikki returned to work. There was money in this wallet and though she was loath to take it and be accused of theft, it would at least get her a taxi home.
Sat next to the bag on a black lacquer tray were a series of documents. They were all in Nikki’s name and seemed to be insurance and other details connected to a couple of motorbikes. Looking back at the licence, Nicola saw Nikki was fully licensed for bikes as well as cars, she guessed that was no surprise. Nicola kept on looking, partly hoping that she would find something of her own that Nikki had neglected to hide or dispose of. At the bottom of the pile was a passport. Nicola flicked it open and was again unnerved to see that it held her photograph. The birth date was hers and the place of birth too. However, again, her name had been replaced by that of Nicolette Wilde.
Seeing the details on the passport, Nicola felt shaky. It seemed impossible that Nikki had the money and power to have a passport and driving licence faked. If she had been a bored millionairess, then, perhaps. Maybe she was that for real and had simply been slumming it as a courier for some kind of kick. However, something else had appeared in Nicola’s thoughts. She walked into the living room and yet here were things that seemed to add to her growing concern. Surely the onyx eggs were the ones she had brought back from Greece as a teenager. That vase, too, was hers. Even a couple of photos of locations she had visited in France and Spain when a student, were well known to her. What jarred were the shots of her sat on motorcycles and with a group of women at what looked like a motor-racing track. The pictures were certainly of her, how she remembered herself and how she looked in the mirror. Of course, none of them had the hairstyle she thought she had had the day before nor just a single set of earrings the way she believed she wore them.
Nicola slumped on the leather sofa. Slowly she let the thought she had been pushing aside grow in her mind so she could test it. Had she drunk too much the night before and gone into some so vivid dream, imaging herself as this Nicola Taylor, that she had awoken forgetting that she was actually Nikki Wilde? Any objective judge of this situation would have argued that way. Surely it was more feasible than her first assumption that someone overnight had gone to the effort of making her look like some other woman, faking documents and photos just to back up that impression? The fact that there were things here that Nicola knew that she liked and she remembered from her past, had to add weight to the surmise that she was not this Nicola, but was, and always had been, Nikki. A strong feeling told Nicola that she should accept that as the truth and get on with her day, doing nothing more than promising to go a bit more carefully when she went out drinking next time. However, some irritated part inside would not let her yield that easily and argued again and again that she was being ridiculous, she was Nicola Taylor and had to somehow prove this fact and get her old life back.
Nicola guessed that the first thing was to return to her flat and see if she could get in. At least with her own stuff around her, she would be able to establish her identity. She did not want to confess that given how much effort the whoever that had played with her life had taken, it seemed unlikely that they would not have cleared out her own flat. Nicola felt it was worth a try. She headed back to the front door, thinking it best to find out exactly where in town she was. A free newspaper had been pushed through the letterbox. Nicola picked up the newspaper to clear the doorway and as she did, noticed the date: it was fourteen days on from what she would have expected. Her watch showed the same date. Of course, one could be a typing error and the other a setting mistake, but a quick rush back to the television soon confirmed, that Nicola had woken up not just the morning after the night before, but a whole fortnight later. Certainly that explained how there had been enough time to change her so radically. Rather apprehensively, Nicola wondered what else these people, whoever they were might have done. It seemed incredible that Nikki alone had been behind all this and Nicola now began to see her as a catspaw for some organisation. What she could not determine was why such people would pick on her. KW Products hardly dealt in nuclear secrets. Nicola came back to her original conclusion that this was some form of entertainment and she looked around half expecting to find television cameras hidden somewhere in the flat. She found none and soon gave up.
Now Nicola decided to stick to her original plan and head back to her own flat. She walked to the front door opening the door to the cupboard beside it. She pulled out a motorbike helmet and a thick leather jacket, thinking that she was only going a short way, there was no need for the full combi. Nicola eased on the jacket. Then went out, closed and locked the door behind her. She grabbed her gloves from her pocket and headed down to her garage behind the block of flats. It was only as she lifted up the garage door and saw the two motorbikes inside, that Nicola realised that she had done this all automatically as if it was what she normally did while heading out. Nicola knew that she had never ridden a motorbike in her life and yet found her mind checking through all that she would do to start it and ride it off. Nicola was intrigued to see what would happen when she actually tried to do that and decided to let off a bit of control and let her body and instincts try to accomplish what they seemed eager to do.
The first motorbike, which Nicola found she somehow knew was a Honda ST1100, looked huge. However, with every step towards it Nicola felt increasingly confident about getting on it. For now, though she steered herself to the less powerful red Kawasaki GPZ 500. For an instant she was apprehensive that she would make a dangerous fool of herself even trying to get on this bike. However, she found, in contrast, that the memories of how to start and ride it came easily to her mind and she was quickly straddling it, putting on her helmet and the gloves from her jacket, and firing up the very powerful engine. Barely thinking about it, Nicola found herself flipping her visor closed and pulling the bike from the garage. She propped it on its stand before going back to secure the garage door. In moments she had remounted and was powering away from the flats as if it was what she did every day of her life.
Nicola had been driving a car for years and considered herself more than competent. She found that riding even this large a motorbike came surprisingly naturally. More than that, with each passing minute she found she was actually enjoying being in control of such force, its responsiveness to her manipulation of it and the surprising freedom, moving fast but aware of the air flowing over her leathered body. She zipped through the traffic far faster than she would have done in her car. That thought gave her another idea, surely her ownership of her car must still be lodged with the DVLA. It was something she would have to check. It might provide her with yet another fragment to prove that she was not Nikki but Nicola.
Nicola’s intuition seemed to know the way from the flats into the centre of town and from there Nicola guessed she could find her way back to where she knew she actually lived. As she grew more confident in her riding, Nicola’s mind rushed with thoughts about other ways she could find proof that she was not Nikki. She found herself chuckling, a little manically if she was to admit it, as she thought it was a shame that she had never been arrested for some crime. These days even something minor meant they took a DNA sample and in the UK they kept it on file for years. Apparently they even had thousands of innocent people’s samples taken to eliminate them from enquiries. Nicola found it ironic that she was now wishing that she had somehow been wrapped in some crime, even if she had had her flat burgled. At least then there would be the chance that the police would have DNA that matched hers and was labelled ‘Nicola Taylor’ rather than ‘Nicolette Wilde’.
In minutes, heartened by such ideas, Nicola pulled up in front of what she thought of as the low-rise block that held ‘her’ flat. It was in a smarter district than the one she had woken up in, set back from the road and hidden away behind rhododendrons. It was larger than Nikki’s flat with a small dining room and a second bedroom. Nicola’s flat was on the first floor just to the side and even as she parked her bike she could see that a ‘to let’ sign now protruded from the narrow balcony. Nicola was sure that in the two weeks in which she had been out of circulation it was clear that whoever had done all of this to her, had not scrimped on effort and had stripped out her flat. However, it was galling to have hard evidence like this. Seeing her elderly next door neighbour, who she knew as Mrs. Ruskin, Nicola stepped down from her bike, and removing her helmet, bowled up to the woman.
“Mrs. Ruskin.” Nicola said cheerfully, wishing she had taken the effort to get to know her neighbour a bit better.
The woman ran her eyes over Nicola rather critically and she guessed the biker look, however smart her leathers were, was doing her no favours.
“Yes, I’m Marjorie Ruskin. Have you got a delivery? Something from my son?”
Nicola felt a combination of amusement and frustration that she appeared to be considered a courier on sight.
“No, er, Marjorie, it’s me, Nicola, Nicola Taylor, I live next door to you.”
“Nicola. Yes, there was a woman called that, she lived next door to me. Have you got a delivery for her? I was told she’s moved to Australia; some letting agency’s bought the flat. It was all sudden. Maybe she told me about it, but I must’ve forgotten.”
It was clear that her appearance was too altered for Mrs. Ruskin to match her up with Nicola her former neighbour. Hairstyles influenced how people saw your face and she guessed with this dark red cropped look her face must seem miles from Nicola Taylor who had always sported shoulder-length blonde hair.
“You could try the letting agents, they might have an address for her; then you could send the parcel on.”
Given how thorough the rest of her life seemed to have been tidied away, Nicola imagined there would little point.
“Thank you, I will do that.” Nicola said, turning away; there was never any reason not to be polite, not matter what challenges you were facing.
Nicola started the engine once more and drove slowly away from the flat she had known as home for four years now. She tried to dismiss thoughts of all the belongings she had left in there. Of course, some of her mementos were now at Nikki’s flat and she guessed most other things were replaceable, though it might take a while on a courier’s salary. As Nicola rode away. a little aimlessly heading back into town, she told herself to be strong and not to focus on what she had lost, but what revenge she could take on those who had messed with her life. With renewed determination, the next step was clear, she drove to KW Products.
“Hi Nikki, I didn’t realise we had anything to pick up this morning?”
“Sorry?”
“I thought you’d come by for a pick-up.”
“No.” Nicola wondered why Karen thought that. “I was heading to my office; I need to find my keys.”
Nicola spoke brazenly, hoping to some extent to convince Karen, that, despite how she was dressed concealed in here was Nicola Taylor, the woman she had worked alongside for the past fourteen months.
“Your office?”
“Yes, that one there.”
“Are you feeling alright?” Karen asked with a look of genuine concern. “That’s not an office any more, anyway, it’s used for storage.”
“But that used to be my office.”
“You used to work here?”
Now Nicola began to feel something was really amiss. How could Karen have forgotten that she worked here? Okay, so Nikki had been part of some practical joke, some scheme that had changed her hair and her appearance and she was walking around dressed in some of her clothes. Perhaps it was something more serious, though Nicola could barely imagine what industrial espionage there could be around kitchen utensils. Despite all that, despite this scheme however large or small it might be, she was incredible that Karen did not recognise her.
“Karen, do you know who I am?” Nicola asked, but then felt it was a little harsh. “Erm, I mean just tell me what you know about me.”
“Is that a come on? I know you’re, well, you know … into women.”
“Well, that was a rumour put around, it’s not true.”
Nicola protested then realised it was a rumour she had not heard
“Okay.” Karen said slowly. “Well, I know you like motorbikes, you work for Azed Couriers and you’re always called Nikki and I don’t know what that’s short for.”
“Nicola. And my surname?”
“Is this some kind of game?”
Nicola did not want to irritate Karen, because for some reason she felt sure that if she could her to see that she was Nicola Taylor then things would begin to get back to normal.
“Erm, well, no, it’s just you know, bosses think it’s good if people know your details, erm, in case there’s some query.”
Nicola blustered, worrying a little that it sounded like the kind of thing that a courier would say rather than an executive.
“No, sorry, Nikki, I only know you as that. What is it?”
“Taylor; Nicola Taylor.”
“Oh, okay, we used to have a woman who worked here called that.”
“Until when?”
“Two weeks ago. Didn’t you meet her: long hair, wore business suits? The boss came in this morning and said she’d left, apparently been on the cards for a while, some job came up in Australia. Apparently she didn’t want a fuss, you know, the leaving do and stuff.”
“That was, that is me: Nicola Taylor.”
“Oh, you didn’t have a leaving do when you went either? I can’t understand it myself, it’s often me that arranges them, usually a good laugh. I couldn’t think of any lesbian bars around here though, so that might be a problem.” The telephone warbled. “’Scuse me, I need to take this.”
Perhaps Karen was far less bright than Nicola had imagined in the past. She wondered if she should make a fuss, demand entrance to her old office, something of that kind. However, dressed as she was, with this kind of appearance, she guessed it was going to be pretty difficult to get anyone to listen to her. Whoever had planned this for her had been clever. They had not simply made her or Nikki or whatever her real name had been, disappear, they had eased Nicola into a role already carved out for her. It was far harder to say ‘no, I’m not Nikki the courier, but Nicola the executive’ than it would be for her to appear saying she had been kidnapped or something. Had someone been eased into her life too? From the locked office door, it seemed not and that might be in her favour.
Nicola walked away from Karen knowing that she was not going to get any useful response from her. The office seemed very quiet and then she remembered the away-day. Even if she could fast talk her way beyond the card-operated door into the main office, she doubted there would be anyone more than temps and they would not have known Nicola Taylor anyway. Uncertain what to do next, Nicola got back into the lift. Outside she tried her mobile, or, in fact, Nikki’s mobile. She called Azed Couriers.
“Hello, this is Nicola Taylor from KW Products.”
“Nikki, is that you?”
Nicola found she recognised the voice as being that of Andy Prescott, her boss. She checked her mind’s easy assumption. This man had been Nikki’s boss, not her own.
“No, this is Nicola Taylor.” Nicola said a little indignantly.
“Sorry, I thought it was one of my couriers phoning in.”
“Nikki Wilde?”
“You know her, yes, that’s who. Nicola Taylor, yes, here we are, with KW Products.”
“Is Nikki in today?”
“No, she’s got a week’s leave this week. I thought it was her checking up on something. The phone’s saying it’s her number, but you know these things.” Andy said.
“She was working last week?” Nicola continued, guessing she had more idea about why the phone was saying what it did, than Andy did.
“Yes, up until Friday, then, as I said she went on leave.”
Nicola guessed that whoever had arranged this had kept Nikki in position until their work on Nicola was complete. They were clever to have her be on leave, it would presumably help when, if things had gone to plan, Nicola-as-Nikki had returned to work and had forgotten a few things or seemed a little out of sorts, a week on Ibiza could do that to people, she imagined.
“Is there some problem?”
“No, no, we’ve used her before; I just knew she was very reliable.”
“She is but I’ve got other couriers just as good. Do you have a pick up?”
“Erm.” Nicola thought quickly. “No, not this week, a week today. If Nikki could do it, then great. It’s women’s stuff, you know, I thought it’d be better with her taking it rather than a man.”
“Oh okay. Sounds a good idea.” The man responded seeming content with the explanation. “I can write it in now if you like. A 9.30 pick-up at KW Products, that’s in the Grafton complex, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. It’ll be ready at reception.”
“Great, we’ll add it to your account.”
“I’ll sort out the paperwork at this end.”
In moments the phone call was over. Nicola wondered if Azed would ever see their favourite female courier again. As she walked away from the office wondering what she was to do next, her mobile bleeped. Nicola guessed she should not have been surprised when she found the details of the delivery she had just booked being texted to her by her despatcher. Again the idea that she was being foolish and that the belief that she was this Nicola Taylor, who, though clearly a real woman, had left the country, was the true fantasy, came back to Nicola. Nicola snatched at that thought though. Nicola Taylor had been a real woman who had lived in the flat Nicola remembered and had worked for KW Products. Between them Mrs. Ruskin, Karen and Mark Prescott had confirmed all of that. Surely, the fact that this Nicola had sold up and emigrated so quickly, made it all sound very suspicious. Nicola felt heartened by this realisation, but was at a loss what to do next. There appeared to be nothing more she could do for now in chasing up her old life. She guessed she had to be grateful that whoever had pulled this off, had at least left her a place to sleep, not abandoned looking like a bag lady in some doorway.
Nicola clambered back on her bike. She gave no thought now to her skills at riding it. She had the licence, so she was legal, and, it seemed, somewhere along the line she had gained true ability to match what it said on paper. Soon Nicola was back at the flat, new ideas of what to do next bubbling up.
Nicola found she was able to get the computer started and access it without trouble. When she came to her email service, she found that Nikki’s email address was remembered by the system and when she tried her own password on it, she was not surprised to find it open. Nicola backtracked and tried both of the email addresses she used but neither was recognised, it was apparent they had been deleted and she had been given Nikki’s instead. Nicola had already tried to find out who was registered as owner of her car, saying she had found keys to it. The police had just offered to take them and return them to the owner themselves. Then they came back quickly saying that in fact the car had been scrapped the previous week, so they guessed Nicola did not need to worry about returning them. Nicola felt angry that her car had been destroyed and realised it cut off yet more evidence that Nicola Taylor had ever existed.
Nicola had then tried to telephone her parents but their number came back as constantly engaged even when Nicola ventured out to use a callbox. She tried emailing them, but her emails quickly bounced back. It seemed that whoever had pulled this off had been thorough. Of course, she could make the trip out to where they had retired to in Spain, but she was reluctant to do so looking like she did and on a passport which she knew must have been faked. It would open her up to shock from her parents and, even more likely, difficulties with both the UK and Spanish authorities.
Now, gazing at the email account which was trying so hard to be her own, but was filled with emails advertising motorbike gear and events, Nicola found there was an email that had come from a lesbian dating site. Clicking back through its links she saw that she had a fully filled out profile. The images were of her, she remembered some of the shots being taken, but surely they had been doctored to give her the hair cut, the piercings and the tattoo she had now. Looking through many of the sections they were how she would have filled them in, in terms of her values and hopes for the future. However, certain things jarred, her interest in motorbikes and her description of her job as a courier were just some of them. Certainly while she had had vague thoughts of finding a long-term partner, she had never envisaged it being a woman, and yet her profile indicated she was an out-and-out lesbian, proud of her sexuality and keen to find the right kind of partner to settle down with, or at least, motorbike across Europe with.
One email was from a woman called Piper. It seemed that she knew Nicola, or rather Nikki’s real name not just her website identity, and, as Nicola read back through, it seemed she and Nikki had actually met. Her latest email was strangely tentative. Though it was clear she was into motorbikes, she seemed a little nervous and asked if Nikki was alright, having clearly expected a call from her over the weekend, but not wanting to seem too clingy or desperate. She made a joke about Nikki hitting off with some hot young thing in a club. Nicola felt sorry for the woman. She imagined it could not be easy putting yourself out there as a lesbian and then facing all the kinds of hopes and doubts you would if dating a man. The facilities the internet provided did enable you to meet people you would otherwise never encounter, people on the same wavelength, but there remained the hazards of lost emails and other stuff. Piper ended her email asking if Nikki was interested in coming to watch some mid-week speedway racing with her. Nicola recognised the tone from her own dating encounters a few years back now and guessed that if Piper got no response she would know it was over.
Nicola sat re-reading the email and sought out others from Piper still in the inbox. She felt sorry for this woman who it seemed had been set up to add more weight to this false life that had been carved out to slip Nicola into. Then Nicola realised that perhaps Piper gave her a chance. Here was a woman who must have known Nikki, presumably reasonably well. If she could meet with her, it seemed likely that instantly she would know Nicola was not Nikki and it could help Nicola recapture her own identity. She hoped that she could explain things to Piper and then enlist her help perhaps to find the real Nikki and so begin Nicola on the path to getting her own life back. Nicola did not want to scare Piper off but also not stoke up false hopes in her either. She wracked her brains as to where they should meet but looking back over the emails found that Piper had suggested what now seemed like an ideal neutral place: the nearby speedway track. Rationally Nicola remembered always wondering the point of the sport, but now found an excitement of going to see such races. A busy, public place rather than a quiet, intimate one, was ideal for what she was looking for.
Nicola was about to email a response for Piper but decided that to get things moving more quickly she should call. She hoped she could leave a message; she guessed Piper would recognise Nikki’s mobile number. The moment the call connected Nicola felt like hanging up, but she thought that could muck everything up.
“Hi.”
“Piper?”
“Yes.”
“It’s erm,” Nicola hesitated wanting to use her real name but deciding it best not to spring too much on Piper at the moment, “it’s Nikki.”
Piper laughed. “Sounds like you’d forgotten your own name.”
“I’ve been so busy that I bet I could soon do that.” Nicola said, developing the line she had planned to use. “I’m really sorry about not getting back to you, I’ve just been getting in and collapsing into bed.”
“I understand. I’m just glad you called.”
“Erm, that’s good. It’s good to speak to you. I wondered…” It had been a long time since Nicola had asked a man out on a date and it was the first time she had ever arranged to meet with a woman who seemed attracted to her. “Well, if we could meet up at the speedway, like you suggested. Tomorrow night, say, at seven?” Nicola had checked the details from the track’s website. “At the bar?”
“That sounds cool.”
“You’ll recognise me?”
Piper laughed. “No worries. See you tomorrow.”
Nicola was partly glad that she had got that sorted. However, she was not looking forward to telling Piper that she was not who she thought she was and, in fact, was not even a lesbian. She just hoped that Piper knew to be cautious when meeting up with people you contacted via the internet and Nicola would just have to accept if Piper was annoyed when it became clear that Nicola had been playing some kind of game. Nicola wondered if it would be better to let her down gently and simply say she was not her type. Maybe that was the right solution. She remembered, then, that, of course, the reaction she was really looking for was for Piper to recognise that she was not Nikki and then enlist her to help prove her real identity. Nicola was not certain whether that would be of much use, but certainly felt that it would be good to have someone tell her that she was not Nikki Wilde.
Nicola guessed that in terms of Piper there was little more she could do for now. She thought of other ways of trying to establish her identity as Nicola Taylor, in part to shake off her concerns about what to do on her first lesbian date. Nicola tried again with numbers for her parents. She realised it had been seven months since she had last spoken to her ‘best friend’, Amelia, and was disappointed but not overly surprised to find her number did not connect with a phone. Knowing Amelia she had probably changed phones and providers two or three times in those months. Nicola realised that she had been so poor at keeping in touch with people that she had made herself vulnerable to having even the remaining connections snapped so easily.
Frustrated that she could not progress with her own contacts she started probing those of Nikki. Of course, she increasingly suspected that Nikki Wilde had not been the woman’s real name and for some reason she had been brought in to establish an identity making it so much easier to slide Nicola into it later. Again, Nicola found it hard to decide who would have gone to this effort, who she may have upset, going right back to her school days, who would carry out this kind of revenge. She returned to Nikki’s email account and also found she had a Facebook page. Neither was older than three months, which appeared to be the date when this scheme had been initiated. It was quite comprehensive with pictures of her favourite bikes. There were pictures of locations Nicola had visited, making use of photographs she had taken but the aspirations were very different, to travel round Europe on a Harley Davidson with her girlfriend at her side. Whilst the pages did not shout out that she was a lesbian, anyone who read the content would have soon gotten that idea.
Nicola found the first email from Piper dated back three months too. She wondered how much Nikki and Piper had dated, if it had been frequent then that should make it easier for Piper to see that someone had been substituted for the Nikki she knew. However, Piper had been out of the country, nannying to the children of a German couple based in London, while they been in the USA. The work had come to an end just a couple of weeks back when the youngest child had been packed off to an English boarding school. However, it was clear that Nikki and Piper had built up quite a relationship in that time, more substantial than Nicola had realised. The long emails had ranged over a whole host of topics, becoming more intimate as they progressed, so that Nicola soon knew more about this young woman, and, in fact Nikki too, than she would have chosen to find out. She located a file of photos on the computer showing Piper in various poses, many quite harmless, just of her on various motorbikes, but as she progressed they became more personal. She had to admit there was something alluring about Piper, a vigour but also a sensuality. The last shot was of her in just a leather jacket and nothing else, a hint of her breasts where it hung open. Nicola knew young women often went too far in exchanging personal pictures online, she had seen a report about it on the news. However, it was startling to find a woman in her twenties doing this. Nicola guessed lesbians were not that different. She did ponder what Nikki may have sent back in return, especially given the ‘arty’ photos on display in her living room.
What was apparent though, was that, back in the UK, Piper had clearly expected the relationship to develop. Having learned so much about each other, it seemed even to Nicola, the best she could judge a lesbian relationship, that Piper and Nikki were compatible. No wonder Piper had sounded so forlorn in that last email and so pleased when Nicola had phoned. Throughout the day Nicola found herself thinking through the best way to approach the date. Of course, the first thing was to make it appear less like a date and to get Piper to understand that Nicola was not interested in her sexually but as a potential helper in recovering her own life. However, she realised that given the email exchanges that Piper was probably expecting something different, the beginning of a new phase in her relationship with the woman she believed was Nikki. Nicola worked out different ways to react depending how Piper responded, but remained apprehensive and then was again angry that whoever had taken it into their heads to mess with her life was in fact disrupting that of Piper as well and leaving Nicola to sort it all out. Not for the first time did Nicola start envisaging what she might do to whoever had inflicted all of this on her. Then she realised that that was doing her no good. The other option did not seem much better but she went out to a local off licence where it seemed she or rather Nikki was reasonably well known, and stocked up on enough alcohol and chocolate to obliterate the evening.
It was almost midday when Nicola awoke. She was glad that she felt so bad that her concerns about her head and her stomach outranked more worrying about her situation and the evening ahead. She soaked long in the bath, calming her stomach with cereal and milk, a combination she had not touched since a teenager, but now seemed to work for her once more.