Declan disappears into the bathroom, while I wonder if it’s more than just drink he’s taken. He seems a bit too out of it for it to be down to a couple of pints of beer. I make the tea, load the cups onto a tray along with some biscuits and carry the lot through to the living area. He comes back, looking ridiculous in my white fluffy robe, and hands me his clothes. It’s clear from his expression he’s now feeling a little embarrassed.

‘I appreciate this,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

‘You’re grand,’ I say. ‘Sit down and get warmed up. I’ll get these drying.’

When I sit down opposite him a few minutes later, he seems to be lost in thought. He is cradling the teacup in his hands as if drawing the warmth from it.

‘Declan,’ I say, and he startles at my voice.

‘God, I was in my own wee world there,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’

‘Look, it’s nice to see you, but I’m a bit confused,’ I begin. ‘I mean, I know we said we would meet up again some time, but I wasn’t really expecting you to turn up at my door.’

‘I don’t think I was expecting to turn up at your door either,’ he says. ‘Sorry, this must look all kinds of wrong. I just … well, Ingrid, have you spoken with Niall?’

‘Your brother?’ I ask.

‘One and the same. My mother mentioned he might be coming down to Derry to see you.’

There’s a hesitancy to his words, something that I can’t quite put my finger on.

‘As it happens, he contacted me through Facebook and I told him about the book I’m working on. You know, about Kelly.’

‘Is that what all that stuff relates to?’ he asks, nodding towards my dining table and my notebook.

‘It is,’ I said.

‘I always thought you’d do well in life,’ he says.

‘Well, I try my best, you know,’ I say.

‘Aye. I know. Look, I wanted to talk to you about Niall. I know he’s my brother – my twin, for God’s sake – and I do love him, but he’s not the person he appears to be. You know?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ I say thinking of the perfectly polite and funny exchanges of messages I’ve been having with Niall since Monday.

He seems very nice. Genuine. Obviously quite different from the snot-nosed little boy I remember chasing me around the streets in Creggan while we played kiss chase or tig, but then I’m not quite the plaited-hair, scraped-knee precocious little girl I was then, either.

Declan takes a deep breath and puts his teacup down on the table. He doesn’t look at me when he starts to talk. Instead, he stares at the wall.

‘I know people look at me and they see a scumbag.’