‘That’s right.’ She releases Faye’s hand and pulls her robe higher on her shoulder. ‘Silicone skin and curves, around seven kilos of it. All fitted, snug. I got resized a few times as Simon let his belt out a few notches. I’ve had several skins. With the weight loss, I’m back to an earlier one, happy to say. It’s tight but it fits. But it should be tight. It’s an effort to put it on, every piece of it. It takes ages, but feels like it doesn’t.’

‘And Faye . . .’

Faye is still beside Simone. She hasn’t moved.

‘I’ve always known,’ Faye says. She smiles. ‘I was the one crew member who didn’t think he was in his hotel room hoarding his per diem. My room was next to his once – coincidence, we weren’t even a couple then – and we came out our doors at the same time. Except the person coming out Simon’s door wasn’t my pilot. We had a moment of stunned silence and then you know what he said – what she said? She said, “Let’s go on an adventure.” And I thought, “Yes.” That was in Frankfurt. I didn’t know until that moment how much I wanted an adventure. My family had not been so adventurous. Typical Hong Kong family. Work hard, earn money.’

‘And then,’ Simone says, ‘with that being a brilliant success, I came out to Dad. Not that I meant to, exactly. He was in Hong Kong on business and staying at my place, and he opened the wrong wardrobe.’ Her pale shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. ‘Today, I must say, has gone a lot better, so far.’ She sighs. I imagine Simon smiling in there. ‘I’m surprised Dad’s coronary arteries didn’t close over on the spot. But I think he could have got there – come to terms with it – if Mum had been up for it. Maybe. She said she’d take it to her grave, the secret, and in a way that let me know she meant it. It was Mum who told me not to come to Dad’s funeral. She told me she was going to tell everyone I was stuck in Frankfurt due to an air-traffic controllers’ strike.’ Simone coughs, and her hand moves to cover her mouth, her soft, straight fingers bumping against her lips. ‘My whole career flying in and out of Frankfurt, I never got held up by a strike. But we didn’t have the internet then, so I guess everyone just believed her. Also, no-one would think she was lying. No-one would check.’

I want to tell Simon he could have told me. Then, not now. Or some time in the nineties. That it didn’t have to be this way. There is lost time that didn’t have to be lost. My heart beats in my throat, fast and hard.