“Does he know?”

“That I planted the picture?”

“Who you are?”

“That I’m really Leah?” She giggles, not a shy-girl-flirting giggle, but an oh-you-don’t-know-the-half-of-it giggle. “How long have you been married?”

“Three years.”

“You think he wouldn’t realize? Jesus, he’s your husband for fuck’s sake. He’d notice if you were a whole different person.”

I nod. Of course Chris knows. This isn’t a nervous teenager, blind to everything else on the cusp of his own first time. This is a grown man I have been to bed with for four years. “Why, Leah?”

She takes a gulp of wine and then grabs a fistful of chocolate, shrugging her shoulders as she scarfs the whole lot as if she is inhaling rather than eating. She shuffles her body round to face me directly. “There’s something… I don’t know… off about him, Megs.”

“So you thought you’d shag him? Just to… what?”

“You’re my baby sis—”

“By three minutes, Leah. Probably.”

“Definitely. He came on to me, Megs. I swear. We were staying in the same hotel. He didn’t tell me, at first, who he was.”

“Oh, please! You never looked at my Facebook? Saw a photo of my wedding?”

“I didn’t realize. I’d had a glass or two and he’s extremely attractive. I think there was a little part of me saying ‘Hey, I know this guy’ but I never put two and two together and came up with my estranged sister’s husband. He knew who I was though.”

“Of course he fucking knew! We have the same exact face, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s not my fault that your husband is a cheating shit, Megs.”

“When did you realize who he was?”

At least she has the grace to look a little sheepish as she says, “He called me Megan.”

I groan and take the glass from her, swilling down a huge amount.

“It was a cock-up. From him. The second it slipped out of his lips he stopped and just kind of froze, like a dog who’s been caught trying to steal from the cat’s bowl, just froze with his hands on my hips and waited for my reaction.”

“Which was, I presume, to slap him round the face and run away to immediately phone your twin and tell her that her husband was a cheating shitbag? Only, I don’t remember getting that call.”

“I… He… I…” She clears her throat. “He told me you were having troubles. In that department, I mean. And that it didn’t really count as him cheating. He’d seen me in the bar and thought that it would be like you and him. Like it used to be before you got all weird and uptight and frigid.”

“I’m not frigid.”

“’K.”

’K. I hate it when my sister says that. ’K. Like we’re still little kids. ’K. Like she didn’t fuck my husband.

“He’s weird, Megs.” There’s something in the way she says it. I know what she means.

“He pulls you in.”

Yes, yes, he does. I feel it too, even as I try to swim away from him. She continues, “Every ounce of me wants to run away from him, but I just can’t.”