He has his back to me, but I recognize his hair immediately. I can’t breathe. I watch in horror as he shrugs out of a formal wool coat, praying he doesn’t turn round. I know I should move, but this bar isn’t big enough for me to hide in. He leans over the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention, stamping his feet in an effort to warm his toes. He gets cold toes. He told me this the other night as we sipped our third whisky and shared embarrassing stories. He told me a girlfriend screamed in the night as her foot brushed his; thinking there was a corpse in the bed next to her.

I keep my eyes on him, and I can tell Fi is watching him too, her expression appraising, admiring him. Time slows to a crawl as he starts to turn round, coat now draped over his arm, his hand tucked into his pocket.

He sees me.

I see him recognize me.

I watch his face light up. Blood pounds in my ears.

“Leah?” He begins to walk toward me, and I try to keep my expression neutral. This is not the kind of place where Leah would drink, full of City guys and girls winding down after their day, people who have “proper” jobs and think their work superior to other people’s.

I cock my head to one side and narrow my eyes like I’m trying to place him. “I’m sorry,” I say as he reaches me, “I think you must have me confused with my sister.” Inside my head a voice is screaming. Hi Tom. Coo-ey. Look here, Tom. This is me, the real me. Can you see me?

“You’re Megan?”

“Yes.” I sound uncertain.

“Wow. You really do look alike. That’s uncanny.” There is an edge there. Like I’ve cheated him somehow. I mean, I obviously have cheated him, but that’s not what I mean.

“You know my sister?” I see the flush bloom up his neck.

“Yep.” He grins like a boy. I like the way he grins.

“That’s nice.” My tone is neutral. As if he’s just another man my sister is into and means nothing to me at all. Not a jot. Even though my stomach is in knots at the thought of how his lips felt on mine.

For a few seconds he scans my face, and then he nods. “Well, er, sorry for interrupting you.” And then he’s walking backward away from me, his eyes on mine, waiting…

“Wow!” exclaims Fi. “That was rude.”

“He just thought I was Leah.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t meaning him. It was like he was a piece of shit on your shoe and you wanted to get rid of him as fast as possible before he stank up the air around us. And yeah, I know that you and your sister have that… thing… and you hate each other, yada yada yada. But he is fine.”

Yes, yes, he is. I want to say. And he smells delicious and his kisses taste like… “Too posh and too pretty,” I reply instead. “Not my cup of tea at all. And if he likes Leah, he can’t be all that nice.”