Hey, Lily. We need someone to play the evil witch and cast horrible spells. Want to come and join in?

Zoe had grinned, fearless and defiant, as Lily had glared at her. She remembered her eyes stinging behind her sunglasses as Zoe had flung an arm around Jess’s shoulders, the two of them giggling with an intimate camaraderie. She remembered how a single thought had circulated in her head that day as she had lain on the beach at Woolacombe Bay, the smell of chips and vinegar and suntan lotion filling her nose, listening to the sound of other people’s happiness: she had wished they could turn back the clock to the time before the twins had been born, and discover that there was only one baby, not two, waiting inside her mum’s tummy to be her little sister.

An announcement over the PA hauled Lily back into the present. She allowed herself one last glance along the corridor to where the little girls had been playing but they had disappeared, replaced by couples, families, parents, and children who now crowded the passageway in both directions as far as Lily could see.

Chapter 37

Audrey

From somewhere along the corridor, Audrey could hear the sound of instruments being tuned; the glide of a bow along strings, the triple-octave span of a flute, the deep growl of a tuba.

She glanced down at her watch for the second time in as many minutes. It was almost half past six: thirty minutes until the concert began, nearly an hour until Audrey and the choir were due onstage. They were third on the bill, after the cast of Les Misérables had opened with a rousing medley that had caused the hairs on the back of Audrey’s neck to stand on end during rehearsals that afternoon, followed by the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus performing the fourth movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony: the Ode to Joy.

“Everything OK there, Audrey? You look as though you’ve lost something.”

Audrey turned to see Ben standing next to her, almost unrecognizable in a dinner jacket and black bow tie rather than his usual jeans and T-shirt.

“Not something. Someone. Phoebe popped to the bathroom ages ago and I’m worried she’s got lost.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve still got heaps of time. She’ll find her way back. How are you feeling anyway?”

Audrey was so used to the question being asked in relation to her health that it took her a few moments to remember that Ben didn’t know she was ill. “A little nervous, I suppose. But that’s only natural, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely. There are rock stars and concert pianists who throw up before every performance. A little bit of nerves does you good—gets the adrenaline pumping, gives the performance that extra edge.”

A voice came over the backstage PA announcing thirty minutes to curtain up.

“But are you OK, Audrey? I haven’t wanted to pry, but is everything all right after your trip to the hospital?”

Audrey thought about the half-truth she’d told Ben at the first rehearsal after her collapse: about the low blood sugar and the blackout, but nothing about the cancer. She was about to repeat herself, felt the little white lies line up in her mouth like foot soldiers intent on protecting her. But then she saw something behind Ben’s eyes—a glimmer of light struggling to break through a thick, dark cloud—and suddenly the words were tumbling out before she was sure she wanted to set them free.