She is lying on her side, spooning her sister’s body. They are not meant to share a bed, or even a bedroom, but sometimes Lily cannot help creeping in here after the television has been switched off, after the landing light has gone dark, after the soft murmurings of her parents’ voices have fallen silent and the house is still save for the anxious beating of Lily’s heart. Her sister breathes in deeply and when she exhales, Lily feels the warmth of her breath drifting across the soft down of her arm. It has been six months since it began and still Lily cannot persuade herself to accept it. It is as though her mind has been cleaved into two distinct parts: the knowing and the not-knowing, the acceptance and the denial. She can willingly tolerate the self-delusion if it means she is not forced to imagine a future that may have already begun to arrive. Lily tightens her arm around her sister’s waist. Her body seems so small, like a baby bird alone in a nest, predators hovering overhead, with only Lily to protect her. She would, she knows, do anything to safeguard her little sister, to stop this happening to her. Her head hurts with the injustice of it and she leans in closer as though trying to divide the burden between them. She feels the warmth of her sister’s feet against hers, imagines the pale half-moon of the toenails she has so often painted. As she lies in the darkness, she feels certain that she will never love anyone with the fierceness she feels right now.

Lily forced her eyes open and sat up, thrusting the pillow back against the white wooden headboard. She rubbed her fingers in concentric circles against her temples, trying to erase the image from her mind, but the memory was there in her muscles, her skin, in the feel of her sister’s breath on her arm, and the gentle vibration of her heartbeat.

She thought about how she and her sister would curl up on the sofa together, watching movies under a duvet they’d dragged down the stairs, singing along to musicals at the tops of their voices, chocolate cornflake cakes balanced on their laps, mugs of steaming hot chocolate on the coffee table. She remembered running races in the park, slowing her own pace right at the end so that they always crossed the finish line together. She remembered her sister’s laughter: such a rich, rounded, infectious sound that made you want to dive right in and float around inside.

The sense of loss burrowed deep inside Lily’s chest. Sometimes she wasn’t sure whether it was more painful to remember or if it would be more upsetting to forget.

The front door slammed and Lily called out Phoebe’s name only to be greeted by silence.

She walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of water, hoping to flush herself clean of memories. But as she stood alone, looking out of the window into the darkness, Lily acquiesced to the bitter regret that she had not known all those years ago, lying in bed just the two of them, that all her efforts to protect her little sister would be in vain.