But I don’t say this as it seems somehow churlish after she’s been so generous to us and, if there’s one thing that Chelsea is aware of, it’s being slightly outside of our tight little unit of two. I wonder if she ever thinks about our lives? Does she know – would she care – that we find them wanting?

Standing up, I hug my older sister warmly. ‘I love you too.’

I want to tell her that we – The Terrible Twins – the ones who caused our parents to have a permanent roll to their eyes, plan to do something wonderful before we reach the impending milestone of forty. But, already, Chelsea is backing away, her hands slipping through mine.

She air-kisses Lauren and then turns back to her own table where Rich is beaming happily at her.

‘I want her life,’ Lauren mutters as she watches our sister go. ‘I so want her life.’

And, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, I can’t help but agree with her.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Greg sat on the bank of the Grand Union Canal. They’d set up by the busy car park at the Three Locks pub because his friend, Ray, liked to be able to keep an eye on his Mercedes while he fished.

‘I’ve got two and a half grand’s worth of tackle in the boot,’ Ray boasted as he flicked a thumb towards the vehicle. ‘I don’t want any of those thieving bastards getting their hands on it. Only last week, Davey Coleman had his back window smashed and his stuff lifted.’

Greg liked it best when he could park up, walk for half an hour into the middle of nowhere and pick a patch where there was no one else around – no dog walkers, no hikers, no courting couples, no people at all, just him, the fish, the birds, the quiet slap of line on water. But he’d been fishing with Ray since they were both boys and his friend was more forceful, more particular in his fishing requirements. And it was true enough that you were more likely to get your gear robbed if you went down the solitary route.

Ray already had three rods set up and in the water, always in such a rush to get the first bite. Whenever they fished together, which was more often than not, his friend would arrive at the bank in an explosion of activity, eager to be filling his keepnet, and his gear would be set up in a flash amid a flurry of expletives.

For Greg, taking his time over setting up was half the pleasure, part of the relaxation, the meditation. Yesterday, he’d been along and had ground-baited this pitch, encouraging the fish to come and feed in preparation for their arrival today.

Preparation. That was what it was all about.