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Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Title
  3. Dedication
  4. Dedication2
  5. 1994
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 2006
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 2018
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. Acknowledgements

They woke at the same time. Peggy showered while Greta made a smoothie. Peggy drank the smoothie while Greta had a shower. It was great, but as the sun started coming into the house it felt precarious. They didn’t want it to break again – they were anxious. They avoided each other, walked around each other, not talking, hoping they could trick it into thinking they didn’t want it to be just like this – like they really didn’t mind either way. Eventually, about an hour after waking up, they found themselves sitting at the kitchen table together drinking tea. They both looked up, almost surprised to see the other. Like babies finding their hands for the first time. They just looked at each other. Nothing was odder than being in the company of yourself. The first time had been different. They’d been in such a state of flux. Still drunk for a while after it happened, blacked out most of the time. Rediscovering each other as they woke up or came to somewhere. Never really sure if the other one was really there. Never really sure if it was real or some kind of chemical reaction. Then, freshly sober, finding out who they were – surprising each other. Now, stone cold sober, it seemed that this was how they would find each other. Sitting, drinking tea.

‘We should try and fix that code,’ Greta said.

‘Yeah,’ Peggy said. There wasn’t any need for the conversation, but they were just sounding it out, in the new house, in the new life. Hearing what it sounded like to confirm your thoughts with yourself.

‘I could do the dishes while you start,’ Greta said. ‘If you wanted.’ It was a bit disconcerting, like talking to yourself. Then their smartphone lit up. Peggy put her finger on the print reader at the back. It was a message from a number they didn’t recognise. The data breach had flared up again. There might be a government inquiry. Someone had given out their contact details. Then the phone lit up again, and again. Suddenly there were messages from all over – lawyers, moderators, the company they did the moderating for, the social media company, the political consultancy. Everyone wanted something. Some of the messages were threatening.