They sat at the table again and looked at their food. Then they found themselves looking at each other. It was shocking, to see what they really looked like. There were mirrors that were flattering and there were mirrors that were not. On the whole, for the years they were just Margaret, they’d become more and more confused about what they looked like. Margaret would see photos and not recognise herself. Admittedly, no one looked like their photo anymore. There were filters and face-tuning tools. Margaret had felt ugly a lot of the time, but in a special way. It was as if she looked like no other human being. She walked into things, too. She had no idea where her body ended and the world started. But now, but now, they were looking at themselves across the table and it was a new way of understanding their body. They were more in their body than they had been when there was only one body. They felt like they understood it more than they had in years. This is where my arm ends and my hand begins, they thought as they looked at each other. This is where my hair parts.

Greta looked at her plate and smiled. ‘It’s good to be back,’ she said.

‘Yeah.’

‘She was always bumping into things,’ Greta said, and she held her left hand up, fingernails facing Peggy, and there was a chunk out of her index finger. Peggy held up hers and they were the same, of course.