Peggy and Greta did not want to play. But Dell shrugged and followed the others up to the line of people waiting to play. When it was Dell’s turn she tucked her frock into her underwear and hit the ball back once, twice and just kept moving around until she was serving. Peggy and Greta didn’t know Dell could play volleyball or smile. Then they saw them. Heidi and Ian. They must have parked quite close. Dell hadn’t seen Heidi yet. Ian had his arm over Heidi’s shoulder – like he owned her. That’s what it looked like. He had sunglasses on and a leather jacket and dark jeans with motorcycle boots. He had long hair which Peggy and Greta were pretty sure he spent a lot of time on – to make it look like he didn’t spend any time on his hair. And still Dell didn’t see them. Heidi and Ian couldn’t have come on his motorbike because they were carrying too much. They walked closer and closer. Peggy and Greta shifted their stare from Ian and Heidi to Dell and back, wondering who would break first. As Heidi got closer, they saw that she had changed her hair and was wearing some kind of fake tan. She’d pierced her lip and as she took off her glasses they saw she was wearing coloured contacts and had had some of her teeth taken out. She was wearing a dental bridge that changed the shape of her face slightly. She’d contoured, and it looked like she’d taken half of one of her ears off and then, as the light hit her, they saw she had a scar, a new scar, across the bridge of her nose and down to her jaw. It hadn’t worked at all. She still looked exactly like Dell. Just like Peggy looked exactly like Greta, and Kitty looked exactly like Erin, and so on out into the handful of women who had divided into two in an instant, one night eighteen months ago. And as Heidi got closer to Dell, they could see her starting to notice it. Starting to realise it hadn’t worked, that they still looked exactly the same. Not like a mirror, not like a twin, but with every cell divided and the same, and even with all Heidi’s effort and pain they were indistinguishable – it was like she’d done nothing. Whatever was intrinsically Dell and Heidi had not been extinguished in Heidi. As they watched Heidi walk past Dell, all of the women who had a woman who looked exactly like them looked at her and then at all the women who didn’t, and they remembered how odd it was and that it hadn’t always been this way. Then they looked back at Heidi, hating her for making the shame obvious again.