To my dismay and horror, Pete completely dissed her. He stared at her for a moment, as if she was some sort of alien, got up from the mattress and acting as if she wasn’t even there, turned to me. ‘Where’s the loo? I’m dying for a slash. If you even have a bog in this dump – or do you just piss out of a window?’

He stomped out of the room before I’d had time to answer, and for a moment Samantha and I just stared at each other.

‘Wow,’ she said contemptuously. ‘You didn’t tell me he was a homophobic prick.’

‘He’s not!’ I replied hotly. ‘He must have just … worked it out, and it’s a shock for him because I’m his sister. He’ll come round.’

Samantha pouted and put a hand on her hip. ‘What, so I have to suck up to him till he forgives me for turning his precious twin into a nasty dyke like me? He can go screw himself!’

I’d never heard her talk like that before. She was occasionally terse when she had PMT, but this was a new and very unwelcome tone.

‘Samantha, what’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘Where have you been all evening, babe? We missed you after our set.’

Samantha plucked the cigarette from behind her ear, stuck it between her lips, squatted down on her haunches and picked up the matchbox from the floor. Her spotty dress had some kind of net underskirt that bunched out around her. I wondered where she’d got it from – I’d never seen them before; neither the dress nor the petticoat. Not for the first time, I realised how little I knew about her. How did she have the cash for new clothes?

I waited, but she didn’t speak, just sucked on her cigarette.

‘Nice dress, by the way. That new?’

Still no answer. Then, ‘What’s it to you?’

I was flabbergasted. ‘Pardon?’

‘Pardon?’ she mimicked, and I felt tears of confusion spring into my eyes. It had been the best night of my life, and now she and Pete were ruining it.

‘Don’t you sodding talk to my sister like that.’ Pete was back – there must have been someone in the bathroom. He stood in the doorway glowering at us both. Samantha got to her feet in one lithe moment, squaring up to him.

‘Pete! What the fuck?’

He approached her and with a forefinger jabbed her in the chest, above her right breast. She growled – an actual low growl of rage.

Then he turned to me. ‘You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?’

‘We’re in love,’ I said defensively, and Pete snorted.

I put my hand on his arm but he shook it off. The three of us were standing in a small circle around the oil lamp, angry elves around a magic toadstool. A poisonous toadstool, I thought, drunkenly.