The night before her thirteenth birthday, Minnie’s parents let her host a New Year’s Eve party for some friends. Minnie invited twelve people from her class, including the boy she liked – Callum Peterson. Ten of her guests went down with flu that week so the only people who turned up were Callum and Mary Stephens. Minnie spent the whole night watching Callum and Mary make out on her sofa. The kissathon only paused for oxygen when Minnie’s mum came in from the kitchen to offer them baked snacks. As Connie leant over to remove a plate of uneaten vol-au-vents from the coffee table, she whispered to her daughter with a wink, ‘This would never happen to a—’

‘I know, I know,’ Minnie shot back, ‘to a Quinn Cooper.’

The story of Minnie’s stolen name had become a Cooper family legend. Her mother regaled people with the story of the injustice of it all whenever she had the opportunity.

‘Not that she’s bitter,’ Minnie’s dad would chip in with a smirk.

‘Oh, shut it. That prissy woman wouldn’t have had her baby for hours if it weren’t for me,’ Connie would say.

Bill and William made fun of Connie whenever the topic came up, but Minnie noticed that though her mother pretended to make light of it, her eyes had this pained expression. There was a grey folder full of clippings and childhood mementos, which her mother sometimes pulled out at birthdays or Christmas. It had all the old timetables from Minnie’s swim-meets, Will’s Mathlete certificates, and then there was the clipping from The London News the day she was born, with the headline about Quinn plastered across the front page. Whenever her mother reached that page, her face took on a look of solemn reverence.

Minnie never imagined she would ever meet this man. Sometimes she even wondered if the fable was real. When she was a teenager, she’d looked for him online once. She’d found no Quinn Hamilton the same age as her on social media. And yet here he was, all six-foot-something of him, sitting next to her on the floor, his warm, handsome face smiling at her as though they were old friends.

‘If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know how lucky the name has been for me,’ said Quinn.

‘You look as if you’re doing all right,’ said Minnie. ‘That party last night probably cost more than I earn in a year.’

‘Money isn’t everything,’ Quinn shrugged.

Minnie made a face. ‘Money isn’t everything’ was something only people with money said.

‘Listen, do you want to grab breakfast? I want to hear about my birthday twin. I’ll pay, it’s the least I can do after stealing your name.’ He stood and held out a hand to help Minnie up from the floor.