“And then you’ll come back with us for a Winterbourne lunch on Sunday, yes?”
I nod, pressing my nails into my palms.
Edwin is fiddling with the layers of tickets and postcards glued to the box lid, and he suddenly sits up straighter, ripping a train ticket off completely.
“Look at this.” He gives a short laugh. Freshly revealed is a flimsy gray square of shiny paper with a grainy white pattern on it. He peels it off the box and bends over it for a moment, then pushes it across the table toward us. It’s an ultrasound image. WithRuth Mayesand10 February 1992printed across the top. And it shows a baby. One baby.
Goose bumps spring up along my arms.
Danny and I look at each other and then back at the scan picture.
Which of us is it?
“Shit,” says Danny.
“I don’t believe it,” I whisper.
We stare at it in silence.
“Can you get individual pictures of twin babies?” Danny asks eventually.
I rub my hands over my face. “I don’t know. We could ask Joel.”
“Why did you have this?” Danny asks Edwin. “Did Mum give it to you?”
Edwin shrugs. “I guess so.”
“Would you remember if there were two pictures of two babies?” I ask.
“Oh, Seraphine, I don’tknow,” Edwin says.
Without further discussion, we abandon the table strewn with Edwin’s memories and carry our beers through to the sitting room where we slump on the sofas.
“Is there shopping coming in the morning then?” Edwin asks eventually.
“Yeah, between nine and ten. I ordered stuff for risotto, if you don’t mind cooking?” I pause, trying to picture the four of us sitting around the dining table, eating lunch, piecing together clues. “I should have told Joel to come before twelve if he wants to see you. Can you text him and say?”
Edwin nods.
“I can’t believe she’s driving all this way because her dad used to know our parents,” Danny mutters. Then he sighs and pats me on the arm. “Anyway, I’m sorry, sis,” he says. “I can see you’ve got it bad.”
“What?”
“Mentionitis,” Danny says, shaking his head.
Edwin says, “Danny...” in a warning tone.
I narrow my eyes at my twin brother.
“I have no clue what you’re on about, Danny.”
“Mentionitis. With Joel. You’ve mentioned him at least fifteen times since we arrived.”
“Oh, shut up. Idiot.” I whack him with a cushion. He’s laughing, and I can feel my cheeks reddening, but I’m suddenly reminded of something else. “Hang on, truce. I need to ask you both something.”
Danny groans. I look at Edwin.
“You remember that day by the pool, when you had that party, with your university friends, and Joel called us sprites?” I ask.
