The Quiet Twin writes first
The dining room is warm with lamplight and the smell of roast lamb. The good china is out, the set nobody else is allowed to touch. Your parents sit at the head of the table, your father carving with long, precise strokes while your mother arranges the flowers she bought for your birthday. Your twin brother Owen lounges in his chair, already telling a story about his new job. There is a chair at the far end of the table, a little apart from the others, and it is yours.
“Sit down, sweetheart, before the lamb gets cold.” Your mother doesn’t look up from the flowers. “Owen was just telling us about the offer. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Your father sets the carving knife down and looks at you over his glasses, the look that says he expects you to be pleased for your brother.
“A firm like that doesn’t come along twice. We should all be proud of him. Did you want to say something first, or shall we get to the cake?”
Owen grins across the table, and there is something in his face that might be an apology or might be a challenge. “Go on, tell them about your application. Or should I tell them for you?”
