“Go on Stan.” My words came out through gritted teeth with more force than intended so my chin pressed hard into my knee. Desperate for warmth I wrapped my arms tighter around my shins and shifted my cold backside on the hard step. My new jeans were warm but I should have worn my fluffy coat like my Mom said. Still, I couldn’t leave him to defend his bowl on his own. He had lost one battle already today.

The black cat, the skinny one from two doors down, lifted another paw forward. Her green eyes lasered onto the bowl piled high with my leftover salmon. Wednesdays were salmon day - my worst day, Stan’s favourite. Just one more way that we fitted together so well. Rising, his hind legs quivered with effort, a horrible tremor took over and his behind hit the ground again. Gently, I wormed my hands under his furry hips, the backs of my hands scraping against the gravel and I hooched him up and nudged him forward.

“You got it, boy”. And he did. His wet nose buried itself in the small mountain of food and his pink tongue got to work. I wiped my bloody hands on my jeans. Over Stan’s shoulder, I watched the cat slink away and I felt the sweet swell of victory expand my ribs.

“Tomorrow is vet day Stannie,” I said, easing him down into a lying position. “You’ll be all fixed up.”

I kneeled down, my thigh pleasingly warm against his long back and leaned over him, burying my nose in the musty warm nook behind his ear.

“No one will steal your dinner after tomorrow. Mom says there are magic tablets for arthritis. It will be like the old days. Remember? No cat will dare enter your territory. Not ever.”

I didn’t know if this was true but I had to give him hope.

I'ts obviously a hotel room. It's even more obvious its the nicest hotel room I've ever been in. The chambermaid let herself in, all subservient and apologetic when she spotted me on the bed. She's small and dark, her hair plaited around her head in a complicated style that makes my head hurt. Hurt more, I mean.

"Mehico," she said when I asked. She didn't even look up from the sink. Do a lot of people in 5 star hotels ask what country they are in?

The phone rings like its been detonated. I dont want to answer it, but it gives me no choice.

"Breakfast is only served til 10. Are you coming?"

I reel from the blast. The voice is mine. How is the voice mine?

"Madam? Madam?" The chambermaid's face is close to mine, her round brown eyes concerned, and I realise I'm on the floor. I focus on the gold stripe, running through cobalt blue, on the deep pile of the carpet.

"I'm fine, thank you, I'm fine," I say but my skin is slick where her hand rests on my arm, hesitant as a deer.

"Your sister is on the phone Madam, she wonders are you joining her for breakfast?"

And there it is. My twin, missing for 25 years. Feared dead, trafficked, tortured. But she was none of those things. I close my eyes and see her face - my face - last night, the champagne celebrations, the story of her unimaginable wealth, her choice to disappear and her choice to be found.