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the shed； not from me； but from my mother； who could not bear the sight of them。 the inevitable headache was her jealously guarded rite of remembrance； one that made it impossible to invite other children in the house； impossible； too； to leave her for the treat of a visit to the zoo or the park。 my birthday toys were always quiet ones。 cakes were never homemade； and the leftovers had to be divested of their candles and icing before they could be put in the tin for the next day。
happy birthday？ father whispered the words； happy birthday； hilariously； right in my ear。 we played silent card games where the winner pulled gleeful faces and the loser grimaced and slumped； and nothing； not a peep； not a splutter； could be heard in the room above our heads。 in between games； up and down he went； my poor father； between the silent pain of the bedroom and the secret birthday downstairs； changing his face from jollity to sympathy； from sympathy back to jollity； in the stairwell。
unhappy birthday。 from the day i was born； grief was always present。 it settled like dust upon the household。 it covered everyone and everything； it invaded us with every breath we took。 it shrouded us in our own separate miseries。
only because i was so cold could i bear to contemplate these memories。
why couldn’t she love me？ why did my life mean less to her than my sister’s death？ did she blame me for it？ perhaps she was right to。 i was alive now only because my sister had died。 every sight of me was a reminder of her loss。
would it have been easier for her if we had both died？
stupefied； i walked。 one foot in front of the other； again and again and again； mesmerized。 no interest in where i was heading。 looking nowhere； seeing nothing； i stumbled on。
then i bumped into something。
‘margaret！ margaret！“
i was too cold to be startled； too cold to make my face respond to he vast form that stood before me； shrouded in tentlike drapes of green rainproof fabric。 it moved； and two hands came down on my shoulders and gave me a shake。
‘margaret！“
it was aurelius。
‘look at you！ you’re blue with cold！ quick； e with me。“ he took my arm and led me briskly off。 my feet stumbled over the ground behind him until we came to a road； a car。 he bundled me in。 there was a slamming of doors； the hum of an engine； and then a blast of warmth around my ankles and knees。 aurelius opened a thermos flask and poured a mug of orange tea。
‘drink！“
i drank。 the tea was hot and sweet。
‘eat！“
i bit into the sandwich he held out。
in the warmth of the car； drinking hot tea and eating chicken sandwiches； i felt colder than ever。 my teeth started to chatter and i shivered uncontrollably。
‘goodness gracious！“ aurelius exclaimed softly as he passed me one dainty sandwich after another。 ”dear me！“
the food seemed to bring me to my senses a little。 “what are you doing here； aurelius？”
‘i came to give you this；“ he said； and he reached over to the back and lifted a cake tin through the gap between the seats。
placing the tin on my lap； he beamed gloriously at me as he removed the lid。
inside was a cake。 a homemade cake。 and on the cake； in curly icing letters； were three words： happy birthday margaret。
i was too cold to cry。 instead the bination of cold and cake set me talking。 words emerged from me； randomly； like objects disgorged by glaciers as they thaw。 nocturnal singing； a garden with eyes； sisters； a baby； a spoon。 “and she even knows the house；” i babbled while aurelius dried my hair with paper towels； “your house and mrs。 love’s。 she looked through the window and thought mrs。 love was like a fairytale grandmother… don’t you see what it means？ ”
aurelius shook his head。 “but she told me—”
‘she lied to you； aurelius！ when you came to see her in your brown suit； she lied。 she has admitted it。“
‘bless me！“ exclaimed aurelius。 ”however did you know about that brown suit of mine？ i had to pretend to be a journalist； you know。“ but then； as what i was telling him began to sink in； ”a spoon like mine； you say？ and she knew the house？“
‘she’s your aunt； aurelius。 and emmeline is your mother。“
aurelius stopped patting my hair； and for a long moment he stared out of the car window in the direction of the house。 “my mother；” he murmured； “there。”
i nodded。
there was another silence； and then he turned to me。 “take me to her； margaret。”
i seemed to wake up。 “the thing is； aurelius； she’s not well。”
‘ill？ then you must take me to her。 without delay！“
‘not ill； exactly。“ how to explain？ ”she was injured in the fire； aurelius。 not only her face。 her mind。“
he absorbed this new information； added it to his store of loss and pain； and when he spoke again it was with a grave firmness of purpose。 “take me to her。”
was it illness that dictated my response？ was it the fact that it was my birthday？ was it my own motherlessness？ these factors might have lad something to do with it； but more significant than all of them was aurelius’s expression as he waited for my answer。 there were a hundred and one reasons to say no to his demand； but faced with the ferocity of his need； they faded to nothing。
i said yes。
。d 。
REUNION
？小｜说网
my bath went some way toward thawing me out； but did nothing to soothe the ache behind my eyes。 i gave up all thoughts of working for the rest of the afternoon and crept into bed； pulling the extra covers well up over my ears。 inside i was still shivering。 in a shallow sleep i saw strange visions。 hester and my father and the twins and my mother； visions in which everyone had someone else’s face； in which everyone was someone else disguised； and even my own face was disturbing to me as it shifted and altered； sometimes myself； sometimes another。 then aurelius’s bright head appeared in my dream： himself； always himself； only himself； and he smiled and the phantoms were banished。 darkness closed over me like water； and i sank to the depths of sleep。
i awoke with a headache； aches in my limbs and my joints and my back。 a tiredness that had nothing to do with exertion or lack of sleep weighed me down and slowed my thoughts。 the darkness had thickened。 had i slept through the hour of my appointment with aurelius？ the thought nagged at me but only very distantly； and long minutes passed before i could rouse myself to look at my watch。 for during my sleep； an obscure sentiment had formed within me—trepidation？ nostalgia？ excitement？—
and it had given rise to a sense of expectation。
the past was returning！ my sister was near。 there was no doubting it。 i couldn’t see her； couldn’t smell her； but my inner ear； attuned always and only to her； had caught her vibration； and it filled me with a dark and soporific joy。
there was no need to put off aurelius。 my sister would find me； wherever i was。 was she not my twin？ in fact； i had half an hour before i was due to meet him at the garden door。 i dragged myself heavily from my bed and； too cold and weary to take off my pajamas before dressing； i pulled a thick skirt and sweater on over the top。 bundled up like a child on firework night； i went downstairs to the kitch