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could finish the sentence, Hannah had gone.

seven
    After Hannah had left, Simone’s mind was in a whirl. Had she really discovered an identical sister? Instinct told her she had, for a jolt of recognition had shot through her when she’d first glimpsed Hannah at the airport, and then again today.
    But she had no memory at all of a sister, and a barrage of emotions overwhelmed her. On the one hand, discovering she had a twin was the most wonderful thing that could happen to her. But the reunion with Hannah had been so unexpected, so … surreal, it was hard to believe it had happened at all. And now that Hannah had gone off to class, it seemed like she might have been a kind of mirage—a trick of the mind.
    Simone undressed and stood under the shower, silently rejoicing in the fact that she’d finished her classes for the rest of the day. How lucky that Hannah had offered to go in her place. Simone would never have had the temerity to suggest it herself, even if she’d thought of the idea. It took someone courageous to break the rules.
    Maybe some of Hannah’s courage would rub off on her if they spent enough time together … which made Simone wonder, why hadn’t they? Why had she and Hannah been separated?
    Could Harriet have known that Simone had a twin? Simone doubted it. Harriet had her faults, but she wasn’t devious or secretive. Still, might she know more than she’d ever let on?
    As she toweled herself dry, Simone realized she wouldn’t get the rest she craved. Her head was too full of questions. With the towel wrapped firmly around her, she padded barefoot into the room where Hannah’s open suitcase revealed a jumble of clothes.
    Simone reached for her handbag, which lay at the back of the wardrobe, and rummaged about for her mobile phone. She was about to key in her mother’s number when she changed her mind.
    Harriet would want to know why Simone was asking—why now, after all these years?—and Simone didn’t want to tell her. The discovery that she had an identical twin was still so new that she wanted to keep it to herself for a little while longer. She needed time to digest the relationship, and although—or perhaps because—they’d only just met, she felt possessive of Hannah and didn’t want to share her. Oh, she’d tell her mother eventually—but not just yet.
    She replaced the phone, then put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went outside, reveling in the unfamiliar feeling of independence and anonymity. And as she strolled along the tree-lined streets, all she could think of was Hannah.

    Hannah sprinted across the lawn, and by the time she slipped into the studio, she was a little breathless. Most of Simone’s class was already there, sitting on the floor in groups of two or three or lounging at the barre.
    â€œHey, Simone.” A tall girl with dark hair and a friendly smile was approaching her. She had smooth skin the color of honey and the kind of natural poise that Hannah envied. “Where were you?” she asked. “I was hoping we could have lunch together, but you disappeared.”
    â€œOh, I’m … uh … ” Not Simone , she’d been about to say, before remembering to keep that information to herself. “I’m sorry,” she said instead. “I had to call my mum. She kept me on the phone forever.”
    Just then an older woman—mid-thirties, perhaps—entered the room. “Hello. I’m Stacy Greene, and I’ll be your jazz teacher.”
    The clusters of dancers dispersed as each student found a place in the center of the studio.
    Stacy Greene held a folder and a pen. “I’ll just tick off your names before we begin. It won’t take long.”
    The teacher clearly knew some of the dancers from previous years, for instead of pronouncing their names as an inquiry, she murmured things like, “Ah, there you are, Liam,” or