Rook

certificate—they’re public-domain documents, you know—but I couldn’t find one anywhere.”
    “I did not know that,” said Myfanwy.
I would have thought the Checquy would have tidied that sort of thing up.
    “Oh, yes. So I knew you were alive, and I have a friend who works in the tax office. He didn’t want to, but he tracked down a Myfanwy Alice Thomas who lives here. You’re the only Myfanwy Alice Thomas in the UK.”
    Of course,
thought Myfanwy.
Death and taxes. They get you every time.
    “That’s really impressive,” said Myfanwy.
    “I’ve always been a pretty good researcher,” said Bronwyn modestly.
    Oh, so
that
we share,
thought Myfanwy,
but you didn’t inherit the power to make people shit themselves. You’ve got to love the randomness of genetics.
    “I still wasn’t sure that it was you. I came to this address, and I was trying to get the nerve up to go and buzz at the gate. But then I saw you and you looked so much like my mum. So I followed you to that building in the city. I went in the front, but your name wasn’t in the building directory.
    “I know it was kind of stalkerish,” continued Bronwyn, “but I hung around the building. I thought that if you didn’t come out the front, then I could just come back here and try buzzing at the gate. And then you were there, right across the street.” She shook her head in amazement, and it was clear to Myfanwy that Bronwyn was trying to figure out how to ask all sorts of questions. So she beat her to it.
    “Bronwyn, you’re twenty-five, right?”
    “Yeah, I was only three, when you… went away. So I really didn’t remember you at all,” she added guiltily.
    That makes two of us!
thought Myfanwy, as she tried to think of what else to say. There was an awkward pause, and then Bronwyn settled for the easiest opening gambit. “I like your house a lot. How long have you lived here?”
    “Oh… a couple of years,” said Myfanwy vaguely. Since she’d spent most of the afternoon vetting Bronwyn, she hadn’t had a great deal of time to prepare any convincing stories. “I got a big promotion and bought this place. And then spent ages decorating it.”
    “It’s lovely. So, what is it you do?”
    “I work for the government,” explained Myfanwy. “I’m a specialist on domestic affairs.” She watched the light of interest die in Bronwyn’s eyes, just as it was meant to. “I do a lot of supervisory stuff.Long hours, not much social life, but I like it.” And that was true, she realized. It wasn’t just the administration she enjoyed, although she was good at it. She liked the whole thing.
    “Okay, so I have to ask,” said Bronwyn. “What happened? Jonathan told me that we had a sister, and there were some photos of you, but Mum and Dad never talked about you. For ages, I thought you’d died or something.”
    “Jonathan’s our brother, right?” asked Myfanwy hesitantly. She had to be careful here, but she was also intensely curious.
    “Don’t you remember?” Bronwyn was incredulous.
    “Not really,” said Myfanwy. “I was young when I left, and then a lot of stuff happened.”
    “What kinds of stuff?”
    “Well, it’s complicated. What did your…
our…
father tell you? Or our mother?” asked Myfanwy, wary of contradicting any established stories.
    “They never said. When Jonathan and I tried to talk to them about you, they just refused. Dad especially, he said that he didn’t want us ever to ask him about it. That you were gone, and we should try to forget about you, and just get on with our lives.” She kept her eyes firmly on Wolfgang as she talked, and Myfanwy got the impression that there had been bitter arguments over this matter. Shouting and silence and shame. People had been sent to bed without supper. She felt obscurely guilty.
    “I had a medical problem,” said Myfanwy. “And it was a very big deal—the odds of my living were really slim.” Bronwyn looked at her with concerned eyes. “I’m pretty much okay now,” she assured her, “but for a while, it was touch and go. Most of the time I was on a lot of drugs, completely out of it, in the closed wards,” she invented on the spur of the moment.
    “And that’s why you couldn’t visit,” continued Myfanwy. “Our parents knew I was going to die and that they couldn’t see me. So it must have been easier for them just not to think about it.”
    “What was wrong?” asked Bronwyn hesitantly.
    “Complicated stuff, really rare,” said