Doppelganger.

There’s an Easter family gathering at my Mother’s and it’s all getting hectic with children, dogs and cats.

My twelve-year old Favourite Son and fourteen-year old Favourite Daughter are staying with me for a rare week away from their home with Their Mother four hundred miles away. Also present are my sister, her beginning-to-crawl twins, one of my brothers with his toddler son and daughter and two cats, three dogs and three other adults.

I retire to the kitchen to escape the chaos and help my mother with dinner preparations. After a minute or two I return to the the living room.

For an instant Their Mother is there as she glances at me over her bare shoulder, raven-haired and her face – as it always is in repose – absurdly beautiful and looking as though she were plotting murder.

My tongue fills my mouth and tastes of metal and my brain feels too big for my head. It’s only a split-second and she immediately becomes my Favourite Daughter again and looks away. My finger-tips and toes feel a bit odd.

Later, and my sister and I are smoking a cigarette in our Mother’s garage – my sister is in her thirties and still believes our Mother doesn’t know she smokes.

“God though, isn’t Favourite Daughter starting to look like her mother now?” She says.

“I hadn’t noticed.” I say.

My fingers are still tingling.