And I have had to do some work, on Wednesdays, with a woman called Delphine Osei, about the other thing.
Because on the twenty-ninth of May I did not faint about a baby.
I nearly went down because I found out what my own twin brother had been thinking about my body since we were four.
Thirty-five years of him never saying one word. Not a joke, not a comment, not a look that I ever caught.
And that is almost worse, because it means it was never absent. It was just never said.
Every summer. Every swimming pool. Every time I got changed at the beach with a towel round me like an idiot at thirty-two years old.
He watched me do that for three decades and he knew exactly why I was doing it and he never once said "Jose, nobody cares."
And the last thing, which is the only thing I actually did on purpose.
