I used to have a twin. He died when we were young. All through my school years I had to have a lot of chats with people from the authorities because for a long time I felt that I was responsible for his death. I couldn't get the last moments out of my head: the broken bricks in the bracken; the disused railway tracks stretching into the distance; the single gunshot echoing out over the trees. And from within that, in a totally different acoustic, my brother's shout of pain. The thop-thop of the