Chapter 15
Hendricks
Kicking open the door to Miles’s room, I flop on his bed.
“Milo?”
A face half covered in shaving cream appears around his bathroom door. Just like our older brothers, we inherited our dad’s thick beard. It’s such a pain to shave, though, so we usually don’t bother during the holidays.
“What’s up?”
“Mum wants you.”
“Why?”
I shrug, and he disappears back inside the bathroom, and the sound of running water starts up.
“Why are you shaving?”
“Official photos for the England Under 21s are being taken before the first match.”
His beard isn’t the only thing Miles inherited from our father.
He also got his skills on the polo field.
Better, even, according to some who used to watch Dad play.
I remember hours spent on the sidelines every weekend during the summer when Miles would run around with his polo mallet, shouting commentary as he followed the match.
All four of us can play and have done so since we learned to ride, but Miles is obsessed. And the only one who can play like our father. He’d have been so proud to see him selected to play for the England Under 21s during this summer.
I’m proud. We all are. The only dampener is that Dad won’t be there to see it.
So I’m thankful he can’t see me grimace. “I thought it was next week.”
“Nope. Today, we’ve got to be at Foxleigh by twelve, and then the match is at three. You’re coming with Mum, Clemmie, and Al, right? Lando’s at the boring lunch thing beforehand, probably poncing about, but he’ll find you after.”
“Yeah. Course.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, and bollocks. I’d completely forgotten. I had plans this afternoon, important ones.
“Unless you want to go to the lunch?” He walks out, patting his face dry with a towel on his way to his closet, which he tosses at me, and I promptly drop on the floor.
“Nope.” Couldn’t think of anything worse, frankly.
Hanging out with a load of stuffy Londoners who like to pretend they live in the country and being pawed at by mothers who want me to meet their daughters.
No thanks. Not to mention that if Miles is playing, he won’t be at lunch, which means I won’t have a buffer.
He deals with shit like that much better than I do.
Plus, I now have to rearrange my day.
“D’you know Sam Pelling . . .?” I call out. I hear him opening and closing drawers, hangers being flung along the rack. It’s haphazard and erratic. Two things Miles isn’t. “Milo?”
“What?” he says, walking out wearing only a pair of boxers and holding up two shirts. “Which one?”
I point at the one in his right hand. “That’s mine.”
“Wondered why I like it.” A grin spreads on his face. He tosses the other shirt back into his closet and pulls mine over his head. “It can be my lucky charm today.”
I frown. Miles doesn’t usually need or want luck for anything. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Milo . . .”
He’s tugging on a pair of jodhpurs and stops halfway. “I miss Dad. I wish he were here today.”
“Me too.” Ten years. We’ve now had four more years without our dad than we had with him, and yet we still feel the loss so acutely.
I glance at the photo Miles has on his dresser, the one of him and Dad sitting on Zeus, my dad’s old horse.
Miles is three and holding a mallet. “You know what he’d say, don’t you? ”
“Yeah. Strong wrist, elbows in, bump hard.” He grins, reciting the three rules my dad always said were the key to being a good polo player.
“Just remember them, and he’ll be with you.”
He nods, then taps the photo on the dresser and walks back into the closet. “What did you ask me before—”
“When?”
“Just now?”
Even though it was only two minutes ago, I don’t seem to remember, and when I do, I wonder how I forgot. “D’you know Sam Pelling?”
“From prep school?”
I nod.
“Yeah, why?”
My teeth sink into the skin on the side of my thumb. Now that I’ve started down this line, I almost don’t want to finish. I should just forget about it. Pretend it’s not true. Ignore it.
“Hen? What?”
Miles and I might be identical twins and run in the same core circles of friends we’ve had since we were younger, but Miles’s is much wider than mine.
He’s on the polo team, which always attracts lots of people.
I spend my spare time on the farm or, when I’m at school, in the biology department labs.
“Have you heard anything about him and Story?”
“Nope. Why?”
“I think they’re seeing each other,” I say, which is based on nothing but a hunch and the fact that he likes every single one of her Instagram posts.
Last week, he commented with a chicken emoji. Like what the fuck is that supposed to mean?
A fucking chicken, on a stack of books next to her bed.
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
“We don’t talk about stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, we just don’t. She has her life at school here, and we’re at Wellington.” It’s been that way ever since the Valentine Fair three years ago. Since Annabel kissed me because she thought I was Miles.
“So Story doesn’t know about you and Katie Singh?”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“You had sex with her all summer term.”
I shrug. “Yeah but we’re not seeing each other or anything. She knows I’m not interested in having a girlfriend at school.”
“Then maybe that’s what Story is doing. She’s not telling you anything because there’s nothing to tell, and she doesn’t want a boyfriend.”
“You think?”
Miles’s eyes meet mine through the mirror.
He’s been standing in front of it, trying to get his hair in that messy way he always does.
Messier than I like mine, but mostly because I can’t be bothered taking the time Miles does.
Sometimes it’s weird being an identical twin because you don’t need a mirror.
You can just look at them and decide whether something is good or not.
“Hen, you know what I think when it comes to Story.”
I roll my eyes and pull my phone out of my pocket. Yes, I know exactly what Miles thinks.
He still blames her for Annabel Stenson punching him in the face after she thought she’d been snogging him, when in fact he was with Lauren MacCauley.
In his defense, and having been the one who actually snogged Annabel Stenson, it wouldn’t have happened if Annabel hadn’t launched herself at me. And it lasted twenty seconds max, enough time for me to get over the shock of it.
The worst part was hurting Story, because I’d really wanted to kiss Story that day. It took me a month to get her to talk to me, and the valentine I had for her is still in my desk drawer.
“Can you just find out if she’s seeing that dickhead? Like, for real?”
He nods because, as much as he doesn’t like Story, he’ll do anything for me. “Yes, I’ll ask around Foxleigh, but you know who might know? Clem.”
My head snaps up to his. “Yes. You’re fucking right. Where is she?”
“Fuck knows.” Miles shakes his head, standing in front of me. “I look okay, right?”
“You look good. Shit hair, though.” I grin, adding a punch at the same time. “I need to find Clem, and don’t forget Mum wants you.”
HENDRICKS: Where are you?
HENDRICKS: Need a favor. Do u know Sam Pelling?
I wait for the dot dot dots, but they don’t come. God, she’s annoying. She’s literally glued to her phone, and the one time I need her, she’s vanished.
Miles has already rushed ahead of me, yelling, “Mum,” as he tries to find her. While he’s doing that, I refigure my day because I planned to spend it with Story.
HENDRICKS: Meet me on the hill in 30?
STORYTELLER: Sure thing. See you there, Henny.
I wanted to spend the afternoon hanging out on the hill, maybe go swimming, and get some drinks. Now I’ll be at the polo, and Story won’t come with me because she doesn’t like Miles. But I have to be at the polo, and this isn’t a situation where I can use Miles to be in two places at once.
He’s in the kitchen when I eventually make it downstairs, though annoyingly, I haven’t found my sister.
“Is Clemmie here?”
“Nope.”
“Fuck. Okay, I’m taking Sprite for a walk.
Tell Mum I’ll be back soon. If you see Clem, tell her to check her messages.
” I pull him into the biggest hug I can.
“I love you. You’re going to be amazing today, Milo.
I’ll be cheering you so fucking loud.” I shove my hand into my pocket and pull out a lemon sherbet. “Frankie can have this if he scores.”
Miles glances down at his palm. “Why’ve you got lemon sherbets in your pocket?”
“No clue,” I reply, whistling for Sprite, my Labrador. “And don’t forget, strong wrist, elbows in, bump hard.”
Imake it in thirty, and Story’s sitting, waiting for me.
In all fairness, she lives way closer to the hill than I do, which is why I brought the four-wheeler with me. Because the less time it takes to travel back, the longer I get to spend with Story.
Sprite rushes up to her, hurling himself on her hard enough that she falls on the ground.
The pale purple sundress she’s wearing lifts up to her thighs as her feet kick in the air.
I pause, watching her squeal and playfully shove Sprite aside while he covers her in kisses. I wish I could do the same.
“Sprite, leave her alone.” I laugh, pulling a ball from my pocket, and throw it as far as I can so we get at least thirty seconds alone while he fetches it and sprints back.
As I wander over and she pulls her dress down, her legs seem so long that I wonder if she’s gotten taller, which makes me sad because then she won’t fit under my chin. Holding my hand out, I pull her up to standing and tuck her into me.
“Oh thank God.”
“What?”
“You’re still short.”
She reels back and slaps me hard on the arm—hard for her, anyway—which only makes me laugh more, and it gives me the chance to properly look at her.