Something in the air must be making everyone crazy right now.
After a second morning of enduring photographers at the Foxleigh gates, and seeing Ruby retreat into a shadow of the loud, opinionated woman I’ve come to know, I decided to call in the cavalry. Except it sounds like the cavalry is needed here too.
Voices ricochet off the old stone floor, echoing down the corridor with enough force to make me pause halfway through the entryway.
Usually, Burlington carries noise softly—the distant clatter of paws from dogs racing down it, Max tearing through hallways like a miniature hurricane, music drifting from one room or another—but this is different.
I peer down at Dolly, the yellow Labrador, and her new sidekick, Honey. “Sounds interesting.”
Following the yelling into the kitchen, I stop in the doorway, taking in the scene before me. Clementine’s rigid by the island counter, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. Hendricks leans against the opposite side, equally furious, though his anger looks far more controlled.
I mean, granted, I don't live at Burlington like Hendricks and Clementine, but I'm surprised to hear them screaming at each other like we did when we were teenagers.
“Fuck you, Hendricks. Mind your own fucking business.”
Whoa.Dolly looks up at me with a similar expression.
“How long’s it been going on like this?” I ask her, wondering when either will notice me. But they’re too busy glaring at each other.
“I told you,” Hendricks warns in a tone I rarely hear him use. “If you don’t tell him, I will.”
My ears perk. I’m always interested in a bit of gossip, and this sounds juicy.
“Tell who what?” I ask with unadulterated glee.
The pair freezes. Hendricks's glare stays on our sister, while she turns to me. And honestly, I’ve seen less murderous expressions in horror films.
“Nothing,” she snaps, spinning back to Hendricks. “Mind your own fucking business. I’ve told you, stay out of my life.”
With that, she storms out through the patio doors and down into the garden.
My brows shoot up and, deeming it now safe to enter the war zone, I walk over to the kitchen island.
“Bloody hell. Bit early for fireworks, isn’t it? What was that about?”
My twin shakes his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
It’s an odd response, since we usually share everything. Not to mention, we never lie to each other. But he’s doing that now, because whatever I just witnessed was obviously something. I don’t push, though. He’ll tell me in his own time. I’m just surprised, because if anyone’s going to argue with Clementine, it’s me.
For reasons only known to herself, she chooses to push my buttons way more than anyone else in this family.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies. Not quite as snappy as my sister, but not particularly jovial either.
“I certainly picked a good morning to come over.”
It seems to snap Hendricks out of his mood, and he chuckles darkly. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s Max rubbing off. He didn’t want to go to school this morning and had a bit of a meltdown, so we’re all feeling a little frazzled.”
“Oh right,” I reply, not entirely buying it, but whatever. “Rather you than me. Would you like a coffee?”
“I would. Thanks.”
I walk over to the counter where breakfast is usually laid out and flick the coffee machine on. There are a couple of pieces of cold toast that I slather with butter, then follow up with jam, and crunch into.
“What’s going on then? Is Mum around?” I ask, placing a cup of coffee in front of Hendricks.
“No, she’s gone up to London until Friday. It’s the Chelsea Flower Show.”
