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I grunted and dropped the pack on the tray in front of us. “Schools change. People don’t. I thought it would be different in the US, but it wasn’t. Come back here, same old rubbish. I shouldn’t have even tried.”
You’d think in the twenty-first century, things would be a bit more modern, but not with this lot. Not when the names and titles they used were created centuries ago. Not when half the laws governing their precious inheritances were nearly as old.
“I don’t know why he even bothers,” I said. “It’s not like any number of posh schools are going to change the fact that I’m the brat he got on the cook. Honestly, things were better for me in Croydon with—”
I bit off my words and swallowed back the tears that pricked whenever I thought of Mum, even three years after her death. It was only late at night that I’d let myself think of her sometimes. When I was back from school, and could creep down to the kitchens of Corbray Hall after the staff had gone for the day. There, I’d nose around and make a bento for myself out of whatever I could find. Cut the rice into shapes like Mum used to. Shave a bit of carrot like hair and make faces with sesame seeds.
She always did want me to eat healthy.
And sure, maybe sometimes I’d cry a little. At first.
But not anymore.
“At least they are still trying to help you fit in.” Lucy sighed and kicked her feet out in front of her. She was short, so they barely grazed the floor. “Imogene came out this year, you know. Mummy took her to London and everything. She was so excited. Told Papa, ‘Finally, one of them can actually be a real Viscount’s daughter.’”
I scowled. Maybe this was why Luce and I had always gotten on from the moment Rupert had dragged my stubborn arse up to Cumbria and plopped me on the estate adjoining hers. We both knew what it was like to fall short in our relative positions—me because of the circumstances of my birth and Luce because of her health.
“Your dad gives my dad a run for his money in the arse department.” I looked her over curiously. “I thought they took care of the cancer, though. What did the doctors tell you this time?”
Something in my chest squeezed. Over the years, Lucy had been in and out of the hospital more times than I’d visited the headmaster’s office. Every time she went to London, it was to see another specialist at a different hospital to get another scary diagnosis. There were a few times they weren’t sure she’d make it.
She shrugged. “They say it’s still in remission, but now there are the adrenal insufficiencies to worry about from all the steroids. Not to mention spontaneous anaphylaxis, of course.” She sighed. “I can’t seem to get it right.”
I swallowed, unsure of what to say. I didn’t really understand Lucy’s condition—something called mast cell activation syndrome. From what she said, it was like having extreme allergic reactions all the fucking time, and in her case, actually caused a type of leukemia. That was scary. I spent most of my free weekends that year keeping her company during chemo. It was the only reason I ever studied for A-Levels—I read to her while she lay there feeling sick. If I believed in God, I’d have thanked him when they said she’d recover.
“Well, you look great to me,” I told her, patting her hand. “Ready to join the Premier League, eh? I hear the Arsenal Scouts are having a tryout next week.”
She rolled her eyes. “You never change. Single track mind.”
I grinned. “You can take the boy out of Croydon…”
She sighed and looked out the window as the countryside zoomed by. “Do you ever think about what things could be like away from here? If we didn’t have to come back to Kendal?”
“Are you kidding?” I asked. “Only all the bloody time. I’m counting the days, you know. Taking you with me, too.”
Lucy turned in genuine surprise. “You are not.”
“I am.” I held up my hand like I was framing a painting. “Picture this. You. Me. My mum’s flat in South End. You can have the bedroom, I’ll take the sofa. You’ll go to LSE like you always wanted, and I’ll do culinary school. We’ll get out of fucking Kendal and live our lives the way we actually want. It’ll be perfect, Luce. Just us.”
Lucy seemed enraptured with the dream, looking through my fingers like she could actually see the picture I was describing.
Then, suddenly, she made a face. “I don’t know if I’d want to live with you, Xav. You’re kind of disgusting.”
I scowled. “Disgusting? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just that I don’t really fancy living in a sea of condoms and girls’ knickers,” she said. “Especially the kind you go after. Chelsea Nobbs in the stables? Really? She’s shagged half the village, you know.”
I snickered. I wasn’t going to lie. Girls had never been the problem when it came to fitting in around here. It was their brothers who usually hated me. And mothers. And, of course, the fathers.
I nudged Lucy’s arm. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’d never bring any of them around you. Not to our home.”
Lucy snorted. “Just wait until you fall in love with one of them, Xav. Then we’ll see how much I really matter.”
“Nah, that’ll never happen,” I told her. “What’ve we been discussing this whole time, eh? I’m a heartless bastard, Luce, through and through.”
It didn’t seem to make her feel better.
“But, hey.” I pulled at her jumper, making her turn back to me from the window. “I’m also your best friend. You and Jagger and Elsie—you’re the only ones who matter to me. Nothing could ever get in the way of that.”
