Page 19 of Almost Ours

I'm doing this.

Even if every part of me feels like it's missing its other half.

We barely cover a few yards when Oscar stops altogether. "Hang on a minute." Cam slows beside me and we both look at him. Oscar is standing a short distance away, looking directly at me. The lads gathering around him carry on chatting amongst themselves, but he doesn't seem to pay them any mind. His eyes stay fixed on my face, narrowing slightly, like he's trying to drag a memory out from somewhere. "Why do I recognise you?"

My stomach drops. "Uh..." I clear my throat. "I had coffee with your sister the other day?"

Oscar shakes his head. "No, I know that. It's something else." He studies me for another second. "Do you have a brother? Jack... James... something like that?"

My heart stutters. "Uh... no."

He doesn't look convinced. "You sure? You've got the same jaw. Same eyes."

I force a shrug, hoping my face isn't giving me away. "Nope. Just me."

"That's weird." He scratches the back of his neck, still thinking. "I'm sure I knew a lad called James who looked exactly like you. He went to St. Peter's.”

Nausea burns my throat. That's our school. He fucking knew James. Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

I can’t talk about this here and now. In an ideal world I would talk about it never.

I’m a fucking mess.

I haven’t worked out yet how I’m supposed to tell people. It makes people look at you differently. It takes the simplicity out of everything. I won’t just be another guy trying out for the football team. I’ll be the guy with a dead brother. It irrevocably changes things. I become this damaged thing they have to interact with. Someone who should be handled with care.

Oscar tears his eyes away from me and looks across at Cam. "Do you remember those twin brothers who nearly stole the Premi from us?" he asks. "The pair who tore us apart every time we played them?"

Cam's forehead creases for barely a second before his eyes light up. "Yeah,” he says slowly, expression turning thoughtful. “The freaky good pair. One blonde, one dark-haired. The dark-haired one was a fucking menace down the left.” He taps an index finger to his temple. “What were their names?"

"James and—something," Oscar scowls. "Everyone called them the Hardy twins, didn't they?"

That's it.

Game over.

They'll have to send my body back to Mum and Dad with an apology.

Dear Mr and Mrs Hardy,

Unfortunately, your remaining son has keeled over on a football pitch. Cause of death: panic. Contributing factors include shit timing, shit hair, and a lifelong inability to catch a fucking break.

“I’m sure it began with a ‘J’!” Cam tacks on.

“It did, didn’t it?” Oscar puts his hands on his hips.

Why can’t I escape it all? First Bonnie. Now these two headcases knew us. My head is going to explode clean off my shoulders.

Cam points at me, eyes narrowing. "Yeah. You do kind of look like them. Where are you from?"

My mouth is bone fucking dry. I'm going to have to tell them. Say it out loud. Admit it. Or something close to the truth, anyway. Fuck my fucking life.

I swallow hard. "Louth."

Cam peers at me. "No way. The Hardy twins were from Louth too."

"I knew him." Oscar suddenly bursts. "James. I knew him fairly well. He was dating this girl, Bonnie. She was friends with my ex-girlfriend, Harriet. We'd hang out sometimes but I’m sure he was going to Oxford."