Page 2 of Almost Ours

Oscar and me with missing front teeth. Oscar and me on the first day of secondary school. One of the four of us outside some restaurant in Spain, Dad a lot darker from the sun and Mum wearing a dress I remember thinking was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen.

We will never be those people again.

"Rubes?" Oscar prompts.

"Huh?"

"The depression?"

"Right." My moods are a revolving door. I never know where I am going to land, and today I seem to be fleeting between them all. "I don't think depression is something that ever leaves, O. But I've grown around it. Learned how to move with it."

"Is that how it works?"

"Yeah." I say and then think about it a bit more. "I think so anyway." Looking down, I brush a crumb off my leggings. "But I don't want you spending your second year worrying about me."

"Rubes," Oscar quietly tuts, his brown eyes fixed on me, searching my face.

We look alike, but even though we’re twins, nobody has ever struggled to tell us apart. He’s taller than me by the better part of a foot and broader, but Oscar has Dad’s brown eyes while mine are hazel. Dad is black and Mum is white, and Oscar inherited more of Dad’s complexion while I am firmly in the middle.

"I'm here for you,” Oscar continues. “You know that, right? None of that changes because I'm in my second year. I don't want you thinking you're a burden." He reaches across and rubs my knee reassuringly. "You're not. I want you to come to me if your head starts giving you jip, okay?" Oscar pulls back. "If it gets bad again, I don't want you dealing with it on your own."

I blink away the sting in my eyes. "I know, O. You're a great brother."

"And you're a great sister. A bit neurotic. A lot hot-headed. But great nonetheless." He pauses, his eyes suddenly alight with amusement. "Just don't go around punching anyone."

A surprised laugh escapes me. "Harriet deserved that punch."

"She did. But still."

Holding up three fingers to my forehead, I put on a nasally voice. "Scout's honour. I'll be on my best behaviour."

"I don't think you have a best behaviour. You've always been a mischievous little thing."

This is news to me. "Have I?"

"Yeah, Rubes." He nudges my foot with his. "But it's one of the very best parts of you."

Mischievous isn't what I'd call myself. I suppose maybe I was once. I’ve always been sensitive, but I wasn’t always so bloody weighed down by everything. Then I came home early from school one day and found Dad shagging my friend in my bed, and it turns out that really fucks you up.

"Come on." He gets to his feet, wiping his hands down his jeans. "I'll help you unpack the rest of your stuff. It shouldn't be taking you days to get this room sorted."

I stay where I am, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "It's okay, I'll do it later." I pick up the Oreo packet from beside my knee and set it down on the bedside table. "I told Brooke I'd meet her for a coffee."

"Brooke?" Oscar slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he glances around the room. He never used to be so observant.

"Yeah." I nod. "She lives down the hall. Has a boyfriend called Ewan." I rest my palms on the duvet. "They seemed nice enough. She was nervous and a bit socially awkward which means I like her already.” I give a light laugh. “You know me, I love a stray."

Oscar throws me a look full of worry, as if saying things like that constitutes me being sent back to the mental health ward.

It makes me roll my eyes. "I am fine. Will you stop mothering me?"

"I won't say sorry for being worried about you. But I'm on strict instructions from Emma to not bother you or obstruct your life in any way."

Good old Emma. "She's smart," I wave a hand towards him. "That girlfriend of yours. Don't know what she's doing with a toad like you."

"Yeah." He takes the joke on the chin. "Tell me something I don't know." Oscar glances towards my door. Sometimes I think he can only last an hour before he is itching to get back to Emma. "So, where are you meeting this Brooke person?"

"The Library cafe."