The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe

A determined look that Mari recognised all too well slid into her twin’s eyes. ‘There has to be a way—your credit rating is good...’

Mari, the phone call from the head teacher still very much on her mind, hated bringing her twin back down to earth. ‘You know my job doesn’t pay that sort of money, Mark.’ Nobody went into teaching for the salary. ‘I barely make ends meet as it is.’

‘We could sell something.’

Mari’s heart broke for him. ‘Look, Mark, I’ll do what I can, but I doubt very much in the meantime—’

‘I could ask Fleur. Her family is loaded, and Fleur was always saying her big brother takes the responsibility stuff seriously—giving back to the community and all that.’

‘His sister said that?’

Mark, propped up on his pillows, shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, it’s all about appearances, isn’t it? And he can afford it. I thought you could have a word, mention how upset I was after Fleur broke up with me... Don’t blame her or anything, as I get the feeling he’s kind of protective, but—’

‘I really don’t think that would be a good idea,’ Mari, horrified by what she was hearing, interrupted.

‘Don’t look like that. I’m not asking you to ask him straight out for money—you can be more subtle than that. You know, play up the sob story, flutter your eyelashes, do the weak girlie thing.’

Mari got to her feet; she was feeling sick. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘You’d prefer that I end up in a wheelchair for life!’

‘That doesn’t have to happen, Mark. You know that the doctors have said with hard work and determination... I know it’s a long haul, but I’ll be with you every step of the way.’

‘Why does it always have to be hard work? I know you’re proud to be poor and everything, but I’m not. Why shouldn’t I have it easy for once in my life? I have never asked you for anything in my life, Mari...’ He saw her expression and stopped. ‘All right, maybe a couple of times.’

Mari picked up the brochure. ‘I’ll see if I can work something out, but I’m not begging for money from Sebastian Defoe.’

‘You’re too proud to beg?’

‘It’s not about pride, Mark.’

‘Yes, it is!’ he flared back bitterly. ‘You’ve always been the same. You can’t ask for help. You always have to do things the hard way. Well, it’s easy for you to have pride—you can walk out of here.’

Her brother held her eyes for ten silent reproachful seconds before he turned his face to the wall.

‘Mark, I’m sorry.’

Almost in tears, Mari left five minutes later, Mark still refusing point-blank to speak to her. He hadn’t given her the silent treatment since they were children, and then sometimes he had kept it up for days.

* * *

As she walked along the hospital corridors Mari struggled to think past the awful sense of helplessness. She couldn’t get the image of the silent reproach in her brother’s eyes out of her head and it left her with a sick sense of helplessness that was crushing.

The doctor had caught Mari before she left the ward. She had really struggled to respond positively when he’d pronounced himself cautiously optimistic about her brother’s prognosis; he’d gone on to emphasise how important a positive mental attitude was in these cases and how easy it was for patients to become depressed.

Outside she took several deep gulps of fresh air. Mark was right: she could go home but he couldn’t.

As much as she loved her twin she was perfectly aware that his impatience meant he always went for the quick fix. Their foster parents used to tell him there was no magic pill that cut out the hard work, but now he was convinced there was a magic pill. A carrot had been dangled and he couldn’t have it, but while he knew it was there he’d never settle for hard slog.

Lost in her own thoughts, she barely noticed the drizzle that had begun to fall as she cut across the bay reserved for ambulances, and then across a half-empty area with reserved parking spaces, people who were too important to make the long trek to the overflow parking area for the hospitals.

‘So how was your brother?’

Mari let out a shriek as the tall figure vaulted from a low-slung car that had power statement written all over it.

Had he been waiting for her? It didn’t matter—she had a chance to tell him what she thought of him.

‘Are you some sort of sadist?’

The sight of her walking out of the building had shaken loose an emotion that he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. Her body language had been so defeated, her slender shoulders so hunched she had looked as though it was an effort to put one foot in front of the other.