The Other Half of My Heart by Stephanie Butland Page B

course, that might be to make it more comfortable as they peer at the catalogue together. Her stomach gives a happy churn anyway. He’s just a little taller than she is, and the way her shoulder fits against him when she leans back feels just right. Maybe he squeezes her to him, just a little; it’s hard to tell, because Fred bends and kisses her cheek at the same time.
    â€˜Welcome to chaos,’ he says.
    â€˜Tina’s brought gingerbread, Fred,’ Fran says.
    â€˜How marvellous. And thoughtful,’ Fred says. ‘We’ve got so much wine that we need to start washing the yard down with it if we’re ever going to be rid of it.’
    Tina laughs. ‘My dad built a wine rack under the stairs, but he says it won’t seem to stay stocked.’
    â€˜My dad’s exaggerating,’ Roddy says, then, ‘Dad, Tina and I are sussing out new blankets for Foxglove and Snowdrop. Maybe Bea and Bob, too. Mr Darcy and Blaze got new kit not long ago, so I think they should be all right.’
    â€˜Good. Good. I was thinking the other day that our horses are the worst turned out of any of them. There’s only so long TLC will hold these things together.’
    Fran catches Tina’s glance and they smile at each other. ‘Tina will think she’s in some sort of repetitive conversation hell,’ she says. ‘Is your house like this?’
    Tina thinks about the meals she shares with her parents these days, the fourth seat at the table so very empty. She has realized that she thinks most about how much she likes being a twin when Sam isn’t there. Being a de facto only child she finds crushing, exhausting, with too much responsibility and so many moments when she turns round to say something to someone who isn’t there, and should be.
    â€˜Yes and no,’ she says, ‘it’s a bit odd with my brother away at university.’
    â€˜Ah yes,’ Fred says, ‘you’re a twin, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Yes.’ She wonders what will come next: already sees herself talking to Sam later, telling him about how she got the are-you-telepathic question or the do-you-like-all-the-same-things question or the observation that it’s impossible to answer because they have never known anything else: ‘that must be odd’ or ‘how is it different to having an ordinary sibling’. But Fred just nods, and goes to open a bottle of wine, and Roddy definitely squeezes her shoulder this time, and Fran brings plates and cutlery to the table, and Tina feels something unclench a little as she feels, for the first time, the possibility, the simplicity, in being next to Roddy.
    When the meal is ready, and Roddy gets up and reaches out his hands for Tina’s to pull her up, he keeps his right hand in her left as he leads her the few steps to the table. He stands behind her with his hands on her shoulders for a minute or two when she sits.
    â€˜It’s goulash,’ Fran says, ‘Fred’s favourite, so Roddy and I tolerate it, once a fortnight or so. I hope you’ll like it. Roddy thought you would. He said you wouldn’t want fuss.’
    The next morning, as Tina sits in the kitchen at home, eating toast and idly watching the birds so she can tell her mother what she’s seen, the thought of Roddy and Fran discussing what she would like to eat still makes her feel warm. She had promised to tell Katrina all about the meal last night – and Sam had asked for ‘the edited highlights’ – but she can’t really find words for the way she had felt as the evening progressed.
    As they’d eaten Tina had felt comfortable, welcome, gradually more relaxed, gradually more at home, so much so that when Fred and Fran had excused themselves – ‘Our bones are a lot older than yours and if they’re going to get up at six they need to lie down by ten,’ Fred had said – she hadn’t felt the need to wonder