In the morning, we are woken up by Guy coming in way too early. It takes Spencer and me both a few seconds to get back into character as we simply groan and blink in the blinding sunlight revealed when Guy pulls the curtains aside. I mutter something about "No way, dude," and Guy ignores me until I say, "I would be forever obliged if you could give us a moment."
"Certainly, sir!" he beams and fucks off.
It's only after I've had four glasses of water that I am in any condition to even get dressed. And it's only as I put on my coat that I become aware of the hard object in my pocket. I pull it out and curse when I see Brendon's notebook. I fucking forgot all about it last night, I was too busy speaking like a pompous idiot and trying not to give Brendon adoring looks to worry about the notebook. Fuck. I need to get it back to Brendon's room.
Spencer comes out of the bathroom, and I quickly slide the notebook back into my pocket. Spencer isn't hungover (he never gets hangovers), and I leave for breakfast. To my dismay, I don't see Brendon in the huge dining hall. I stuff the baked beans, fried egg, black pudding and sausages in my mouth quickly as most of the Sigmas now look like hungover gentlemen. I see Chiz talking to Andy in a hushed voice and conclude that Brendon is by himself in their room.
Saturday starts with a game of polo, but that's not until noon. I rush upstairs and knock on Brendon's door, which immediately swings open.
"Morning, sir," I grin at Brendon, who is also wearing his suit. "Fancy a snog?" I say with a wiggle of my eyebrows.
Brendon laughs and smiles back a bit weakly. "Sorry, um... now is really not a good time."
I drop my accent and frown slightly. "Oh."
On a second glance, my stomach tightens. Brendon looks like he had hardly slept last night, lines of worry etched on his face.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything is fine," he mutters. "I really gotta go and -"
"Hey, talk to me," I object, reaching out to take a hold of his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "What's up?"
Brendon sighs. "Nothing. I just... I've just lost something, and I can't find it anywhere. I've looked everywhere three times already and..."
There's a lump in my throat, and Brendon's notebook feels like a stone in my pocket. Guilt lands on me like a piano dropping from the sky as I see how worried Brendon is. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Well... um, if you... I can help you look, or..." I try.
"No," Brendon immediately refuses me. "I'll find it. I'm gonna miss out on polo, but I'm not very good on horseback anyway. Just see you later, yeah?"
Brendon pulls his hand back and closes the door. I stand in the corridor, feeling like an absolutely shitty excuse for a human being.
Fuck.
Fuck.
There is nothing I can do. I can't just leave the notebook behind the door, knock and run away. Oh, god, why am I so stupid? I need to get into Brendon's room and throw the notebook behind the nightstand, make him think it was there all along. I need to get him out of the room, lure him out somehow, sneak in and leave the notebook behind.
What I really should do is keep it. I should give the notebook to Pete. Or if not that, then read it through, take pictures, copy it, anything. But now all I can think of is the worry in Brendon's eyes, and I can't so much as touch the thing without feeling like a backstabber.
The polo field is a twenty minute walk away. We walk the distance through the greenery surrounding the mansion as the sun shines down, but the air is still crisp. William has produced a top hat to go with his suit and has a walking stick as we paddle along the countryside road with a handful of other Sigmas. He explains to me the rules of polo, but as far as I'm concerned, it's men on horses, trying to hit a ball with a mallet. Simple enough, right?
