Now and Then Friends (17 page)

She wanted to run away from it all, back up to that view of freedom from the top of Scafell Pike, drink in the emptiness of it like a glass of cold, clean water, and forget about the pressures that were already crowding in on her, making it hard to breathe.

The car slowed, and with a hollow sensation Rachel saw they were back home. The terraced house she'd lived in her whole life looked smaller and shabbier after spending a day out in wide spaces with long views. Slowly she unbuckled her seat belt.

“Thanks for a lovely day out.”

“Was it lovely?” Andrew said, one eyebrow cocked. “I'm glad you think so.”

“I think so,” Lily said as she got out of the car. “It was fab.”

Lily was already walking inside, and yet Rachel hesitated, reluctant to end the day. She knew the second she stepped through the doorway she'd be sucked into the chaos and clamor of her life.

“I take your point about Claire,” Andrew said quietly, and she turned to look at him in surprise.

“You do?”

“I'm not that blind or stupid. I know she's an adult and that she needs to make her own decisions. But . . .” He let out a sigh and rubbed one hand over his face. “I've been looking after Claire for my whole life. It's hard to stop.”

“The perils of being a big brother, I suppose.”

He dropped his hand with a weary smile. “You have no idea,” he said with a grim quietness that unnerved her.

Rachel almost asked him more, but then she heard Lily go inside, and with a sigh she got out of the car.

“Thanks for taking us out today. We needed the break.”

“I'm glad I was able to give you one.” He smiled wryly. “And that it truly was a break.”

She gave a little laugh. “I know I give you a hard time. I'm sorry.”

“It's only because you like me, right?” He shook his head, still smiling, and Rachel schooled her face into an equally smiling-yet-neutral expression. She didn't like Andrew West. Not like that.

“Well, bye, then,” she said, and for some reason it felt awkward. Date-like and yet so not. He nodded goodbye and she got out of the car. She'd just started up the path when Lily wrenched open the front door and stood on the stoop, her face pale and shocked.

“Rachel,” she said, and her voice sounded like a child's, small and scared. “Something's wrong with Mum.”

Claire stood at the sink and stared out at the twilit sky. She felt exhausted, every muscle aching, and yet also absurdly proud of herself. She'd gotten home.

She'd walked back down the fell, limping the last part of the way, and headed towards the inn. She'd been considering her options as she'd walked and realized they were extremely limited. She didn't have any cash on her or even her phone, which she kept in a drawer in a bedroom and checked once a day for messages from her mother, like taking medicine. Nasty but quickly over.

Wasdale Head was one of the Lake District's most remote outposts. It wasn't as if she could catch a bus or a train, even if she'd had the money to do so. So she'd stood in the doorway of the inn and gazed around at all the hikers with their walking sticks and pints of beer and then, clearing her throat, she'd issued her challenge, or really, her plea.

“Is anyone heading towards Hartley-by-the-Sea?”

A dozen heads had swiveled towards her, no doubt taking in her ruined plimsolls and desperate expression. She really did not want to have to wait for Andrew to come back down Scafell Pike, shaking his head in a sanctimonious I-told-you-so way.

“I'm going to Workington,” a woman called out. She was in her
midfifties, kitted out in high-tech hiking gear. “If you can wait for me to finish my lunch, I'll take you.”

So Claire had waited, her stomach growling, as the woman finished her steak-and-ale pie. Claire almost wished she'd taken one of Rachel's tuna sandwiches.

Finally they set off, the woman introducing herself as Anna Linhart. She unclipped a dog's lead from the post outside, and Claire glanced at the enormous, slobbering wolfhound with some alarm. She was not much of a dog person, and definitely not a big dog person. Even Bunny made her a little nervous.

“He wouldn't hurt a fly,” the woman assured her, but Claire still kept a good five feet between her and the half horse that the woman put in the backseat of her Mini. The car was so small that the wolfhound's head was practically on Claire's shoulder, his hot breath steaming into her ear.

“He likes you,” Anna remarked. Claire did not reply. She could tell by Anna's few, careful questions that the older woman thought Claire was fleeing some breakup or abusive boyfriend, rather than an irritating older brother.

“You do have a safe place to stay?” she asked for the third time as they neared Hartley-by-the-Sea.

“Yes, definitely. I'm not in any danger, honestly.” Claire smiled weakly, not wanting to admit she'd begged a lift simply to save face. “Really, I'll be okay.”

“Call this number if you need anything,” Anna said, and gave her a card for the Good Samaritans. Claire took it with murmured thanks.

She stepped into Four Gables with a sigh of relief, for once relishing the emptiness around her. Then she ran a deep, hot bath, eased off her ruined plimsolls, and sank into the foaming water.

An hour later Andrew still wasn't home and Claire felt mostly restored. She knew she could expect a lecture from Andrew about not
accepting rides from strangers, and that would really make her feel like a child. What if she told him she'd accepted a chocolate bar from a stranger too? Anna had shared the bar of Cadbury's she kept in her glove box.

The thought made Claire smile, and the fact that she could see the humor in a situation for once made her feel strong. Maybe Rachel was right, and she didn't have to creep and inch her way through life, head ducked down, apologizing for everything. She'd been doing it for so long she'd forgotten how to do anything else, but she could learn. She could try.

Andrew finally came in at ten o'clock, when Claire had just been about to head up to bed. He looked tired and distinctly hassled, and in a knee-jerk reaction Claire babbled out an apology.

“Sorry to make you worry. I really was fine though, Andrew.”

“It's not that.” Andrew flung the car keys on the granite countertop, where they skittered and bounced. He raked his hands through his hair and then dropped them wearily.

“What . . . what took you so long?”

“Rachel's mother had a stroke.”

“What?” Claire stared at him, appalled. “When . . . ? How . . . ? I mean . . .”

“Lily found her when we got back from Wasdale Head. She was lying on the floor of the sitting room.”

“Is she okay? I mean, now?”

“I don't know. I stayed with them until she was settled, but they'll have to do tests, and of course she'll have to have some rehabilitation.” He shook his head slowly. “Not an easy situation.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“I doubt it. Rachel doesn't want help, anyway. At least she doesn't want to admit she needs it.” Andrew smiled wryly. “She's too proud.” Claire heard a note of affection in his voice and wondered again at Andrew's interest in Rachel. “I'm completely shattered,” he continued, “not to mention starving. Is there anything to eat?”

Claire had made a cup of instant noodles for herself several hours ago. “Toast?”

Andrew grimaced and closed the door of the fridge. “Maybe I'll just go to bed.”

“Okay.”

He stood there a second, his palm flat on the fridge. “How did you get home, anyway?”

“I hitched a ride.”

“And did you consider how dangerous that is?”

“Yes, actually, I did. But the woman who gave me a lift seemed perfectly safe and she was. So.” She took a deep breath. “Don't baby me, Andrew, please.”

“Is that you or Rachel Campbell talking?”

“Did you even
hear
what I said?”

“Yes, actually, I did,” he parroted back at her before he sighed heavily. “Look, Claire, I'm not trying to annoy you. But you've always had someone looking out for you, usually me. It's hard to know how to stop, or if it's a good idea. Especially now.”

“I know,” she said softly. Even in primary school Andrew had been there, watching in the distance, a tough-looking Year Six to her scared Year Two. “You didn't . . . ? You didn't ask Rachel to look out for me back in primary school, did you?” she asked suddenly, and Andrew smiled, bemused.

“Are you kidding me? That would have seriously ruined my street cred.”

But he'd walked home with her every day, held her hand as they walked down the steep school lane. He hadn't been too fussed about street cred. And then later, when she'd been at Wyndham, he'd been there, a steadying presence, older, wiser. He'd taught her to drive, until her mother had insisted Claire shouldn't drive because of her ear. As if being deaf in
one
ear made you a liability. But then, to her mother, it had. In so many ways.

“I'm sorry,” she blurted.

“For what?”

“For needing to be looked after for so long. I get that I've seemed helpless to you. To everyone.”

“I'm hearing Rachel again.”

“But it's true, isn't it? Just because Rachel said it doesn't matter. She said it to help me, and I am trying to change, actually—”

“But this isn't your life, Claire.” Andrew turned to face her. “Living in our parents' house, working in a village shop? I understand you need a break. But this isn't real life.”

She blinked at him, absorbing his words. “And you think Portugal was real?”

“You had a decent job. You were engaged to be married. It stands to reason—”

“I was miserable in Portugal, Andrew.
Miserable.
” Her voice choked a bit, and she took a deep breath, willing the emotion back. “That's why I drank too much. Once, at a party. Or twice, if I'm honest. But it was because I felt like my life was spinning out of control. Everyone had made all my decisions for me, and I'd let them. I understand that. I accept my responsibility for it. But I was looking at the rest of my life, and I didn't want any of it.”

Andrew stared at her for a moment. “What about Hugh?”

“What about him?”

“Didn't . . . ? Didn't you love him?” The question sounded diffident, uncomfortable. The Wests didn't use the L-word very often.

“No,” Claire admitted. “I don't think I did.” She paused. “I know I didn't.”

“Did he love you?”

“I doubt it. Andrew, I haven't even spoken to him in more than a month.” What had she shown him of herself to love? “I think he just liked having me on his arm. And I've always been eager to please.” She smiled wryly. “Something else I'm trying to change.”

Andrew stared at her. “Why did Hugh call Mum and Dad, if he wasn't genuinely concerned?”

“Because he wanted rid of me, I think.” Claire shrugged. “I'd embarrassed him in public and become a nuisance.” She winced at the recollection. “I admit it. I was loud and drunk and stupid at a party. I don't even remember half of what I said. And Hugh wanted to . . . to punish me, I suppose.”

“
Punish
you? He sounds like a complete ass.”

Claire smiled at Andrew's look of outrage. “Not a complete one. He could be quite charming, when he wanted to be.”

“He didn't . . .” Andrew paused. “He didn't . . . mistreat you, did he?”

“No, not like that. Never like that.” She tried for a laugh. “You sound like Anna Linhart.”

“Who?”

“The woman who gave me a lift today. She handed me a card for the Good Samaritans before I got out of the car. I think she thought I was fleeing an abusive boyfriend.”

Andrew rubbed a hand over his face. “And you didn't think to enlighten her?”

“And say what? That I'd gone off in a strop and left my brother on top of Scafell Pike?”

“We weren't even close to the top then.”

She laughed, something lightening inside her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd talked like this with her brother. Maybe never.

“Rachel made it to the top,” he said as he opened the fridge again and peered inside. Claire had a feeling it was just a tactic to avoid looking at her.

“There's nothing more in there since the last time you looked. Lily did too, I assume?”

Claire noticed Andrew's quick, almost guilty look before he closed the fridge again. “Yes, of course. Lily too.”

“Hmm.” She decided not to tease him about Rachel. She didn't even
know how she felt about Andrew and Rachel as a concept. “I'm going to bed,” she said. “But I'm glad everyone got back in one piece.” She took a step towards him and laid a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Andrew.”

“For what?”

“For easing off a bit.”

He grimaced. “I must be really bad.”

“I know you mean well—”

“Ouch.”

“But I'm okay. Really. I'm okay.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, and then she went upstairs to bed.

The next morning, while Andrew slept in, Claire decided to do something for Rachel. She wanted to be helpful, and after recalling how Andrew had mooched about, looking for something to eat last night, she decided to make a meal. Preferably something simple.

There were no trains running on a Sunday, so she walked to the village shop for ingredients, steeling herself against another abrupt encounter with her boss. At least she was a customer rather than an employee today, although Dan hadn't shown himself to be particularly friendly to customers, either.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as she came through the door. “You're not working today.”

“I know. I'm a customer. I want to make a meal for Rachel Campbell. Macaroni and cheese, I think.”

Unsmiling, he pointed to the shelf Claire had dusted and stacked several times. “There's a tin over there.”

Claire followed the direction of his pointing finger, and when she saw the tin with its picture of rubbery orange macaroni and cheese, she burst out laughing. Dan stared at her nonplussed while she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Sorry. Sorry. I'm not laughing at you, honestly. It's just . . .” She couldn't explain what she found so funny, and Dan obviously didn't see the humorous side to the situation.

“How about the beef stew with minty peas?” he asked, and then he actually cracked a smile.

Watching Dan Trenton smile was like seeing the snow melt in Narnia. Was it really happening, after all this time? Winter was over?

“Wait,” she dared to tease. “You actually have a sense of humor?”

“No. I just want to shift my inventory.” He jerked a thumb towards the back. “The milk and cheese are in the refrigerated section, you know.”

“Okay.” She walked over to the refrigerated section, conscious of Dan watching her. The shop felt smaller than usual, even when they shared the single room for eight hours at a stretch.

“So why are you making macaroni and cheese for this Rachel Campbell?” Dan asked.

“Her mother's had a stroke. I thought she could use a meal.” Claire picked up a wedge of plastic-wrapped Cheddar. “Do you know her?”