Now and Then Friends (20 page)

“I'm so sorry, Meghan. If there's anything I can do . . . another meal . . .”

“The macaroni and cheese was great,” Meghan said, shaking her arm off. “Thank you. But we're fine.”

“Tell Rachel I'm thinking of her.”

Meghan gave her a rather funny look before nodding. “I will,” she said, and moved on.

Claire hadn't seen Rachel all week, although when she'd come in from work on Thursday she could tell the house had been cleaned. It smelled strongly of lemon polish and lavender, and the floors had seemed shinier than usual. But other than that Claire had no idea how Rachel was coping, or if she'd want to see her again. And she wasn't quite brave enough yet to find out.

Even though Claire was tired, she was reluctant to pack up and trudge back to Four Gables and another evening alone. Andrew had left several days ago, although he'd promised to come back on the weekend. Claire was looking forward to seeing him again; now that they'd started breaking through their usual roles with Andrew as caretaker and her as supplicant, she found she enjoyed his company.

She was just reaching for the canvas holdalls she'd stuffed underneath her stall when a familiar figure loomed above her.

“Looks like you did well.”

Claire blinked up at Dan. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping you bring all this back.”

“But who's in the shop?”

“I closed it for ten minutes. It won't kill me.” He reached for the empty glass jars. “You put the sweets in these?”

“I wanted it to look like an old-fashioned sweet shop,” she explained, bracing herself for the expected, scornful dismissal of such a silly notion.

Dan nodded slowly. “That's a good idea. Maybe we could use the jars in the shop.”

“Oh . . . yes, of course you could.”

“I'll reimburse you.”

“You don't have to—”

“I will,” he stated, his tone final, and he reached for one of her bags and started loading things into it.

A few minutes later, holding several bulging bags each, they left the field and headed down the high street to the post office shop. The sun was still high above, but a slight chill had entered the air and a few dark clouds scudded across the pale blue sky.

“At least it didn't rain,” Claire remarked as Dan unlocked the front door of the shop and then held the door for her to squeeze past him inside.

For some reason, as she was sucking in her stomach to move past him in the narrow doorway, she remembered Lucy's kindly teasing and felt a prickly heat sweep over her.

It was utterly absurd to think of Dan that way. For one thing, she was still a bit intimidated by him. And two, he seemed like the least romantic person she had ever encountered. She glanced at him as he took the bags into the back of the shop. He wore his usual black T-shirt and dark jeans, which emphasized his massive biceps and body like an oak tree. His dark hair was buzzed short, his face clean-shaven and unexpressive. She supposed he was handsome, in a massive, intimidating way. He was certainly strong.

“I'll rinse these jars out in the kitchen first,” he called over his shoulder, and she realized she was staring.

“Okay.” She followed him back, intending to help, but the kitchen was barely big enough for both of them. Bunny scampered under the table.

“Hey, Bunny.” She crouched down to stroke the trembling dog's silky head while Dan unloaded the jars onto the counter by the sink. “What do you think happened to her?” she asked.

“She belonged to an old lady, and when she died a relative took her and left her out on the M6.”

“Oh, that's horrible,” Claire exclaimed.

Dan nodded grimly. “She was half her normal weight too. I could see all her ribs.”

“Do you think she'll ever stop being afraid?”

Bunny had submitted to Claire's gentle stroking, but she still trembled.

“In time. I've only had her a year.” He glanced down at the dog, his face softening. “She was loved for a long while. It hasn't all been bad for her.”

Claire straightened, her shoulder brushing Dan's. “It was kind of you to take her on.”

He shrugged so his shoulder brushed hers back. “I wanted company.” He turned back to the sink and started rinsing out the jars. Claire watched and then took one as he handed it to her, drying it with the dish towel that had been hanging on the stove's rail.

They worked in silence for a few minutes and when the jars were clean and dry Dan jerked his head back towards the shop.

“We should go back in.” He'd left the door to the kitchen open so they could hear if anyone came into the shop, but even so Claire knew he didn't like leaving it empty for long.

She followed him out of the kitchen. “What do you want me to do now?” She still had an hour left of her shift.

“I think you've earned a break,” Dan answered as he took his place behind the till. “You can go home.”

“Oh.” She couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice, and Dan glanced at her.

“Don't you want to?”

“Well, there's nothing much for me at home besides a lot of empty rooms with carpets I'm afraid to walk on.”

“Seriously?”

“And pillows I don't want to crumple. My mother keeps her house very neat.”

“But your mother isn't here, is she?”

“No, thank goodness.” Claire pretended to shudder, although she wasn't actually sure how much she was pretending. The thought of Marie West descending on the little life she'd built here was terrifying.

“Well, you can stay if you want,” Dan said with a shrug. He sounded indifferent to the idea. “And start filling those jars with sweets, if you want something to do.”

“Okay,” Claire said, and with a ridiculous smile on her face, she headed back to his kitchen to get the jars.

As far as weeks went, it had to be up there with her worst. Not as bad as the week after her father had left, when Meghan had called her, telling her she needed to come home from Durham. Not as bad as the week after her mother had broken her back, when her father had stumbled home from the hospital every night and Rachel had slept with Lily's bassinet next to her bed, one foot dangling down to rock it whenever Lily stirred.

So this was probably the third worst week she'd ever had. Rachel pulled in front of the house and briefly rested her forehead on the steering wheel. She didn't want to go inside and deal with Meghan's attitude, made inexplicably worse by their mother's stroke, and Lily's sullen silences, and Nathan's near-hysteria. He'd completely regressed with his toilet training, and Meghan refused to let him wear nappies, insisting they could ride through it. Rachel would rather have Nathan encased in non-biodegradable plastic.

With a sigh she switched off the engine and opened the door. A chilly breeze buffeted her; spring had come and gone again, as it often did in April. Easter was this Sunday, and last year they'd gone to church and she'd actually made a roast dinner. The prospect seemed laughable now.

“Hello?” Rachel called as she opened the door. The house was eerily silent, until Lily thundered down the stairs.

“Meghan's gone off and Nathan has been a complete pain,” she said as she grabbed her jacket.

“Wait—where are you going?” Rachel watched as Lily yanked on her jacket and shoved her phone and keys into one of the pockets.

“Out.”

“Out where? Lily, it's a school night—”

“It's six o'clock,” Lily protested. “I've got loads of time.”

“Your exams start in three weeks—”

“Loads of time,” Lily insisted, and disappeared out the door. Rachel registered Nathan's postsob sniffles from upstairs.

Slowly she climbed the stairs, wondering if it was worth texting Meghan and demanding to know where she'd gone. Meghan had disappeared often in the last week, first the late evenings out after Nathan was in bed, and then during the day, leaving Lily or Rachel in charge as often as she could. Rachel couldn't keep the creeping fear from taking hold of her that one day Meghan might leave and not come back.

She stood in the doorway of Meghan's bedroom; Nathan was sitting in the middle of the bed, his face tear-streaked, his eyes watchful.

“Guess what, Nath,” Rachel said with as much cheer as she could muster, which admittedly wasn't much. “You're going to wear a nappy.”

Three hours later Nathan was bathed and in bed—with a nappy on—and Rachel had started cleaning the kitchen. Usually Meghan kept things at a minimum level of tidiness, but without Janice here to care for, her sister seemed to have forgotten she had any responsibilities at all. The drain of the sink was choked with soggy cereal, and dirty plates were stacked in a teetering pile on the counter by the dishwasher. At least she'd stacked them.

Rachel heard the front door open and called, “Meghan?”

“It's Lily.” Lily slouched into the room, and Rachel leaned against the counter, her arms folded.

“Nine p.m., Lily, and you haven't done any work tonight. What about your biology course work?”

“I turned it in last week, Rachel. And study leave starts soon. I'll have all the time in the world to study, honestly.”

“No, you'll have two weeks.” Briefly Rachel closed her eyes. “You know I'm nagging because I care about you, right?”

“Yeah,” Lily answered. “In theory.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She sighed. “Nothing.”

“No, seriously—”

“It's just . . . you want me to go to Durham, right? But sometimes it feels like
you
want to go to Durham.” Lily bit her lip, flinching slightly as if waiting for Rachel to scream at her. And maybe once she would have.

“I did want to go to Durham,” Rachel said slowly. “Once. I went, actually.”

“You did?” Lily frowned uncertainly.

Of course Lily didn't remember. She'd only been seven, and no one ever talked about Rachel's aborted academic career. No one wanted to feel guilty or responsible for her failed dreams.

“Yes, I did. For all of two weeks. And then Dad left, and so I came back.”

Lily stared at her for a moment, still nibbling her lip. “For me.”

“For everyone.”

“Why didn't you go back?”

“When?” Rachel asked, exasperation creeping into her voice. “When could I have left you all to manage on your own?”

“I don't know, when I was fifteen or sixteen? Old enough to cope?”

“Meghan had had Nathan by then.”

“So? Nathan's her son, not yours.”

“It doesn't feel like that at the moment.” Rachel turned back to the sink and fished out a few more disintegrating Cheerios. “I don't regret my decisions, Lily. I wanted to be here for you and Mum and Meghan. And Nathan too.”

Lily was silent for a long moment. “Do you miss him?” she asked, and with a jolt Rachel realized she meant their father.

“No,” she said out of instinct, because she hadn't ever let herself miss Joss Campbell. He'd chosen to dump them all in it when he'd walked out on an invalid wife and three children, the youngest of whom had been only seven years old. How could she miss someone who did that? And yet how could her beloved father, the man who had shown her how to use a lathe and told her to hold on to her dreams, have done that?

“I don't even remember him, really,” Lily said. “I mean, a little. I remember seeing him sleeping on the sofa when I came downstairs in the morning. I remember him being really tired and grumpy.”

“He wasn't always like that,” Rachel said. “He used to be a lot of fun, before Mum's accident.” But of course Lily couldn't remember life before their mother's accident, when things had been chaotic and hard and
normal.
So wonderfully normal.

“Tell me?” Lily asked, her voice soft.

Rachel hesitated. She hadn't accessed those memories in a long time. She never let herself, because they hurt too much. “He was funny,” she said slowly. “He used to tell these ridiculous knock-knock jokes. They weren't funny, but he was.” A tightness had formed in her chest, and she focused on the Cheerios in the sink for a few seconds while she waited for it to ease.

“Knock-knock jokes,” Lily repeated. “I don't remember those.”

“No, you wouldn't. He stopped when you were little.”

“When Mom fell?”

Rachel nodded, her back to Lily. “Damn Cheerios clogging up the drain. I suppose Meghan just dumped Nathan's bowl straight in.”

“Actually, that was me. I was in a hurry this morning. Sorry.”

Rachel's breath came out in a rush, and she shook her head. “It doesn't matter.”

“Do you remember any of his jokes?”

“Oh no, I don't think so. . . .” Rachel trailed off, because of course
she remembered them. She remembered everything. “Knock, knock,” she said.

“Who's there?” Lily sounded as expectant and eager as Nathan would have.

“Impatient cow.”

“Impatient—”

“Moo,” Rachel interjected, and realization dawned across Lily's face. She started laughing, and then Rachel started, and then they were laughing way too hard for a stupid knock-knock joke, both of them holding their sides and wiping tears from their eyes.

“That's really bad,” Lily said on a gasp when she'd finally subsided.

“Yeah,” Rachel agreed. “They were all like that. And Meghan used to make them up, and hers were ridiculous. They didn't make sense at all. But Dad—” She stopped abruptly, because she hadn't actually said the word “Dad” in a long time. Not like that. “He always used to pretend they were funny,” she finished. “He always said, ‘That was a good one, Meg-o.' That's what he called her. Meg-o, and I was Rach, and you were Lil-lil.” The tightness was back, and she turned to the sink even though there were no more Cheerios to fish from the drain.

“You miss him,” Lily said quietly.

“Not anymore.”

“But you must have. It sounds like you were close.”

“We were, a long time ago. But I don't miss someone who could do what he did. I won't let myself.”

“Did he ever . . . ?” Lily hesitated, and Rachel tensed. “Did he ever get in touch? With you? Or Mum? I've never even asked. It always seemed like a complete no-go area.”

“I suppose it always has been. Easier that way. And no, he never got in touch.” Not one phone call or postcard or even a lousy text. Nothing.

Sometimes Rachel had wondered if he'd died, if he'd had some kind of accident. She'd even, way back when, called the police, who had told her to come in and fill out a missing-person report. Then his
mobile phone bill had come in the post, and she'd seen that he was still using it. A withdrawal from the bank, collecting his dole, and she'd known he was alive and well. Known he could be found if she tried, but she didn't. She wouldn't let herself.

“Do you mind me asking about him now?” Lily asked. She looked worried, and Rachel shook her head.

“No, of course not.” But she did, because talking about their father was like picking at a scab, only to discover the skin hadn't healed over nearly as well as you'd hoped it had, and all of a sudden you realized you were bleeding. A lot.

“You must be angry at him,” Lily said. “For leaving. Do you think he knew you would come back from uni to take care of everyone?”

“I don't know.” It wasn't an avenue she'd let herself wander down, because she didn't like where it led. Her dad had always been excited for her to go to university. When she'd had her offer from Durham, he'd taken her to the pub, just the two of them, and he'd ordered a whole bottle of champagne and toasted his wonderful, talented daughter. She'd had half a glass and he'd drunk the rest.

How could he have
not
realized she would come back? He'd known all along that Janice couldn't cope on her own, and Meghan wasn't much use. She'd only been fifteen then. He had to have known Rachel would come back, had probably been counting on it. And that realization was one she couldn't bear to accept, not even ten years later. “I don't know,” she said again, and started loading plates into the dishwasher.

Lily went upstairs to study, and an hour later Rachel heard the front door open again, very quietly, like someone was trying to sneak in.

“Not so fast.” She stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, while Meghan froze mid-tiptoe upstairs.

“What? I'm shattered.”

“I bet you are. Partying all night is exhausting, I'm sure.”

Meghan made a face. “It's not even eleven yet.”

“Where were you, Meghan?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, actually, it does,” Rachel snapped. “We all need to pull together now that Mum's in hospital, and instead you're doing a runner.”

Meghan sighed impatiently. “I just went out with a friend, Rachel. Chill, okay?”

“Chill?
Chill
?” Rachel's voice rose, and she took a steadying breath. “I'm not going to chill, Meghan. I don't have time to chill. I'm working all hours and—”

“Oh, please spare me the I-work-so-hard spiel yet again. We all know you do, Rachel. Trust me.” The vitriol in Meghan's voice surprised her. It went beyond the usual snippy sarcasm into something that felt almost like hatred.

Meghan went back downstairs and into the kitchen, and after a second Rachel followed her. “Fine,” she said as Meghan reached for a glass and filled it with water from the tap. “I won't give you that spiel.”

“Thank God for small mercies.”

“But in return how about you tell me what's going on? Where have you been going at night? And who with?”

Meghan shrugged, her back to Rachel. “Just to the pub. With a friend.”

“What friend?”

“A bloke I met.”

“Someone from the village?”

A pause. “No.”

“Meghan.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Why are you being so cagey about this?”

“Maybe because I don't want people interfering in my life?”

“When have I ever interfered in your life?” Rachel demanded. “I've never even asked you who Nathan's father is.”

“You just did.”

“That was not asking.” Rachel blew out a breath. “Look, I'm not
trying to pry, but your behavior affects us as a family. I need to be able to count on you.”

Meghan let out a sharp laugh as she turned around to face Rachel. “Count on me? Are you serious? When have you ever done that?”

“What are you talking—” Before Rachel could finish Meghan was pushing past her and then clumping up the stairs in her high-heeled boots. So much for tiptoeing.