Now and Then Friends (26 page)

“Yes, yes—”

“Go on, then,” Meghan said, and hugged Nathan closer to her.

“Meghan . . .” Claire began, because she couldn't just leave her there. “Are you . . . ? Are you okay? Because you seem . . .”

Meghan let out a harsh laugh. “Seem what? You're the one who did a stint in rehab, love.”

Claire recoiled, shocked. “Did Rachel tell you?”

“No, but things have a way of getting out in a place like Hartley-by-the-Sea. Didn't you know?” Meghan's smile was malicious.

“Right.” So everyone knew she'd gone to rehab. Fine, she could deal with that. “Well, I'm glad you're all right,” Claire said, and when Meghan didn't respond, she turned and left the kitchen, her head held high.

Rachel hadn't been intending to go to the pub quiz. She hadn't gone in several weeks; somehow, amidst all the demands of life, the weekly entertainment had lost its cheap allure.

“Claire West is going to the pub quiz?” she repeated when Lily told her about her plans. “She organized a
team
?”

“Me, her, Dan Trenton from the shop, and Eleanor Carwell.”

“Eleanor Carwell? Isn't she the lady who lives at number fifteen and has all the notices about dog poo?”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Um. I'm not sure.”

“I don't know, Lil.” Rachel sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “I'm shattered.”

“You'll enjoy it. You always enjoy the pub quiz. And maybe you need to go out.”

“What about Nathan?”

“Meghan isn't working tonight.”

“Is she out?” Rachel hadn't seen her sister since she'd dragged herself into the house fifteen minutes earlier.

“No. She's upstairs.”

Rachel hesitated. She hadn't seen much of Meghan lately, but what she'd seen worried her. Her sister had become increasingly erratic and fractious since their mother's stroke. “Maybe I should see how she is.”

“But you'll go tonight?” Lily pressed.

Rachel sighed. “All right, fine. But be prepared to have your arse kicked.”

Lily grinned, and with a tired smile, Rachel rose and went upstairs. She knocked once on Meghan's door before opening it; her sister was lying on the bed with one arm thrown over her face, Nathan stretched out next to her, playing with her phone. He looked up when Rachel came in.

“Ray-Ray!”

“Hey, Nath.” Meghan didn't move, and Rachel took a step into the room. “Hey, Meghan. You okay?”

Meghan dropped her arm from her face. “Why do you ask?”

Rachel hesitated. “Honestly? Because you seem . . . off.”

“First Claire, now you. Can't a girl have a bad day without everyone stressing her about it?”

“Claire? What did Claire say?”

“She came over to ask Lily to the pub and she asked if I was all right.” Meghan rolled over to give Rachel a sardonic smile. “She almost sounded Cumbrian, except for the upper-class drawl. She should have said
areet.
”

“Seriously, Meghan, though.”

Meghan's eyes flashed with challenge. “What?”

“Are you all right?”

She let out a gusty sigh and rolled onto her back once more. “I'm fine, Rachel. Not that you care.”

“I'm asking, aren't I?”

“Only because you're worried that I'm going to off-load Nathan onto you.”

There was enough truth to that remark for Rachel to stay silent. Nathan looked up from Meghan's phone. “What does ‘off-load' mean?”

“Never you mind, Nath,” Meghan said, and rested her hand on top of his head.

“You know Mum is coming home on Friday?” Rachel said, and Meghan
didn't answer. “I know this is hard, but it's going to be all hands on deck when she's back here. We'll have to work out some kind of schedule. She can't be left alone. Not even for five minutes to go to the post office.”

Meghan let out a shuddering breath, and Rachel wondered if she'd come down too hard. But the reality remained that she needed Meghan to step up. She couldn't do this alone. “You and lover boy might have to cool it for a little while.”

“Fine.” Meghan rolled over so her back was to Rachel. “Finished?”

Rachel studied her for a moment, noticing how thin she'd become, how tense. Her bedroom was a mess of dirty clothes, the wastepaper basket filled with dirty nappies. Even though Rachel had a nagging sense that she should stay and try to talk to Meghan, comfort her in some way, the room made her feel as if the walls were closing in on her, and she just wanted to escape. Besides, she and Meghan had never had that kind of relationship.

“All right,” she said, and took a step backwards. “I'm finished.”

In the cramped solitude of her own room she gazed dispiritedly at her odd assortment of cheap skirts and tops hanging on the back of the door; there was no room for a wardrobe. She wasn't in the mood for a pub quiz, and hadn't been for weeks. The happy fizz of Andrew calling her two days ago had left a while ago, and now she felt flat. Even though she was looking forward to seeing him on the weekend, she wasn't relishing bringing her mother home and coping with all the new demands her care would bring, especially since Meghan seemed to be checking out emotionally.

Sighing, Rachel reached for a clean hoodie. No need to wear a stretchy top to impress Rob Telford anymore. Not, of course, that she was actually dating Andrew West. She really wasn't sure what was going on there, if anything.

“Rachel?” Lily knocked on the door. “You ready?”

Twenty minutes later she walked into the noisy warmth of the Hangman's Noose and felt it envelop her like a hug from a boozy
friend. Lucy, as usual, was waving from their corner table, a bottle of wine open, glasses already poured. Her sister, Juliet, was smiling, Peter Lanford's arm looped casually around her shoulders.

“We can't have five people on the team,” Rachel chided Peter, smiling, and with his free hand he raised his pint.

“I'm taking Abby's place. She's home with Noah tonight.”

“That's all right, I suppose.” She sat down on the barstool, shoving her bag underneath, and reached for her glass of wine. Peter was whispering something into Juliet's ear and Juliet was, most uncharacteristically, blushing. Rachel wondered how much of their nauseatingly sweet lovey-dovey act she could stomach.

She glanced at the table next to theirs, where Lily had sat down next to Claire and two people who composed the most unlikely quiz team Rachel had ever seen.

Dan Trenton sat on a barstool, feet flat on the floor, arms ominously crossed, his massive form dwarfing the tiny stool. His expression was wooden, and the pint glass of Guinness in front of him was untouched. Next to him sat an elderly lady whom Rachel assumed was Eleanor Carwell; she was dressed in a twinset the color of an old orange and a tweed skirt in complementing browns. She had a thimbleful of sherry on the table in front of her and was looking around the pub, her lips pursed. Lily, Rachel saw, had a half-pint of cider. She'd turned eighteen in February, so Rachel could hardly protest her drinking, but she felt a strange prickling feeling at realizing just how much her baby sister was growing up.

“Right, shall we get going?” Rob came from behind the bar, his gaze skimming over the crowd and resting briefly on Rachel before he started on the questions and everyone grabbed papers and stubs of pencil.

Rachel didn't feel the usual rush of determination to get the answers faster than anyone else. Lucy and Juliet had both reached for pencils, but she simply sat there, cradling her wine, as Rob called out, “Right, first question. What is the capital of Mongolia?”

“Mongolia?” Lucy, designated writer, looked up from the paper. “Who knows that?”

“You've been doing the pub quiz every week for six months and you don't know the capital of Mongolia?” Juliet scoffed.

“Do you know it?”

“No. Why would I?”

They both turned to Rachel. “You must know it, Rachel,” Lucy said.

“Ulaanbaatar,” Rachel said without enthusiasm. “Rob's trotted out the capital-of-Mongolia question at least three times before.”

“How do you spell it?”

Rachel spelled it out between sips of wine and then Rob cleared his throat meaningfully and moved on to the next question, which was about the Lake District's deepest lake.

“Now, that's just a freebie,” Juliet scoffed. “Everyone knows it's Wastwater.”

“And for an extra point,” Rob called out, “how deep is it?”

Juliet fell silent, and Rachel sighed. “Two hundred forty-three feet deep,” she said.

“How do you know these things, Rachel?”

“I'm a font of useless knowledge.” And she'd done geography A level, along with chemistry, further maths, and biology. It seemed a lifetime ago. It
was.

“You're not so keen tonight,” Juliet remarked when Rob had called for an intermission and Peter had gone up to the bar to refill everyone's drinks.

“Just tired.” Rachel glanced over at the next table; Claire was looking flushed and happy, and Lily was laughing. Dan's expression was as implacable as ever, but Eleanor looked like she might have smiled at some point in the evening. Restlessness stirred, along with the feeling that everyone was enjoying themselves, and she didn't think she could have a good time if she tried.

“You worried about your mum?” Juliet asked.

Rachel shrugged. “Worried about her coming home.”

“It must be hard.”

Rachel nodded. In the last few weeks plenty of people in the village had offered their sympathy, whether it was a smile in the street or a card popped through their door. Everyone's compassion had been tempered by the fact that Rachel had been dealing with her invalid mother for a decade. This was merely another step down a depressingly expected road. Juliet, despite her sympathetic smile, was the same.

“So I think we got them all right except number five,” Lucy said as Peter returned with their drinks. “The one about who won Wimbledon in 1996 . . .”

“Surely it had to be Pete Sampras,” Juliet said. “Didn't he win Wimbledon about ten times in a row?”

“I think it's a trick question.” Lucy nibbled on the end of her pencil. “What do you think, Rachel?”

“I think I should go home.” Rachel put her half-drunk glass of wine on the table. “Sorry. I'm tired and not in the mood. I don't want to bring you all down.” She gave everyone an apologetic smile, but they all were looking shocked and then, worse, worried. “I'm okay,” she said. “Just need a good night's sleep.” She turned to Lily, who was frowning at her. “Stick to a half-pint of cider,” she instructed sternly, and Lily rolled her eyes. Claire, Rachel saw, was talking to Dan, who had softened slightly in the last half hour, although he still resembled a slab of concrete.

Grabbing her bag, Rachel shouldered her way through the pub, only to stop when Rob called her name.

“You've missed a few quizzes lately,” he remarked as she paused by the bar. “You areet?”

“I'm fine, Rob, just have a lot going on.”

He filled a pint with foaming beer and pushed it across the top of the bar to a woman who was nearly spilling out of her top. Rachel didn't recognize her, and Rob didn't take his eyes off Rachel.

“Anything I can do?”

“No, not really.” She felt a flicker of guilt for flirting with Rob a few weeks ago. His concern now made her squirm.

He nodded towards the door as he filled another pint. “Then maybe you want to go see what's parked outside your house.”

She tensed with alarm as she thought of Meghan's bloodshot eyes, her blotchy face. “What . . . ?”

Rob smiled and shook his head to dispel the nameless fears that had been circling. “A navy Lexus. Andrew West's car, if I'm not mistaken. I saw it when I took out the bins a few minutes ago.”

“Oh . . .” Heat flooded her face, and Rob smiled wryly.

“I think he might be looking for you.”

Rachel nodded jerkily and walked out of the pub. Outside it was still light, although the sun had sunk behind the rows of terraced cottages and so the street was cast in shadow, empty except for a couple of spotty teens loitering in front of the shuttered post office shop with their skateboards. She looked up the street and saw the navy blue Lexus parked, incongruously, behind her beat-up hatchback. And Andrew West standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

She walked towards him, slowly at first, her heart beating too hard for the occasion, her mind feeling as if it were filled with cotton wool even though she'd had only half a glass of wine.

Andrew saw her coming and offered a wonderfully lopsided, uncertain smile. “I thought I'd just stop by . . .” he began, trailing off as Rachel kept walking towards him and then into him, wrapping her arms around his middle as she pressed her face against the starched cotton of his shirt.

Andrew's arms closed around her instinctively, but his body was tense. Rachel could feel his heart beating underneath her cheek.

“Rachel . . . is everything okay?”

“Yes. I just needed a hug.”

“
You
needed a hug?” His arms tightened around her. “Things must really be bad.”

“No worse than usual,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“I can certainly oblige you,” Andrew murmured, and he fit her body more closely to his, so for a few seconds she felt as if she could relax, as if she could let herself not be in charge.

Then, eventually, he loosened his embrace and pulled back from her. “What's going on?”

“Nothing.” She pushed a few strands of hair away from her face, the embarrassment of having thrown herself at him, even if only for a hug, starting to scorch her. No wonder Andrew had seemed so surprised. He'd been expecting a snappy comeback and instead she'd nestled against his chest. “Sorry,” she muttered as she moved past him.