Now and Then Friends (27 page)

“Hey.” Andrew reached for her arm and pulled her towards him. “Wait a minute. Don't think I don't appreciate a hug. I just wasn't expecting it.”

“Obviously.” She felt as if she'd jump-started their relationship, and not in a good way. “Look, I'm tired and I should probably go home. Long day tomorrow . . .”

“Rachel, it's eight thirty. How about a drink?”

“I just left the pub.”

“We'll go to Raymond's, then.”

“I thought you said it was overrated.”

“Did I?” He smiled ruefully. “You must have thought me a complete snob.”

“I did, actually. And a pompous ass.”

“Dare I hope that your opinion has changed?”

“A little. Maybe.” She smiled, exhaustion and hope crashing around inside her so she didn't know what she felt. “All right. One drink. But then I should get back to Meghan.”

“What's up with Meghan?” Andrew asked as they fell in step together and started walking down the high street towards the old train station. As they emerged from between the terraced houses on either side of the street, the sky opened up and they paused for a moment to watch the
sun sinking towards the sea, the puddles in the sheep pastures glinting under the golden light. A brisk wind was coming off the water, and Rachel shivered slightly before walking on.

“I don't know what's going on with Meghan,” she said. “But she's not herself. Snappier and stressed and she's lost weight. And there's a man involved somehow.”

Andrew held the door open for her, and as she walked into Raymond's, the quiet elegance of the place soothed her frayed nerves. “This is nice. I've never been here before.”

Andrew ordered their drinks while Rachel sat on the deep, squashy sofa in front of the fireplace and leaned her head back against the velvet cushions. She felt as if she could fall asleep. When he returned a few minutes later with their glasses of wine, her eyes were closed.

“Is this going to put you over the edge?” he asked as he handed her a glass of wine.

Rachel opened her eyes and took it with a murmured thanks. “Maybe. You might have to carry me home.”

“I wouldn't mind.” His gaze held hers for one tingling moment before Rachel looked away. She wanted so much to lean on Andrew, to have someone to share the burden of care that had been placed squarely on her shoulders, but she was afraid to ask. Afraid to trust, because she'd seen what had happened before when she'd relied on her father to pick up the slack. He'd scarpered. He'd broken her heart.

“So. Tomorrow,” Andrew said. “What time are you meant to pick up your mum?”

“In the morning.” Rachel's stomach churned at the thought. “We have a home nurse coming for the first time tomorrow afternoon. But I honestly don't know how we're going to cope, Andrew. When I've visited my mum in hospital she's barely been able to move or speak. And she can't . . .” She swallowed hard, a blush rising to her face. “Control herself. If you know what I mean. So that will be two people in the house in nappies.”

“You can't do it all yourself, Rachel.”

“But I think I might have to.” She could feel a lump forming in her throat, and she took a sip of wine, hoping to dissolve it. It only got bigger. “There's no one else. Lily needs to study, and Meghan is barely holding it together.”

“What about me? What about Claire?”

She looked at him in surprise, discomfited by the question. “Last time I checked you live in Macclesfield and Claire . . .”

“And Claire?”

“Claire works at the post office shop.”

“Only four days a week.”

Rachel took a sip of wine, her mind spinning. “She hasn't offered.”

“I think she'd like to help.” Andrew paused. “And I think it would be good for her.”

“So this is for Claire's benefit?” Rachel asked, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.

Andrew regarded her evenly. “Why can't it be a win-win situation?”

“I don't know.” The thought of asking for Claire's help, depending on her, made Rachel feel uncomfortable. Exposed. Claire had dropped her once. She didn't feel like being dropped again, especially at a time when she could so easily start to rely on her. On anyone who was willing to step up. “How could she help, anyway?”

“She could check in on your mother—”

“She has no training for that sort of thing.”

“Do you?”

“Ten years of it,” Rachel retorted, although that wasn't quite true. Since their dad had left, Meghan had taken care of their mother the most. Rachel had worked.

“Or she could take some of your cleaning jobs while you help out with your mother—”

“I couldn't afford to pay her.”

“This isn't about money.”

“Charity, then?”

Andrew sighed. “Why are you getting so prickly?”

“Because this is hard on me.” Rachel could feel tears starting in her eyes, and she put her wineglass down with a
thunk
, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes even though the gesture was more revealing than she liked. “This is bloody, bloody hard, Andrew. A week ago you were telling me I had choices. I should go back to university. And I even looked at some courses online, but how can I manage it or anything else now? I can't depend on you or Claire or anyone for very long. You'll get another job in some exotic country and Claire will figure out what she wants to do. She isn't going to stay stacking shelves for the rest of her life.”

“Maybe not, but we're here now—”

“And I don't want to start counting on you only to have you walk away when it suits. Trust me, I've been there before.”

Andrew's face was pale, his eyes dark. “I'm not your father, Rachel.”

“I don't know what you are,” Rachel snapped. “What's really going on here?” She gestured to the space between them. “Why are you getting so involved in my life? My family's life?”

Andrew was silent for a moment, his gaze steady on her. “Because I care about you,” he finally said.

Rachel's breath came out in a rush. “I'm not even sure what that means, considering how far apart our lives are.”

“Can't we just take it one day at a time, one step at a time? I'm in Macclesfield for another couple of months. I can come up here on the weekends. And you could come visit me—”

“How? Leaving home for one day was hard enough.” She shook her head, everything in her weighted down, heavy. “I appreciate all your offers of help, Andrew, I really do. I know you're sincere. But I can't start depending on someone only to have it all blow up in my face.”

“Maybe it wouldn't.”

But that required a level of trust she simply didn't have. She shook her head again and reached for her bag. “I should go.”

“Let me walk you home.”

“There's no need.”

“My car is back there, anyway.” He put his unfinished glass of wine next to hers and helped her on with her coat, a gesture that made Rachel feel worse. They walked in silence out of the restaurant and headed back up the street.

The pub quiz was over and people were spilling out into the street, laughing and joking good-naturedly. Rachel slowed her step, reluctant to be caught up in the moment.

She saw Claire and Dan walking Eleanor Carwell back to her house, and Lily heading up to hers. Juliet and Peter were holding hands as they walked down to Tarn House. Everyone looked happy.

“Let me come with you to the hospital tomorrow at least,” Andrew said. “That's why I came home, after all.”

“Home? Is this really home for you?” Andrew didn't answer, and she sighed. “Okay. Fine.” Then, because she knew she sounded ungracious, she added, “Thanks.”

They'd reached the house at the same time as Lily, and the smile slipped off her face as she looked at them.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Rachel said. “But as it's only nine o'clock, you can get another hour of revision in.”

Lily nodded glumly, and Andrew reached for his keys. “What time should I be here?” he asked.

“Eight would work,” Rachel said, and turned towards the house without saying goodbye.

The pub quiz, Claire had recognized, could have been a disaster. It hadn't started out well, with Eleanor disapproving of the alcohol and Dan utterly silent, seemingly set to stoically endure the evening. Lily's and Lucy's enthusiasm made up for a lot, but Claire could see, even before she left, that Rachel wasn't having a good time.

Still, she was determined to make the evening a success, and Dan eventually answered a few questions, mainly in monosyllabic grunts, and when Eleanor took charge of writing down the answers, she got into the spirit of the thing. They didn't come close to winning; they only got nine out of twenty questions right. Dan had gotten the sports questions, Eleanor had rocked geography, and Lily had managed the pop culture ones, but everything else had been a complete blank. Claire hadn't answered anything—and yet she'd had a good time.

As they left the pub, Dan offered to walk Eleanor home, and Claire went along while Lily headed up the street to her house.

“I'm perfectly capable of walking home alone,” Eleanor snapped.

Dan, implacable as ever, had replied quite seriously, “I'm being a gentleman.”

Eleanor had harrumphed at that, but Claire could tell she was quite pleased. Not, of course, that she'd ever show it.

They said goodbye to Eleanor and started walking back up to the
shop, when Dan glanced at her and said, “Your house is in the other direction.”

“Oh.” In the darkness Claire couldn't read the expression on Dan's face, but she was glad it hid her blush. “Right.” What had she been thinking, that she'd go home with Dan for a quick nightcap? “Sorry. I wasn't thinking straight. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Assuming you're planning to come to work.”

“Of course I am.” She hesitated, reluctant to end the evening and face Four Gables alone. Andrew had texted her to say he'd be coming home for the weekend, but she didn't know when he'd arrive. And even with Andrew for company, she'd rather have Dan. Which didn't really make sense, but there it was. “Did you have a good time tonight?” she asked, and he shrugged one massive shoulder.

“It was all right.”

“I'm going to take that as an unreserved ‘hell, yes,'” Claire answered. “Considering how often you show enthusiasm.”

He cracked a small smile then, much to her relief. “You can think that if you want.”

“I will.” The moment stretched and spun out and started to turn into something else. Claire took a step closer to Dan, her heart trembling in her chest. She wanted him to do something. . . .

He gazed down at her, and for a thrilling second Claire thought he was going to kiss her. She was practically on her tiptoes, face tilted up in silent, yearning invitation.

Then he took a step back, towards the shop. Claire rocked back on her heels, her trembling heart going terribly still before it went into free fall.

“Good night, Claire,” Dan said, and disappeared down the alley to his flat.

Claire walked slowly back to Four Gables, battling the overwhelming sense of disappointment she felt. Nothing had been going to
happen with Dan. The idea was ludicrous, just as she'd told Lucy. And yet for a moment, a glorious few seconds, she'd actually thought . . .

“Dream on,” Claire muttered, and kept walking. The beach road was lost in darkness, and a few sheep bleated in agitated misery; Claire couldn't see them in the dark, but she knew lambing had begun, and the mothers were calling to their young. In a few months the white, woolly lambs gamboling through the muddy sheep fields would be taken away to be slaughtered; Peter had mentioned it at the quiz, and Claire had been as horrified as if he'd said he was killing Bambi.

The fizzy feeling of satisfaction she'd had at organizing the pub quiz outing had gone, leaving her feeling flat and a little bit depressed. Why was she trying to be friends, or even something more, with Dan? It wasn't as if he'd given her much reason. And if she was honest, not much about her life in Hartley-by-the-Sea was set to last. A part-time job in a shop? A handful of sort of, now and then friends? Living at home? Not exactly what you built your dreams on.

It hurt to admit, but just as Andrew had said, her life here was more of a holding pattern, a waiting time until something else came up. Until she made a decision about what she wanted to do in life. And she had no idea what that was.

A car slowed down on the beach road, and Claire turned to see her brother's blue Lexus.

“Want a lift?”

“I didn't know when you were coming back.” She got in the car, and Andrew drove on. Both of them were silent for the duration of the drive.

The next morning Andrew was up and showered when Claire came down at half past seven for work. “Are you going somewhere?” she asked as she got out a bowl for cereal.

“I'm helping Rachel. Her mother's coming home today.”

“Oh.” Claire glanced at Andrew, surprised; he looked as composed
as ever, wearing his usual uniform of chinos and a well-starched button-down shirt. “That's nice of you.”

“I want to help.” He glanced up with a wry smile. “Not that Rachel wants me to.”

“She is prickly about stuff like that.”

“She's afraid.”

“Afraid?” Rachel seemed like the most fearless person Claire knew. She always had been, even when they were children. A memory slotted into place: Rachel taking on Rob Telford in the school playground, when he'd pulled Claire's plaits and run away with the ribbon. He'd mentioned it when she'd first seen him at the pub, but now Claire could see the scene in clarity: Rob's boyish, taunting face as he held up her ribbon and Rachel's righteous fury, hands planted on hips as she commanded him to give it back. Claire had simply stood there, shocked into silence by the whole episode and then filled with gratitude and relief when Rachel had returned her ribbon.

“She's afraid of trusting me,” Andrew said, bringing her back into the present. “Or anyone. She doesn't want to depend on anyone, in case they let her down.”

“I suppose I can understand that, considering her father up and left her family.”

Andrew's expression hardened. “Not everyone is like that.”

Claire glanced at him curiously. “Do you . . . ? Do you
care
about her, Andrew?”

“Maybe I do,” he said, and folded up his newspaper. “I should get ready to go. I'll drop you off at the post office, if you like.”

Claire wasn't looking forward to seeing Dan after their weird interaction last night. What if he'd been able to tell that she'd wanted him to kiss her? He probably had. He was probably secretly laughing at her, although Dan didn't really seem the type. More like secretly—or not so secretly—disgusted by her pathos.

She came into the shop warily; Dan was in the back, getting ready
to open the post office. The papers had already been delivered, and so Claire started stacking them on the shelves without a word. Dan glanced over at her but didn't say anything, and they both worked in silence until Eleanor Carwell came in for her paper and milk at a quarter to nine.

By lunchtime Claire was ready to quit. Her few forays into conversation with Dan had ended in grunts, until she wondered why she even bothered. She'd offered to walk Bunny when the post office closed at noon, but Dan had said he'd do it and had left her alone in the shop for an hour, which was a relief after the tense silence she'd endured all morning.

By the time he returned with Bunny, she'd worked up enough courage—and irritation—to ask him what was going on.

“Nothing's going on.” He put Bunny back in the kitchen and closed the door behind him, coming out a few minutes later while Claire stood there, bristling.

“You're being so
silent
,” she said when he returned and started opening up the post office again.

He glanced at her, nonplussed. “You're surprised?”

“I thought . . .”

“I was changing?” He filled in. “You were rehabilitating me? Sorry, no.”

“Rehabilitating—”

A farmer came in for a meat pie and a Lottery card and so Claire fell silent. Dan had disappeared behind the post office's Plexiglas partition and she was manning the till, so even after the farmer left, it wasn't easy to have a conversation. Not that she even knew what to say. She was the one who had supposedly needed rehabilitation, not Dan.

By four o'clock they'd had no more than a handful of words between them, and Claire chastised herself for feeling so disappointed, and worse, hurt. Maybe Dan was right and she had been trying to change him. She'd wanted him to talk more, anyway. She'd wanted him to like her.

“See you on Monday,” she said as she reached for her coat. It was mid-May, but the wind off the sea was still cold.

“Wait.”

Claire's heart lurched ridiculously, and she turned around to see Dan handing her a check.

“Your week's pay.”

“Right.” She took it without enthusiasm and stuffed it in her bag. “Have a good weekend, anyway,” she said, and Dan didn't reply. What a surprise.

She was at the door when he spoke again. “Claire.” She stilled, one hand on the doorknob.

“Yes?”

“Have a good weekend.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she left the shop without replying.

She was on her way home when she decided to stop by and see Rachel.

When Claire knocked Rachel opened the door, looking distinctly hassled, a tearful Nathan balanced on her hip. “What—oh, Claire.”

“That's a bit better than ‘oh, you,'” Claire answered with a smile. “How are things?”

“Hectic.” Rachel shifted Nathan to her other hip. “Do you need something? Because I'm kind of busy.”

“No.” Claire wondered if she looked like she needed something, or if Rachel had just assumed so because she'd always been the needy one. “Actually, I wondered if you needed something. If I could help.”

“You?”

“Don't sound quite so surprised. I can be fairly capable, on occasion.” Claire spoke lightly.

“No, sorry. I didn't mean . . .” Rachel sighed. “Look, you'd better come in.”

The house was far messier than it had been when Claire had come before; Rachel led her into the kitchen, which was filled with dirty dishes, and the smell of grease and old fried food hung in the air.

“Sorry,” Rachel said as she shrugged at the disaster zone. “I haven't had time . . .”

“I have time.”

Rachel simply stared. “Sorry. What?”

“I have time,” Claire said again, her voice firm. “You look shattered. Why don't you go in the sitting room and have a moment to relax and I'll clean up in here? I'll make you a cup of tea while I'm at it and keep an eye on Nathan.”

“But . . .” Rachel blinked, looking completely flummoxed. Was it so hard to believe she could manage to tidy a room and boil a kettle?

“I happen to like tidying up.” Gently Claire shooed her towards the sitting room. “Go on. Can your mum manage without you for a few minutes?” She hadn't heard anything from the closed dining room door, so maybe Janice was asleep.

“Lily's sitting with her.”

“That's all right, then. I'll come in with your tea in just a few minutes.”

“That okay, Nath?” Rachel asked, and Claire gave him a bright smile. Children made her nervous.

Predictably, his lip wobbled. “Ray-Ray . . .”

“It looks like you've been doing some coloring,” Claire tried. She reached for the cheap coloring book that had been left open on the kitchen table, a half-scribbled picture of Thomas the Tank Engine obscured by a coffee ring. “Can you do some with me? And perhaps I can find you a biscuit.” Claire pulled out a chair and patted the seat, and Rachel tiptoed to the sitting room while she helped Nathan sit down.

It was surprisingly cozy and cheerful, cleaning the Campbells' tiny kitchen while Nathan colored and the kettle boiled. It didn't take long to rinse and stack the dishes in the dishwasher and then spritz the cleaning surfaces and give the cooker a good wipe down.

She found a somewhat stale digestive for Nathan, who munched it as he colored, only looking up when the kettle whistled.

“What's your name?”

Claire laughed. “Claire,” she said. “And I know you're Nathan.” He looked surprised but pleased by this, and Claire brewed two cups
of tea and carried them into the sitting room, Nathan scrambling off his seat to follow her.

Rachel was sitting on the sofa, her feet propped up on the coffee table, her eyes closed. She barely opened them as Claire came in and tidied a few magazines away to make room for their cups.

“Here we are. You look like you're about to doze off.”

“I think I just did.” Rachel straightened with a yawn and took her cup of tea. “Thank you, Claire.”

“I made one for myself. I hope you don't mind.”