Rainy Day Sisters (25 page)

Lucy

THE REST OF THE
Crab Fair had passed by in a blur of happiness.

After the greasy-pole competition Alex had washed up a bit in the public bathrooms, and they took the apples and lamb back to the car. Then they went in search of lunch. The sun was still miraculously shining as they ate sausages and chips on a park bench with the antics of the fair all around them. Bella had relaxed a little, and was even smiling, if still studiously ignoring Lucy. She tried not to mind, but the girl's rejection of her rubbed her raw in places that had barely healed over.

“Thank you,” Alex said quietly, leaning closer to her on the bench so the girls couldn't hear.

“What are you thanking me for, exactly?” Lucy asked lightly, but Alex's gaze was serious.

“For realizing that climbing that blasted pole was something I needed to do. For them.” He nodded towards his daughters, who were immersed in the sights of the fair. “For Bella, especially.”

“Your clothes won't thank me,” Lucy teased, because she wasn't sure how to handle Alex's sudden, sincere intensity.

Alex glanced down at his grease-spattered jeans. “No, probably not. But I'd sacrifice my entire wardrobe, such as it is, to reach Bella. I don't know where I went wrong, but I know it happened a while ago.”

“Before your wife died?” Lucy asked, and Alex considered the question.

“Unfortunately, yes. I've been a workaholic my entire adult life. It only got worse when we moved here.”

“Even though you were looking for the community life,” Lucy stated, and Alex gave a nod.

“Ironic, I suppose, but the closer I get to something, the farther away it feels.”

“Or maybe it just doesn't feel the way you thought it would.”

“That too, I suppose.”

“You must get the summers off, though,” Lucy said. “Most people don't get that kind of holiday.”

“Head teachers don't, either. I have to work for at least half of it. And if I'm honest . . .” He stopped, his unfocused gaze resting on Bella and Poppy. “It's not just a work issue.”

“What is it, then?” Lucy asked. She leaned forward and Alex smiled bleakly.

“It's a
me
issue.”

She wanted to ask what he meant, but she didn't get the chance, because Poppy had finished her sausage, spilling ketchup all over herself, and after the necessary cleanup they headed over to the children's races.

Bella warmed up enough to stagger through a three-legged race with Poppy as Alex and Lucy cheered them on. They watched some of the gurning competition, with various people pulling all sorts of funny and grotesque faces, and listened to some live music in the town hall until Lucy saw that Poppy was flagging and they decided to wrap things up.

A bucket of popcorn and far too much candy floss later, they headed back towards the car. Lucy had wondered how the day would end, if she should just ask Alex to drop her off at Tarn House, and she was still dithering about whether to say something when he turned to her and said, “Why don't you stay for tea?”

“Are we having the lamb?” she teased, and he smiled.

“I'm afraid not. It needs to roast for about six hours, I imagine. But how does pasta and tinned sauce sound?”

“Delicious.”

Bella, thankfully, didn't make a fuss about Lucy staying, and Poppy was delighted. When they got back to the house, Alex disappeared upstairs for a shower—despite his ablutions in the public bathrooms, he was still pretty greasy—and Lucy put on a pan of water for the pasta, got out the tinned sauce, and added some chopped onion and pepper to it to make it a little tastier.

It felt so cozy, so wonderfully normal, to be pottering around in Alex's kitchen, chatting absently to Poppy as she searched for forks and knives and tidied up some of the breakfast things that had been left out.

She felt far more at ease, more at home, here than she ever had in Thomas's sleek penthouse apartment. Yet she still had no idea what could happen between her and Alex, or what he—or even she—wanted to happen.

A few minutes later Alex came back downstairs, dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt. His feet were bare, his hair damp and spiky, and as Lucy looked at him, her mouth dried.

Okay, she knew what she wanted to happen. She wanted him to kiss her. A lot.

“Smells good,” he said with a smile, and reached out to ruffle Poppy's hair. Poppy gave him a quick smile before running off and Alex watched her go, his smile fading.

“She's woken up with night terrors since school started.”

“Night terrors?”

“She's awake but not awake. Screaming and crying, and there's nothing I can do to make it better.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Sometimes it feels like there's nothing I can do to make anything better.”

“Losing their mother is a huge thing,” Lucy said quietly. “You can't make that go away, or forget about it.”

“I know, but it's been almost two years. I feel like we should all be moving on more than we are.” He glanced at her then, as if he'd suddenly realized just how much he'd revealed. “Sorry. I shouldn't be unloading this onto you.”

“I don't mind.”

“I know, but . . .” He stopped, swallowed. “Lucy . . .”

She tensed, afraid he was going to start in with the “I like you, but . . .” spiel, and that was a conversation she didn't want to have just then. Not when his hair was damp and he smelled like soap and their dinner was bubbling away on the stove. No, he could tell her at school, when he looked stern and forbidding and they had a desk and a photocopier between them.

“I think the pasta's ready,” she said, her voice too quick and bright, as she went to drain it.

The rest of the evening passed easily enough; they ate, they chatted, and Alex didn't try to let her down gently, for which Lucy was thankful. Maybe she was a coward, but she wanted to enjoy being with him without being told there wasn't going to be anything more. Surely they could save that conversation for another day.

After dinner the girls cleared off upstairs, and in what felt like a routine even though it had happened only once before, Alex made them both coffees, which they took into the sitting room.

Lucy curled up in the same place she had before, Charlie flopping at her feet, everything about the moment so perfect and poignant she didn't want it to end.

“What made you decide to become a teacher?” she asked, simply because she wanted to learn more about this man.

Alex frowned slightly and took a sip of his coffee. “I had a good teacher myself, once.”

“Only once?”

“It was enough.”

“What year?”

“Year Six. I was on the brink of becoming a juvenile delinquent, and he pretty much saved me. Saved me from myself.”

Lucy's jaw nearly dropped. “
You
were a juvenile delinquent?”

“Well, that might be exaggerating a bit. I was in and out of foster homes as a kid, and I got into a bunch of trouble. But my Year Six teacher, Mr. Benson he was, gave me a talking-to and basically scared me sh—senseless.” He smiled shamefacedly and Lucy grinned back.

“So why were you in foster homes?” she asked after a moment. “What happened to your parents?”

Alex shifted on the sofa, his gaze sliding away from her. “My mum cleared out when I was barely more than a baby, and my dad was a drunk. He'd get his act together sometimes, and I'd go back to him. Then something would happen, he'd fail to show up to a meeting or someone would report him, and it was back to the foster home.” He gave a little shrug. “She wasn't a bad lady, my foster mother. Allison. She had four different foster kids to look after. She was run off her feet, but she had a good heart.”

“Still, it's not the same as your own family,” Lucy said.

“No,” Alex agreed. “No, it's not.”

Her childhood had been lonely, but she couldn't imagine what Alex's had been like. “And here I was,” she said, “feeling sorry for myself because I was called Boob Girl in seventh grade.”

“That's quite a nickname.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Don't feel sorry for me, Lucy,” he said. “I don't usually tell people about my childhood because I don't want pity. It's so . . . demoralizing.”

“I don't pity you,” she protested. “If anything, I admire you, Alex. You rose above all that to become an amazing teacher, and then to marry and raise a family. You've had a lot of hard knocks and you're still going strong. That's pretty impressive, in my book.”

He glanced away. “I don't know how strong I am,” he said in a low voice.

“Hey, you climbed a greasy pole today,” she reminded him. “And you did it for your daughters. I think you're pretty darn strong.”

He turned to look at her then, and the expression on his face made Lucy feel as if the breath had been vacuumed from her lungs. She wanted him to kiss her so badly it hurt.

But he didn't.

He just smiled and gave a little shake of his head before saying quietly, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she croaked.

Alex didn't answer, and the moment spun on. Reluctantly Lucy unfolded herself from the sofa. “I should go,” she said, even though she didn't want to. She held out her hand. “Can I take your coffee cup into the kitchen?”

“Thanks.” He handed her his cup and then followed her out of the sitting room, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

She rinsed out both of their coffee cups and put them in the dishwasher, conscious of the silence stretching between them. This was end-of-a-date awkward, and she didn't even know if today qualified as a date.

“Thanks for today,” he said, moving to the side of the doorway so she could get past him in the hall.

“You don't need to keep thanking me, Alex,” she said as she reached for her coat, which she'd hung on the newel post. “I enjoyed it.”

The hall was dim and quiet save for the tinny sound of the TV from upstairs; Poppy was watching in Alex's bedroom and Bella's door was closed. The intimacy of the dark hallway, the two of them nearly brushing shoulders, felt cringingly suggestive.

“I enjoyed it too,” Alex said, and cleared his throat. The noise sounded like a gunshot in the quiet of the hall. God save her from moments like these.

“Well . . .” Lucy buttoned up her coat and moved towards the door. “I guess I'll see you on Monday.”

She was at the door, one hand on the knob as she turned for a final good-bye. Why she turned at all, she didn't know. Maybe she really had been hoping all along.

“Lucy . . .” Alex began, and she felt her heart stop for a second, and then start beating hard. The very air around them felt electric. It was going to happen. Thank God.

He reached out and placed his palm flat on the door, his arm brushing her hair. Lucy waited, everything in her stilling and yearning all at once.

“Lucy,” he said again, and then with a little grimace, as if he were saying
Screw this talking crap
, he lowered his head and kissed her.

The first brush of his lips against hers reminded Lucy what a kiss felt like, what it was meant to be. How sweet and lovely and
important
it was.

And while it had started as a simple, fairly chaste good-night kiss, it quickly morphed into something else. Alex pressed Lucy against the doorway, his hands sliding down her body as he deepened the kiss, and Lucy angled her head back and wrapped her arms around his taut middle and thought,
Yes.

Then a few seconds later a tinny blast of laughter came from the TV upstairs, and they both stilled. Lucy could feel her heart racing as Alex pulled away, raking a hand through his hair.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I don't . . . I just . . .”

She touched her buzzing lips. “Please, don't be sorry about that.”

“I suppose . . . I suppose I got kind of carried away.”

“I didn't know you had it in you, Alex,” Lucy couldn't keep from teasing. “But I'm glad you do.”

He grinned, and then to her delight he pulled her to him and kissed her again. This one he kept sweet, but she still clutched handfuls of his T-shirt, her mouth opening under his.

“Good night,” he whispered against her mouth, and she smiled against his lips.

She was still smiling as she slipped out the door and walked back to Tarn House.

Juliet

THE NEXT MORNING JULIET
lay in bed and considered the possibility of never getting up again. The bed was soft and warm, and she could happily—well, comfortably, anyway—live the rest of her days there without so much as moving. She wondered, distantly, whether she'd need food or water first. Then she realized she'd probably need the toilet before either. But she had an en suite bathroom, so she could stay in her bedroom rather than just her bed. Lucy could bring her meals.

She lay there for another hour past her usual waking time, staring at the ceiling, keeping her mind deliberately blank, before she heard a tentative knock on the door.

“Juliet? Are you in there?” Lucy called.

She considered not answering, but what was the point? She couldn't live in either her bed or her bedroom, as much as she wanted to. “Yes,” she called back, her voice coming out in a morning croak.

“It's just—the dogs are getting anxious for their breakfast, and I don't know how much kibble they are meant to have.”

Oh, the dogs. The only creatures on earth who actually needed her. With a sigh Juliet tried to rise from the bed, but her body felt so leaden that she flopped back down again. “They have one scoop each,” she called to Lucy, her voice still croaky. “Can you manage it?”

“All right, then,” Lucy answered, and Juliet heard her sister's footsteps go back down the stairs. She closed her eyes.

What felt like a few minutes later but was actually an hour, Lucy knocked on the door again. “May I come in?”

“I suppose.” Juliet opened her eyes; she didn't think she'd fallen back asleep, but maybe she had.

Lucy came into the room, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. She put it on Juliet's bedside table and perched on the edge of the mattress. “I thought you might like a cuppa.”

“Thank you,” Juliet answered, her voice flat and lifeless. It was thoughtful, but she didn't want a cup of tea. She didn't want anything.

“Are you ill?”

“No.”

“What's wrong, then?”

Juliet took a deep breath and let it out in a long, low rush. “I only took your stupid advice and went and talked to Peter,” she said, throwing her arm over her eyes. She didn't think she had any more tears to cry, but she wasn't risking it. “And it didn't go over well, as I predicted, so thanks for bloody nothing.”

Lucy was silent and after a moment Juliet drew her arm back and glanced at her sister. Lucy, she thought sourly, looked . . . incandescent. So something had happened with Alex last night. She covered her eyes once more.

“So what happened?” Lucy finally asked.

“He accepted my apology,” Juliet answered. “But it didn't change anything. Whatever we had . . .” She paused, struggling to keep her voice even, not to torment herself with what they could have had.
I was trying in my own thick way.
“It's over,” she said flatly. “He doesn't want to have anything to do with me.”

“Oh, Juliet.” Lucy put a hand on her shoulder, and for once Juliet didn't shake it off. She craved the physical comfort of another person's touch, the solid warmth of it.

“Thanks for the tea,” she managed.

“I'm sorry,” Lucy said, her hand still on Juliet's shoulder. “About Peter. That just . . . sucks.”

“Yes, it does.” Juliet drew her arm away from her eyes and tried to sit up a little, wincing as she did so. “I don't know if I feel like I have the flu or am hungover. Both, I think.”

“An emotional hangover is the worst,” Lucy said, and Juliet reached for the mug of tea and took a cautious sip.

“That's a term I haven't heard before.”

“Binge crying. I'm an expert.”

Juliet closed her eyes as the hot, sugary tea—Lucy had forgotten she didn't take sugar—hit her system. “I'm not.”

“What a surprise.”

Juliet smiled a little at that. Her tears had dried on her face last night and her skin felt tight as her mouth curved. She must look like an utter disaster.

“So if you're willing to take some advice from an expert,” Lucy began, and Juliet rolled her eyes.

“Here we go.”

“Don't stay in bed all day. It's tempting, I know, but you only feel worse when you do eventually get up.”

“Maybe I won't ever get up,” Juliet countered. The prospect still held a definite appeal.

“Seriously, Juliet.” Juliet took another sip of tea to hide the discomfort she felt at seeing Lucy's face all soft with compassion. Her sister could afford to feel charitable, she thought with a tired spurt of bitterness. Her life was going swimmingly. “Why don't we do something today?” Lucy suggested. “Get out, go somewhere.”

“Where? The only thing to do around here is hike.” That wasn't really true, but Juliet didn't feel like listing the charms of the Western Lake District at the moment. She didn't feel like seeing the charms of anything or anywhere.

“We could go on the miniature steam train,” Lucy said, and Juliet stared at her in disbelief.

“The La'al Ratty? That's for children.”

“It's not. I mean, yes, children enjoy it, but so can adults. I read the brochure several times when I went to Ravenglass.”

“When were you in Ravenglass?”

“One weekend when—oh, when I was kicking around.”
When she would have rather been anywhere than with me
, Juliet filled in silently. She wasn't even surprised. She'd been awful to Lucy when she'd first arrived; she wasn't that much better now.

Sighing, she placed the mug of tea back on the bedside table. “I don't know.”

“Come on, it'll be fun, and it's better than moping around here.”

“Don't you have plans with Alex?” Juliet asked, a bit waspishly, and Lucy's expression went from startled to guarded.

“No, why would I?”

“Something happened last night.” She didn't make it a question.

Lucy shrugged. “He kissed me,” she admitted. “And it was . . .” Her mouth curved in a smile that lit up her whole face.

“Don't tell me,” Juliet said with a groan. She sank back against the pillows. “I don't think I can stand to hear about your little romance just now.”

“All right, then get up and we'll go on the Ratty. And I promise we won't talk about men, any men, all day long.”

It took Juliet a while to get up, and even longer to get ready; her head felt fuzzy, her brain disconnected from her body. She managed finally to shower and dress, and an hour after Lucy had brought her the tea, they were outside heading for the train station.

The day was dark and gray, a chill, damp wind buffeting them as they walked with their hands dug into the pockets of their coats, their heads lowered against the onslaught.

Lucy, thankfully, seemed content just to be, and Juliet's head was aching so much she didn't think she could manage to put two coherent—or civil—words together.

The train pulled away from Hartley-by-the-Sea and she watched the choppy waves froth and foam as they rode down the coast. At Ravenglass they walked up the hill to the La'al Ratty, tiny and forest green, filled with families even on this less-than-glorious day.

Lucy bought them both coffees at the station café and they managed to find seats in the part of the train that was under cover, sitting opposite each other so that Juliet's knees were jammed up against Lucy's.

“Well, this is cozy,” she said dryly, and took a sip of coffee.

“Have you been on the La'al Ratty before?” Lucy asked.

“No.” The La'al Ratty was for tourists and families, not for sour single women who screwed up everything in their lives. But she wasn't going to wallow in self-pity. Not today, at least.

The whistle blew and with a chugging sound the train started to move off. Juliet gazed out at the rolling fields and gray-green fells cloaked in mist and felt her mood start imperceptibly to lift.

“Thank you,” she said abruptly, and Lucy's eyebrows rose. “I know I don't seem appreciative, and I can be quite a difficult person,” Juliet continued. “But I am grateful that you got me out of bed and brought me here.” She swallowed and added, “You're a good sister to me, Lucy.” Lucy blinked rapidly and Juliet rolled her eyes. “Now don't go getting all blubbery on me.
Honestly,
” she said.

“I won't.” With a smile Lucy dabbed her eyes. “But do you know, that's the first time you haven't called me your half sister?”

“Is it? Well.” Juliet looked away. “You are my sister. The only one I've got.” She hadn't meant to sound quite so terse, but Lucy didn't seem to mind because she launched herself towards Juliet, and she jerked back in surprise, spilling her coffee as Lucy gave her a bone-crunching hug.

“Thank you, Juliet, for saying that. You're the only sister I've got too.”

“No need to state the obvious,” Juliet muttered, and wiped ineffectually at the coffee stain on her jeans. Wiped at her eyes too, because it might be obvious now, but she didn't think it always had been.