Rainy Day Sisters (29 page)

“Lucy?”

Lucy turned to see Bella standing next to her. Dressed completely in baggy black, the girl was nearly invisible in the darkness. “Hey, Bella,” she said cautiously.

Bella dug her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, staring at her feet as she asked in a low voice, “Look, I have to know. Did you and Dad, you know, stop being friends because of me?”

“Oh Bella, no.” Lucy started to reach for her to give her a hug, and then thought better of it. She patted her on the shoulder instead. “No, not at all. We're still friends.”

Bella glanced at her, scorn combating with uncertainty in her young face. “I'm not stupid. Dad liked you, and now he never talks about you anymore. And like Poppy said, you don't come round.”

“I only came round twice, Bella—”

“But you guys liked each other. I'm not a
baby
. I could tell.”

Lucy stayed silent, wondering how honest she should be. She felt instinctively that this should be a conversation Alex had with his daughters, not her, but Bella was here with her now and maybe she deserved some straight answers. “You're right, we did like each other, but I'm only here temporarily and your dad has a lot going on in his life. So we decided to take a step back and just stay friends.” She blew out a breath, hoping she hadn't opened a Pandora's box of teenage angst. “So it's all okay.”

Bella kicked at the ground with her trainer. “It's not okay,” she muttered. “Dad's miserable.”

Was it wrong for Lucy's heart to lift a little at this admission? Probably.

“He might be,” Lucy allowed, “but you know he cares about you, right?” Bella just shrugged and she persisted, “Don't let this stupid grown-up stuff mess up your relationship with your dad, Bella. He loves you. I know he doesn't get it right all the time and it's going to be hard to talk about all the awkward girl stuff with him, but he really does love you. I believe that with my whole heart, and you should too.”

Bella was still staring at the ground, but Lucy could tell from the little sniff she gave that she'd gotten to her. Maybe. “I mean it,” she added for good measure.

“The thing is,” Bella said after a long moment, her voice so low Lucy had to bend down to hear it, “I kind of liked having you around.”

“Oh, Bella . . .”

“But I know I didn't act like it, and Dad might have messed things up with you because he thought that would be better for me. But it isn't.”

Lucy swallowed past the ache in her throat. “Whatever might have happened between me and your dad, Bella . . . it wasn't just about you and Poppy. It was about us—”

Bella looked up, her expression turned accusing. “You mean because you're leaving? Because you're not happy here?”

“I'm very happy here,” Lucy answered. “And the truth is I don't know if I'm leaving or not, but—”

“What?” Bella stiffened. “Does Dad know that? That you might be staying?”

Lucy felt the conversation slipping out of her control. “No, but I'm not sure it really matters—”

“Of
course
it matters,” Bella retorted. “Lucy, you have to tell him.”

“I . . .” Lucy imagined herself waltzing up to Alex and telling him she was staying in Hartley-by-the-Sea. Somehow she didn't think he was going to snatch her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Her optimism stretched only so far. But she did need to talk to Alex. For all of their sakes. “I will talk to him, Bella,” she said. “But don't expect it to change anything.”

She found him a little while later, standing apart from everyone else, a cup of soup cradled in his hands. Poppy and Bella were hanging out with some kids from school, and Lucy knew she needed to take the opportunity to speak to Alex when he was on his own.

Sucking in a deep breath, she started towards him. “Hey, Alex.”

He turned to her, his expression already guarded. “Lucy.”

“I just came over to say that I don't want things to stay weird between us.”

“They're not weird,” Alex protested automatically, and Lucy raised an eyebrow. “All right, yes, they might be a bit weird,” he amended. “But I've never had a—a thing with someone at work before. I'm not even sure what the policy on that is.”

“Good thing we ended it before it went anywhere, then.” She shifted her weight; her feet were going numb from cold in her Wellies. “How did you meet your wife, anyway?”

“In a coffee shop,” Alex answered after a second's pause. “She came and sat down right opposite me and started chatting. She asked me why I looked so serious. She invited me to the cinema that same day.” He sighed, his distant gaze on the leaping flames of the bonfire. “I don't think I ever would have worked up the courage to ask her out on my own.”

The little snippet of his former life made Lucy feel a rush of sadness—and jealousy. “You must miss her.”

“I do, but I miss what we had a long time ago.” His mouth tightened. “I shouldn't have moved her up to Hartley-by-the-Sea. She didn't like it here, but I'd always had this crazy dream of living here.” He slid an almost embarrassed glance towards her. “I came here as a kid, with a group from the foster home. A day at the seaside, it was, and I remember standing on the beach and looking at all the families with their pails and butterfly nets and ice-cream cones and wanting to be a part of it all.”

“Oh, Alex.” She knew exactly how he'd felt as a child, because it was the same way she'd felt. On the outside, looking in.

“But Anna didn't have that dream. She was from a wealthy family in Macclesfield, and it was a step down for her to live on my teacher's salary. Her parents kept buying her things—little things, at first, and then a car and a holiday for her with the girls. . . . I tried not to mind, but it always felt like they were showing me up. The last straw was when they bought us a house, this gorgeous Victorian villa in Manchester that cost half a million pounds, at least. And they didn't even ask us first.” He shook his head. “I don't know why I'm telling you all this now.”

“Maybe you need to tell somebody.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “In any case, soon after they bought us the house, I accepted the job as head teacher here. I told Anna it was for the girls, that I wanted them to grow up with the freedom a place like this provides, but I was also doing it to get away from her parents. And if I was chasing that stupid childhood dream, I never found it here. Anna died only six months after we arrived here, and they were a pretty miserable six months.”

“I'm sorry,” Lucy said. She'd had no idea that asking Alex about his wife would bring up all these bad memories.

“So am I. Sorry I didn't do things differently, and sorry that Anna didn't, either.” He turned to her with a weary smile. “And sorry I off-loaded all that onto you.”

“I don't mind, Alex.”

“I'm sorry things didn't—didn't work out between us,” he said in a low voice.

“Me too,” Lucy said, and heard the ache in her voice. “But we can still be friends, can't we?” she asked. “I just spoke to Bella and she was worried she'd messed things up between us.”

“Bella was?” Alex looked incredulous. “I thought . . .”

“She didn't like me? I did too, although truthfully I don't know if Bella knows how she feels. Teenagers are weird that way, especially teenaged girls.”

“And Bella's only twelve.”

“You have your work cut out for you, then.”

“Lucy . . .” She had the sense that Alex was going to say something important, but it was cut off by the sudden crackle and bang of the fireworks starting. A collective gasp of admiration rose as everyone looked up to see a starburst of greens and reds flare high in the sky.

It was impossible to talk during the fireworks show, and when it ended ten minutes later, Poppy and Bella rejoined Alex and everyone started trudging back to the village. The moment, Lucy knew, was gone.

Another week passed in a blur of cold, wintry days; Lucy went into Whitehaven and bought herself thermal underwear and several more scarves. She was busy at school, and while the awkwardness had eased a little between her and Alex, she didn't know whether they were actually friends. Besides a bit of chitchat by the photocopier, they hadn't talked much at all.

And she hadn't yet made a decision about whether to stay in Hartley-by-the-Sea.

“You can't have all your ducks in a row before you decide,” Juliet said one evening as she chopped carrots for their shepherd's pie and Lucy laid the table. They'd become quite cozily domestic together. “Life doesn't often work that way.”

“You must have had a few of them lined up when you decided to stay,” Lucy returned. “To buy this house and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast . . . how did you afford that, anyway?”

Juliet hesitated and then bit out a single word. “Fiona.”

“
Mum
bought it for you?”

“She sent me a check, after that visit when I was twenty. Blood money, it felt like, and I put it in the bank and didn't touch it as a matter of principle. And I was tempted, let me tell you. I worked my way up the ladder at the hotel in Manchester the hard way. But then I came here and knew I wanted to stay, and Tarn House was for sale. . . .” Juliet shrugged. “Fiona never gave me a thing my whole life. Why shouldn't she give me this?”

“Do you resent it, though?” Lucy asked curiously. “That you had to use that money?”

Juliet made a half-laughing, half-snorting sound. “Yes, of course I do.”

“Well, unfortunately for me, I don't have a big nest egg waiting for me in the bank, so I definitely need a job.”

“No, you've had your way paid for since you were a baby,” Juliet pointed out. “Not that I'm bitter about it.”

“Mum must have paid for you, Juliet, for some things. School—”

Juliet shook her head. “Nothing. Oh, she fed and clothed me, at least until she moved to America.”

“But it was your choice not to come with us—”

“Is that what she told you?” Juliet asked, looking almost amused, although there was an edge to her voice.

“I suppose I assumed . . .”

“Fiona didn't want me to come. Oh, she made a song and dance about how I needed to finish my A levels, said I only had one year left, I'd want to go to university in England, and so on. But it was clear she was going off with you and you alone. And she didn't send a single penny to cover my costs. I was eighteen, so I suppose she felt she'd done her duty by me. I worked nights in a pub to cover my school uniform and to give something to my friend's family, for room and board. They didn't want to accept, but they weren't rolling in it. Not like Fiona was.”

Lucy stared at her, appalled. “I had no idea. . . .”

“You just thought I didn't get that wretched pony party?” Juliet surmised with a hard laugh. “Well, that too, I suppose.”

“No wonder you're bitter.”

Juliet sighed, one hand braced on the counter as she stared out the window at the darkening night sky. “The truth is,” she said, “I'm tired of being bitter. Of being angry and hurt and all the rest of it. I just want to let it all go, forget about Fiona, but I can't. I've tried, and I
can't
.”

“Maybe you need to talk to her,” Lucy suggested.

Juliet shook her head. “I can't do that, either. I don't have the strength anymore and anyway, the last time I tried, five years ago, she hung up on me.”

“
Why?
I mean, why does she . . .”

“Hate me? I have no idea. Maybe she hated my father. Maybe she feels guilty for the way she's treated me.”

“I'm sorry, Juliet.”

“Not your fault,” she answered briskly, and started chopping carrots again.

“I know, but . . .” Lucy shook her head. “I feel like I should have known. I should have reached out more to you, when I was younger.”

“Wouldn't have worked.” Juliet dumped the chopped carrots into the pot on top of the Aga. “I resented you even when you were a baby. You used to toddle after me and I'd just ignore you. Close my bedroom door in your face. I couldn't stand you, actually, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“Oh.” Not exactly words to warm the heart.

Juliet cracked a small smile. “But I am glad you're here now, Lucy, and I hope we can make up for lost time.”

“I think we are. . . .”

“Then come here and give me a hug,” Juliet said, and held out her arms. Lucy stared at her, amazed that her prickly sister could actually be requesting physical affection.

“I'd love to,” she said, “but, Juliet? You're still holding a knife.”

Juliet glanced at the large butcher's knife she held in one hand and with a laugh she tossed it into the sink. Then she walked towards Lucy with her arms outstretched and gave her a hug.

It was an awkward, clumsy hug, and it was over in about two seconds, but still. They were both grinning as they stepped back.

A week slipped by, a week of Lucy wondering what she was going to do even as she felt herself creeping towards a decision. She stopped by the post office, and to her shock Dan Trenton—who had started chatting to her a little each time she went in—slipped her a bag of chocolate buttons.

“For that lad,” he said gruffly, not meeting her eye. Lucy grinned.

“Thank you, Dan,” she said, and then because she couldn't resist, “You really are a big old softy.”

“Don't tell anyone,” Dan answered without cracking a smile. “Can't ruin my reputation.”

One Saturday Lucy took Milly and Molly down to the beach and after they'd had a decent run, she tied them up outside the café and went to talk to Abby. The café was nearly empty and Abby made them both coffees as they sat at a table in the corner and Noah played with a couple of battered toys at their feet.