Rainy Day Sisters (33 page)

Peter stood with his hands on Juliet's shoulders, and only then did she realize she was shaking. Wordlessly he turned her so she was facing him, and then he put his arms around her and held her in an embrace that Juliet craved with her whole being.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled against his shirt. “I don't know why I was so angry.”

“You've had a lot to deal with lately.”

“They'll be talking about it for ages,” she said with a sniff. “How that old shrew Juliet Bagshaw lost it on the beach road, and spoiled Christmas for everyone.”

“Then let's give them something else to talk about,” Peter said, and to her amazement he kissed her.

The first thing she thought was how cool and yet warm his lips were; the second was how scratchy his fake beard felt. Laughing a little, Juliet pulled back. Peter frowned.

“Juliet . . .”

“Your beard,” she said, and pulling it down, she leaned forward and kissed him again.

After a few minutes Andrew Lofton cleared his throat. “Areet?” he called, and Peter pulled back, grinning.

“Areet,” he answered, and still smiling, he climbed back onto the trailer. Juliet got back in the car, not meeting Andrew's unreadable gaze.

“So.” She cleared her throat, just as he had. “Are we on time for the carol service?”

“I think we'll make it,” Andrew said, and started driving.

A few minutes later he pulled the car up in front of the Royal National Lifeboat Institute, or RNLI, station, now festooned with Christmas lights, the strains of the brass band that was crammed into the narrow shed audible even from inside the car.

“Ho ho ho,” Peter called as he waved from the trailer, and Juliet felt herself start to grin again. Peter was a far jollier Santa now than he had been fifteen minutes ago.

He made his appearance, waving and handing out sweets, before the carol service started. Then he changed clothes in the public toilets, bundling up the red Santa suit into a bag, which he left in Andrew's car. Juliet had been waiting for him outside, unsure what to say or even what to think, but knowing she wanted to be with him.

In the end she didn't say anything, and neither did he. He simply took her hand and walked with her into the carol service. They sat in the back and held hands during the entire service; her hand rested on his thigh, feeling small and fragile clasped in his much larger one.

The service was over by nine thirty, and replete with several mince pies and paper cups of mulled wine, they declined Andrew's offer of a lift back into the village and decided to walk instead.

Juliet almost regretted the decision as they started down the beach road; although the air was still, it was also freezing. But then Peter took her hand again and she knew she was glad they'd decided to walk.

She had no desire for some awkward conversation about the status of their relationship, and Peter didn't seem to, either, for they walked in silence the whole way down the road.

Juliet's steps slowed as they turned off the beach road and crossed the railway; she could see Tarn House in the distance, looking warm and snug and yet also empty. Should she invite Peter in? Ask him to stay? The thought made her hands clammy and her stomach leap with anticipation.

Then she saw the lone figure standing by the door, and her steps halted altogether.

“That looks like . . . ,” she began, and Peter finished it for her.

“Lucy,” he said.

Lucy

LUCY SAW PETER AND
Juliet coming down the high street at the same time that they saw her, and for a few seconds everyone just stared at one another. Finally Lucy waved.

“Surprise!” she called, and heard how nervous she sounded. She and Juliet hadn't parted on good terms, and she had no idea if her sister would welcome her back.

“You didn't tell me you were coming.”

“Hence the surprise.”

She braced herself for one of Juliet's acerbic retorts, but to her relief, her sister dropped Peter's hand and catapulted into Lucy's arms.

“Welcome home,” she said.

Lucy hugged her back tightly. This
was
home, and she was glad Juliet knew it. Then she registered that Juliet had been holding Peter's hand, and she jerked back.

“What happ—”

“Later,” Juliet muttered, and Lucy wondered how her sister knew what she was talking about. Sibling telepathy, perhaps.

Peter said good night, and Juliet unlocked the front door to Tarn House. “No guests tonight?” Lucy asked, and Juliet shook her head.

“The ice has kept people away.”

“It
is
freezing. It's even colder than it is in Boston, and that's saying something.”

They shed their coats and boots and walked into the kitchen; as Juliet flicked on the lights, Lucy's heart swelled with happiness at the sight of the familiar green Aga, the pine table, the poinsettia on the windowsill. She walked towards the range, holding her hands out to its comforting warmth.

“I missed the carol service down at the beach, didn't I?”

“Yes.”

“And Father Christmas.”

“That was Peter, actually.”

“Peter!” Lucy turned around, grinning. “How did he do?”

“Brilliantly,” Juliet answered, and Lucy raised her eyebrows, wanting to hear the full story. “Not now,” Juliet said, but her lips twitched in an answering smile. “But I think you can probably guess.”

“I think I can.” They were both silent for a moment, and then Lucy said, “I'm sorry I was gone so long.”

“I thought you'd be gone a lot longer.” Juliet hesitated, then asked, her tone diffident, “Are you going back?”

“Maybe for a few days here and there. Mum still has a long road of treatment and recovery ahead of her. But I don't think she needs me every step of the way. And I need to live my own life.” She paused, wishing she had more of a sense of Juliet's mood. She'd hugged her and welcomed her home, yes, but she was looking rather stony-faced now. “And I'd like to live my own life here,” she continued. “Unless . . . you'd rather . . . ?”

“Don't be daft.” Juliet smiled then, a crooked, awkward thing but a smile all the same. “I told you this is your home. I'm glad you're back, Lucy. I'm sorry for the things I said before you went.”

“I'm sorry too, for the things I said.”

“Well, then, that's put behind us,” Juliet said briskly. “Cup of tea?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” Lucy answered, and reached for the kettle.

That night she lay in bed listening to the familiar and strangely comforting sound of the wind soughing through the now leafless trees and rattling the windowpanes. Amazing, really, that she'd missed even that. The cold and the rain and everything about Hartley-by-the-Sea.

And Alex.

She hadn't spoken to him since that conversation in the hospital, and he hadn't called her since she'd left that terribly revealing message on his answering machine. His silence was eloquent enough, and yet Lucy knew she needed to see him. Needed to hear face-to-face whether their hiatus was permanent.

At five o'clock the next evening, Lucy headed up to Alex's house. It was already dark, moonless and windy, the pavement icy beneath her feet. No one was outside. The post office was closed and shuttered for the night, and so the walk up the main street felt particularly treacherous and lonely.

A light gleamed from the sitting room window of Alex's house, and taking a deep breath, Lucy knocked on the door. A few seconds later it was flung open by Poppy, who stared at her openmouthed for a moment before running back towards the kitchen, shrieking, “Daddy! Daddy! It's Lucy! She's come back!”

Lucy's heart felt as if it were beating its way up her throat as Alex walked from the kitchen towards the front door. He had a dish towel thrown over one shoulder and his face was utterly unreadable. She swallowed dryly.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” he answered back, and she still couldn't tell anything from his tone.

“Let her in, Dad,” Bella said from behind him. She stood on the bottom stair, her arms folded, and Lucy couldn't read her expression, either. Why did everyone have to be so damned poker-faced?

Alex stepped back and Lucy came into the house. Charlie trotted in from the kitchen, wagging his tail and offering Lucy one enthusiastic woof. At least he was happy to see her.

“I'm back,” she finally said, unnecessarily, her voice cringingly overbright.

“So I see,” Alex answered. “For how long?”

“For good. I decided . . . I realized . . .” She licked her lips and swallowed again; her throat felt so very dry and her heart was still beating hard. “I realized I didn't need to be there as much as I thought I did.”

“What made you realize that?” Alex asked, his voice toneless. Couldn't he give her just one clue as to how he was feeling?

Lucy glanced at the two girls, who were listening with avid, openmouthed interest. She'd wanted to have this conversation with Alex in private, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. “Going back to Boston. Realizing it wasn't home anymore—”

“I thought you'd already realized that.”

He wasn't making this easy for her. “Didn't you get my message on your machine?” Lucy asked, torn between exasperation and fear. “I sent it nearly a week ago—”

“A message?” Alex frowned. “I never check the answering machine. I really only use my mobile.”

“Oh, perfect.”

“What was in your message?”

“Well.” The things she'd blurted on the answering machine were far harder to say to his face. But maybe she needed to do this, for her sake as well as Alex's. “I'll recap for you. I told you that I was sorry for leaving the way I did, and that I missed you and Poppy and Bella. And that I didn't want to be on a hiatus.”

“What's a hiatus?” Poppy asked.

“Something not good,” Bella answered.

“Anything else in this message?” Alex asked.

“Well, I said that I cared about you, and that I thought you had a nasal drip—”

Bella let out a choked laugh. “Seriously? A nasal drip? Gross.”

“That was before I met you,” Lucy said quickly. “Of course.”

“Of course.” She could see Alex's mouth was quirking up in that lovely little smile she knew so well.

“So I said all those things and then I came back because this is where I want to be.” She glanced at the girls, whose gazes darted between her and Alex. “Right here,” she clarified, “is where I want to be. If you want me to be here.”

Alex didn't say anything and Bella let out a sigh of such utter exasperation that Lucy nearly laughed. “Dad, you're not seriously thinking of turning her down? Because if you are, you're a first-class idiot.”

“You really are, Daddy,” Poppy chimed in, and then Lucy did laugh.

Alex's small smile disappeared as his mouth firmed in a line. His arms were still folded. Lucy braced herself. “Well,” he said slowly, “I can't be an idiot.”

She laughed again as she nearly sagged with relief and Alex reached out one hand and tugged her towards him. She went gladly, pressed her cheek against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head.

“Finally,” Bella said, and Poppy let out a cheer.

Lucy waved them forward. “Group hug,” she said, and Poppy came first, hurtling herself towards Alex's midsection. Bella dragged her feet a little, but she leaned into her dad as he put an arm around her and they stayed there for a minute, the four of them.

Lucy spent the evening with them all, but left before nine, knowing Alex had to get the girls to bed. Knowing too that they would be taking it slow, no matter how serious their intentions.

Still, she and Alex were able to sneak away from Poppy and Bella for a little while, when the girls went upstairs to watch TV; they sat on the sofa and kissed until Lucy's lips felt as if they were buzzing. Eventually, reluctantly, Alex pulled away.

“I need to tell you some things,” he said.

Lucy's heart lurched a little at his serious tone. “Okay,” she said.

Alex shifted in his seat and her heart lurched again as she wondered just what he had to say. “I reacted badly to your leaving in part because of my history. My history with Anna.” Lucy didn't answer; she wasn't sure what to say, and in any case Alex continued. “I told you before that we weren't happy here in the village. Anna didn't want to be here, and I wanted to pretend I couldn't see that. The day she died . . .” He hesitated, and Lucy waited. “That day, before she went riding, she told me she was leaving. For good. I was angry and surprised, even though I suppose I shouldn't have been. Anyway, when you left, even though it was just for a little while . . . it brought back some hard memories, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, Alex.” Lucy swallowed. “I'm sorry. Sorry that I put you in that position.” She wanted to ask about a million questions but wasn't sure she wanted to hear all the answers about Alex's marriage. “Do the girls know?” she finally asked. “That she was going to leave?”

Alex shook his head. “No, I never told them, and I never will. It wouldn't do any good.”

“No, it wouldn't,” she agreed, but she could certainly understand Alex's perspective a lot better now. He smiled then and tugged her by the hand.

“Come back here,” he said, and kissed her again.

She left an hour later; the night was still wet, windy, and cold, and the wind had started to howl so Lucy had to clamp both hands down on her hat to keep it from flying away. She came into Tarn House shivering and shaking raindrops from her coat. Milly and Molly nudged their noses against her hip and she stroked their sleek heads fondly.
Home,
she thought again.
This is home.

She unwound her scarf and hung her hat up on the hook and came into the kitchen, only to skid to a sudden stop. For a moment her brain could not process what she was seeing: two women in the kitchen, the silence so taut with tension it felt as if the air could break in half. Juliet was leaning against the Aga rail, her arms folded, her mouth a hard, compressed line. And standing beside the table, one hand on the back of a chair, was Fiona.