Chapter 5 #3
“Well, then,” she said in the too-hearty voice she knew was so often used by people who were not comfortable with children.
“Let’s get you a Band—a plaster, shall we?
” Except she remembered as she rose from her chair, Maggie had said the school policy was no plasters, only ice packs.
But did you really put an ice pack on a cut knee?
“We can clean it off, at least,” she told the girl, although she had no idea if that was government policy or not.
Still, a little water surely couldn’t hurt.
She went to the staff room and ran some warm water onto a paper towel, and then brought it back to the girl, who had thankfully stopped crying but was still sniffling.
“Here we are.” Cautiously Lucy dabbed at the cut knee.
Once the blood was cleared away, it didn’t look so bad.
“I just need to fill out an accident report,” she said as Maggie’s instructions came back to her.
She dug through a drawer and filled out the form before handing it to the little girl, who took it with a doleful sniff.
“Now you give that to your mum or dad when you get home, all right?”
“I don’t have a dad.” The girl spoke matter-of-factly, just as Lucy once had. The telltale wobbly tilt of the chin and the defiant glint in the eye were familiar too.
“Well, your mum, then,” she said, keeping her voice cheerful. The girl nodded, biting her lip, and the gesture caught at Lucy’s heart.
Seeing her sitting there, hunched over, her face tear-streaked and her lip still wobbling .
. . Lucy knew exactly how she felt. “There, there,” she said softly, and impulsively she gave the girl a clumsy hug.
That had to be against government policy, but this little girl needed a hug.
Lucy needed a hug. And it seemed like a six-year-old with a scraped knee was the only person who was going to give it to her.
And the little girl must have been grateful, because she threw her arms around Lucy and pressed her face into her shoulder.
Lucy was gently easing back when she felt someone’s gaze on her.
She looked up and froze when she saw Alex Kincaid staring at her with that terrifyingly inscrutable expression from the doorway of his office.
Lucy braced herself for the sharp criticism that was surely coming her way.
Only this time she wasn’t going to trip all over herself to apologize.
She stared back for a moment, her chin lifted in bravado more than actual courage, and then after about two seconds she glanced quickly away.
So much for courage. The man had an absolutely basilisk stare.
When she risked glancing at him again, however, he was smiling, rather awkwardly.
“All right, Eva?” he asked, and the girl nodded, wide-eyed. It looked as if most people were intimidated by Alex Kincaid. Although to be fair, he had a rather nice smile. No more than a quirking of his mouth, really, but it softened him a bit.
She straightened and gave Eva a smile of her own. “I think you can go back outside now.”
Eva scrambled off the chair and headed out, and Lucy braced herself for Alex’s criticism.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you about the card stock,” he said stiltedly. Someone was actually saying sorry to her. It was a rather nice feeling.
“That’s all right,” she answered. “It was only paper, after all.”
Which was, she realized belatedly, probably not the right response.
By four thirty she was exhausted. She’d regularly worked eight-hour days at the café in Boston, but that now felt like a jaunt at the beach compared with this.
Her mind spun with all the information Maggie had thrown at her, despite the older woman’s assurances that she’d be “right as rain” by tomorrow afternoon, when Maggie was leaving.
Lucy felt panicked at the thought. Or she would feel panicked if she had the energy to summon the emotion.
Yet there were still a few things to look forward to, she thought as she headed out into the glorious September afternoon that Juliet had told her existed, but Lucy hadn’t quite believed. The sun was still high in the sky, bathing everything in gold, and the air was warm—or at least warmish.
Standing there, Lucy felt a surge of love for the place, for the potential of it.
Some of the teachers were going to the pub tomorrow night, and they’d invited her along.
Back at the beach café a few days ago, Juliet had opened up, at least a little, about why she’d moved here. One of the pupils seemed to like her.
Smiling a little, she headed down the hill.
Back at Tarn House, Juliet was out walking the dogs and no guests were due until tomorrow, and so for a little while Lucy had the house to herself.
She kicked off her shoes amidst the jumble of boots in the hall and put the kettle on in the kitchen, stretching luxuriously.
Juliet, she saw as she dropped her arms, had left her a note propped against the salt and pepper shakers, reminding her that it was Thursday, and her turn to make dinner tonight.
Halfheartedly Lucy wondered if scrambled eggs would suffice.
She wasn’t much of a cook. She didn’t bother when it was just for herself, and the meals she’d occasionally made Thomas and his boys had never seemed to satisfy them, if the melodramatic gagging and choking noises Will and Garrett had made during dinner had been any clue.
Thomas, caught between apology and accusation, had always ordered them takeout.
Just as with those unruly boys, Lucy had a slightly shaming desire to please or even impress Juliet, and yet she recognized that impressing her half sister was going to be about as hard as impressing her mother, something she’d never once managed to do.
She curled up on the window seat with a mug of tea and gazed out at the same view she’d had from the school, only closer up.
She could see the deep puddles in the sheep pasture, the wooden five-bar gate that led to yet another field, and from this angle the sea was no more than a twinkle in the distance.
The light was syrupy and golden, gilding everything in sight.
The scene was perfectly pastoral and peaceful, and yet there was something a little melancholy about it too. The fields were empty save for a few dirty-looking sheep, and dark clouds threatened to overtake the fragile blue of the sky.
Some of Lucy’s hard-won optimism waned. She should check her e-mail, yet she couldn’t stomach the thought of the newsy, concerned messages she’d probably received from Chloe—or those she most likely hadn’t received.
Her mother hadn’t spoken to her since Lucy’s one tearful phone call after the story had broken, when Fiona had sighed and said she was sorry, but Lucy really needed to develop a bit of backbone.
“So this is you helping me?” Lucy had asked, her voice choked, and Fiona had had enough grace to admit, “I know it doesn’t feel like it, Lucy, but yes.”
Lucy had hung up the phone, and they hadn’t spoken since.
She could call Chloe now, and yet Lucy was reluctant to talk to anyone before her life here seemed just a little more promising.
Chloe was someone important in marketing, and even though they’d been best friends since freshman year of college, their lives had taken divergent paths.
Chloe’s towards career success, Lucy’s less so.
And she didn’t feel like having Chloe hear just how much less on a phone call.
She was going to the pub, she reminded herself. She had a job. Juliet could, on occasion, thaw a little bit. Given time, things would surely improve.
In any case, she wasn’t about to run away again.
She drained her mug of tea, and went to see what Juliet had in her cupboards for dinner.
Half an hour later Juliet walked in with two very muddy dogs, both of which she banished to the utility room before turning to Lucy.
“Something smells good.”
“Pasta with egg and bacon. I’m afraid I’m not a gourmet cook.”
“Simple works for me,” Juliet replied briskly as she washed her hands at the sink.
Lucy laid plates on the table and Juliet fetched forks and knives.
She took a bottle of red wine from a rack in the pantry and brandished it, eyebrows raised.
“No guests tonight, although you’ve got work tomorrow. Fancy a glass?”
“Oh, go on, then,” Lucy answered with a smile, and her heart lightened rather ridiculously as Juliet opened the bottle and poured two glasses. This was what she’d been hoping for when she’d come to England. Cozy suppers and confiding chats over large glasses of red.
“How was your first day, anyway?” Juliet asked when they were both seated.
“Overwhelming,” Lucy confessed, adding hurriedly, “I know it probably shouldn’t be. I’m just answering phones and photocopying—”
“Any first day is bound to be a bit overwhelming,” Juliet answered. “It will get better.”
“I hope so.”
“Alex didn’t give you a hard time?”
She thought of his tongue-lashing about the card stock, and then his terse apology. “No, not really.” She raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of wine. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s known to be a bit tough, as I said. But the school went from Very Good to Excellent in the last Ofsted inspection.”
“I’m not even sure I know what any of that means, but it sounds impressive.”
Juliet cracked a small smile and Lucy asked impulsively, “Have you heard from—from Fiona at all?”
Juliet’s smile disappeared and she looked away. “No, but then I haven’t heard from her in about ten years. I called her on her birthday five years ago, but she’s never rung or written me.”
“Really?” Lucy sat back in her chair, surprised by this admission yet recognizing that she had no real reason to be.
She’d e-mailed Juliet on occasion, and they’d communicated a little through Facebook, but that was about it.
Around five years ago Lucy had come to London for a spur-of-the-moment weekend and Juliet had taken the train down.
They’d had a rather awkward lunch at the café at Selfridges, where they had not talked about their mother at all, yet she had been as present as if she’d been sitting at the table.
Now Lucy recalled Juliet’s one visit to America, back when she was nine or ten, and Juliet must have been around twenty.
There had been no big argument that Lucy remembered, but Juliet had left after only a few days, and Fiona had acted as if her oldest daughter hadn’t visited, didn’t exist. It hadn’t bothered Lucy at the time; Juliet had just been one more person flitting in and out of their lives.
“Did you two have a falling-out?” she asked now, recognizing even as she said it that it was a rather stupid question.
Of course something must have happened to make them so estranged from each other.
Although considering they were talking about their mother, self-absorbed, flamboyant Fiona, maybe not.
“We were never in anything to fall out of,” Juliet replied flatly.
Lucy frowned. “What do you mean—”
“Look, she might have wanted you,” Juliet cut her off, her voice hardening as she turned to give Lucy a sudden, savage glare, “and paid for a sperm donor so she could be a mother and all the rest of it. But she never wanted me, and she let me know it every single day of my childhood.”