Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
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 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 her, 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.