Chapter 9 #2
“A glass of red, please.” She watched as Andrew headed for the bar, utterly at ease while she was sitting on the edge of her enormous chair, her hands folded primly in her lap.
She wanted to enjoy this, even if she was with Andrew West, but she felt too tightly wired.
Then she remembered she still needed to call in the prescription, and so she did that while Andrew got their drinks, slipping her phone into her bag as he brought back a fishbowl-sized glass of wine for her and a half-pint of lager for himself.
No self-respecting male acquaintance of Rachel’s would ever order half a pint, yet Andrew hardly seemed like the type of bloke to go in for a drinking contest.
“Cheers,” she said, and took a sip of the wine that was velvety-smooth and tasted better than any bottle of plonk she’d ever picked up at Tesco.
Andrew sipped his own lager before setting it on the table between them. “I’m sorry for bringing you out here like this. I know you’re busy.”
“It’s not every day I get to drink wine in a classy bar,” Rachel answered. Two sips of wine and she was already starting to feel mellow, but maybe it was the atmosphere. She leaned her head back against the velvet armchair and glanced at Andrew; he was staring at his hands, frowning in thought.
“What do you do, exactly?” she asked. She didn’t want to talk about Claire just yet.
“I’m a civil engineer.”
“Impressive. You go to uni for that?” Of course he had, but she wanted to hear it anyway.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Cambridge.” He looked slightly discomfited, and Rachel smiled.
“I think I’ve heard of it.”
He smiled back, self-consciously, but at least he’d recognized she was joking. She almost wanted to tell him that she’d had a scholarship place at Durham, that she’d gone there for all of two weeks. Thankfully she resisted that temptation.
“And an MA too, I suppose?”
He nodded. “Also at Cambridge.”
“PhD?”
“Same.”
Seven or eight years of advanced education, then. She refused to give in to the petty impulse to feel jealous. “So why are you back in Hartley-by-the-Sea?”
“I have a couple days before my next project starts, down near Manchester. And I wanted to see Claire.”
They were already back to Claire. So much for chitchat. “So why are you so worried about her?” Rachel asked.
Andrew didn’t answer for a moment. “As you know, she’s been through a difficult time,” he said finally. “But there’s more to it than just her breaking up with her fiancé. I’m not even sure they are broken up, permanently, but . . .” He sighed. “Claire should tell you herself what’s going on—”
“Claire and I really don’t have that kind of relationship,” Rachel cut him off. “We were friends when we were children. Before last week I hadn’t seen her since her graduation party, and then only because I helped with the catering.”
Andrew looked up from his study of his drink. “Even so. I don’t see any other friends queuing up, do you?”
“Claire had plenty of friends in primary.” Rachel spoke matter-of-factly. “She was the most popular girl in Year Six, and as far as I could tell, she kept that status at Wyndham.”
“I don’t know if any of those girls were actually real friends.”
And I was. She’d been a good friend to Claire West until she’d been unceremoniously dumped. Rachel sighed. “So what do you want me to do, exactly?”
“Just keep an eye on her. It would be better for her not to be alone right now.”
As if Rachel needed one more person in her life to watch over. “I’m happy to check up on her when I come to clean,” she said, although happy was stretching it. “But other than that . . .”
“Couldn’t you drop in every day or two?” Andrew asked. “I know you’re busy—”
“You keep saying that, but I’m starting to think you don’t mean it.”
“Sorry.” He gave her a rueful smile as he raked a hand through his hair, and Rachel’s stomach did a surprising little flip.
When he dropped the whole pompous thing, Andrew West was actually good-looking, in an uptight, nerdy sort of way.
Although there was nothing nerdy about his wavy dark hair or deep blue eyes, or even the broad shoulders she could detect under the fleece.
No, unfortunately it was just his personality.
“Does Claire think she needs checking up on?” Rachel asked.
“She’s . . . resistant.”
“And she’s also an adult. So maybe I should let her make her own decisions.”
“Claire’s never been good at making her own decisions.”
Which was a horribly patronizing thing to say, and yet Rachel could see the truth in it.
When they were little Claire had always let Rachel make her decisions.
At school Rachel had even carried Claire’s lunch tray and picked out which meal she’d eat.
But she’d liked taking care of Claire. And Claire had been so grateful, smiling up at her, relief evident in her face whenever Rachel stepped in and took over.
“Claire is never going to learn to make her own decisions if everyone keeps insisting on making them for her,” Rachel said. “She’s twenty-eight years old. Maybe it’s time for her to grow up.”
“I take your point,” Andrew answered, “but now’s not the time for that particular life lesson.”
What was it about Claire that made everyone want to look out for her?
Was it her sense of fragility, or did simply being chronically helpless make proactive people step in and take control?
Rachel couldn’t say, even for herself. What she did know was that she didn’t want to help Claire now nearly as much as she had when they were seven.
“I’m not sure there’s ever a good time for that life lesson,” Rachel said as downed the last of her wine. “I had to learn it when I was twelve.”
Andrew frowned. “What happened when you were twelve?”
“My mother broke her back.” Rachel wished she hadn’t mentioned anything; she couldn’t stand pity, especially from someone who could spare it so easily. “Everyone’s life sucks sometimes, you know.”
“Yet you seem to think only yours does.” Andrew spoke mildly, but Rachel recoiled all the same. Heat rushed into her face, and she put her wineglass on the table with a decidedly loud thunk.
“I think I’ll get that prescription now.” She reached under the chair for her coat and yanked it on. Andrew watched her, unperturbed.
“I’ve upset you.”
“Well done, Sherlock.” Rachel stood up, hugging herself, all the things she’d liked about this place now jarring, irritating her. This was not her life.
Andrew put his half-pint of lager, barely drunk, on the table. “Where do you need to pick up the prescription?”
“Lowther Street. There’s a late-night pharmacy.”
“All right.” He left a pound on the table and then walked out of the bar, holding the door open for her first. Rachel went through, averting her head.
She felt stiff and jerky, and while she knew her hurt was obvious, she couldn’t make herself relax.
It was an overemotional reaction considering she barely knew Andrew West and he barely knew her.
But in that case, how dare he make such an assumption about her?
“You know,” she said as they walked towards the car, “you don’t know anything about my life.”
“I’d say I know a little at this point,” Andrew answered. “But essentially you’re right.”
“So you really have no right to make a judgment like that,” she continued, keeping her voice even.
Andrew opened her door, ever the gentleman. And didn’t agree with her.
“Do you?” Rachel pressed as he got in the driver’s side.
“Perhaps not. I was simply responding to what I’ve experienced of you so far.”
“You’re very blunt, you know.”
His mouth twitched in a tiny, wry smile. “I have been told that before.”
They didn’t speak as he drove through the empty streets of Whitehaven and parked in front of the pharmacy on Lowther Street, its plate window fogged with rain, halogen lights glowing inside.
“I’ll be right back,” Rachel said, and slipped out of the car.
It took only a few minutes to get her mother’s prescription, a four-week supply of OxyContin that cost nearly two hundred pounds.
And half of that had gone down the toilet, thanks to Meghan.
Rachel had handed her debit card over with a grimace, breathing a tiny sigh of relief when the amount went through.
Back in Andrew’s car she clutched the bag to her while he pulled out onto the empty street. Neither of them spoke on the way back to Hartley-by-the-Sea.
“So you’ll check on Claire?” he asked when he’d parked in front of her house. Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.
“I’ll try,” she said on a sigh.
He paused and then said carefully, “If you’d prefer to think of this as part of your housekeeping . . . I could pay you the hourly rate.”
Rachel stared at him for a moment, offended by the suggestion even though practically it made sense. She would be going out of her way, spending time she didn’t have running around after Claire. And she could certainly use the money. “That’s not necessary,” she managed, and got out of the car.
Inside the house still smelled of burned sausages and Rachel could hear Nathan’s pitiful sobs from upstairs. He sounded utterly exhausted.
“Finally.” Lily appeared at the top of the stairs, looking harassed. “Nathan has been crying for hours.”
“Did you give him Calpol?”
“No. You didn’t tell me—”
“Sorry,” Rachel said wearily. “I’ll go to him. Can you give Mum her prescription?” She nodded towards the white bag she’d left on the hall table, and Lily gave a little grimace.
Lily didn’t spend much time with their mother.
Since Janice had injured her back when Lily was only a few months old, they’d never had a lot of time together, and they hadn’t really bonded.
Rachel and Meghan handled their mother’s care, wanting to shield Lily from it, and now Lily was seventeen and usually avoided her mother as much as she could.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly, and went downstairs. Rachel kicked off her shoes and headed into Meghan’s bedroom. Nathan was kneeling on the bed, tears running down his snot-smeared face.
“Hey there, Nath,” Rachel said softly. She put her hands on his thin shoulders and pulled him to her; he came with a loud sniff, tucking his head into her shoulder. “How about some yummy medicine?”
He nodded against her chest, hiccupping, and she eased away and went to retrieve the bottle of bubble-gum-pink Calpol from the bathroom as well as a sticky spoon that looked like it hadn’t been washed between doses.
She gave him two spoonfuls and then tucked him into the double bed he shared with Meghan.
“Ray-Ray stay?” he asked hopefully, and with a sigh she stretched out next to him.
“Okay, Nath.”
Nathan snuggled into her again, smearing snot across her sweater, and Rachel put her arm around him, resting her chin on the top of his head.
He smelled like baby shampoo and Calpol with a hint of sausage.
She kissed his head and closed her eyes and tried to ignore the tug of longing for something in her life to be different.