Chapter 16 #2
Claire noticed Andrew’s quick, almost guilty look before he closed the fridge again. “Yes, of course. Lily too.”
“Hmm.” She decided not to tease him about Rachel. She didn’t even know how she felt about Andrew and Rachel as a concept. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “But I’m glad everyone got back in one piece.” She took a step towards him and laid a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Andrew.”
“For what?”
“For easing off a bit.”
He grimaced. “I must be really bad.”
“I know you mean well—”
“Ouch.”
“But I’m okay. Really. I’m okay.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, and then she went upstairs to bed.
The next morning, while Andrew slept in, Claire decided to do something for Rachel. She wanted to be helpful, and after recalling how Andrew had mooched about looking for something to eat last night, she decided to make a meal. Preferably something simple.
There were no trains running on a Sunday, so she walked to the village shop for ingredients, steeling herself against another abrupt encounter with her boss. At least she was a customer rather than an employee today, although Dan hadn’t shown himself to be particularly friendly to those, either.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as she came through the door. “You’re not working today.”
“I know. I’m a customer. I want to make a meal for Rachel Campbell. Macaroni and cheese, I think.”
Unsmiling, he pointed to the shelf Claire had dusted and stacked several times. “There’s a tin over there.”
Claire followed the direction of his pointing finger, and when she saw the tin with its picture of rubbery, orange macaroni and cheese, she burst out laughing. Dan stared at her nonplussed while she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at you, honestly. It’s just . . .” She couldn’t explain what she found so funny, and Dan obviously didn’t see the humorous side to the situation.
“How about the beef stew with minty peas?” he asked, and then he actually cracked a smile.
Watching Dan Trenton smile was like seeing the snow melt in Narnia. Was it really happening, after all this time? Winter was over?
“Wait,” she dared to tease. “You actually have a sense of humor?”
“No. I just want to shift my inventory.” He jerked a thumb towards the back. “The milk and cheese are in the refrigerated section, you know.”
“Okay.” She walked over to the refrigerated section, conscious of Dan watching her. The shop felt smaller than usual, even when they shared the single room for eight hours at a stretch.
“So why are you making macaroni and cheese for this Rachel Campbell?” Dan asked.
“Her mother’s had a stroke. I thought she could use a meal.” Claire picked up a wedge of plastic-wrapped Cheddar. “Do you know her?”
“Her mother?”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
“Do you know anyone in this village?” she asked, and Dan’s expression hardened a little.
“I know Robin, the milkman. And Sue, who delivers the meat pies. Lucy Bagshaw. And you.” She saw a glint of challenge in his eyes, and he folded his arms repressively.
“I wasn’t meaning to sound rude, but . . .” She shrugged, not sure how to explain how odd it was that Dan was so reclusive. Although she was hardly one to talk. “Where did you live, before here?”
“Leeds.”
“Why did you move to Hartley-by-the-Sea?”
“What is this, an interrogation?” He fiddled with the Lotto card dispenser for a moment before answering. “The village shop was for sale, and I fancied trying my hand at running it.”
“But you don’t want to get to know people.”
“No. Do you?”
The blunt question surprised her. “Well, yes, sort of . . .”
“Because you don’t want to go to the pub quiz, and when Lucy Bagshaw corners you, asking you for coffee or what have you, you look like a frightened rabbit. Although come to think of it, you always look like a frightened rabbit.”
“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say in one stretch since I’ve known you,” Claire said.
She was trying to joke, but she felt flayed by Dan’s flatly stated assessment.
She had no idea he’d noticed so much. “I didn’t say it wasn’t hard,” she said after a pause.
“I’ve been away a long time, and I’ve never been good at making friends. ”
“Why not?”
“Now you’re the one interrogating me.”
“Shoe’s on the other foot, is it?”
“I guess it must be, since I only had enough money to buy one shoe.” She smiled, hoping he’d smile back, but he didn’t. “I don’t know why not. Why do you have trouble making friends?”
He looked affronted. “I never said I did.”
She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t have to.”
“I don’t want any friends,” Dan said after a moment. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth.” He nodded towards the milk and cheese she held in her hands. “Now, are you going to pay for that before the milk goes sour?”
Conversation clearly over, Claire paid up and then walked back to Four Gables. She was half amazed by what Dan had shared and more than a little unnerved by how much he’d noticed about her. Were they friends now? Maybe not quite. Maybe not at all.
A couple of hours later she headed up the street towards Rachel’s house, holding a foil-covered casserole dish of slightly soupy macaroni and cheese.
The only time she’d been to Rachel’s house had been yesterday, when they’d picked her and Lily up for the hike.
Now she stood on the concrete stoop, uncertain as to whether this was actually a good idea.
Rachel might be annoyed that she’d come around, offering what she might consider pity.
Maybe she’d turn up her nose at homemade mac and cheese.
Before she could contemplate beating a silent and cowardly retreat, the door jerked open and a woman stood there, hands planted on her hips. She looked a lot like Rachel, minus the height and the red hair.
“Well, well, well. Claire West.” A catlike smile curved her lips.
“Hi. You must be Rachel’s sister.”
“You don’t remember me from school?” Meghan raised her eyebrows, her smile widening.
“No, sorry.”
“It’s Meghan. I was four years younger than you. But I guess you were too cool to notice me.”
Not the cool-girl thing again. “I’m sure you were too cool for me,” Claire answered lightly. “Is Rachel in?”
“Rachel!” Meghan yelled over her shoulder. “Someone to see you.” She stepped back inside, and Claire followed, feeling faintly ridiculous carrying her foil-covered dish.
“Meghan, Nathan has pooed his pants again. I thought he was potty trained?” Rachel came striding out of the kitchen, looking tired and harassed, only to come up short when she caught sight of Claire. “Oh. You.”
Which was what she’d said the last time Claire had come across her unexpectedly.
“Hey . . .” Claire began, but Rachel was already turning to Meghan.
“He needs to be cleaned up. Now.”
“He’s regressing because of all the stress around here,” Meghan muttered. “Oy! Nathan.” She disappeared into the kitchen, and Claire tried not to wrinkle her nose. Now that she was in the house, she realized it reeked.
“Sorry,” Rachel said, and picked up a woolen beanie that had been lying on the floor and hung it on a coat peg. “So, not to be rude, but . . . why are you here?”
“I thought you could use a meal.” Claire nodded towards the dish in her hands. “With everything else going on.”
Rachel stared at her for a moment, unspeaking, and Claire smiled back uncertainly. Meghan barreled past them, holding a very smelly little boy aloft.
“Coming through with nuclear waste,” she announced, and headed upstairs.
“Come into the kitchen,” Rachel said, and Claire followed her through to a tiny room, every surface cluttered with dirty dishes and . . . stuff. Crumpled papers, makeup, sweet wrappers. She’d never seen so much rubbish.
“Sorry. I haven’t had time to tidy up,” Rachel muttered.
“You’re starting to sound like me, saying sorry all the time.”
“Well. It is a tip in here.” Awkwardly Rachel held her hands out, and just as awkwardly Claire put the casserole dish into them. She hadn’t expected this to be quite so weird.
“It’s macaroni and cheese. I had a taste, to make sure it wasn’t revolting. You’re not vegan or anything, are you?”
“Vegan?” For a moment Rachel looked amused. “No. Definitely not.”
“Okay, then. Good.” They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, and Claire felt the weight of the years between them, decades of silence she found it hard to break now. “How’s your mum?” she asked finally.
“Not very well at the moment.” Rachel opened the fridge and slid the casserole dish inside. “She’s going to be in the hospital for a few days while they do some tests.”
“It was a stroke?”
“They think so, yes. She’s a smoker, so I suppose it’s not really surprising.”
“It must be hard, though. Is your dad . . . ?” Claire trailed off as she saw Rachel stiffen.
“My dad hasn’t been around for years, Claire, but I don’t know why I’d expect you to know that. You were in uni then, and we hadn’t so much as spoken for seven years. But I thought you might have heard the crack through the village grapevine.”
“The crack . . . ?”
“Cumbrian for ‘gossip.’ Surely you knew that?” Rachel gave a half smile. “You were born here, after all.”
“I’m afraid I never got the hang of the dialect.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would have.”
“If there’s anything else I can do . . .” Claire offered. Rachel gazed at her for a moment and then shook her head.
“I really don’t think there is.”
“Okay. Well.” Claire took a backwards step towards the hall. “You must have loads to do. I suppose I’ll go . . .” Another step, and Rachel just watched her. This whole conversation was becoming more awkward by the second.
“I really mean it,” Claire blurted. “If there’s anything I can do . . . anything at all . . .”
Rachel’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. She looked exhausted, with violet smudges under her eyes, her hair caught up in a messy ponytail. “Unfortunately,” she answered with a sigh, “I don’t think there is. But thank you, Claire.”