Chapter 18 #2
Claire glanced back to see a lanky boy in Year Six jam his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Next to him a girl with plaits was looking annoyed as she retied the ribbon on one end.
“Rob Telford used to yank my plaits,” Claire recalled. “Or so he told me when I saw him at the pub. I don’t actually remember it.”
“Rob seems the type to get into trouble as a lad, although he’s on the straight and narrow now.”
“Is he?”
Diana nodded solemnly. “He bought the pub a few years ago and lives with his mum in the flat above. Works hard, he does. Jacob Peterson, I’m still watching you.”
Jacob slunk off, and the girl with the plaits, clearly not as annoyed as Claire had thought, ran after him.
“You seem to know everyone around here,” Claire remarked.
“Not everyone, but Hartley-by-the-Sea is a small place. Surely you know that, since you grew up here?” Diana gave her a look of smiling curiosity.
“Yes, I suppose I do,” Claire answered. “Although to be honest, I don’t think my family got very involved in things.” Diana waited, clearly wanting to hear more, and hesitantly Claire continued. “My brother and I went to secondary school in Keswick, and my father worked in Manchester.”
“Ah,” Diana said, nodding, and Claire felt as if she’d understood more than she’d actually said. “But you’re getting involved now, it seems?” She twisted a bag of gummy worms closed and handed it to a sticky-faced Year One.
“Yes,” Claire said slowly. “Yes, I think I am.”
Two hours later she’d sold all her sweets, made seventy pounds, and was aching all over.
Diana had left to take her Year Threes back into the school, and the other people were starting to dismantle their stalls.
The field was festooned with stray bits of paper, more than a few crumpled, empty sweet bags, and a good deal of pink ribbon from the Easter-bonnet decorating competition.
Although Claire had spent the entire fair behind her stall, she’d enjoyed watching all the activity, including a nail-biting egg-on-a-spoon race and a hair-raising three-legged one, with many of the children collapsing, laughing, onto the grass.
Plenty of people had stopped by her stall, not just for sweets, but to say hello.
Abby had come with Noah, and Claire had given him a licorice bootlace that he’d chewed happily.
Meghan and Nathan had also stopped by, somewhat to Claire’s surprise.
She’d braced herself for Meghan’s acerbic remarks, but Rachel’s sister had only looked tired.
“How’s your mum?” Claire had asked, and Meghan’s face tightened a bit.
“Still in hospital. It’ll be a while yet, they say, until she can come home.”
“But making progress?”
Meghan shrugged. “She’s trying to talk, so that’s something, but the left side of her face and body are paralyzed. They don’t know how long that will last, or if it will be permanent.” Her voice wobbled a bit at the end, and impulsively Claire leaned over and touched her arm.
“I’m so sorry, Meghan. If there’s anything I can do . . . another meal . . .”
“The macaroni and cheese was great,” Meghan said, shaking her arm off. “Thank you. But we’re fine.”
“Tell Rachel I’m thinking of her.”
Meghan gave her a rather funny look before nodding. “I will,” she said, and moved on.
Claire hadn’t seen Rachel all week, although when she’d come in from work on Thursday she could tell the house had been cleaned.
It smelled strongly of lemon polish and lavender, and the floors had seemed shinier than usual.
But other than that Claire had no idea how Rachel was coping, or if she’d want to see her again.
And she wasn’t quite brave enough yet to find out.
Even though Claire was tired, she was reluctant to pack up and trudge back to Four Gables and another evening alone.
Andrew had left several days ago, although he’d promised to come back on the weekend.
Claire was looking forward to seeing him again; now that they’d started breaking through their usual roles with Andrew as caretaker and her as supplicant, she found she enjoyed his company.
She was just reaching for the canvas holdalls she’d stuffed underneath her stall when a familiar figure loomed above her.
“Looks like you did well.”
Claire blinked up at Dan. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping you bring all this back.”
“But who’s in the shop?”
“I closed it for ten minutes. It won’t kill me.” He reached for the empty glass jars. “You put the sweets in these?”
“I wanted it to look like an old-fashioned sweet shop,” she explained, bracing herself for the expected, scornful dismissal of such a silly notion.
Dan nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea. Maybe we could use the jars in the shop.”
“Oh . . . yes, of course you could.”
“I’ll reimburse you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I will,” he stated, his tone final, and he reached for one of her bags and started loading things into it.
A few minutes later, holding several bulging bags each, they left the field and headed down the high street to the post office shop. The sun was still high above, but a slight chill had entered the air and a few dark clouds scudded across the pale blue sky.
“At least it didn’t rain,” Claire remarked as Dan unlocked the front door of the shop and then held the door for her to squeeze past him inside.
For some reason, as she was sucking in her stomach to move past him in the narrow doorway, she remembered Lucy’s kindly teasing and felt a prickly heat sweep over her.
It was utterly absurd to think of Dan that way.
For one, she was still a bit intimidated of him.
And two, he seemed like the least romantic person she had ever encountered.
She glanced at him as he took the bags into the back of the shop.
He wore his usual black T-shirt and dark jeans that emphasized his massive biceps and body like an oak tree.
His dark hair was buzzed short, his face clean-shaven and unexpressive.
She supposed he was handsome, in a massive, intimidating way. He was certainly strong.
“I’ll rinse these jars out in the kitchen first,” he called over his shoulder, and she realized she was staring.
“Okay.” She followed him back, intending to help, but the kitchen was barely big enough for both of them. Bunny scampered under the table.
“Hey, Bunny.” She crouched down to stroke the trembling dog’s silky head while Dan unloaded the jars onto the counter by the sink. “What do you think happened to her?” she asked.
“She belonged to an old lady, and when she died a relative took her and left her out on the M6.”
“Oh, that’s horrible,” Claire exclaimed.
Dan nodded grimly. “She was half her normal weight too. I could see all her ribs.”
“Do you think she’ll ever stop being afraid?”
Bunny had submitted to Claire’s gentle stroking, but she still trembled.
“In time. I’ve only had her a year.” He glanced down at the dog, his face softening. “She was loved for a long while. It hasn’t all been bad for her.”
Claire straightened, her shoulder brushing Dan’s. “It was kind of you to take her on.”
He shrugged so his shoulder brushed hers back. “I wanted company.” He turned back to the sink and started rinsing out the jars. Claire watched and then took one as he handed it to her, drying it with the dish towel that had been hanging on the stove’s rail.
They worked in silence for a few minutes and when the jars were clean and dry Dan jerked his head back towards the shop.
“We should go back in.” He’d left the door to the kitchen open so they could hear if anyone came into the shop, but even so Claire knew he didn’t like leaving it empty for long.
She followed him out of the kitchen. “What do you want me to do now?” She still had an hour left of her shift.
“I think you’ve earned a break,” Dan answered as he took his place behind the till. “You can go home.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice, and Dan glanced at her.
“Don’t you want to?”
“Well, there’s nothing much for me at home besides a lot of empty rooms with carpets I’m afraid to walk on.”
“Seriously?”
“And pillows I don’t want to crumple. My mother keeps her house very neat.”
“But your mother isn’t here, is she?”
“No, thank goodness.” Claire pretended to shudder, although she wasn’t actually sure how much she was pretending. The thought of Marie West descending on the little life she’d built here was terrifying.
“Well, you can stay if you want,” Dan said with a shrug. He sounded indifferent to the idea. “And start filling those jars with sweets, if you want something to do.”
“Okay,” Claire said, and with a ridiculous smile on her face, she headed back to his kitchen to get the jars.