Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Claire
“Can I come in?”
Claire turned to see her mother poking her head around her door.
She nodded warily. The last two days had been interminable, with all of the Wests inching round each other, speaking in staccato bursts.
Now it was Monday and Andrew was returning to Manchester and her parents were planning to go back to London.
Marie was still hoping Claire would come with them.
Marie came into the room slowly, glancing around. Quickly Claire checked that the curtains were straight, the pillows perfectly plump. Then she grimaced inwardly at the realization and deliberately sat on the bed, ruffling the smooth starchiness of the duvet.
“I need to go to work…” Although she didn’t even know if Dan was expecting her. Maybe he considered their abbreviated conversation on Saturday her notice.
“I’m sorry,” Marie said abruptly, and Claire gaped. Now, that was unexpected. “I think I made a mistake with you. A lot of mistakes.”
This was new. Claire wasn’t sure how to respond, and after a few seconds she asked carefully, “What kind of mistakes?”
With a delicate sigh Marie perched on the edge of a chair, her posture perfectly straight. “I coddled you. Protected you too much.” She paused, her gaze distant. “You know before all the trouble with your ear I was a GP?”
“Yes . . .” She’d known that in an academic sort of way, but she’d never really thought about it. Her mother had never worked outside of the home in Claire’s memory. She could not picture her in a white lab coat and stethoscope, being brisk and efficient.
“I stopped when you first became ill because you had so many hospital appointments, and it didn’t make sense to continue. But I never went back because I suppose I felt guilty.”
“Guilty?” That was one emotion Claire had never thought her mother felt.
“Yes, because I missed it, Claire.” Marie’s voice wobbled a little.
“You had ear infections constantly and you kept complaining and I missed it. The reason you’re deaf in one ear is because I didn’t have you checked out soon enough.
If I had taken you to a specialist sooner, they would have been able to remove the cholesteatoma and there would have been no damage to your ear.
” Her mother’s mouth twisted. “No deafness.”
“Anyone could have missed it, Mum.”
“They’re not usually as bad as yours was.
” Marie continued as if Claire hadn’t spoken.
“Cholesteatomas. Most children recover and regain full hearing. But not you, and that was my fault.” She sighed, her manicured fingers brushing what Claire realized was a tear from her perfectly made-up eye.
“So I went a bit overboard in protecting you. Keeping you off school and such. Trying to shield you from everything. From life.”
And obsessing over every part of her life. Making her the career she’d given up, yet clearly missing what she’d had. For the first time it occurred to Claire that maybe she wasn’t the sole cause of her mother’s disappointment.
“I wish I’d known that before,” she said.
“Perhaps I should have told you.” Marie uncrossed her legs and rose from the chair. Their heart-to-heart, such as it had been, was clearly over. “So. You’re not really thinking of staying here, are you, Claire?”
Claire nearly laughed. Had her mother actually been trying to guilt her into going, by telling her that little sob story? Or did she simply have no other way to operate? It felt freeing, in a weird way, to be back on familiar ground.
“I’m not just thinking of it, Mum,” she said. “I’m doing it.” And for once she felt completely sure not just of what she was doing, but of herself.
Her parents left that afternoon, in a cloud of Chanel and martyred disappointment. Claire had some more sympathy for her mother now that she understood more about what had happened, but not that much. She wasn’t going to live her life for her parents any longer.
And now she had to have a few hard conversations. The first one, she thought, might actually be satisfying.
Hugh picked up on the second ring. “Claire?” He sounded surprised and impatient and annoyed all at once. Claire smiled.
“Hello, Hugh.”
Silence, save for the sound of him breathing through his nose. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“I know. Although I thought you might want your ring back.”
“Claire—”
“Shall I post it? You should use it again, Hugh. I’m sure you can find another appropriate socialite for a wife.” She spoke without bitterness, almost lightly, and Hugh let out an impatient sigh.
“Look, clearly we need to talk. I wanted to give you some time. . . .”
“You’re not asking me to come back, are you?” Hugh was silent, and Claire laughed. “I thought not. I embarrassed you too badly. And we never had much in common, anyway. You didn’t love me, and I didn’t love you.”
Hugh was silent for a long moment. “You sound different,” he finally said.
“I am different,” Claire answered. “I’m trying to be, and I’m succeeding.” Her voice came out strong, strident. “We both know it’s over, Hugh. Thank God the disaster has been averted. I’ll send you your ring.”
“Make sure it’s insured—”
She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in years. “Oh, Hugh. I can’t believe I ever said yes to you.” And then, smiling, she disconnected the call.
Next she tackled Dan. The door to the post office shop banged behind her on a gust of wind, just as it had on that first day. He looked up from the till, surprise or maybe even suspicion narrowing his eyes.
“I thought you were going to London.”
“I didn’t say I was going, did I?” He shrugged, and Claire planted her hands on her hips. “Do you want me to go?”
“It doesn’t much matter to me.”
“Ouch.” For a few seconds Claire absorbed the sting of his indifference.
“After nearly three months here, that hurts a bit, you know.” Dan just shrugged again.
“You know you’re really difficult, don’t you?
” Dan simply stared at her. “You’re a real .
. .” She struggled to find a word. “Jerk.” He blinked.
“I liked you,” Claire burst out. “A lot. I thought you liked me.”
“Why did you like me if you thought I was a jerk?”
“I told you before.”
“Because I have a rescue dog?” He sounded scoffing.
“Because I thought underneath that tough silent thing you’ve got going you were soft.
And sensitive.” Dan let out a rasp of sound that Claire realized was a laugh.
Suddenly she felt ridiculous. “Have I got it completely wrong?” she asked quietly.
“Tell me the truth, Dan.” She took a deep breath.
“I liked you. I like you, present tense. I want to stay in Hartley-by-the-Sea. I want to keep working in this shop. I want to become a postal assistant. Seriously. I’m happy here.
Or I was, until you practically shoved me out the door. ”
Dan was silent. As usual, Claire couldn’t tell anything from his expression. “You seemed like you had one foot out of it already,” he said.
“I was waiting for you to tell me to stay.”
Dan shook his head. “You need to make your own decisions, Claire.”
“I know, which is why I’m here now. I was waiting for everyone to tell me what to do, to rescue me, but I’m not waiting anymore. I told my parents I’m staying. I’m telling you I’m staying, if I still have my job.”
“You do.”
The shop was quiet all around them, the only sound the nervous click of Bunny’s nails on the tile floor of the kitchen.
Claire took a couple of steps towards him so she stood in front of the till.
She laid her hands flat on the counter. “So how much do you like me?” she asked, and then held her breath.
Dan didn’t answer for a long moment. Finally, his voice low and raspy, he confessed, “This isn’t easy for me, Claire.”
Her heart bumped in her chest. “Because of . . . because of your ex-wife?” He nodded, and suddenly Claire wasn’t nervous anymore. Suddenly she knew exactly what to do. “It’s easy for me,” she said, and standing on her tiptoes, she leaned across the counter and brushed her lips across Dan’s.
He stilled beneath her touch, and her nervousness came rushing back. What if she’d made a horrible, humiliating mistake? But his lips were so soft, and she wanted to feel them again, and more this time.
Still she waited, uncertain, and then his hands came up to grip her shoulders with a gentleness that hinted at his incredible strength and restraint, and he deepened the kiss. A few seconds—or perhaps it was minutes—later, the door creaked open and someone cleared her throat with loud deliberation.
“I don’t suppose the newspapers have arrived?” Eleanor Carwell asked. “Because this might make the front page of the Westmoreland Gazette.”
She had one more conversation to have, and Claire hoped this one wouldn’t be so hard. But maybe it would be harder, because she should have had it twenty years ago.
Claire stood in front of Rachel’s house, summoning the strength to knock on the door.
It was early evening, the sky a pale blue, the breeze surprisingly warm.
Summer finally seemed poised to arrive, and in the distance Claire could see the twinkle of the sea, hear the laughter of children making use of the long, light evenings.
Gazing around her, Claire realized Hartley-by-the-Sea had finally become home, the home she’d never felt she’d had growing up. She liked it here.
Rachel was home. Claire could see her car with its Campbell Cleaners logo parked on the street.
The net curtains in the house next to Rachel’s twitched, and Claire knew she needed to stop standing there like a stalker.
Resolutely she walked up to the front door and knocked. A few minutes later the door opened and Rachel stood there; she looked unimpressed to see Claire.
“What—”
“Will you come with me for a minute?” Claire blurted. An idea had taken hold, a ridiculous, over-the-top idea that she knew she wanted to see through.
Rachel’s gaze narrowed. “Come with you? Where?”