Rainy Day Sisters (14 page)

“You talked to my father about this?” Bella asked in a suffocated whisper, her gaze on the ground.

“A little,” Lucy admitted. “He wants to help you—”

“Yeah,
right
.” She looked away, hugging herself all the more tightly.

“We don't need to bring your father into this right now,” Lucy said after a moment. “The important thing is to get you suited up as soon as possible.”

“Suited up?”

Lucy stepped closer so no one could hear, even though there wasn't anybody nearby. “You need a bra,” she said quietly. “I can take you shopping tomorrow.”

Bella closed her eyes, her face going bright red. A tear squeezed out of her eye and she dashed it away furiously.

“Look, I know this is embarrassing,” Lucy said calmly. “I get it. I had to ask my mother to buy me a bra and that was the trip from hell, let me tell you. She spoke in this super-loud voice the whole time, about womanhood and my—I'm not kidding you—buds of femininity, and I just wanted to disappear.” Bella let out a choked laugh, her eyes still closed. “I promise I won't do that. This will be a very discreet trip.”

“I can't believe we're talking about this,” she muttered.

“I'm talking,” Lucy pointed out. “I'm monologuing here. But no worries. You can meet me here at the school at one, okay? And we'll take a trip into Whitehaven.”

Bella didn't say anything for a long moment and Lucy waited, knowing the girl needed to process this very unexpected conversation.
She
had to process it. Finally Bella gave a tiny nod, her gaze averted.

“That's sorted, then,” Lucy said cheerfully. She stepped back, relieved that at least one hurdle had been cleared. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Bella didn't answer, and with one last reassuring smile Lucy turned and walked back into school.

Juliet

JULIET COULDN'T SEEM TO
settle to anything. She tidied up after the Scottish lads, who had left that morning with their rucksacks and walking sticks, and then did a load of laundry and weeded the front flower beds. She walked the dogs, updated the Tarn House Web site, and renewed her advertisement in the back of
Cumbria Life
. And all the while her mind flitted restlessly from this to that, from her conversation with Peter to her laugh with Lucy to poor, motherless Bella Kincaid.

She felt an unexpected kinship with Bella; she'd been virtually motherless too, although Juliet didn't know which was worse: having your mother die or having her hate you.

She was glad when Rachel came by after lunch to clean the bathrooms; Juliet needed to be diverted from her own circling thoughts. Rachel was always like a breath of clean, cool air breezing through the house, as brisk and practical as Juliet yet without being prissy or remote.

“
Someone
doesn't lift the lid when he goes for a wee,” she announced as she came downstairs. “Who was staying in the blue room? I practically needed a hazmat suit for the en suite.”

Juliet gave a half grimace, half smile. “You're a saint.”

“Saint of the toilet plunger,” Rachel agreed, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

She was just collecting her mop and pail of cleaning supplies when Juliet asked, “Fancy a cuppa?”

“I wouldn't say no,” Rachel answered, and left her things in the front hall before following Juliet back to the kitchen. “So, how's the half sister these days? You rubbing along together?”

“Her name is Lucy,” Juliet reminded Rachel as she filled the kettle. “And rubbing along together is about right. We're not going to be best mates, by any stretch.”

“I don't know any sisters who are,” Rachel answered.

“Don't you? I feel like plenty of sisters shop and do each other's nails and hair—” Juliet broke off with a self-conscious laugh as she caught sight of Rachel's eloquently disbelieving look. “What, you're not painting Lily's nails?”

“Hardly. I'm usually reading her the riot act about working towards her A levels. She wants to drop biology after this year and I've told her she can't.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Rachel answered with surprising force, “I want her to get somewhere in life, and I'm sorry, but a BTEC in media studies is not going to do it.”

Juliet was silent, surprised by this bit of academic snobbery from Rachel. Plenty of people did fine with BTECs, herself included. “Is she even interested in biology?” she asked, and Rachel rolled her eyes.

“Don't you start, as well. The point is, she needs decent A levels to get into a decent university—” She broke off, her expression hardening. “So many people take it for granted. University's an
assumption
—”

“Loads of people don't go to university and are fine,” Juliet answered mildly. It felt good to be talking about someone else's issues instead of dwelling on her own. “Myself included.”

“You?” Rachel looked surprised, and then discomfited. “I thought . . .”

“I dropped out after the first year. Wasn't for me. And maybe it's not for Lily.”

Rachel shook her head, fierce again. “Lily
will
go to university. She'll be the first person in our family to get a degree.” She held up a hand. “And I'm not going to argue with you or anyone about it, Juliet.”

Juliet was saved from replying by the sound of the door opening, and then Lucy coming into the kitchen. Rachel eyed her with undisguised interest; they hadn't met yet, and Juliet could see her examining Lucy's colorful outfit—a dress in sky-blue corduroy that resembled a bright potato sack, matched with green tights and chunky ankle boots. At least the shoes were sensible, more or less.

“Rachel, this is my sister, Lucy. Lucy, Rachel,” Juliet said briskly. “Rachel helps out with the laundry and cleaning.” She was determined to keep this normal, and to keep Rachel from asking Lucy any awkward questions about their relationship.

“So you're Lucy,” Rachel said, and Juliet suppressed a groan.

“And you're Rachel,” Lucy answered lightly. “Although I can't say Juliet said anything about you to me.” She glanced at Juliet, her expression both curious and guarded. “But you obviously know who I am.”

“Juliet mentioned you were coming to stay,” Rachel told her. “And not much escapes notice in this village. How are you finding Hartley-by-the-Sea?”

“Friendly,” Lucy answered, her tone cautious. “For the most part.”

Friendly, save for the half sister who didn't want her here? Juliet remembered laughing with Lucy last night and she decided to make more of an effort, although whether it was to prove to Lucy, Rachel, or simply herself that they could get along, she wasn't sure. “How did you get on today with the big discussion?”

“What big discussion?” Rachel asked, and Lucy shot Juliet another one of those looks she couldn't quite decipher. Was her sister angry or annoyed or hurt? Something fairly negative, at any rate.

“You don't mind if Rachel knows,” she told Lucy. “She can keep a secret.”

“Ooh, this all sounds quite interesting,” Rachel said, propping her feet on another chair and taking a sip of tea. “Tell all.”

“Alex Kincaid's daughter Bella needs a bra,” Juliet stated. “And Lucy was the one to inform him of the fact.” She glanced back at Lucy. “You did talk to him, didn't you?”

“Yes.” Lucy poured herself a cup of tea from the big blue pot and joined them at the table. She seemed to have relaxed a bit. “Most awkward conversation
ever
.”

“Talking to Alex Kincaid about bras?” Rachel snickered. “But he is a hottie.”

“Which made it even more awkward,” Lucy answered. She leaned her head back against the chair. “But the kicker is, he asked me to go with Bella to buy her the bra.”

Rachel's mouth dropped and Juliet shook her head. “He did not!”

“He did.”

“That's hardly in your job description,” Rachel said, and Lucy sighed.

“I'm doing it as a favor.”

“What a chicken he is,” Rachel said, seeming to luxuriate in this statement. “I bought my sister Lily her first bra. It's not that bad.” There was a moment's silence, and Juliet wondered what Lucy was thinking, if she wished her big sister had been around to buy her bras and tell her about getting your period. By the time Lucy had hit puberty, Juliet had been out of her life for six years.

“My mother bought me my bra and it was awful,” Lucy said after a moment. “She kept speechifying about how I was entering the realm of womanhood, a flower with buds of femininity.”

Rachel let out a crack of laughter and even Juliet managed a smile. When she'd needed a bra or anything at that age, Fiona had given her some money and dropped her off at the Meadowhall Centre in Sheffield. She'd shopped for herself, and Fiona hadn't even asked about her purchases. But at least there had been money then; before Fiona had made it as an artist, when they'd been living in a council flat and eating beans on toast nearly every night, Juliet hadn't had new clothes at all. A kindly neighbor had passed on her daughter's well-worn hand-me-downs, which Juliet had accepted gratefully. Fiona had neither noticed nor cared.

But now Juliet decided she was glad she'd bought a bra for herself at age twelve rather than Fiona posturing so ridiculously, using everything in her life to make some kind of cultural or political point.

Although would she have preferred it when she was twelve, or would she have rather Fiona shown an interest in her, any interest, even if it was just to throw yet more attention onto herself?

That was a question Juliet couldn't answer.

“So when will you take her?” Rachel asked Lucy.

“Tomorrow. She's suspended from school at the moment, so we'll go during the day. Alex is even giving me time off work, fully paid.”

“He really is desperate,” Rachel remarked.

“I think he is,” Lucy answered quietly. “It's got to be very tough, raising two daughters on your own.”

Had their mother had it tough? Juliet had never spared a single moment of sympathy for Fiona, and she wouldn't now. She'd ignored her first daughter and chosen to have the second on her own. She'd deserved whatever difficulties she'd encountered.

“Good thing he's got you, then,” Rachel told Lucy cheerfully. “Although God only knows what he's going to ask you to do next.”

Lucy blushed at that, and Juliet wondered just what her half sister felt for her boss.

A knock sounded at the back door, and all three women turned to gaze at the blurred figure standing behind the pane of glass. Juliet felt her insides lurch as she recognized that still, solid form, the untidy shock of brown hair. Peter.

“What on earth . . . ?” she murmured, and felt herself blushing just as Lucy had as she went to answer the door.

“Afternoon, Juliet.” Peter stood there, a potted miniature rosebush in his hands. He held it out to Juliet, who stared at it. “For you. To make up for the one that got et.”

“It was just a few petals,” Juliet muttered. Her face felt fiery. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually blushed.

“Peter,” Rachel called, and Juliet heard a gleeful interest in her friend's voice. “Why don't you come in and put your feet up for a bit? We're all having a cuppa.”

Peter glanced at Lucy and Rachel sitting at the table, both of them staring at him rather avidly, and gave a slow smile. “Don't mind if I do,” he said, and stepped around Juliet. He put the rosebush on the counter. Rachel poured him a cup of tea, while Juliet simply stood there, like a lemon.

“You must be Lucy,” he said with a nod for her sister, and Lucy looked slightly startled that he knew her name.

“Yes . . .”

“Peter's a neighbor,” Juliet explained stiffly. “And everyone knows everything in this village, anyway.” She sounded almost spiteful, and there was a moment's awkward silence before Rachel broke it.

“Sheep getting out, then?” she asked as she loaded Peter's tea with milk and sugar. “Wandering into Juliet's garden?”

“Just the one,” Juliet said. She whisked the rosebush off the counter and put it on the windowsill, simply to have something to do. “Really, Peter, you didn't have to go to such trouble.”

“It wasn't any trouble,” Peter answered. Even though her back was to them, Juliet could feel Lucy's and Rachel's speculative looks. This was awful, and yet she realized she didn't feel angry or annoyed. Discomfited, yes, definitely. But also . . . elated.

“So who's going to the pub for quiz night?” Rachel asked, gazing at each of them in turn. “Lucy? You fancy giving it a whirl? You'd trump everyone on any American questions.”

“I don't know about that,” Lucy said. “American reality TV shows, maybe. What's a pub quiz?”

“Exactly what it says on the tin,” Rachel answered, which earned her another blank look from Lucy. “You go to the pub, have a pint or a glass of wine, and answer twenty questions. You work in teams of four, and the winner gets a free bottle of plonk.”

“Plonk . . .”

“Wine!” Rachel shook her head, laughing. “I thought you were British.”

“I left this country when I was six. Plonk and pub quizzes were not part of my childhood vocabulary.”

“Well, you need to get up to speed, then. It's Thursday night. Juliet?” Rachel turned to her, and Juliet could tell she was on a mission. “You'll come with Lucy.” It was not a question.

Everything in Juliet both yearned and resisted. She'd lived in Hartley-by-the-Sea for ten years and she'd never gone to a pub quiz. She'd barely gone to the pub, except after a parish council meeting, when everyone had gone out for a pint, and she had shyly, tentatively joined them, staying silent.

“We've got a team right here,” Peter said. “The four of us, unless you're already on a team, Rachel?”

“They can do without me,” Rachel answered airily. She glanced around at everyone, smiling with beady determination. “So it's settled.”

Peter smiled back, slow and easy. “I guess it is.”

Juliet gave a little shake of her head, incredulous at how quickly it had all been managed. She sneaked a glance at Peter, discomfited all over again at how natural he looked, sitting there in her kitchen, one of her pottery mugs cradled between his big hands. He wore dirty, faded jeans and an Aran jumper with a frayed hem and holes in both elbows. His fingernails were rimed with black dirt, as any farmer's were, and there were deep creases by his eyes from spending a life in wind and rain, as well as the occasional bout of sunshine.

He met her gaze, and Juliet realized she'd been staring at him. Worse, she could tell he'd noticed. He gave her a very slight smile, and she could see knowledge and understanding and a touch of humor in his eyes, and quickly she turned away, moving the rosebush from the windowsill to the counter again, just because.