Rainy Day Sisters (19 page)

“You areet, then?” Peter asked as they came up to Tarn House, and Juliet whirled around to face him.

“I'm very much
areet
, Peter,” she snapped. “I'm fine. I had a paltry couple of glasses of wine and everyone's acting as if I'm three sheets to the wind!”

Her voice, Juliet realized distantly, was ringing out so loudly it was echoing through the empty street.

Peter gave her a small smile. “I was just saying good-bye,” he said mildly, and belatedly Juliet recalled how Cumbrians greeted one another—“you areet” was “hello,” “good-bye,” and “how are you?” all rolled into one. She knew that. Of course she knew that. She'd been living here for
dick
years, after all.

“Well, good-bye, then,” she said, rather ungraciously, and turned to go into Tarn House. Lucy followed her, closing the door behind her, and Juliet sank onto the bottom stair, her stomach lurching.

“Juliet?” Lucy dropped the keys on the hall table. “I'll ask it for real, this time. Are you all right?”

“No,” Juliet half moaned, her face buried in her hands. “I think, to use the Cumbrian word, I might bowk.”

“I think I can guess what that means,” Lucy said. “Do you want me to get a bowl, or can you make it to the toilet?”

Juliet took a deep, shuddering breath. She could feel cold sweat prickling on the nape of her neck and between her shoulder blades, and her stomach lurched again, and then thankfully settled. A little. “No,” she said. “I'm all right.”

Lucy sat down next to her on the stairs. “I think you mean areet.”

“Oh, hell.” Juliet shuddered again. “I was terribly rude to him, wasn't I?”

“Honestly? No more than you usually are.”

She let out a laugh then that subsided into a groan. “I'm sorry,” she said after a moment, knowing she would never say this if she weren't drunk. “I'm sorry I'm such a bitch.”

“Oh, Juliet.” Lucy's voice was soft with sadness and Juliet felt her sister put her arm, rather awkwardly, around her shoulders. “You're not a bitch.”

“I'm not a very nice person.”

“Not a
very
nice person, no,” Lucy agreed after a moment, and Juliet couldn't tell if she was teasing. “But reasonably nice, yes.”

Juliet dropped her hands from her face and pressed her forehead to her knees. “I've been living in Hartley-by-the-Sea for ten years,” she said, “and I've never gone to a pub quiz.”

Lucy was silent for a moment. “Why do you think that is?” she asked eventually.

“Isn't it obvious? Because I don't have friends. I can't make friends.”

“You have friends, Juliet. Rachel and Peter—”

“I'd barely call them friends—”

“Well, what would you call them, then?” Lucy asked in exasperation. “They certainly seem like friends to me. And maybe Peter could be even more than a friend—”

“Don't,” Juliet said sharply. “
Don't.
There's nothing between us, and there never will be.”

“And why is that?”

“Just because you're having some little thing with Alex doesn't mean—”

Lucy's jaw dropped. “I'm not having some little
thing
with Alex!”

Juliet narrowed her eyes, although that made her vision even blurrier. “Just where were you last night, then, not coming home until nine o'clock?”

“Oh, nine o'clock,” Lucy retorted, throwing up her hands. “Such a shocking hour.”

“In Hartley-by-the-Sea it is.”

“We had dinner,” Lucy said, dropping her hands. “With Bella and Poppy. That's all.”

“That's all? It's more than I've ever had.” And once again she was sounding jealous and bitter. What a
shrew
she was. Wearily she rose from the stairs. “I'm going to bed. I have to get up early for breakfast. The Seatons want to be out of here by seven o'clock.”

“I'll make breakfast,” Lucy offered, and Juliet swung around to stare at her. “Seriously. I have to be up early anyway, and you can sleep in. Sleep it off.”

“I'm
not
drunk.”

“Whatever you say, Juliet,” Lucy said with a smile, and headed upstairs. Juliet didn't bother answering.

Lucy

TRUE TO HER WORD,
Lucy got up early to make breakfast for the retired couple while Juliet slept in. The bacon was a bit blackened in parts and the eggs were runny, but at least the coffee was good. Lucy drank a mug of it while the couple gathered their things to conquer Scafell Pike; she'd gotten used to the ebb and flow of B&B life, with walkers coming and going most days. Juliet kept a calendar on the kitchen wall of arrivals and departures, and Lucy saw that a large crowd was expected on the weekend, four couples. They would be fully booked both Friday and Saturday nights.

They
, not just Juliet. Was she naive or fanciful in thinking that there was a
they
, that she and Juliet were on their way to becoming real sisters, and not just strangers linked by the genes of a woman neither of them actually liked?

She put her mug in the dishwasher, left the pans to soak, and made sure the kitchen was as tidy as she could leave it. Then she headed out into a rather bleak, gray morning, a chill wind funneling down the high street and making Lucy go back inside for her winter coat. To think it was only mid-September.

As she headed up the street, she felt that expectant fizz in her stomach at the prospect of seeing Alex again. He'd been away from school all day yesterday at a head teachers' conference in Barrow, but Lucy hoped that things might have changed a bit between them since their dinner.

Not that anything had actually
happened
during their dinner, even if her hormones had started doing a happy dance when they'd sat on a sofa together. And not as if Alex would ever act anything but professional in the workplace, but . . .

Was it too much to expect some banter, a bit of loitering by her desk, a casual invitation to the pub, just the two of them?

Apparently it was.

By midmorning she could say Alex's attitude had thawed a little, but he was as stern looking as ever, and hadn't even made the most offhand of references to their dinner together.

Weren't they friends now?

She wasn't the only one who thought so, for a few days after Lucy had had dinner with Alex and his family, Diana stopped by the reception desk before school, leaning towards Lucy confidingly.

“So, give me the crack.”

“The crack?” Lucy repeated blankly, and Diana grinned.

“West Cumbrian for gossip.”

“And here I was thinking you meant drugs,” Lucy joked, but Diana shook her head, impatient now to get down to whatever the
crack
really was.

“Someone told me you were leaving Mr. Kincaid's house at
nine o'clock at night
.” She spoke in a mock-scandalized tone, but Lucy could tell she was curious.

“Oh—that. It was nothing, really.” And right on cue, she started blushing as if she were hiding something, which, unfortunately, she wasn't.

“Nothing? I don't think Mr. Kincaid has had anyone into his house, ever. And you've been here all of two minutes?”

“Three weeks since the start of term, actually. I just did a favor for him, that's all.” In case Diana decided to read some sexual innuendo into that, Lucy clarified hastily, “A bit of—ah, business for Bella, his daughter. No big deal, honestly.”

“What kind of business?” Diana asked, and Lucy just about kept herself from retorting,
Not yours.
This, she supposed, was the downside of village life.

“Who told you, anyway?” she asked.

“Mrs. Henshaw lives across from Mr. Kincaid. She plays bridge with my neighbor on a Tuesday.”

“Ah.”

With a theatrical sigh Diana pushed herself off the counter. “I can see you're not going to tell me anything juicy.”

“I would if there was anything juicy to tell,” Lucy answered lightly, and Diana pursed her lips, her eyes glinting.

“You have to admit that our head teacher is just a little bit gorgeous,” she said in a stage whisper, and Lucy gave a noncommittal shrug. “
And
single.”

“He's been recently widowed,” Lucy pointed out, and Diana shook her head.

“Nearly two years ago. And he has two motherless daughters. He's ready to jump back in the dating pool, I should think.”

Lucy just shrugged again. She could see the top of Alex's head as he worked at his desk and she cringed inwardly at the thought of him hearing any part of this conversation.

“He
is
hard to get to know,” Diana allowed. “And he's kind of distant from most of his staff. But you're not really staff, are you? Being temporary, I mean.” She leaned forward again, eyes dancing. “You could have a Cumbrian
fling
.”

“It sounds like some kind of dance,” Lucy joked.

“All I can say is I wish I were young and single with a handsome head teacher to obsess about.” She spoke lightly, but Lucy sensed something else going on.

“How are things in Manchester?” she asked.

Diana made a face. “Oh, things are
grand
in Manchester,” she said, a note of bitterness creeping into her voice. “So grand my husband is thinking of buying his own one-bedroom flat.”

“Where was he before?”

“He's been staying in a short-term let. I know buying a place makes sense financially. He's in real estate, after all. But . . .” She trailed off, and Lucy waited. “He said he'd look for a job back here after six months,” Diana finally said quietly. “He said he'd
try
.”

“I'm sorry,” Lucy said, wishing she could say something more helpful, and Diana gave a little shrug.

“You can't make someone want something, can you?”

“Unfortunately not.” She'd certainly tried that tactic, unsuccessfully, with Thomas. With a sigh Diana moved on and Lucy turned back to her computer.

She wondered how Diana and Andrew would resolve their separate lives, and then how quickly the
crack
got around in a village as small as Hartley-by-the-Sea. Was anyone asking Alex what he'd been doing, having his temporary receptionist over at his house in the evening? Juliet had clearly wondered the same, although she hadn't mentioned Alex or anything in the last few days. They'd gone back to truce status, minus some of the tension, or so Lucy hoped. Juliet had been busy with guests and Lucy had been busy with school, and neither of them had been inclined, it seemed, to have a heart-to-heart conversation.

As for Alex . . . she might be having a few harmless daydreams about him liking her, flirting with her, but she didn't want anyone else thinking that way. She was leaving in four months, first of all. Just a little over three now, actually. More importantly, she didn't want to embroil herself in a family where she wasn't sure she was wanted. Bella had been hostile enough, certainly. Poppy could change her mind in a moment. And Alex . . . who knew what Alex really thought or felt?

The next man she dated would be child free, with no emotional baggage whatsoever.

Several days later Alex appeared in the doorway of the reception area during recess. It was a lovely, warm day in late September, with sunny skies gilding the fells in gold and a gentle breeze ruffling the sea, which twinkled in the distance. From her open window Lucy could hear the shouts and laughter of the children in the school yard.

“Do you have a minute?”

She looked up, her heart seeming to slam against her ribs at just the sight of Alex. His dark hair was a little mussed, as if he'd unthinkingly run his hand through it. His eyes looked even bluer in the sunshine.

“If the boss says I do, then I suppose I do.” She pushed away from her desk. “What's up?”

“I just wanted to float an idea by you.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

He gestured to the stairs that led to the school hall and the rest of the classrooms. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Lucy followed him through the hall, now with all the chairs pushed back as the dinner ladies cleaned up after lunch, and then down a narrow hallway into the newer part of the building.

The school was still a bit of a maze to Lucy; the original building was Victorian, but there had been various additions built over the years that meant you had to go through one classroom to get to another, and a hallway might dead-end against a newer wall.

Alex walked with quick assurance, weaving through empty hallways and classrooms before he stopped in front of a door. “This is our old resource room,” he explained. “We acquired a new computer room in the latest renovation, so this room is a bit redundant.” He opened the door and ushered her in. It was a long, narrow room in the older part of the building, with a table in the middle and an old stone sink in the corner. A couple of flimsy cupboards of prefabricated wood lined one wall. “Who knows what it was a hundred years ago?” Alex said with a small smile. “Maybe part of the kitchens.”

“Mmm.” Lucy glanced around, trying to summon an expression of interest in the empty room when she had no idea why Alex had brought her here.

“The thing is,” he began, and to her amazement he actually sounded a little nervous, “we don't have any specialist teachers. No budget for them, I'm afraid.”

“Specialist?”

“You know, things like PE, French, music.” He paused, his gaze resting meaningfully on her. “Art.”

“Art—”

“The teachers have to do it all themselves, and frankly some of them have trouble with it. It's all right for something like PE, when all you have to do is grab a ball and head outside. But music and art require a little knowledge, a little skill.”

“I suppose . . .”

“You have both, Lucy. And you're good with children.”

“No, I'm not—”

“You are,” he insisted. “I've seen you when one of them gets a bumped head or a scraped knee. They like you. People like you.”

Yes, but they don't love me.
Thankfully those words didn't pop out. She had an easy time making friends; it was the more important people that she failed to win over..

“So what are you suggesting?” she asked warily.

“If you wanted, and only if you wanted, you could teach an art lesson once a week, just to the older pupils to start. We could add some lessons for younger children if it seemed to be working.”

“And who will be on reception when I'm teaching?” Lucy asked. It seemed easier to focus on the practical; she had no idea how she felt about what Alex was suggesting. Terror was the word that came to mind first.

“We'll manage. It would only be forty minutes, after all. I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of supplies, but we could most likely rustle up some paint and pots, or felt-tips, or whatever you think you need. And I couldn't pay you any more than you're already being paid—the budget is tight.”

“I don't want more money,” Lucy protested. She wasn't even sure she wanted to teach.

“I know you don't. And if you don't want to teach, that's fine. I just thought it might be a way for you to get back into art a little, without your mother breathing down your neck.”

“That's . . .” She blinked, so touched by his thoughtfulness that for a moment it was difficult to speak. In the month since she'd been in Hartley-by-the-Sea, she'd
thought
about painting, when she'd seen the light looking syrupy and golden, or when the blackberry bushes along the beach road had begun to drip jewellike berries. But she'd never been tempted to put pencil to paper, or even to go into the little art and crafts store she'd seen in Whitehaven and browse there. “That's very kind. But I'm really not sure, Alex. I've never taught before, and children, frankly, scare me a little.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Bella didn't scare you.”

“No, she terrified me. Seriously. I'm not sure I'd be good at it. And you don't even know if I'm any good at art. Have you even seen one of my paintings?” She'd meant it rhetorically, but Alex took it at face value.

“Yes, I looked one up online.”

“Oh.” She flushed, because if he'd seen it online, he'd also seen some of the awful blogs and gossip sites, the thousands of comments trashing her and her art. “Well.”

“I liked it,” Alex said. “It might not get everyone worked up, talking about how cutting-edge it is, but it was pretty.”

Pretty.
She smiled, a shaky thing. “Well. Thank you.”

“So you'll think about it?”

“I . . . I don't know.” The thought of trying something new, something that could actually matter to her, and failing was terrifying. As terrifying as the children she'd be forced to face. “Maybe.”

“That's enough for me,” Alex answered.

Apparently, though, it wasn't enough for Liz Benson, the Year Six teacher, who marched up to Lucy as she was getting ready to go home. “So, I hear you're dragging your feet over this art business,” she announced with a beady stare, hands planted on her ample hips. “And I'm here to tell you that's nonsense.”