Rainy Day Sisters (24 page)

“You didn't have to do that,” Alex said, and Lucy forced a smile.

“I know.”

Then Poppy hurled herself at Lucy, wrapping her arms around Lucy's waist. “Thank you,” she mumbled, her face pressed against Lucy's middle, and Lucy's arms came awkwardly around the girl.

She glanced up from Poppy's head still pressed to her stomach to see both Alex and Bella watching them, their expressions unreadable. Then Bella turned abruptly away and Alex smiled.

“Shall we have a look at all the food stalls?” he asked.

Lucy quickly caught up Poppy's hoodie full of apples before they spilled again. They all walked along the market square, looking at the food stalls and different exhibits for a while, and Lucy was glad to relax a little. Maybe she needed to stop obsessing over every little action and just enjoy the day, accept whatever it brought. Easier said than done, of course, but she'd try.

A man with a megaphone blared right next to them. “Last chance to enter the greasy pole competition! Winner gets a whole leg of lamb!”

“Daddy—,” Poppy began, and Alex shook his head firmly.

“You've got to be kidding me, Poppy. There's no way I'm doing that.”

Lucy glanced in bemusement at the greased pole that was festooned with ribbons and had, amazingly, a leg of lamb perched on the top for the lucky—and greasy—winner.

“You sure you don't want to try?” she teased, and Alex emphatically shook his head.

“I think you should, Dad,” Bella suddenly said, her eyes glinting a challenge. “You're pretty strong, for an old guy. I reckon you could manage it.”

“Thanks, Bella,” Alex answered dryly, “but this old guy intends to stay with his feet planted firmly on the ground.”

“Of course you won't even try,” Bella said, her face tightening as she looked away. Watching the exchange, Lucy had the feeling that Bella had been challenging her father for more than just amusement's sake. Did she want Alex to prove himself somehow?

“Maybe you should, Alex,” Lucy said, and he stared at her in amazement.

“Are you having me on? It's practically impossible, and frankly I have no desire to be covered in grease—”

“Don't be such a prig.”

“A
prig
—”

“I think you should try.”

“Last chance,” the man with the megaphone reminded them. Lucy nodded towards Bella, who had hunched her shoulders and was looking away.

Alex's gaze narrowed. “You really want me to climb a greasy pole for my daughter's sake?” he said in a low voice that only Lucy could hear. “I'd rather buy her a bra.”

“How about you do both?”

“Competition starts in two minutes, mate,” the man said, and Alex heaved a resigned sigh.

“All right, fine, I'll do it.”

Bella turned around, her face lighting up with amazement. “You will?”

“I didn't say I'd
win
,” Alex told them, and Poppy clapped her hands.

“Oh, but you will, Daddy! You've got to.” She turned to Lucy with a confiding air. “I love lamb.”

Lucy watched as Alex peeled off his sweater, revealing a brief, tantalizing glimpse of his toned abs before he yanked his T-shirt down. He tossed his sweater to Bella, who caught it with a small smile.

“The things I do for you,” he said with an answering smile and a shake of his head. “If I win, we'll be eating lamb for a month.”

“I like lamb too,” Bella offered, clutching her father's sweater to her chest. Lucy smiled even as she remained slightly apart, sensing that this was between Alex and his daughters. Who knew what was going on in their hearts and minds, but somehow climbing a greased pole had become bigger than any prize that might be perched at the top. It was about showing his daughters that he loved them, that he'd do anything for them.

Even look ridiculous and get really dirty.

The competition began, and half a dozen brawny-looking lads managed to shimmy halfway up and snag one of the ribbons before they slid down, good-natured and covered in grease.

Alex gave Lucy a dark look. “I'm going to get filthy.”

“You can shower when you get home.”

Finally it was Alex's turn. Bella and Poppy waited, their breath held, their hands clasped in front of them, as Alex started up the pole. It was clearly a lot harder than he'd anticipated, because he started sliding down almost immediately.

Lucy's breath caught in her throat. It was stupid, she knew; it didn't really mean anything, and yet . . . she wanted him to win. The girls wanted him to win.

Wrapping his arms more tightly around the pole, Alex started to shimmy up again. His biceps bulged impressively and Lucy spared a second's thought for how utterly fit Alex Kincaid really was.

“You can do it, Daddy!” Poppy screeched in excitement, and, startled, Alex slid down half a foot before he managed to stop himself. He was past the halfway mark now and people had started to cheer him on, Poppy and then even Bella, loudest of all.

Lucy realized she was cheering too, and as Alex loomed closer to the top of the pole and the leg of lamb, she started screaming as loudly as the girls, all of them jumping up and down, caught up in the moment.

Alex spared them a glance, which cost him another foot, and then he made one last herculean effort and lunged upwards again, one hand outstretched as he grabbed the leg of lamb.

It must have been heavier than he thought, for it wobbled alarmingly and people jumped back in case it fell on their heads. Alex brought it to his body like a football, lost his grip on the pole, and came sliding down in a greasy rush as his daughters broke out into cheers.

“Your prize, my lady,” Alex said, and with a mock bow he handed the lamb to Bella. She took it with a surprised, shy smile.

“You were great, Dad,” she said quietly, and the sight of Alex's answering smile nearly burst—or broke—Lucy's heart. Either way it overflowed with emotion, and she turned away so they wouldn't see how affected she was, when she had no right to be.

This was their moment, their time, not hers.

She wasn't part of it.

Juliet

THE MORNING OF THE
Crab Fair Juliet woke early and left with the dogs; she and Lucy had been tiptoeing around each other since her awful almost-breakdown a few days ago, and she had no desire to sit silent and glum while Lucy got ready for her big day out.

Lucy had played down the invitation, of course, claiming she was going only for Poppy's sake, but Juliet knew better. She could see the sparkle in her sister's eye. It would have gotten on her nerves if her misery wasn't weighing her down so much.

She'd pulled herself back from the brink of her breakdown, thankfully; she'd ended the conversation and started making dinner and Lucy had let it go. The next morning she'd kept herself brisk, if a little brittle, and Lucy hadn't said anything.

But her words, for better or worse, rattled around in Juliet's brain. She knew she was afraid of rejection, of course. Who wasn't? But what Lucy had said made Juliet realize other, unwelcome aspects of herself. Like the fact that she was a master of the art of self-sabotage masked as self-protection. Why had she knowingly embarked on an affair with a married man? Because she knew it could never go anywhere. Because she'd thought she could be content with a little, and keep from getting hurt. Or maybe she just thought she didn't deserve more.

It was, she suspected, the same reason she'd opened the bed-and-breakfast. Because running a B&B was the closest thing to a family home and life she could hope to have. Because people came in and out of your life so quickly, and she stayed safe.

Except now she yearned for more, even as she retreated back into her sad little shell. And people noticed.

Rachel did, coming in after Lucy had left for the Crab Fair. She'd scoured the upstairs bathrooms and she plopped herself uninvited at the kitchen table.

“All right, Juliet. What's going on with you?”

Juliet, who had been cleaning the inside of the Aga, looked around, eyebrows raised. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Don't sound so priggish. I mean, why are you avoiding everyone and cleaning your house like that murderer in the Bradbury story?”

Juliet stared at her blankly. “Pardon?”

“It's a short story about a man who kills this bloke and then gets so obsessed about leaving fingerprints he ends up cleaning the whole bloody house, and when the police arrive, he's up in the attic, where he'd never even gone.” Rachel cocked her head and swept her with a far too speculative gaze. “He was hiding something. What are you hiding?”

“Not a dead body,” Juliet retorted, but Rachel was undeterred.

“But something. You haven't been to the last two pub quizzes—”

“And until last month, I hadn't gone to one in ten years. I'm hardly acting out of character, Rachel.”

“No,” she agreed slowly, “but I thought you were changing. Thawing, a little.”

“I don't need to thaw,” Juliet snapped.

“So you're happy, then, bustling around after strangers and keeping your house sparkling?”

“Yes.” Juliet glared at her, refusing to say more. She would not justify her existence.

“Okay, then,” Rachel said lightly, and rose from the table. “I'll leave you to it.”

It wasn't until Rachel had left that Juliet realized how much she'd brushed her off. And while that was exactly what she'd intended to do, success felt more like failure.

She spent the rest of the day feeling restless, trying to occupy herself. She had plenty of work to do for Bonfire Night, and she spent a productive hour making calls, arranging various aspects of the evening.

Liz Benson, who ran the Women's Institute, promised to provide soup, bacon sandwiches, and tea and coffee on the evening, and just as Juliet was about to ring off, she asked casually, “Everything all right, Juliet?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered as she tensed. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“Just wondering,” Liz said, her voice still casual. “It's a small village. People care about each other.”

“Thank you,” Juliet answered gruffly. “But I'm fine.” She supposed she should be grateful that people did seem to care about her, even if she kept putting them off. The trouble was, she just didn't know how to respond. How to open up. She'd told Lucy she couldn't and she'd meant it.

Even if she now wished she could change.

By late afternoon she'd done all she could do for Bonfire Night, and weeded the already-weeded flower beds, as well. Her last set of walkers had left yesterday, and the next lot was coming that evening. Juliet decided to bake scones for their arrival, something she'd always felt too busy to do, except now she seemed to have endless time to kill. Why was that? Why had her days suddenly become so long and empty?

She'd been happy before Lucy had arrived, she thought with a sudden surge of resentment. Or at least, she'd convinced herself she'd been happy. Wasn't that almost the same thing?

By seven o'clock her guests had arrived and left again, for steak and chips at the Hangman's Noose. Juliet ate leftovers alone at the kitchen table, and then wandered around restlessly, wondering when Lucy would be back. She decided to walk the dogs, even though the sun was starting to set, and she stepped outside into the brisk night air, breathing in the autumnal smell of damp leaves as twilight settled softly over the village. It was nearly the middle of October now, and night was coming on faster and colder.

She'd intended to walk up the village to the pastures at the top and let the dogs run free for a bit, but her feet didn't seem to be connected to her brain, because she turned instead and walked around Tarn House, then started down the dirt track towards Bega Farm.

She told herself she wasn't going to go see Peter; this just happened to be a pleasant and convenient walk. Never mind that her boots sank into mud and puddles she couldn't see in the darkness, or that the wind coming from the sea seemed to slice right through her. She'd walk to the gate that led to Bega Farm, which was a natural stopping point, and then turn around.

By the time she got to the gate, a few stars twinkled high above in a cloudy night sky. A light gleamed in the window of Peter's farmhouse, making it seem even smaller and more insignificant against the looming fells. Juliet stood there for a moment, her hand on the top bar of the gate, the dogs nosing her impatiently, wanting to either move forward or turn around.

An emotional crossroads, and she knew then that she'd come here for a reason. To move forward or to go back.

Slowly she reached for the latch on the gate and lifted it. Then she pushed the gate open and walked towards Bega Farm.

She knocked on the front door, her body and brain both cloaked in numbness in an entirely new way, as if she were a spectator watching herself from afar. The door opened, and Peter stood there, a flicker of surprise creasing his features before his expression ironed out implacably. He didn't speak. Part of her thought in a distant, surreal way,
I wonder what that poor woman will say.

“I'm sorry,” she blurted, the words tumbling out of her. “I'm sorry for asking you to—well, you know.”

“Yes,” Peter said flatly. “I know.” His expression hadn't altered in the least and Juliet felt both cowed and more determined to say . . . something.

“May I come in?”

Silently Peter stepped aside and Juliet left the dogs huddled on the step and came into the kitchen; it was as cluttered and dirty as it had been the last time she'd been there. She wished Peter would say something, anything, but he remained tight-lipped and silent as she wiped her damp palms down the sides of her jeans and gave him what she hoped was a smile.

“How's your dad?”

“You don't really care, do you?”

She blinked, startled by Peter's flatly stated reply. “I—I do care,” she stammered, hating how wrong-footed she felt. How wrong-souled. “I wouldn't have asked, otherwise. I know how difficult it must be. . . .” She trailed off, willing Peter to take up the conversational slack, but he said nothing. Again. And she was afraid to try another opener.

“Peter, I came here because I really am sorry that I offended you by asking you to—to donate your sperm. I realize now I shouldn't have . . . that is, I should have realized . . .”

Peter arched an eyebrow, his arms folded. She'd never seen him look so forbidding. “And what should you have realized, Juliet?”

She felt like an unruly pupil called to the front of the class. By
Peter
. “That you wouldn't take kindly to my request,” she answered. “That you're not the kind of man . . . that you
are
the kind of man who would take his responsibilities seriously. And that you'd see bringing a child into this world, no matter how, as your responsibility.”

Peter just nodded, his jaw tight. “Well, I'm glad you realized that,” he said, and it sounded like a good-bye.

Juliet swallowed. “I really didn't mean to offend you . . . ,” she tried again. She wanted him to give her his slow, easy smile and say in his deep Cumbrian burr that they were
areet
again.

“That doesn't make it much better, Juliet. If anything, it makes it worse.”

She stared at him in miserable confusion.
“How?”

Peter glanced up at the ceiling, seeming to struggle for words. “You and me,” he finally said, choosing each word carefully, “we're used to being alone. Stuck in our ways a bit, I think.”

“Y-y-y-yes,” Juliet stuttered. “I know.”

“But I was
trying
, Juliet. Trying in my own thick way, I know, but still. I thought . . . I thought you saw that. I thought you were coming around.” He finally looked at her, and the misery in his gaze startled her. It also matched her own.

“But I was just being stupid,” she whispered. “I was just being so stupid, Peter.”

Slowly Peter shook his head. “No, you weren't. You were showing me what you really thought of me. Showing me how stupid
I
was, because I didn't even see it.”

“No,” she protested. “No. It's because I thought so well of you that I—”

“Wanted to use me? I know I might not be the finest specimen of man around, but I hope I'm still good enough to be more than a stud.” He shook his head, taking a step back, away from her. “Good night, Juliet.”

Juliet gaped at him, horrified that it was going to end like this, that her apology hadn't been enough. Not remotely enough. And yet she had nothing else to offer. Nothing Peter wanted.

“Good night,” she choked out, and then turned and walked back out into the darkness.

She stumbled down the track back to Tarn House, the dogs hurrying at her heels. She felt frozen, yet as if Peter had taken a hammer to her, and she'd shatter into tiny shards of ice at any moment. She just had to hold it together until she got inside.

Tarn House was cloaked in darkness and quiet; Lucy was still out with Alex and his daughters. Juliet settled the dogs in their beds and walked upstairs. She closed the door to her bedroom; she undressed and put on her pajamas and brushed her teeth.

Then she sat on the edge of her bed and clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking.

It didn't work. And it wasn't just her hands shaking; it was her shoulders, her whole body, as the sobs she'd managed to keep inside for so long came hurtling out, overwhelming her. She bowed her head, her hair falling in front of her face, her whole being racked with a pain that felt too intense to endure for more than a moment. Surely this couldn't go on. Surely she couldn't feel this much and still live. And yet she could; she wrapped her arms around her middle as the tears poured down her face and she cried for her wrecked friendship with Peter, and for all the relationships she'd never dared to have. For the lonely little girl she'd been, longing for her mother to love her, and for the fact that at thirty-seven she still felt like that lonely little girl.

When the sobs finally stopped, she felt both exhausted and empty. She pulled back the duvet and crawled underneath the covers, shivering as if she had a fever. Eventually her body relaxed a bit, even if the ache in her heart didn't ease. She felt leaden and heavy now, and the thought of getting up from bed ever seemed like an impossible task. She closed her eyes, and eventually she slept.