“Am I supposed to applaud?”
“I gave you two hundred and fifty thousand pounds—”
“You can’t pretend that was anything but a payoff.”
“Maybe it was,” Fiona answered evenly. “But it was something. And you never even said thank you.”
“Maybe that’s because you’d never said sorry,” Juliet snapped back. “When I called you on your birthday five years ago, you hung up. How do you think that made me feel?”
Fiona sank back into her chair. “You surprised me—”
“So you should have got yourself together and called back.”
“It was easier to pretend you hadn’t called at all.”
“Right. Easier.” Juliet nodded. “I get where you’re coming from, Fiona. Completely.” She turned away, everything in her so tight and tense she felt as if she might snap. From behind her she heard Fiona stand up.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Did she? Her mother had come all this way, and for what? To offer up excuses? “You can stay,” she said without turning around. “For Lucy’s sake. But I suppose we’ll just ignore each other as always. The bedroom at the top of the stairs is free.”
Fiona was silent for a moment. Then Juliet heard the squeak of her chair and the sound of her mother leaving the kitchen. She let out her breath in a rush and bowed her head, her hands clutching the rail of the Aga. Upstairs a door closed softly.
In one abrupt movement Juliet turned from the Aga and stalked out of the kitchen. She yanked on her boots, grabbed her coat, and headed out into the freezing night. It was dark and moonless; she hadn’t brought a flashlight, so she stumbled down the track to the only place she could go, the only place she wanted to be. Peter’s house.
Through the window she could see that he was alone in the kitchen, drinking coffee and going over accounts, when Juliet hammered on the door.
“Juliet—” He caught her in his arms as she practically fell through the door. “My God, what’s wrong?”
“My mother,” she said, and realized her teeth were chattering, and not just from the cold. She felt cold inside, cold with the shock of having her mother come here, and all the awful things she’d said.
“Your mother?” Peter led her to the table, then went for the whiskey. Juliet downed it in one fiery gulp.
“This is becoming a habit,” she joked feebly as she placed the glass on the table. Her hand trembled and the glass nearly fell. Peter steadied it.
“What’s happened with your mother?”
“She’s just come to bloody Cumbria.” She let out a wild laugh and then buried her face in her hands. “And she told me why she never wanted or loved me.” She looked up at him between her fingers, suddenly terrified that this would change his opinion of her, and yet knowing she had to tell someone, and that she wasn’t ready for it to be Lucy. “She was raped, Peter. My father was a rapist.”
Peter stared at her for a long moment, a moment that felt endless in its silence, and then wordlessly he covered her hand with his own.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” Juliet didn’t say anything. She didn’t think she could.
He squeezed her hand and Juliet sniffed. “I feel like it changes who I am,” she said. “I know it shouldn’t, but . . .”
“I understand that, Juliet.” He hesitated and then said, his voice matter-of-fact, “My father used to hit me.” Juliet blinked and Peter continued. “I don’t mean the odd slap. Proper beatings, with his belt. I used to hate him. I dreamed about killing him.”
She could not imagine Peter dreaming about killing anyone, but neither could she imagine him being beaten as a boy byWilliam. “But . . . ,” she began, although she didn’t know what she was going to say.
“It’s why my brother, David, left. After my mum died, I was going to leave too, but I was tied to this land and farming’s all I’ve known. So I stayed, and then my father got sick, and I was the only person who could care for him.”
“Are you telling me this because . . . ,” Juliet began uncertainly, and Peter filled it in for her.
“A lot of reasons, I suppose. Because you don’t have to be like your parents. I certainly will never hit my child.”
“You’re the most gentle man I know, Peter.”
“And seeing my dad looking so weak and helpless now, it’s made me think. He’s just a man. He made some mistakes, some bloody great big ones, but in the end he’s just a human being, same as me. And there were a few good times, amidst all the bad.” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “Were there any good times with your mother?”
