“Really?” Lucy sat back in her chair, surprised by this admission yet recognizing that she had no real reason to be. She’d e-mailed Juliet on occasion, and they’d communicated a little through Facebook, but that was about it. Around five years ago Lucy had come to London for a spur-of-the-moment weekend and Juliet had taken the train down. They’d had a rather awkward lunch at the café at Selfridges, where they had not talked about their mother at all, yet she had been as present as if she’d been sitting at the table.
Now Lucy recalled Juliet’s one visit to America, back when she was nine or ten, and Juliet must have been around twenty. There had been no big argument that Lucy remembered, but Juliet had left after only a few days, and Fiona had acted as if her oldest daughter hadn’t visited, didn’t exist. It hadn’t bothered Lucy at the time; Juliet had just been one more person flitting in and out of their lives.
“Did you two have a falling-out?” she asked now, recognizing even as she said it that it was a rather stupid question. Of course something must have happened to make them so estranged from each other. Although considering they were talking about their mother, self-absorbed, flamboyant Fiona, maybe not.
“We were neverinanything to falloutof,” Juliet replied flatly.
Lucy frowned. “What do you mean—”
“Look, she might have wanted you,” Juliet cut her off, her voice hardening as she turned to give Lucy a sudden, savage glare, “and paid for a sperm donor so she could be a mother and all the rest of it. But she never wanted me, and she let me know it every single day of my childhood.”
Chapter six
Juliet
Juliet drained her glass of wine as Lucy stared at her slackly and then abruptly she rose from the table. “I need to walk the dogs,” she said, even though she’d just given them a walk, and she left the kitchen without waiting for a response.
In the hall she called for the dogs and they came nervously, wagging their stubby tails, unsure of this sudden change in routine.
She grabbed her coat and the dogs’ leads and headed out into the night. She needed to get out of the house, away from her own awful admission and Lucy’s stunned stare, even if just for a few minutes.
It was past seven, the sky the color of a bruise, a hint of rain in the air. The wind was starting to stir up as it did most autumn nights, and fallen leaves swirled about Juliet’s boots as she walked around the house to the muddy lane in the back that cut through the sheep fields. No one would be out on this rutted track at twilight, and she wanted to be alone.
She had a sudden, shaming desire to burst into tears, which infuriated her. Shenevercried. Anger was far better than tears,and she clung to it as she strode into the darkness, the dogs at her heels. She’d rather be angry at Lucy than miserable about her own loneliness.
She should have expected Lucy to get to her a little. She hadn’t seen her sister properly in so long, she’d forgotten how the simple fact of Lucy’s existence could hurt, reminding her of why Fiona had needed a second daughter in the first place.
The sky was darkening, and Juliet could barely see the rutted lane in front of her. She heard a gate in the distance banging against a post, a disconsolate sound. The dogs pressed close to her sides; they didn’t like being out in the dark, and they quivered nervously, sensing the disquiet of her mood. Overcome by sudden remorse, Juliet dropped to her knees and stroked their heads, murmuring soothing nonsense as they pressed even closer to her. She shut her eyes, taking comfort from the warmth of their bodies, their obvious need of her.
It surprised her, this feeling of loneliness coming back to ride her so hard now. Ironic, really, that it had taken someone coming to live with her to make her realize how alone she really was. She’d been on her own for so long she’d thought she’d become used to it.
The sound of footsteps had her tensing, and she looked up from her dogs to see a man coming down the lane, a sheepdog trotting by his heels. Peter Lanford with his border collie, Jake. She recognized him even though it was dark; there was something unique about his slow, steady gait, the untidy shock of brown hair under a well-worn flat cap, and the dog trotting faithfully beside him. He came closer, squinting in the darkness.
“Juliet? That you?”
Juliet straightened slowly, hating that her emotions were still so close to the surface, making her feel as if she’d lost a layer of skin. “Hello, Peter.”
Even in the darkness she could see Peter’s smile, a shy thing, but no less genuine. He whistled to Milly and Molly and patted their heads; Jake sniffed them with disinterest before sitting obediently.
“Has your sister arrived?” he asked, and Juliet just kept herself from reminding yet another person that Lucy was only her half-sister.
“Yes, last week.” She didn’t think she’d actually told Peter that Lucy was coming, but news traveled quickly around Hartley-by-the-Sea. Tell one person something and you might as well have told the whole village.
“How’s she settling in, then?”
“Fine.” In her mind’s eye Juliet saw Lucy’s stunned expression as she’d stalked out of the kitchen; she’d looked as if Juliet had slapped her. “She’s good.”
“And how about you? Not always easy, sharing a house.”
Peter gave her a lopsided smile that hinted at too much understanding. He was a man of few words, but Juliet had always appreciated his plain speaking, his steady, stolid approach to village issues at the parish council meetings. They’d worked together on drafting a proposal for a new playground at the beach, and Peter had confronted the Westmorland Council on giving the village more litter bins. Small but important things, and they’d shown him to be both trustworthy and dedicated.
That did not, however, make her want to confide even an iota of what she was feeling now.
“I’m used to sharing a house,” she said, and was glad to hear how unconcerned she sounded. “I run a bed-and-breakfast, after all.”
“Different, that,” Peter remarked, and Juliet suppressed a stab of irritation at how he cut to the heart of things with so fewwords. Sheep farmers weren’t supposed to be so emotionally attuned, were they?
“I’m not sure it is,” she replied. “Lucy’s just like my other guests, except she’s staying longer and she doesn’t pay.”
