They ended up walking in the same direction back up the beach road, smiling self-consciously as they fell into step without speaking. The silence stretched on, even more awkward than their good-byes, and so when Milly and Molly stopped to sniff something in the bushes lining the road, Lucy indulgedthem, letting Alex walk far ahead of her before she tugged on their leads.
Juliet hadn’t returned by the time she got back to Tarn House, dried off the dogs, and left her mud-caked Wellies out by the front step. She made herself a cup of tea and stood in the kitchen, the sun streaming through the window, and wondered what she should do. She didn’t feel like kicking around Tarn House by herself, and so after finishing her tea and then giving the dogs treats to keep them occupied, she headed back out into the sunshine to explore a bit more of Hartley-by-the-Sea.
The village, she’d already surmised, was made up of only two main streets: the high street with the school, the pub, and the post office shop, and the beach road that stretched through sheep fields towards the sea. Lucy headed up the high street, past the Hangman’s Noose and the school, to the top end she hadn’t yet seen.
With the sun shining brightly and the sea glinting in the distance, the air fresh and clean, and the only sound the distant bleating of sheep, Lucy decided Hartley-by-the-Sea was just as charming as she’d hoped it would be.
It seemed hard to believe that just weeks ago she’d been in Boston, surrounded by strangers and high-rise buildings. Now she had sheep and the sea. And, as Juliet had told her, a decent fish-and-chip shop five miles away in Whitehaven.
Yet she wasn’t missing the culture or restaurants or even a propercaffé latteas she continued up the high street, the road becoming both steeper and narrower, the houses now older, low-lying stone farmhouses with slate roofs and tumbled outbuildings, the sea twinkling like a promise when she glanced between them.
She felt as if she were going somewhere, although in reality she suspected the village’s main street would peter out to yet more sheep fields. At least there would be a decent view, andshe could certainly do with the exercise. And with each step she felt her mood improve, her natural optimism strengthening into determination. She could make this funny little life of hers in funny little Hartley-by-the-Sea work. She could make friends, even with the stony-faced Alex Kincaid, and she could do her job well and she could reconcile with Juliet.
It was the last thought that had her slowing her step, bending over, and resting her hands on her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. She could do it, she told herself. She could do it all. And she’d start today, when Juliet returned from Carlisle. Lucy had no idea how she’d broach that topic of conversation—Why do you resent me?seemed like a bit of a loaded question—but she was determined to try.
She wasn’t running away anymore.
She was almost at the top of the street; the only buildings she could see ahead were a stucco-fronted bungalow that looked like an afterthought and an abandoned stone barn with its roof fallen in. She took the last few steps; as she’d suspected, the high street fell away to fields, but the long grass glinted gold in the sunlight, and from this vantage point she could see the sea stretching all the way to the horizon, flat and sparkling, and the hazy, violet shape of the Isle of Man in the distance.
A boy she recognized from school came careening around the bungalow, wearing a Manchester United jersey and kicking a battered soccer ball. He came up short at the sight of her.
“Hey there,” Lucy said cheerfully. She felt a sudden, overwhelming benevolence towards all of humanity, even this gap-toothed, tousle-headed kid.
He stared at her, nonplussed, and then he stuck out his tongue.
Lucy blinked in surprise and then she stuck out her tongue right back at him. He grinned, unexpectedly, before he kicked the football across the weedy garden and ran off after it.
She laughed aloud then, so thankful to feel genuine joy. She’d been miserable for so long, trapped by her mother’s scorn and expectations, clinging to her optimism by her fingernails, always waiting for things to happen. For her art to take off. For Thomas to make their relationship more serious. For life to begin.
Well, it was beginning now. She’d just pushed the start button. Humming softly under her breath, she started down the street, back to Tarn House. Impulsively she ducked into the post office shop and bought a newspaper. Dan Trenton was at the till, looking as surly as ever.
“So what brought you to Cumbria?” Lucy asked, determined to make the man speak more than a monosyllable. “Or are you from here?”
He stared at her for a moment and then said, “I left the army after half my men were killed in a raid in Afghanistan.” His voice was as flat as his stare. “Found out my wife was cheating on me with my brother, and decided I needed to do something different.” Lucy stared at him openmouthed as he pushed twenty pence across the counter. “Here’s your change.”
Chapter ten
Juliet
Juliet heard the front door open and then the sound of Lucy humming under her breath. Her half sister was in a good mood, apparently, or at least in a better mood than she was. She’d spent the hour drive from Carlisle alternating between despair and determination.
So, the sperm donor thing probably wasn’t going to work. The pregnancy thing wasn’t going to work, not with her dodgy medical history. She veered away from that line of thinking, though, because to remember those bleak days alone in the hospital, everything in her aching, was a form of self-torture she did not intend to practice.
Anyway, she’d told herself as she drove past Workington, she was fine as she was. She enjoyed her work and her guests; she was a productive member of her community; she had a couple of friends. What was there to complain about?
By Whitehaven she’d had to pull into a lay-by. She’d pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and drawn one long, shuddering breath. Then she dropped her hands, checked her mirrors, and pulled back onto the A595. She didn’t think aboutanything at all for the five miles back to Hartley-by-the-Sea, and she was still wrapped in that much-needed numbness now as she tidied the kitchen—tea bag left in the sink, sugar sprinkled across the countertop—and heard Lucy come in.
“Juliet!” Her sister sounded happy to see her, which didn’t make sense. “How was your appointment?” Lucy asked, and Juliet turned to the sink, taking her time to wring out a dish towel.
“Fine.” She kept her back to Lucy as she hung the towel on the Aga, made sure it was straight. “Would you mind putting the tea bags in the compost bin instead of leaving them in the sink?” It was a reasonable request, yet it was met with silence. She didn’t trust herself just yet to turn around, and so she straightened the dish towel some more.
“Juliet . . .” Lucy’s voice sounded soft and sad. “Do you . . . do you regret inviting me here?”
Oh, not this.Not now.Not when she was feeling so raw and revealed already. “Don’t be stupid, Lucy,” she snapped, and then steeled herself to turn around. “I was just asking you to tidy up a bit.”
Luck blinked in that kicked-puppy way of hers that Juliet was really starting to dislike. “I know that. I didn’t ask because of the tea bags. It’s just that ever since I’ve arrived, you’ve been acting like you don’t like having me here—”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Juliet cut her off, the words exploding out of her with far too much anger. “I’m not welcoming enough, am I? Not spoiling you and saying ‘Poor Lucy, put your feet up while I get you a cuppa’?” Juliet heard the sneer in her voice and she knew Lucy did too. A distant part of her was shocked at the vitriol spewing out of her, and another part felt the relief of saying it all, like ripping a plaster off a wound. Painful but necessary. “I suppose you came here expecting to be coddled and fussed over. You’ve hadsucha hard time, with your motherslagging off your paintings. Poor,poorLucy.” She shook her head, felt the ugly way her features had contorted, and couldn’t seem to get her face back into its normal, sane shape. She turned away from Lucy, whose face had drained completely of color. Damned if she’d apologize. It was no more than the truth.
