The pony party, like so many other things in her childhood, had been Fiona’s way of showing the world she was both an incredible artistanda loving mother. She didn’t consult Lucy about what kind of party she wanted; she didn’t even talk toher for most of the day. She simply arranged the party and then became annoyed when Lucy had refused to have a ride. Afterwards, in her misery, Lucy had eaten too much cake and been sick. But at least she’d had a cake. And, to be fair to her mother, Fiona had tried to give her something nice, even if it wasn’t what Lucy had wanted. Her mother had tried in a way that she obviously hadn’t with Juliet.
It was hard for Lucy to separate Juliet’s anger from her own hurt, but she knew she needed to. Needed to get to the bottom of what was—or, really, wasn’t—between her and Juliet. Like Chloe had said, this could be an opportunity.
She just wasn’t sure it was one she wanted.
She took a deep breath and then, for lack of anything more useful to do, wrung out the sponge and replaced it on its little dish by the sink. The kitchen was otherwise spotless, and so she went upstairs in search of her sister.
She found her in one of the four guest rooms, smoothing an already perfectly smooth duvet. Lucy stood in the doorway and watched as sunlight touched Juliet’s hair, showing up the streaks of gray by her temples.
“Juliet.”
“Don’t.” Juliet didn’t even look up. “I’m sorry, all right? I shouldn’t have said all that. I know it wasn’t your fault you had a pony party, or the rest of it. I just don’t want to talk about it now.”
Lucy hesitated, with no idea how to breach her sister’s defenses. The easiest thing, the thing she actuallywantedto do, was to quietly agree and tiptoe away. They could call a truce, tense as it would be, and learn to work around each other. She could have a perfectly satisfactory life here in Hartley-by-the-Sea without Juliet actually in it.
But that was the same as running away, and she’d told herself she wasn’t going to do that anymore.
“I won’t talk about the pony party,” she finally said. “Trust me, that’s not something I care to remember.”
“Oh, why not? The pony wasn’t pretty enough?”
“Juliet—”
“Look, I know I’m bitter, all right?” Juliet looked up, and Lucy saw the ravages of emotion on her sister’s face. “I get it. It’s a stupid pony party you had when you were six. I understand that to mention it twenty years later and act like I’m still angry about it is—pathetic.” Her face tightened briefly with that word, and she went back to making the bed.
Lucy watched her for a moment, at a loss. Finally, because she didn’t have any better idea, she ventured, “I don’t actually think you can get that duvet any smoother.”
Juliet let out a snort of laughter and shook her head. “Now that’s just stating the obvious.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said, and realized she meant it, maybe even more than she’d meant any “sorry” she’d ever said. “I’m sorry I had a pony party.”
“I said not to talk about that,” Juliet answered, and Lucy couldn’t tell whether she was joking.
“I know. But I’m sorry I never even realized . . .”
“Why would you? You went to America when you were six, right after that party, as I recall. I wouldn’t expect you to be emotionally attuned to what had been going on in my life, Lucy.”
“But afterwards,” Lucy admitted, searching for words that would bridge this awful chasm between them. “I never even really thought . . .”
“Why would you?” Juliet repeated wearily. She sat on the bed, creasing the duvet. “I was never a part of your life.”
The words seemed to echo through the room, fall into the stillness. What could she say to that? All she could do was agree, or attempt some cringingly corny expression of how she wanted Juliet to be in her life now. And truthfully, considering howdifficult every interaction with her sister was, she wasn’t even sure she did.
“Anyway.” Juliet rose from the bed and started smoothing it all over again. Her hair had fallen out of its usual neat ponytail, obscuring her face. “I should get on. I’ve got two Scottish blokes coming to do the Coast-to-Coast walk tomorrow morning.”
It sounded like a dismissal, and Lucy decided to take it as one. She’d had enough angst-ridden interactions with her sister for one day.
No, she decided as she went back to her own room, she’d hold on to the successes of the day: her coffee with Alex and her walk through Hartley-by-the-Sea. The little boy sticking his tongue out and Dan Trenton’s surly confidence in the post office shop. It was all progress.
She and Juliet seemed to have reached that tense truce Lucy had envisioned by the next morning, when Juliet busied herself in the kitchen, in preparation for the arrival of the next batch of walkers. Lucy thought about trying to make herself useful, but then she decided she could best help Juliet by staying out of her hair.
She ended up catching the train down to Ravenglass and wandering around a different, and slightly quainter, village; Ravenglass had, in addition to replicas of Hartley-by-the-Sea’s pub and post office shop, an impressive set of Roman ruins and a miniature railway that traveled several miles through the fells to Eskdale, passing one of the country’s lakes that Lucy had yet to see. It was sunny but chilly out, and Lucy spent a good part of the afternoon cradling a paper cup of coffee as she sat on a park bench by the miniature railway and watched all the families cram into the tiny seats, smiling and laughing, although, to be fair, some of the mothers looked a bit hassled, trying to keep their toddlers from climbing out of the train.
Still, it looked like fun.
She headed back to Hartley-by-the-Sea late in the afternoon on the Northern Rail train with all the families she’d seen in Ravenglass, their children now cranky and tired, as well as the parents. The train trundled along the coast and half a dozen families unloaded themselves along with Lucy at Hartley-by-the-Sea.
Home, she thought with a funny little pang. Sort of.
