Lucy saw how still and trapped Bella became, like a beautiful, dark butterfly pinned to a board. She felt a hard tug of sympathy for the girl. “I was bullied when I was your age. Itsucks, and I told your father so.”
“You talked to my father about this?” Bella asked in a suffocated whisper, her gaze on the ground.
“A little,” Lucy admitted. “He wants to help you—”
“Yeah,right.” She looked away, hugging herself all the more tightly.
“We don’t need to bring your father into this right now,” Lucy said after a moment. “The important thing is to get you suited up as soon as possible.”
“Suited up?”
Lucy stepped closer so no one could hear, even though there wasn’t anybody nearby. “You need a bra,” she said quietly. “I can take you shopping tomorrow.”
Bella closed her eyes, her face going bright red. A tear squeezed out of her eye and she dashed it away furiously.
“Look, I know this is embarrassing,” Lucy said calmly. “I get it. I had to ask my mother to buy me a bra and that was the trip from hell, let me tell you. She spoke in this super-loud voice the whole time, about womanhood and my—I’m not kidding you—buds of femininity, and I just wanted to disappear.” Bella let out a choked laugh, her eyes still closed. “I promise I won’t do that. This will be a very discreet trip.”
“I can’t believe we’re talking about this,” she muttered.
“I’m talking,” Lucy pointed out. “I’m monologuing here. But no worries. You can meet me here at the school at one, okay? And we’ll take a trip into Whitehaven.”
Bella didn’t say anything for a long moment and Lucy waited, knowing the girl needed to process this very unexpected conversation.Shehad to process it. Finally Bella gave a tiny nod, her gaze averted.
“That’s sorted, then,” Lucy said cheerfully. She stepped back, relieved that at least one hurdle had been cleared. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Bella didn’t answer, and with one last reassuring smile Lucy turned and walked back into school.
Chapter fourteen
Juliet
Juliet couldn’t seem to settle to anything. She tidied up after the Scottish lads, who had left that morning with their rucksacks and walking sticks, and then did a load of laundry and weeded the front flower beds. She walked the dogs, updated the Tarn House Web site, and renewed her advertisement in the back ofCumbria Life. And all the while her mind flitted restlessly from this to that, from her conversation with Peter to her laugh with Lucy to poor, motherless Bella Kincaid.
She felt an unexpected kinship with Bella; she’d been virtually motherless too, although Juliet didn’t know which was worse: having your mother die or having her hate you.
She was glad when Rachel came by after lunch to clean the bathrooms; Juliet needed to be diverted from her own circling thoughts. Rachel was always like a breath of clean, cool air breezing through the house, as brisk and practical as Juliet yet without being prissy or remote.
“Someonedoesn’t lift the lid when he goes for a wee,” she announced as she came downstairs. “Who was staying in the blue room? I practically needed a hazmat suit for the en suite.”
Juliet gave a half grimace, half smile. “You’re a saint.”
“Saint of the toilet plunger,” Rachel agreed, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes.
She was just collecting her mop and pail of cleaning supplies when Juliet asked, “Fancy a cuppa?”
“I wouldn’t say no,” Rachel answered, and left her things in the front hall before following Juliet back to the kitchen. “So how’s the half sister these days? You rubbing along together?”
“Her name is Lucy,” Juliet reminded Rachel as she filled the kettle. “And rubbing along together is about right. We’re not going to be best mates, by any stretch.”
“I don’t know any sisters who are,” Rachel answered.
“Don’t you? I feel like plenty of sisters shop and do each other’s nails and hair—” Juliet broke off with a self-conscious laugh as she caught sight of Rachel’s eloquently disbelieving look. “What, you’re not painting Lily’s nails?”
“Hardly. I’m usually reading her the riot act about working towards her A levels. She wants to drop biology after this year and I’ve told her she can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Rachel answered with surprising force, “I want her to get somewhere in life, and I’m sorry, but a BTEC in media studies is not going to do it.”
