She had friends; she had a sister who she believed loved her even if she wasn’t particularly demonstrative; she had a job. She had her health. Anything else?
Sighing, Lucy kicked off her shoes and turned back the daisy cover. Sleep, she decided. She had the luxury of sleeping for at least four hours, never mind what Juliet had said about one or two. She’d wake up in time to help with dinner, or with whatever job Juliet had written her down for on her precious rota.
Chapter two
Juliet
Juliet had finished washing up the tea mugs, her gaze on the sheep fields that stretched to the horizon, blanketed in a gray drizzle. Upstairs she’d heard the creak of the floorboards as Lucy had moved around, the squeak of the bedsprings. She wondered now what Lucy thought of the room, imagined her taking in the curtains with the daisy chains Juliet had stitched herself, the Edwardian washing pitcher and basin she’d found at the antiques fair in Cockermouth. And then she wondered why she cared.
A mug slipped from her hand and broke in the bottom of the farmhouse sink she’d bought from a reclamation center. She swore softly under her breath and picked up the shattered pieces, swearing again when a jagged shard of pottery cut into her thumb, and a bright red drop of blood welled up. She wrapped the broken pieces in a paper towel and threw them in the bin before putting her thumb in her mouth and sucking at the cut.
Then she reached for a sponge and wiped the table, swiping at the droplets of tea and the sprinkling of sugar granules that Lucyhad left. Having her sister stay was going to make a mess in all sorts of ways, and stir up unwanted feelings in herself. And that was something she hadn’t expected.
It had seemed to be both simple and generous, to invite Lucy here when her life had fallen apart in spectacular Lucy style. Lucy, Juliet had long noted from afar, never seemed to do anything by halves, or with any modicum of caution. She jumped into situations, relationships, and even college degrees with far more enthusiasm than sense. Juliet had, with a kind of smug pleasure at her own neatly ordered life, periodically checked Lucy’s enthusiastic Facebook updates:Changed my course from history to art! So excitedandMoved to a converted warehouse in South Boston. Love it!!!!Never mind that she’d already done two years of her history degree, and changing to art necessitated a further two semesters of college, or that the converted warehouse hadn’t actually yet been converted into a livable dwelling. Lucy leaped. Juliet looked.
Except, in this instance, Juliet had been the one to leap, by inviting her half sister to stay. And while it had seemed so easy when she’d suggested it on the phone—here she was, the organized, older sister, swooping in to take care of poor Lucy—now it felt . . . unsettling.
She propped her elbows on the sink and gazed out again at the muddy fields. Peter Lanford was coming down the dirt road from Bega Farm in his battered old Land Rover, probably to check on the sheep he kept in the pasture in back of Juliet’s garden. She and Peter had gotten to know each other a little through both their properties adjoining and being on the village’s parish council together. She might almost call him a friend, and she didn’t really do friendship. Or even relationships in general, outside of ones that were clearly and comfortingly defined. Employer/employee. Patient/doctor. Innkeeper/guest. What category did half sister fall into?
It had been shockingly disconcerting to open the door and see Lucy standing there in the flesh, with the same sandy hair, gray eyes, and freckles that Juliet possessed, and yet looking so different. Her ballet flats, purple tights, and miniskirt decorated with lemons of all things had been ridiculous and inappropriate for the weather; Juliet was, as ever, wearing jeans and a fleece. Lucy’s hair had frizzed about her face, while Juliet kept hers subdued in a sensible ponytail. And yet there could be no denying they were sisters. Half sisters. They even had the same slightly crooked nose. Whoever their respective fathers were, neither of them seemed to have passed on many of his genes.
And as Lucy had stepped into the foyer, seeming suddenly to fill up the space that had always been hers alone, Juliet had had a sudden and overwhelming urge to push her half sister right back out the door and then slam it in her face.
Not exactly the most sisterly of impulses, and not one she’d expected to have. She was being kind and generous to poor, hopeless Lucy. That was what was going on here. That was what she’d signed up for.
A knock sounded on the door and blowing out a breath, Juliet turned from the sink. A few seconds later Rachel Campbell appeared in the kitchen with her arms full of freshly ironed sheets.
“I thought I’d pop by with the ironing while I had a moment,” she said, and with a murmur of thanks Juliet took them from her. Rachel cleaned the house twice a week and did all the ironing, tasks that Juliet was fully capable of doing herself, but Rachel’s housecleaning business supported a family of five—a mother, two sisters, and a nephew—and Juliet wanted to help her without seeming pitying. Besides, she hated ironing. “Has the half sister arrived?” Rachel asked, her eyebrows raised, and guilt needled Juliet uncomfortably.
When she’d told Rachel last week that Lucy would be coming, Rachel had said in a voice of such disbelief that Juliet hadn’t been able to tell if she was joking, “You have asister?”
“Half sister,” she’d said, and Rachel had rolled her eyes.
“Oh,well, then,” she’d said, and Juliet hadn’t answered, because she couldn’t, in truth, explain her relationship, or lack of it, with Lucy. Since then she and Rachel had both, in a semijoking way—or maybe not—referred to Lucy as “the half sister.”
“Yes, she’s here,” Juliet said. “Lucy’s here,” she added, as if there were any question as to who had arrived. She didn’t want to call her the half sister anymore, even if Lucy still felt like the half sister. Or maybe even just a quarter sister. Barely related, basically.
“And is she as scatterbrained as you expected?” Rachel asked, making guilt needle Juliet once more. All right, she might have called Lucy scatterbrained. But she hadn’t meant it meanly. It had been more a statement of fact.
Juliet leaned against the Aga rail and folded her arms. “She’s just Lucy,” she said flatly. “And she’s only been here about five minutes. She’s just gone upstairs to have a nap. Jet lag.”
Rachel nodded, her clear-eyed gaze resting a little too thoughtfully on her. “You think she’ll get on at the school?” she asked. “Alex Kincaid is a bit of a slave driver, from what I’ve heard.”
Juliet shrugged. She respected Alex and she liked his toughness. She understood tough, because that’s what she’d been faced with for most of her life. Lucy, however, didn’t know the meaning of tough, their mother’s ridiculous grandstanding aside. She’d been cosseted and spoiled since the moment she’d been born and as far as Juliet could tell, she still expected other people to step in and pick up the pieces she’d carelessly dropped.
“She’ll have to manage, won’t she?” Juliet said, deciding to cut short any more speculation or gossip. “I should get on. I’ve got three walkers coming in tomorrow, Australian lads. They’ll eat me out of house and home, most likely.”
“All right.” Reluctantly Rachel rose from the table. “I suppose I should get on, as well. Lily’s gone to the cinema with a friend. She’ll need a lift home.”
Lily was Rachel’s seventeen-year-old sister, and Juliet knew Rachel had been caring for her more or less since she’d been a baby. She didn’t like to think about it too much, though, because Rachel was eleven years older than Lily, the same age difference between her and Lucy. And her relationship with Lucy was so incredibly different. So muchless.
“You coming to the quiz night tomorrow?” Rachel asked, and Juliet shook her head. Every week Rachel asked her to the quiz night at the Hangman’s Noose, and every week Juliet refused. She wouldn’t know what to do at a thing like that. She didn’t do banter and refused to try.
“See you Friday, then,” Rachel said, and headed towards the front door. “I’ll do the bathrooms. You’ll need it, after these Australian blokes go.”
Juliet waved and then hefted the pile of ironed sheets to take upstairs. She couldn’t hear anything from Lucy’s room; she was probably asleep.
As she made the three guest bedrooms up with the freshly starched and ironed sheets, tucking in the hospital corners and snapping them tight, she told herself that maybe being with Lucy now would close a little bit of the distance they’d had in their relationship. Maybe during these four months they’d actually get to know each other.
