She’d pulled herself back from the brink of her breakdown, thankfully; she’d ended the conversation and started making dinner and Lucy had let it go. The next morning she’d kept herself brisk, if a little brittle, and Lucy hadn’t said anything.
But her words, for better or worse, rattled around in Juliet’s brain. She knew she was afraid of rejection, of course. Who wasn’t? But what Lucy had said made Juliet realize other, unwelcome aspects of herself. Like the fact that she was a master of the art of self-sabotage masked as self-protection. Why had she knowingly embarked on an affair with a married man?Because she knew it could never go anywhere. Because she’d thought she could be content with a little, and keep from getting hurt. Or maybe she just thought she didn’t deserve more.
It was, she suspected, the same reason she’d opened the bed-and-breakfast. Because running a B&B was the closest thing to a family home and life she could hope to have. Because people came in and out of your life so quickly, and she stayed safe.
Except now she yearned for more, even as she retreated back into her sad little shell. And people noticed.
Rachel did, coming in after Lucy had left for the Crab Fair. She’d scoured the upstairs bathrooms and she plopped herself uninvited at the kitchen table.
“All right, Juliet. What’s going on with you?”
Juliet, who had been cleaning the inside of the Aga, looked around, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t sound so priggish. I mean, why are you avoiding everyone and cleaning your house like that murderer in the Bradbury story?”
Juliet stared at her blankly. “Pardon?”
“It’s a short story about a man who kills this bloke and then gets so obsessed about leaving fingerprints he ends up cleaning the whole bloody house, and when the police arrive, he’s up in the attic, where he’d never even gone.” Rachel cocked her head and swept her with a far too speculative gaze. “He was hiding something. What are you hiding?”
“Not a dead body,” Juliet retorted, but Rachel was undeterred.
“But something. You haven’t been to the last two pub quizzes—”
“And until last month, I hadn’t gone to one in ten years. I’m hardly acting out of character, Rachel.”
“No,” she agreed slowly, “but I thought you were changing. Thawing, a little.”
“I don’t need to thaw,” Juliet snapped.
“So you’re happy, then, bustling around after strangers and keeping your house sparkling?”
“Yes.” Juliet glared at her, refusing to say more.. She would not justify her existence.
“Okay, then,” Rachel said lightly, and rose from the table. “I’ll leave you to it.”
It wasn’t until Rachel had left that Juliet realized she’d brushed her off. And while that was exactly what she’d intended to do, success felt more like failure.
She spent the rest of the day feeling restless, trying to occupy herself. She had plenty of work to do for Bonfire Night, and she spent a productive hour making calls, arranging various aspects of the evening.
Liz Benson, who ran the Women’s Institute, promised to provide soup, bacon sandwiches, and tea and coffee on the evening, and just as Juliet was about to ring off, she asked casually, “Everything all right, Juliet?”
“Yes, of course,” she answered as she tensed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Just wondering,” Liz said, her voice still casual. “It’s a small village. People care about each other.”
“Thank you,” Juliet answered gruffly. “But I’m fine.” She supposed she should be grateful that people did seem to care about her, even if she kept putting them off. The trouble was, she just didn’t know how to respond. How to open up. She’d told Lucy she couldn’t and she’d meant it.
Even if she now wished she could change.
By late afternoon she’d done all she could do for Bonfire Night, and weeded the already-weeded flower beds, as well. Her last set of walkers had left yesterday, and the next lot was coming that evening. Juliet decided to bake scones for their arrival, something she’d always felt too busy to do, except now sheseemed to have endless time to kill. Why was that? Why had her days suddenly become so long and empty?
She’d been happy before Lucy had arrived, she thought with a sudden surge of resentment. Or at least, she’d convinced herself she’d been happy. Wasn’t that almost the same thing?
By seven o’clock her guests had arrived and left again, for steak and chips at the Hangman’s Noose. Juliet ate leftovers alone at the kitchen table, and then wandered around restlessly, wondering when Lucy would be back. She decided to walk the dogs, even though the sun was starting to set, and she stepped outside into the brisk night air, breathing in the autumnal smell of damp leaves as twilight settled softly over the village. It was nearly the middle of October now, and night was coming on faster and colder.
She’d intended to walk up the village to the pastures at the top and let the dogs run free for a bit, but her feet didn’t seem to be connected to her brain, because she turned instead and walked around Tarn House, then started down the dirt track towards Bega Farm.
She told herself she wasn’t going to go see Peter; this just happened to be a pleasant and convenient walk. Never mind that her boots sank into mud and puddles she couldn’t see in the darkness, or that the wind coming from the sea seemed to slice right through her. She’d walk to the gate that led to Bega Farm, which was a natural stopping point, and then turn around.
