Chapter twenty-two
Juliet
The next morning Juliet lay in bed and considered the possibility of never getting up again. The bed was soft and warm, and she could happily—well, comfortably, anyway—live the rest of her days there without so much as moving. She wondered, distantly, whether she’d need food or water first. Then she realized she’d probably need the toilet before either. But she had an en suite bathroom, so she could stay in her bedroom rather than just her bed. Lucy could bring her meals.
She lay there for another hour past her usual waking time, staring at the ceiling, keeping her mind deliberately blank, before she heard a tentative knock on the door.
“Juliet? Are you in there?” Lucy called.
She considered not answering, but what was the point? She couldn’t live in either her bed or her bedroom, as much as she wanted to. “Yes,” she called back, her voice coming out in a morning croak.
“It’s just—the dogs are getting anxious for their breakfast, and I don’t know how much kibble they have.”
Oh, the dogs. The only creatures on earth who actually needed her. With a sigh Juliet tried to rise from the bed, but her body felt so leaden that she flopped back down again. “They have one scoop each,” she called to Lucy, her voice still croaky. “Can you manage it?”
“All right, then,” Lucy answered, and Juliet heard her sister’s footsteps go back down the stairs. She closed her eyes.
What felt like a few minutes later but was actually an hour, Lucy knocked on the door again. “May I come in?”
“I suppose.” Juliet opened her eyes; she didn’t think she’d fallen back asleep, but maybe she had.
Lucy came into the room, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. She put it on Juliet’s bedside table and perched on the edge of the mattress. “I thought you might like a cuppa.”
“Thank you,” Juliet answered, her voice flat and lifeless. It was thoughtful, but she didn’t want a cup of tea. She didn’t want anything.
“Are you ill?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong, then?”
Juliet took a deep breath and let it out in a long, low rush. “I only took your stupid advice and went and talked to Peter,” she said, throwing her arm over her eyes. She didn’t think she had any more tears to cry, but she wasn’t risking it. “And it didn’t go over well, as I predicted, so thanks for bloody nothing.”
Lucy was silent and after a moment Juliet drew her arm back and glanced at her sister. Lucy, she thought sourly, looked . . . incandescent. So something had happened with Alex last night. She covered her eyes once more.
“So what happened?” Lucy finally asked.
“He accepted my apology,” Juliet answered. “But it didn’t change anything. Whatever we had . . .” She paused, struggling to keep her voice even, not to torment herself with what theycould have had.I was trying in my own thick way.“It’s over,” she said flatly. “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“Oh, Juliet.” Lucy put a hand on her shoulder, and for once Juliet didn’t shake it off. She craved the physical comfort of another person’s touch, the solid warmth of it.
“Thanks for the tea,” she managed.
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said, her hand still on Juliet’s shoulder. “About Peter. That just . . . sucks.”
“Yes, it does.” Juliet drew her arm away from her eyes and tried to sit up a little, wincing as she did so. “I don’t know if I feel like I have the flu or am hungover. Both, I think.”
“An emotional hangover is the worst,” Lucy said, and Juliet reached for the mug of tea and took a cautious sip.
“That’s a term I haven’t heard before.”
“Binge crying. I’m an expert.”
Juliet closed her eyes as the hot, sugary tea—Lucy had forgotten she didn’t take sugar—hit her system. “I’m not.”
“What a surprise.”
Juliet smiled a little at that. Her tears had dried on her face last night and her skin felt tight as her mouth curved. She must look like an utter disaster.
