Fiona had said, haltingly, “It’s . . . it’s Fiona. Is Lucy there?”
Juliet hadn’t answered for a moment; she’d been so stunned to hear her mother’s voice. And then to realize that the sum total of their conversation was Fiona asking for Lucy.
“I’ll get her for you,” she said, and then hated herself for accommodating her mother in any way. For acting like Fiona’s behavior was normal, acceptable. Yet she’d already put the phone down and was walking towards the dining room, and in any case she had no idea what she’d say to her mother if ever given the opportunity to speak.
Why?
That, Juliet supposed, was the question that had dominated her life, the question she was both desperate to ask and determined not to.Why do you hate me? Why didn’t you want me? Why?
And now she was out here in the cold night air with that question pounding through her head and Lucy inside, talking to hermum.
“Juliet.”
She stiffened as she heard Peter’s voice, and then the steady tread of his feet until she knew he was standing right behind her. Felt his hand heavy and warm on her shoulder. He didn’t speak, and Juliet closed her eyes, tried to will away the lump in her throat.
“It was my mother on the phone,” she finally squeezed out past that lump. She kept her eyes shut. “Fiona. She asked for Lucy. She’sneverasked for me.” And because that sounded so ridiculous and childish, she clarified, her voice little more than a whisper, “She’s never loved or even liked me. Never even wanted me. She told me that, when I was twenty and I asked who my father was. ‘I never wanted you, Juliet.’” She stopped then, with a gasp, as if she’d been running uphill. And maybe she had been running uphill her whole life, wanting her mother to love her.“It shouldn’t hurt,” she said after a moment, and her voice was thankfully steadier now. “It’s been so long, and I’ve accepted it. It shouldn’t hurt anymore.”
“But it does,” Peter said quietly, and she gave that little gasping sound again, dashing at her eyes.
“I don’t want to cry.”
“Nothing wrong with a good cry.”
“Do you know how much I’ve cried these last few months? I could create another lake. Julietmere.”
She felt rather than saw his smile, and he squeezed her shoulder. “Maybe,” he said, “you’re making up for lost time.”
She laughed shakily. “Maybe. I certainly never cried before Lucy came here.”
“I thought you might say that.”
“Oh, Peter.” It was hard to get words out again. “I wish I didn’t care. I thought if I acted like I didn’t care, I wouldn’t. But it doesn’t work that way.”
“No,” Peter agreed. “It generally doesn’t.”
“It should, though, don’t you think?”
He put his other hand on her shoulder, and then slowly turned her around. “Yes,” he said as he pulled her towards him, “it should.”
Juliet remained rigid for a moment, amazed that Peter was actuallyhuggingher, and then overwhelmingly grateful because it felt so good. She pressed her cheek against his chest and breathed in the scent of him: sheep and wool and old-fashioned aftershave. She might have messed up her chance at having anything romantic with Peter, but she was glad to be his friend now.
After a long moment she reluctantly pulled away from him. “I should go inside. Clean up . . .” And talk to Lucy. Juliet didn’t want to ask her what Fiona had wanted, but she knew she probably should.
“I’ll come with you,” Peter said, and followed her back into the house.
Rachel and Alex were washing dishes in the kitchen, laughing and joking in a way Juliet certainly hadn’t seen Alex do before. Lucy was good for him. Then she heard Lucy’s voice from the utility room, a low, urgent murmur, and her stomach cramped.
Why had Fiona called after all this time? Juliet had the uneasy sense that their mother wanted something from Lucy, that the fragile relationship she and Lucy had built over the last three months was about to be tested.
She finished washing up with Rachel and Alex, and since Lucy was still on the phone, she saw them all off on her own.
“I hope everything’s all right,” Alex said with a frown, and Juliet smiled tightly in return.
“I’m sure it is.” She gave Alex an awkward pat on the shoulder. “You’ll see Lucy tomorrow at school, anyway.”
“Yes . . .” But he was still frowning, and Juliet could guess why. Alex wasn’t the type to dive headfirst into a relationship, even if Lucy was. He’d want things between them sorted before he saw her at school, for his sake as well as his children’s, not to mention his staff’s. Speculation would be rife.
Eventually everyone headed home; Peter offered to stay, but Juliet could see how William was flagging and she shooed him away. Then she poured herself the last of the wine and sat at the kitchen table and waited.
