“Shall I crack on, then?” she asked when Emily didn’t say anything else. The twins had started banging their spoons on the table and Emily was still standing with one hand on her stomach, staring off into space.
“Oh, already?” she said, sounding surprised. “Rachel always makes a cup of tea....”
“Oh, of course.” Quickly Claire moved to the shiny chrome kettle perched by the sink. “I’m happy to make you a cup of tea.” She filled the kettle and, feeling acutely self-conscious, searched for a mug and tea bag while Emily watched. It seemed to take an age for the kettle to boil and then for the tea to steep, and then it took Claire a moment to find the fridge because it had a wood-paneled front like the cupboards. She fished the tea bag out with a spoon and looked around for the bin, but it seemed as hidden as the fridge. She lobbed it in the sink and then finally, thankfully, handed Emily her tea. Mission accomplished.
“Oh...” There was no disguising the disappointment in Emily’s voice. What had she done wrong? Maybe Emily didn’t take milk, or the tea was too weak, or... something. Claire wasn’t Rachel, at any rate. “Thank you,” Emily finally said, and with a little, apologetic sort of smile, she put the mug down to wipe Riley’s and Rogan’s faces and then unbuckle them from their seats. “We’ll be in the playroom,” she said, sounding forlorn, and Claire breathed a sigh of relief when they all left and she could get on with things.
By the end of the day she was tired, dirty, and yet quietly elated by her success. She’d cleaned three houses and she’d done a decent job, although Emily Hart had looked a little let down. Her house was clean at least, even if it lasted for only five minutes. Riley and Rogan had dumped what looked like a vat of Play-Doh onto the freshly mopped, still slightly damp kitchen floor as Claire had been putting on her coat.
Now she parked in front of Rachel’s house, hauled out the cleaning supplies, and knocked on the front door.
Meghan answered, looking slightly better than she had the last time Claire had seen her. Nathan was balanced on her hip, and her hair looked washed, her face clear. “You survived.”
“Just.” Claire grinned, still high on her sense of accomplishment. “Actually, it was fine.”
Rachel came to the door, gently nudging Meghan out of the way. “Thanks again,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”
“I enjoyed it, actually, Henry Price’s bathroom aside.”
“You managed the Harts all right?”
“Yes, but Emily seemed a bit... I don’t know, disappointed.”
“She just wanted a chat, probably,” Rachel answered. “Sometimes I think it’s the highlight of her week.”
“A chat?”
“Most days I make us a cup of tea and we have a natter for twenty minutes or so before I start cleaning. I think she appreciates the adult conversation, such as it is.”
“Oh.” Claire thought of the cup of tea she’d made for Emily, pushing it into her hands, clearly itching to get on with her job. “I think I botched that, sorry.”
“You’ll know for next time.” Rachel hesitated. “Although there doesn’t have to be a next time. Meghan and Lily are going to help with Mum, so I can really—”
“I like doing it,” Claire cut across her. “Really.”
Rachel hesitated, torn, Claire suspected, between pride and need. “Okay,” she said at last. “For now it helps. I’ll pay you, of course—”
“You don’t have to pay me—”
“You deserve it. And it helps, to keep the clients. So thank you.”
Claire smiled wryly. “You don’t have to keep saying thank you, Rachel. You’ve certainly done enough for me over the years.”
Rachel raised her eyebrows. “Over the years?”
“I mean before. Back when we were little. You stood before me and the world, or at least the rest of the Year Two.”
“I’m not sure that was a good thing,” Rachel answered, but she was smiling. “Look, do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”
The invitation sounded awkward but heartfelt. Clare grinned. “Sure,” she said, and stepped inside.
An hour later she headed down the high street, having had a somewhat surprisingly enjoyable time with Rachel, drinking tea and navigating the chaos of the Campbell household. Nathan had run in and out, sometimes with no pants on, and Lily had thrown herself on her sofa and moaned about her biology exam in two weeks’ time while Rachel had, with seeming effort, restrained from nagging her sister about studying. It had been nice, in a strange and surprising way.
Now the sky was gray and the air fresh and damp with the promise of rain. It was chilly enough to warrant a coat, even though the flowers were out in the window boxes and the cherry trees down by the church had blossoms like giant pink puffballs. No matter how cold or wet it was, spring came anyway, a determined, relentless reawakening.
Claire’s steps slowed as she came to the post office; it was just before seven, and Dan would be starting to close up. She could see the light was on, and if she stood on her tiptoes she couldsee the top of his head, standing as he was behind the till. She wanted to go inside, but what would she say?
She started to walk past and then stopped. She was trying to change her life. Trying to take control of it, hard as that had been, and accepting Dan’s slouch back to the status quo was not being in control or being brave.
