“No. Nothing’s wrong.” Claire took a deep breath and held her hands more tightly together, because otherwise she was afraid they would shake. She’d never stood up to her parents. Never in her whole life, except for coming to Cumbria three months ago, and then she hadn’t had to confront them. To stare them down.
“Then why are you sitting here like—oh, I don’t know.” Her mother gave a false little laugh, and Claire saw her gaze dart to the liquor bottles in the cabinet in the corner of the room.
“I haven’t had any alcohol, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Claire said. Her voice sounded strange, harder than normal. “I don’t actually have a drinking problem, Mum.”
“Oh, Claire . . .”
“Why would you believe Hugh rather than me?”
Marie blinked at her for a few seconds. “You never denied it.”
Which was unfortunately true. She’d just gone along, meek and shocked, half convinced. “No, you’re right. I should have said something. I should have stood up for myself a long time ago.”
“Stood up for yourself? Claire, what is this nonsense—”
“I’m not going to fall in with your plans this time, Mum. Dad.” Claire moved her gaze to her father, who was still standing in the doorway, his expression stony. “I know it will be a disappointment to you, although maybe it will be a relief. Perhaps you’re as tired of managing me as I am of being managed.” Her parents simply stared, and Claire forced a smile. “I don’t want to go to London. I don’t want to work at some charity simply because Dad’s paid them to hire me—”
“That’s not true,” Marie protested, and Claire looked at her father once again.
“Did you give them a donation?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
Which meant he had. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” Claire said, although it was only half true. “All along. I know you’ve been worried about me, and I know I’ve been a disappointment in a lot of ways. But I’m twenty-eight years old and I need to see if I can stand on my own two feet. And I want to do that here, in Hartley-by-the-Sea.”
Marie looked genuinely baffled. “But why? I mean, darling, you’re working in a poky little shop. And you don’t know anyone here....”
“I do,” Claire said. “I have friends. And I like it here. I want to try to make a life for myself. Here.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to London with you."
Chapter thirty-one
Rachel
“So what did Claire want?”
Meghan stood in the doorway of the kitchen while Rachel stared down at the papers she’d shoved in a drawer. Her application to the University of Lancaster. She closed the drawer and turned to face her sister.
“She’s got a job in London. Figures.”
“So she’s leaving?”
“Looks like it.” Rachel shrugged dismissively and opened the fridge to look for something to make for tea. She wasn’t surprised Claire was leaving, not really. She just hadn’t expected it to hurt quite this much.
“So who will take some of your cleaning jobs?”
She’d forgotten she’d actually told Meghan her plans, after sending that stupid text to Claire, when the world had seemed as if it were shimmering with possibility. Now she recognized that as an illusion. Except she wasn’t going to let Claire West ruin her plans. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”
“You’ll still go to uni?”
Rachel closed her eyes briefly. “Why do you care?”
“Because I actually care about you,” Meghan answered. “You dolt.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it, Rach—”
“I know you do.” Rachel took a deep breath. “We’ll figure something out, Meghan. I wasn’t depending on Claire to make it all work, trust me.” Except she sort of had been, at least a little. She’d envisioned Claire taking over part of the business, stepping in when Rachel went to classes. Being there.
