“Just... with me. Please.” Claire tugged on her arm. “For five minutes. Are you free?”
Rachel glanced back inside, and Claire heard Meghan call, “Yes, you’re free, Rachel. For heaven’s sake, the house isn’t going to go up in smoke if you leave for ten minutes.”
“Five,” Rachel said, and stepped outside. Claire started walking down the street, and Rachel followed. “So where are we going, then?”
“You’ll see.” She felt excited and more than a little nervous. Would Rachel think she was being absurd? Maybe she was. Suddenly she didn’t care. She was going to do this, because she wanted to do it.
“What is this, Claire?” Rachel asked a touch impatiently, and Claire shook her head.
“Just wait a minute.” She turned from the high street up the narrow lane that led to the school. Rachel’s steps slowed.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll see.”
“School’s out—”
“I know.” Claire had forgotten how steep the school lane was. Walking up it brought her right back to her primary days, when her legs had wobbled and ached from the walk and dread had pooled in her stomach at the thought of enduring an entire day of school. The only thing that had helped had been seeing Rachel standing at the top of the lane, smiling and calling her a slow coach.
“Almost there,” Claire called, and with resolute determination, she headed across the schoolyard to the stretch of grass, where the big rhododendron bush dominated the far side.
Rachel stopped at the edge of the yard. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“Believe it,” Claire called back, and stood before the giant bush. Had she really scrambled under that thing? It looked so dirty.
“Claire . . .”
“Please, Rachel. Just humor me, okay? For my sake as much as yours.”
“I have no idea why this would be for my sake,” Rachel grumbled, but she crossed the field.
They both stood before the bush, staring at its dark green, glossy leaves, the bright pink flowers just coming into bud.
“Ready?” Claire asked brightly, and Rachel didn’t answer. She crouched down and tried to lift the lowest branches up, getting smacked in the face in the process.
“I always held them back for you,” Rachel said, and she sounded fond.
Claire grabbed a knobbly, inflexible branch a bit harder and pulled. “This time I’m doing it,” she said, and forced her way under the bush. Rachel followed.
“It’s dire under here,” Rachel remarked as they crawled on their hands and knees towards the center of the bush, where there looked to be enough space at least to sit up. The ground was dirty and dusty and smelled strangely stale, littered with empty crisp packets and squashed beer cans. “Was it always this bad?”
“I can’t remember.” Claire crawled farther into the bush’s heart. There was no going back now.
There was space at the center, enough when they’d been small to crouch or kneel, and now simply to sit, heads ducked low, knees tucked in. In other words, not very comfortably.
“So,” Rachel said after a few seconds of scrambling into position. “What’s going on? I get the symbolism,” she added.“We’re back under this damn bush. Back to being friends. Yay us.”
All right, so it had been an obvious, over-the-top gesture. But still. Claire wanted it to mean something to both of them.
“Yes, we’re under the bush,” she said. “And I just wanted to... to say—”
“You don’t need to say anything,” Rachel cut across her. “Look, Claire, it’s okay you’re leaving. You need to live your own life. I get that. I’m not angry or hurt or anything.”
Claire peered at her for a moment, blinking in the gloom. “What do you think I dragged you out here to say?”
“That you’re sorry you’re leaving, but . . . ?”
“I’m not leaving, Rachel. I don’t want to leave. The truth is, I came over the other day because I wanted you to tell me to stay. Old habits die hard and all that.”
