Rachel
Rachel gazed in weary dismay at the en-suite bathroom she was cleaning. Four wet towels in a sodden heap on the floor; coarse, dark hair filling up the drains of both the shower and the sink; and as for the toilet . . .
“Oy, Juliet,” she called. “Who did you have staying here? A pair of gorillas?”
“Some hikers who are in uni,” Juliet called back up. “They weren’t the tidiest blokes.”
“You should have charged extra,” Rachel answered as she started spritzing the shower stall. “I should charge extra.”
“Shall I put the kettle on?”
“You’d better, and make it a double.”
Twenty minutes later Rachel came downstairs to the kitchen of Tarn House, with its cheerful green Aga and the view of the sheep pasture leading to the dark green fells in the distance. Juliet Bagshaw stood at the sink, rinsing out a teapot, as Rachel bundled the wet towels into the washer.
“You survived,” she said, humor glinting in her gray eyes, and Rachel grimaced.
“Only just. The toilet almost defeated me.”
Juliet held up a hand. “I really don’t want to know.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” The kettle startled whistling, and Juliet whisked it off the Aga’s hot plate while Rachel made herself comfortable at the kitchen table. Juliet was always good for a cup of tea and a chat.
“So,” Juliet said as she poured water into the teapot, “what’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Lucy said you weren’t yourself at the pub quiz last week.”
“Wasn’t myself?” Rachel tried to joke. “Who was I, then?”
“‘Not on top form,’ were her actual words.”
“I single-handedly answered seventeen of the twenty questions. I’d say that was top form, or close to it.”
Juliet turned around, planting her hands on her hips as she gave Rachel a stern look. “Rachel. Quit it. You know what I mean.”
“Who says I do?” Rachel challenged grumpily. Six months ago Juliet had minded her own business well enough; it was only since her half sister, Lucy, had come to stay, and she’d begun dating Peter Lanford, that she’d started emoting. Right now Rachel didn’t like it.
“Seriously,” Juliet said as she poured the tea into mugs and brought them to the table. She pushed the milk jug towards Rachel. “Is something going on?”
“Nothing more than usual. Lily doesn’t want to study and Meghan is being a lazy pain in the backside. But what else is new?” Rachel poured milk into her tea and stirred it vigorously.
“And what about this Claire West, then?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. What about her?” Juliet raised her eyebrows, an eloquent response, and Rachel blew out a breath. “All right, fine. Maybe I was a bit snippy with Claire at the pub quiz, but only because she’s so bloody useless.” Juliet sipped hertea, waiting for more, and annoyed now, Rachel gave it to her. “Look, I know Lucy’s taken Claire under her wing because Lucy’s like that. She’s always looking to fix people. But that doesn’t mean I have to.”
“Of course you don’t,” Juliet answered mildly. “How do you even know Claire?”
“Didn’t Lucy tell you that? We went to primary school together.” Juliet cocked her head, waiting, and Rachel groaned.
“Oh, honestly, Juliet. We used to be friends, all right? Best friends, way back when.”
“And what happened?” Juliet sounded uncharacteristically gentle rather than her usual acerbic self. Letting both Lucy and Peter into her life had softened Juliet, so now Rachel felt like the one with brittle edges, the hard angles.
“We stopped being friends,” she answered. “As you do.”
“Do you?”
