She’d had a few pleasant interactions over the week: coffee with Abby down at the café, a walk with Lucy. But the majority of her time was spent alone, fighting off the loneliness thatthreatened to sweep over her like the waves that crashed onto the shore, icy-cold and overwhelming.
And now she was being melodramatic. She’d spent most of her life alone, even when she was with people. She’d always felt on the periphery, almost like a ghost. She’d chosen it, because it was easier to exist on the sidelines than to fight for the middle. Yet since coming to Cumbria, since meeting people and getting a job and actually living her own life, even if just a little, that sense of isolation bothered her more. She didn’t want to live that way forever.
“Why does your brother treat you like a child?” Rachel asked abruptly.
Claire turned, yanked out of her melancholy reverie. “Because he’s my older brother?”
“No, seriously. He acts like you’re... I don’t know, mentally deficient or something.”
Claire let out a dry laugh. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Actually, everyone does. Or did. I did.” She turned to give her a hard stare. “Why was that? Why have you always seemed so helpless?”
Claire could feel her cheeks starting to burn. Now both her face and her feet were throbbing. “You really know how to lay on the compliments, Rachel.”
“Seriously, Claire.” Rachel stopped walking, and she forced Claire to stop as well by laying a hand on her arm. Andrew and Lily continued on ahead, oblivious. Claire couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were both waving their hands, engrossed in some discussion. “Why?” Rachel demanded. “You’re smart....”
“Actually, I’m not. I never did very well in school.”
“You went to university.”
“I was tutored through all my A levels. I barely scraped by with three Cs.”
“That’s not that bad,” Rachel objected. “You still got in somewhere.” Claire shrugged. “Why does Andrew baby you?” she pressed.
“You said you did it too,” Claire answered after a moment. “So why did you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought about that. There was something so helpless about you when we were growing up that made me want to reach out. There still is.” She pursed her lips. “I liked it back then. I liked taking caring of you and how much you seemed to appreciate it. But, frankly, now it’s annoying.”
Claire tried for a laugh. “I knew I annoyed you now.”
Rachel shook her head impatiently. “Don’t you want to stand up for yourself? Tell Andrew to shut it? Tell me to shut it, for that matter—”
“All right,” Claire retorted, and for once her voice came out strong. “Shut it, Rachel.”
Rachel grinned. “Okay, I will. But you need to stand up for yourself more, Claire. Make your own decisions. Live your own life.”
“Noted.” She kept walking, even though she was developing blisters on both heels, because she didn’t think she could stand there and listen to Rachel tell her what to do, even if it was well meant, for another second. She was trying, for heaven’s sake. Didn’t anyone see that?
“Shall we stop here?” she called up to Andrew. Her feet were killing her.
He turned around, looking surprised at how far Claire and Rachel were lagging behind. “Are you all right, Claire?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “Quit worrying about me, Andrew.” She flopped onto the stubbly grass and yanked off her shoes. Her feet felt like they were on fire.
Andrew, Lily, and Rachel all came to join her, Andrew grimacing at the state of her feet. “Honestly, Claire. Let meget you some plasters.” He took out his first aid kit while Rachel unpacked what looked like revolting tuna sandwiches, all smushed and damp, from her rucksack and handed one to Lily, who took it with a slight grimace.
“Couldn’t we all eat at the inn on the way back?” Claire suggested. She didn’t want to eat one of Rachel’s sandwiches, but she hadn’t brought any food herself.
“I thought you said you wanted a picnic,” Andrew said as he handed her a couple of plasters.
“I did. In the beer garden.” She ripped open the plasters and stuck them on her blisters, sucking her breath in sharply at the sting of pain. Why did anyone walk up a mountain? What was the point?
As if reading her thoughts, or perhaps just the expression on her face, Andrew said, “If you’d had the proper footwear, Claire...”
“None of us have the proper footwear except for you,” Rachel interjected. “So stop picking on Claire.”
“Picking on Claire?” Andrew looked incredulous. “I’m just looking out for her.”
