She’d walked back down the fell, limping the last part of the way, and headed towards the inn. She’d been considering her options as she’d walked and realized they were extremely limited. She didn’t have any cash on her or even her phone, which she kept in a drawer in a bedroom and checked once a day for messages from her mother, like taking medicine. Nasty but quickly over.
Wasdale Head was one of the Lake District’s most remote outposts. It wasn’t as if she could catch a bus or a train, even if she’d had the money to do so. So she’d stood in the doorway of the inn and gazed around at all the hikers with their walking sticks and pints of beer and then, clearing her throat, she’d issued her challenge, or really, her plea.
“Is anyone heading towards Hartley-by-the-Sea?”
A dozen heads had swiveled towards her, no doubt taking in her ruined plimsolls and desperate expression. She really did notwant to have to wait for Andrew to come back down Scafell Pike, shaking his head in a sanctimonious, I-told-you-so way.
“I’m going to Workington,” a woman called out. She was in her midfifties, kitted out in high-tech hiking gear. “If you can wait for me to finish my lunch, I’ll take you.”
So Claire had waited, her stomach growling, as the woman finished her steak and ale pie. Claire almost wished she’d taken one of Rachel’s tuna sandwiches.
Finally they set off, the woman introducing herself as Anna Linhart. She unclipped a dog’s lead from the post outside, and Claire glanced at the enormous, slobbering wolfhound with some alarm. She was not much of a dog person, and definitely not a big dog person. Even Bunny made her a little nervous.
“He wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the woman assured her, but Claire still kept a good five feet between her and the half horse that the woman put in the backseat of her Mini. The car was so small that the wolfhound’s head was practically on Claire’s shoulder, his hot breath steaming into her ear.
“He likes you,” Anna remarked. Claire did not reply. She could tell by Anna’s few, careful questions that the older woman thought Claire was fleeing some breakup or abusive boyfriend, rather than an irritating older brother.
“You do have a safe place to stay?” she asked for the third time as they neared Hartley-by-the-Sea.
“Yes, definitely. I’m not in any danger, honestly.” Claire smiled weakly, not wanting to admit she’d begged a lift simply to save face. “Really, I’ll be okay.”
“Call this number if you need anything,” Anna said, and gave her a card for the Good Samaritans. Claire took it with murmured thanks.
She stepped into Four Gables with a sigh of relief, for once relishing the emptiness around her. Then she ran a deep, hotbath, eased off her ruined plimsolls, and sank into the foaming water.
An hour later Andrew still wasn’t home and Claire felt mostly restored. She knew she could expect a lecture from Andrew about not accepting rides from strangers, and that would really make her feel like a child. What if she told him she’d accepted a chocolate bar from a stranger too? Anna had shared the bar of Cadbury’s she’d kept in her glove box.
The thought made Claire smile, and the fact that she could see the humor in a situation for once made her feel strong. Maybe Rachel was right, and she didn’t have to creep and inch her way through life, head ducked down, apologizing for everything. She’d been doing it for so long she’d forgotten how to be anything else, but she could learn. She could try.
Andrew finally came in at ten o’clock, when Claire had just been about to head up to bed. He looked tired and distinctly hassled, and in a knee-jerk reaction Claire babbled out an apology.
“Sorry to make you worry. I really was fine though, Andrew.”
“It’s not that.” Andrew flung the car keys on the granite countertop, where they skittered and bounced. He raked his hands through his hair and then dropped them wearily.
“What . . . what took you so long?”
“Rachel’s mother had a stroke.”
“What?” Claire stared at him, appalled. “When . . . ? How . . . ? I mean . . .”
“Lily found her when we got back from Wasdale Head. She was lying on the floor of the sitting room.”
“Is she okay? I mean, now?”
“I don’t know. I stayed with them until she was settled, but they’ll have to do tests, and of course she’ll have to have some rehabilitation.” He shook his head slowly. “Not an easy situation.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“I doubt it. Rachel doesn’t want help, anyway. At least she doesn’t want to admit she needs it.” Andrew smiled wryly. “She’s too proud.” Claire heard a note of affection in his voice and wondered again at Andrew’s interest in Rachel. “I’m completely shattered,” he continued, “not to mention starving. Is there anything to eat?”
Claire had made a cup of instant noodles for herself several hours ago. “Toast?”
Andrew grimaced and closed the door of the fridge. “Maybe I’ll just go to bed.”
“Okay.”
He stood there a second, his palm flat on the fridge. “How did you get home, anyway?”
