“Rachel!” Meghan yelled over her shoulder. “Someone to see you.” She stepped back inside, and Claire followed, feeling faintly ridiculous carrying her foil-covered dish.
“Meghan, Nathan has pooed his pants again. I thought he was potty trained?” Rachel came striding out of the kitchen, looking tired and harassed, only to come up short when she caught sight of Claire. “Oh. You.”
Which was what she’d said the last time Claire had come across her unexpectedly.
“Hey...” Claire began, but Rachel was already turning to Meghan.
“He needs to be cleaned up. Now.”
“He’s regressing because of all the stress around here,” Meghan muttered. “Oy! Nathan.” She disappeared into the kitchen, and Claire tried not to wrinkle her nose. Now that she was in the house, she realized it reeked.
“Sorry,” Rachel said, and picked up a woolen beanie that had been lying on the floor and hung it on a coat peg. “So, not to be rude, but... why are you here?”
“I thought you could use a meal.” Claire nodded towards the dish in her hands. “With everything else going on.”
Rachel stared at her for a moment, unspeaking, and Claire smiled back uncertainly. Meghan barreled past them, holding a very smelly little boy aloft.
“Coming through with nuclear waste,” she announced, and headed upstairs.
“Come into the kitchen,” Rachel said, and Claire followed her through to a tiny room, every surface cluttered with dirty dishesand... stuff. Crumpled papers, makeup, sweet wrappers. She’d never seen so much rubbish.
“Sorry. I haven’t had time to tidy up,” Rachel muttered.
“You’re starting to sound like me, saying sorry all the time.”
“Well. It is a tip in here.” Awkwardly Rachel held her hands out, and just as awkwardly Claire put the casserole dish into them. She hadn’t expected this to be quite so weird.
“It’s macaroni and cheese. I had a taste, to make sure it wasn’t revolting. You’re not vegan or anything, are you?”
“Vegan?” For a moment Rachel looked amused. “No. Definitely not.”
“Okay, then. Good.” They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, and Claire felt the weight of the years between them, decades of silence she found it hard to break now. “How’s your mum?” she asked finally.
“Not very well at the moment.” Rachel opened the fridge and slid the casserole dish inside. “She’s going to be in the hospital for a few days while they do some tests.”
“It was a stroke?”
“They think so, yes. She’s a smoker, so I suppose it’s not really surprising.”
“It must be hard, though. Is your dad... ?” Claire trailed off as she saw Rachel stiffen.
“My dad hasn’t been around for years, Claire, but I don’t know why I’d expect you to know that. You were in uni then, and we hadn’t so much as spoken for seven years. But I thought you might have heard the crack through the village grapevine.”
“The crack . . . ?”
“Cumbrian for ‘gossip.’ Surely you knew that?” Rachel gave a half smile. “You were born here, after all.”
“I’m afraid I never got the hang of the dialect.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would have.”
“If there’s anything else I can do...” Claire offered. Rachel gazed at her for a moment and then shook her head.
“I really don’t think there is.”
“Okay. Well.” Claire took a backwards step towards the hall. “You must have loads to do. I suppose I’ll go...” Another step, and Rachel just watched her. This whole conversation was becoming more awkward by the second.
“I really mean it,” Claire blurted. “If there’s anything I can do... anything at all...”
