“To...” Friendship didn’t seem quite right, and Claire couldn’t think of anything else. “To new beginnings,” she finally said, and Rachel nodded and hefted her glass.
“To new beginnings.”
They both sipped their wine, the mood far more awkward than Claire had hoped. She’d asked Rachel out for a drink because she wanted to make amends, maybe even become friends again, but both possibilities seemed beyond her now.
“Right.” She put her wineglass down with a clunk, and Rachel stopped in mid-sip, eyebrows raised. “I want to say sorry for what happened with us in Year Six.” Rachel stared at her, her glass suspended halfway to her mouth, and resolutely Claire continued. “I should have said it before. I know it was my fault, at least initially, that we fell out. I should have spoken to you. I shouldn’t have hidden behind those awful Wyndham girls.”
Rachel gazed at her for a moment and then shook her head. “I appreciate what you’re doing, Claire, but this really is ancient history.”
“I know it happened a long time ago, but it still matters. And when you spoke to me about it, you seemed upset....”
“If I’ve seemed upset it’s because my mother has had a stroke,” Rachel cut in. “And my life feels like a trap that is closing in on me, because I’m never going to be doing anything other than cleaning toilets and taking care of my family for the rest of mylife.” She broke off abruptly, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes before she resolutely dropped it. “I’m not upset because you hurt my feelings when we were eleven. I’m not quite that pathetic.”
“I know that,” Claire said. “I don’t think you’re pathetic. If anyone’s pathetic, it’s me, for not being brave enough to keep the best friend I ever had.”
Rachel pressed her lips together, her eyes bright with what Claire thought might actually be tears. “I suppose I was the same. I was too proud to go and talk to you.” She took a quick, sharp breath. “I didn’t want to be rejected.”
“I wouldn’t have—”
“Are you sure about that? You stayed with those girls for the rest of Year Six. They came to your blasted birthday party.”
Claire closed her eyes briefly as a memory washed over her. “That was an absolutely wretched party. My mother arranged it all—”
“Including the invitations?”
Claire’s mouth parted soundlessly as realization crept in. “You weren’t invited... ?”
“No, but I hardly care now. It’s not about that.” Rachel let out an impatient sigh. “It was a hard time in my life, that’s all. My mother broke her back and my father was out of work, and I wanted—needed—someone I could count on.”
“Oh, Rachel.” Claire swallowed hard. “I should have been that person.” Rachel didn’t answer. “I hate that I was so weak,” Claire said abruptly, her tone vehement. “I hate it. I’ve been so bloody weak my whole life, going where someone points, even to rehab!” She laughed, a choked sound, and shook her head. “You must despise me. I despise me.”
“I don’t despise you,” Rachel said. “I can understand how you might have wanted to be popular.”
“It wasn’t that. I’ve never wanted to be popular in my life.”
“No?” Rachel glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “What, then?”
“I wanted to please my mother. She wanted me to be friends with all the Wyndham girls. To be popular. But I never really felt like part of their group.”
“You looked like you were, from the outside,” Rachel said as she reached for the bottle and poured herself another glass of wine. “You looked like you were having a ball.”
“Did I really?” Claire shook her head. “Actually, I was miserable.” She paused and then continued starkly. “I think I’ve been unhappy most of my life.”
Rachel stared at her, nonplussed. “Oh?”
“I know you think I had the whole silver spoon thing going on,” Claire continued stiltedly. It was hard to hold on to her conviction with Rachel looking so unimpressed. “And I know I’ve been lucky in a lot of ways. But...” She took a deep breath, wondering how she could explain everything without seeming like she was asking for pity. Maybe she was. “I also know there’s no excuse for dropping you as a friend. I do realize that.”
“I’m glad, and I get that you want to make up for all that,” Rachel said, “but there’s really no need. I lost my temper the other day, but trust me, I have not been crying into my pillow every night wondering what went wrong.”
“I know you haven’t. And this is as much about me, and trying to be the person I want to be, as it is about addressing something that happened a lifetime ago. So let me do this, okay?”
Rachel sat back in her chair. “Fine.”
“My whole life . . .” Claire began slowly, searching for the right words. “I’ve felt... fragile. And useless, like you said. And I haven’t known how to stop.”
“Okay,” Rachel said cautiously, eyeing her with wary curiosity. “And now?”
“Now I’m trying to change,” Claire answered. “I’m trying by working in the shop, and I’m trying with you right now. But it’shard to break old patterns. From the time I was four years old my mother wrapped me in cotton wool and treated me as if I could break. I didn’t go to Reception or Year One because she thought I was too fragile. And so I started acting fragile, because that’s how everyone seemed to see me. Even you, unbuttoning my coat the first day of Year Two. I remember that.”
