“You didn’t stop me.”
“I know. And I suppose part of me expected it, even. I remember being relieved, that I’d have someone to take care of me. Because that’s what I was used to.”
Rachel shook her head slowly. “So why did your mother treat you that way? It seems a little OTT, even for Marie West.”
Claire took a deep breath. “When I was little I was always getting ill. Ear infections, colds, just low-level stuff. But then when I was four I developed a tumor thing in my ear. It started out small, but it went undiagnosed, and I ended up having a whole bunch of surgeries and then I went deaf in that ear. It freaked my mother out, I suppose, and so she kept me off school and obsessed over everything.” She released her breath in a long, low rush. “And I mean everything.”
Rachel was frowning, looking like she didn’t even know Claire anymore. “Why did you never tell me about all that? When we were little?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. It didn’t feel like a secret exactly, more something you shouldn’t mention in polite conversation.”
“Your mother said that, I’m guessing?”
“It was more just a feeling.” A very strong feeling. “You must have noticed how much school I missed.”
“I suppose.” Rachel was still frowning, lost in thought. “You had pneumonia for a couple of weeks in Year Three....”
“I was always getting sick or having surgery. It felt like that, anyway. And my mother was always flitting about me, obsessing about every little thing. She stopped work when I first got sick,and I think she made me her career. And I don’t think I was a particularly satisfying one.” Claire let out a humorless laugh and drained her glass of wine.
“And when you grew up? Went to college, to Portugal? Didn’t you ever feel like breaking that pattern?”
“It took me a while to realize there was a pattern to break. I know this doesn’t put me in a good light,” she added, for Rachel’s expression had gone a bit skeptical, a little sour. “I just... drifted. My father arranged for me to work in an art gallery in London, so I went. And then my mother’s friend had a villa in Portugal, and they thought I should go there. I think my mother was hoping I’d get together with Hugh.”
“Hugh.” Rachel said his name like it was a foreign country, a place she’d never heard of. “You haven’t mentioned him very much.”
“No.”
“Did you love him?”
Claire gazed down at her wineglass. “No.”
“But your mother wanted you to marry him, so you said yes.”
“It seemed like the next step.”
“Did he love you? I have to admit he doesn’t sound like a stellar guy, checking you into rehab without your consent.”
“Well, I did have a problem,” Claire said, and nodded towards the wineglass dangling from her fingertips. Rachel finally cracked a smile, and Claire slumped in her seat, leaning her head back against the chair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he saw in me except that I was biddable and eager to please. When I moved in with him, I asked if I could put my clothes in his bedroom cupboard. He said no.”
“Seriously?”
“I used the guest bedroom’s cupboard instead. But everything was like that. And I didn’t make a fuss. I’m not sure I even minded, really. When you’re so miserable you don’t mindanything, if that makes sense. I was just sleepwalking through life.”
“So that’s why you got drunk at that party. Because you were facing a lifetime of Hugh Hoity-Toity.”
Claire grimaced. “Basically. But to be fair, he wasn’t that bad. He was—is—very handsome and charming. And he could be funny too, when he turned it on.”
“So what did you do when you were drunk?” Rachel asked. “I hope you embarrassed him terribly.”
“I did.” A smile slipped out, and Rachel leaned forward.
“Go on, then. Tell me everything.”
“I don’t remember it all, but I know I danced. On a table.”
Rachel let out a bark of laughter. “I would so have liked to see that.”
“And I sang along to the music. ‘Roar’ by Katy Perry, if I remember correctly. And I don’t have a good singing voice.”
