Now and Then Friends (16 page)

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 me get you some plasters.” He took out his first-aid kit while Rachel unpacked what looked like revolting tuna sandwiches, all smooshed 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.”

“Maybe she can look out for herself.”

Andrew's eyes narrowed. “We've had this conversation before, Rachel.”

“Wait . . . You have?” Claire jerked upright, the pain in her feet forgotten for a moment. “You've been
talking
about me?”

Andrew hesitated, and Rachel waited, saying nothing, but she looked guilty. They both did. “I just wanted to make sure you were looked after,” he finally said.

So he'd asked Rachel to be her nursemaid? No wonder Rachel thought Andrew treated her like a baby. “Damn it, Andrew,” she said, and then, because she didn't trust herself not to burst into tears, which would prove both their points, she got up and walked a little distance away, towards a creek that was tumbling down the hillside. She stood there, staring at the clear, cold water streaming over the stony ground, feeling like a child who had just stomped off because someone had taken her toys. Rachel was right. She was helpless. And she still didn't know how to change.

“Claire.” Andrew came up behind her, managing to sound both conciliatory and reproving. Only he could manage that tone, along with their mother. “I'm sorry if it seemed as if I was interfering.”

“Seemed?”

“All right, I have been interfering. But I've told you before, we're all worried about you.”

“And I've told you before, you don't need to be.”

“Really? Because when your sister ends up in rehab for a month due to a drinking problem, it's understandable to be a bit worried.”

She closed her eyes, humiliation seeping from every pore. Andrew had spoken loudly enough for both Lily and Rachel to hear. “I don't think I actually have a drinking problem, Andrew,” she said, her voice squeezed out from her constricted throat.

“Oh, Claire.” He sounded so weary, so disappointed. “Don't.”

“I'm not in denial.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “I know it seems like I am. I know everyone listens to Hugh rather than me because, well, he's Hugh and when has anyone listened to me? But it's true, Andrew. I drank too much. Once.
Once
.” Actually, twice. But
she'd been feeling stressed and miserable, and maybe she
did
have a problem, or even several. But she didn't think she was an alcoholic. “I wasn't sneaking vodka into my orange juice or blacking out or anything like that—”

“Having a drinking problem doesn't necessarily mean you black out. Or sneak alcohol or any of the stereotypical signs. You know that, Claire. It can manifest itself in—”

“Oh, stop. Please, just stop. I heard it all at Lansdowne Hills for four whole weeks. I don't need it from you.”

“Maybe you do, considering—”

“I said to
stop
!” she said, and then, because she couldn't think of anything else to do, she went back to where Rachel and Lily were sitting in rigid silence, yanked on her shoes, and started back down the trail, her feet throbbing with every step.

“Claire,” Andrew called. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Claire yelled over her shoulder, and kept walking.

Rachel watched Claire stomp down the trail with a mixture of bemusement and pride. Claire's feet had to be killing her. Then she glanced back at Andrew, who was standing there, mouth hanging open, arms akimbo. It was particularly satisfying to see him looking like he didn't know what had hit him. As satisfying as knowing it was
Claire
who had.

After a few seconds Andrew closed his mouth, shook his head, and then walked back towards Rachel and Lily. “We should go after her.”

“Why?” Rachel asked. Andrew gave her an incredulous look.

“Because she's in no state—”

“She seemed fine to me. A little pissed-off, maybe.” Rachel hadn't heard the whole conversation, but the words “drinking problem” had practically bounced off the mountains. Rachel glanced at Lily. “Lil, you want to keep going?”

“Well . . .” Lily glanced between Rachel and Andrew, clearly trying to decipher the undercurrents flowing between them. Her feet were probably hurting too, just as Rachel's were. “All right. Sure.”

“Good.” Rachel clambered up to standing, trying not to wince. She was doing this for Claire's sake, even if she'd never realize it. “Onwards. It's time to conquer my first fell.”

“You'll never get to the top in trainers,” Andrew stated, and Rachel gave him a long, level look.

“Try me,” she said, and they started walking.

After half an hour her feet started to chafe and then to throb, and then into their second hour of walking they went blissfully numb. Maybe she'd rubbed the skin clean away.

Andrew attempted to chat with Lily about her schoolwork, but Rachel could tell he was distracted. He kept looking back down the trail, as if expecting to see Claire hurrying after them. Several times he took his phone out, until Rachel said in exasperation, “Surely a civil engineer such as yourself realizes there is no way to get phone reception up here.”

He gave her a sheepish look and put his phone back in his pocket. “I'm worried.”

“Why? I think she can manage to walk down the trail we just came up.”

“But by the time we get back it will have been hours—”

“So? She'll go into the inn and have a drink. If she has any sense, she'll have several and be properly
kaleyed
by the time we arrive.”

Andrew frowned at her.
“Kaleyed?”

“Cumbrian for ‘drunk.'”

“That's the last thing she needs.” Andrew sounded outraged.

Rachel gave him a conciliatory smile. “Does Claire really have a drinking problem?”

“You shouldn't have heard that.”

“Considering you were practically yodeling it, it was hard not to. Seriously, though—”

“It's none of your business,” Andrew said, and started to walk faster. Rachel lengthened her stride to keep up with him.

“It's none of my business and yet you asked me to look out for her? You can't have it both ways.”

Andrew sighed. Lily was behind them, snapping photos, but he still lowered his voice. “She was in rehab for a month before she came back to Hartley-by-the-Sea.”

“For alcoholism?”

“Yes.”

“Did she check herself in?”

Andrew glanced at her sharply. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“As it happened, her fiancé, Hugh, called my parents and shared his concerns. They checked her in.”

Rachel nodded her understanding. “So everyone managed Claire, as usual.”

“She needed help, Rachel.”

Rachel knew she should drop it. She didn't know what Claire had been up to these last few years. Maybe she'd been knocking back a bottle of gin every night. Maybe she still was. “Even so, I think you should give Claire a little space to make her own decisions.”

“I agree with you in principle, but as I told you before, now is not the time.” Andrew sighed and gave her a semiapologetic smile. “Claire's not as strong as you, Rachel.”

She felt an irrational pulse of pleasure at the implied compliment and quickly squelched it. “Maybe she's never been given the chance.”

“Maybe,” Andrew allowed. “But maybe there is a reason for that. I know you were friends with Claire a long time ago, but you don't know her now. Or our family.”

“That puts me in my place,” Rachel murmured.

He shook his head, sighing. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way.”

“Actually, I think you did.” Rachel shrugged. “It's true anyway. No one in Hartley-by-the-Sea really knows any of you. But then you Wests never tried to fit in, did you? You lived here for decades, but you always acted like offcomers.” Andrew frowned, and Rachel continued lightly.
“Up in your house high above us all, going to the private school in Keswick, swanning off to Cambridge, your parents to London. We didn't stand a chance.”

“I suppose not,” he agreed after a moment. “We kept to ourselves, for better or worse. Yet you were still friends with Claire.”

And it always seemed to come back to that. “I have a kind heart,” Rachel answered flippantly. She turned back to her sister. “Don't I, Lily?”

“Umm . . . sometimes?” Lily ventured, and Andrew gave a small smile.

“Even your family condemns you.”

“Damned with faint praise.”

“Why didn't you go to university, Rachel?”

The suddenness of the question threw her. “Because I had to work.” She glanced at Lily, whose expression had turned wary. “I had better things to do,” she said, because the last thing she wanted to do was make Lily feel guilty. But when she saw a certain glint enter her sister's eyes, she realized that might not have been the best answer. “Lily's going, though,” she stated firmly. “Right, Lil? She has a conditional offer from Durham.”

“That's great news.” Andrew turned to Lily. “To study art?”

“Um, no.” Lily bit her lip, and Rachel stared at her in surprise. “Biology,” she muttered, not looking at Rachel. “Probably.”

Probably?
The offer from Durham was for biology only. Still Rachel said nothing, and Andrew murmured, “I see,” and they kept walking.

Art?
Was this about those cartoons? Had Lily talked about them with Andrew? For a reason Rachel didn't want to examine too closely, the thought made her break out in a hot, prickly flush. Why had Lily been talking to Andrew about her stupid cartoons?

They weren't stupid, Rachel knew; in fact, even from one cursory glance she'd seen they were quite clever. So, fine. When Lily was at Durham she could do a cartoon strip for the
Palatinate
, Durham's student newspaper. Rachel had no problem with that.

They were nearing the top of the fell, or at least Rachel hoped they
were. The air was sharper and colder, and snow dusted the ground. She might not have worn hiking boots, but at least she had a warm coat. She dug her hands into its pockets as she carefully picked her way over the rocks, her gaze on the ground below. The last thing she wanted was for Andrew to have to call Mountain Rescue because she'd sprained her ankle or worse. Although he wouldn't be able to call Mountain Rescue, because he didn't have reception on his phone.

“Careful.” Andrew cupped her elbow with his hand and Rachel instinctively tried to jerk away, making him hold her more firmly. “I don't want you to break a leg.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” She let him help her across the stony ground, even though it went against her instincts. There was something rather pleasant about being helped, held, even in such a small way.

“You could look up, you know,” Andrew said, and she realized, belatedly, that they'd actually reached the summit. She sucked in a hard breath, shaking off Andrew's hand as she slowly moved in a circle, taking in the stunning view in every direction. Barren fells, rocky, rust colored, and unrelieved by any trees or bushes, swept to an endless horizon. She could see the glint of Wastwater in the distance, a hard, bright blue. It was beautiful, but there was something lonely and bleak about it too, something that made Rachel's chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with the cold air or high altitude.

“Amazing, isn't it?” Andrew said quietly. From behind her Rachel heard Lily snapping pictures.

She didn't answer Andrew, because “amazing” wasn't the right word. It was awe-inspiring, incredible, and yet also painful. Looking at that endless view made Rachel realize how small she was, how utterly insignificant. There was a whole world out there to explore and conquer, and soon enough she'd be cleaning Henry Price's toilet.

She closed her eyes, shutting out both the vista and the thought of Henry Price and his unhygienic habits. She wanted to savor this moment
and at the same time run away from it. Lily came to stand next to her, and Rachel opened her eyes. She saw Andrew gazing at her thoughtfully, a look in his eyes that Rachel feared was too close to pity.

“I suppose we should head back and find Claire,” she said.

The walk back down Scafell Pike was as onerous as the journey up, each downward step jolting Rachel's knee joints and sending loose pebbles skittering down the path.

“People underestimate how difficult it is to walk down a mountain,” Andrew remarked, and Rachel didn't bother to answer. She was trying not to whimper in pain. She didn't think she'd ever wear trainers again.

By the time the gate at the start of the trail came into view, she could have wept with relief. They'd passed a few hikers along the way, all of them decked out in the same sensible kit as Andrew. No one looked like they were in the kind of pain Rachel was. Lily, however, had managed all right. She'd borrowed a pair of hiking boots from a friend.

“Claire's probably inside,” Andrew said, nodding towards the inn, and they all trooped inside the large whitewashed building. Rachel glanced around the wood-paneled bar with its deep booths and full array of wines and beers and thought she'd do just about anything to sink into a seat with a large glass of red.

Andrew, however, didn't look inclined to linger. He was walking around the room, looking for Claire, but after just a few seconds of searching it was clear she wasn't there.

“Maybe she got a room?” Rachel suggested. After her glass of wine she'd like a bubble bath and a twelve-hour nap upstairs. She imagined Claire would like the same.

“Look.” Lily pointed to a notice board by the door, where various people had pinned adverts for secondhand hiking equipment or guided tours. There was a torn-off piece of paper with a few words scrawled on it:
I went home. –Claire.

“How on earth did she get home?” Andrew demanded. “It's not as if a bus comes through here.”

“Maybe she got a lift with someone,” Lily ventured, and Andrew scowled.

“Let's go,” he said, and strode out of the pub.

They were all quiet as they got into his Lexus, Rachel taking the front seat. She let out a quiet yet deeply felt sigh of relief when she sat down. She was desperate to take off her shoes, but she wasn't about to do it in Andrew's car. She'd assess the damage privately, at home.

“I'm sure she's fine,” she said as Andrew pulled out onto the road, his face set in grim lines.

“Hitchhiking with some stranger? Right.”

“Did you guys read that book about the fell walker who was a serial killer?” Lily asked as she leaned forward, one hand on each of their seats. “Seriously creepy.” Andrew did not reply and Lily sat back. “Sorry,” she murmured. “It was really unrealistic. Completely stretched my suspension of disbelief. How would he fit two women in the boot of his car?”

Rachel almost laughed, but a niggling worry kept her from it. What if something had happened to Claire? She was the one who had goaded Claire up on the fell, telling her not to let Andrew baby her. If Claire ended up chopped into pieces in the boot of some murderous hiker's car, it would be Rachel's fault.

They'd just turned onto the A-road towards Egremont when Andrew's phone trilled with an incoming text. He glanced down at it, his expression clearing even though the set of his shoulders remained rigid. “She's back home.”

“Well, then.” Rachel settled back into her seat. “I knew she'd be all right.”

Clouds were starting to roll in from the sea as they reached Hartley-by-the-Sea, and Rachel's mood turned with the weather. Despite the various tensions, she'd enjoyed the day out, an escape from real life. With
every mile they came closer to home, the pressures and worries she'd kept at bay for a few hours started to hound her.

She'd forgotten to do her weekly food shopping online, and tea still had to be made. Rachel doubted Meghan would have lifted a finger. Her taxes were due in a few weeks, and all her business expenses were kept in a shoe box that she hadn't so much as looked in for about nine months. Lily's final lab work was this week, and Rachel had forgotten to ask her about the soil samples. Her mother had a doctor's appointment in Whitehaven on Thursday, and Rachel would have to rework her day to take her, or ask Meghan to do it. Both options were unpalatable.