Now and Then Friends (5 page)

This had been a mistake. Claire realized that as soon as she stepped into the pub and the noise of the place hit her like a smack in the face. She nearly stumbled right back out the door, because she'd never been good with crowds. When Hugh had taken her to parties, she'd spent the whole time either in the ladies' or craning her head forward, attempting to catch what everyone was saying, trying to keep up, or at least appear as if she were.

Before she could move, Lucy was calling to her from across the entire pub. “Claire! Claire, over here.”

The crowd of people blurred before her into one unfriendly mass; she saw a few farmers hunched over their pints, looking resolutely uninterested, a couple of women dolled up and avidly curious. She lifted her chin and started to move through the crowds.

“You came.” Lucy looked delighted, which seemed a bit weird. Claire barely knew this woman, and she hadn't done much to recommend herself to Lucy Bagshaw, except for not dropping a tin of beans on her foot.

“I came,” she agreed inanely, and sat down on the stool next to Lucy's. Lucy was still scanning the pub, so Claire introduced herself to the other woman at the table.

“Abby Rhodes.” The woman, small with long, dark hair, eyed her in a knowing way that made Claire tense. She didn't recognize the name, but . . . “We were in school at the same time,” Abby explained. Her voice was soft, and Claire had to lean forward to listen. “I was in Year Two to your Year Six.” She offered a teasing smile. “You were one of the in girls.”

The in girls. Claire shook her head as if to deny it, although she knew she couldn't. She had been one of those popular girls, even though it had felt like a bewildering joke at the time, something she neither understood nor trusted.

“Well,” she said, because she had nothing else to say, but Abby seemed to want a response.

Lucy sat down with a sigh of satisfaction and started pouring them all glasses of wine. “I hope red's all right,” she said to Claire. “It's what we usually get, but if you want something else—”

“Actually,” Claire said, “I'll just have some sparkling water.”

Lucy stopped in midpour, and then she said quickly, “Of course, sorry. I should have asked first.”

“No, no, it's fine. I'll just go up to the bar and order.” Claire rose awkwardly from the little table, while Lucy attempted to pour the wine from her glass into Abby's. Murmuring an apology, Claire made her way to the bar.

What on earth had possessed her to agree to come to the pub, of all places? Her parents would be appalled. Andrew would pontificate how she shouldn't put herself in the way of temptation. All because she'd gotten drunk rather publicly and embarrassingly and Hugh had decided she had a
problem.

Maybe she did. Maybe she had a lot of problems.

She came up to the bar, only to stifle a groan as she realized she was standing next to Rachel Campbell.

Rachel was ignoring her and chatting with the man behind the
bar, who looked vaguely familiar. Someone else who recognized her, for he smiled as he turned to her and said, “Hello, Claire. What can I do for you?”

“A glass of sparkling water, please.”

The man smiled slowly as he reached for the bottle. “You don't remember me, do you?”

Claire forced an apologetic smile. “Sorry, no.”

“Why should she?” Rachel said. “Although you did make her life a misery.”

“Ah, come now, Rach. That's a bit harsh.” Rachel shrugged, and Claire looked at them both blankly, trying to remember whatever it was they were referring to.

“I might have pulled your plaits a time or two,” the man said to her as he handed her a glass of water. “But it was nowt more than what any seven-year-old boy would do. And you paid me back by ignoring me completely in Year Six.”

Claire could feel her smile turning strained. “I suppose we're even, then,” she said, and he stuck out his hand for her to shake.

“Rob Telford, since you obviously don't remember. That stings a little, by the way. I thought I'd made quite an impression.” He winked at her, and Claire managed to smile back.

“I'm afraid primary school is a bit of a blur to me,” she said. “It was so long ago.” And she'd been so unhappy for most of it.

“That it was,” Rachel agreed, and straightened, giving Claire a direct look for the first time. “We ought to sit down. The quiz will be starting in a minute. You are joining our team, aren't you?”

Rachel was on Lucy's team? Claire tried for another smile. “Brilliant.” She reached for her purse. “How much do I owe you?” she asked Rob.

“On the house, Claire,” he said. “Welcome back to Hartley-by-the-Sea.”

She smiled her uncertain thanks and followed Rachel back to their table, wishing with every step that she was back at Four Gables,
safe and alone. Navigating all these old, half-forgotten relationships was way too fraught.

“Oh, good, you two have met,” Lucy said as Claire and Rachel sat down at the table. Rachel reached for the wine.

“Actually, Claire and I go way back,” she said as she poured herself a full glass. “To primary school. But apparently it's a blur to Claire.” Rachel spoke lightly, smiling, but Claire still felt rebuked.

“Oh, it's a blur to me too,” Lucy said. “Thankfully.”

“Does anyone have a good time in primary school?” Abby asked. “I was terrified of my Year Two teacher, Miss Marsden. Did you have her, Claire? Rachel?”

“No. She was after our time,” Rachel answered. “Mrs. Lennox was our Year Two teacher.”

Mrs. Lennox. Claire had a sudden memory of a tall woman with a bosom like the prow of a battleship and a thunderous voice to match. “I was terrified of Mrs. Lennox,” she told Abby. “She was always so impatient.”

“Yes, she was, although to be fair, you were a bit slow.” Rachel still spoke lightly, smiling even. “Do you remember? I used to help you unbutton your coat.”

It was the first time Rachel had made a reference to their childhood friendship, and it made Claire feel an uncomfortable welter of guilt and sorrow. “I remember,” she said, and Lucy began to hand out the pencils and slips of paper.

She was hopeless at the quiz. Claire had known she would be. She had absolutely no head for trivia, and she'd been fairly useless at school. Maybe it had been starting late, or having trouble hearing the teachers, or the simple fact that she wasn't a brain box like her brother.

Lucy tried to involve her in the first few questions, but after Claire had apologetically shaken her head several times, having no clue as to any of the answers, she gave up. Claire sat back and sipped her water, wondering when she would be able to call it a night without offending anyone.

Rachel already seemed offended. Actually, Rachel had seemed irritated by her presence from the moment she'd seen her coming out of the bathroom yesterday. Claire glanced sideways at her; Rachel was hunched over her piece of paper, scribbling. She obviously knew the answers to the quiz, but then, she'd always been clever.

Rob Telford, who was directing the quiz, asked another question. “What countries border Spain?”

“France, of course,” Rachel said quickly.

“Any others?”

“Portugal,” Claire blurted, pleased she actually knew something. “Portugal borders Spain to the west.”

“Of course.” Rachel wrote it down. “Claire used to live in Portugal,” she told the others, and Lucy and Abby swiveled to face her with expressions of polite interest.

“That must have been brilliant,” Lucy said. “Far better weather than here.”

“It was hot,” Claire answered, and wondered if she was the only one who thought she sounded so inane.

Rob Telford called for a five-minute break, and it seemed like a good time to make her departure. “Look, I'm really sorry,” she said. “But I'm still tired from . . . everything, and I ought to get to bed.”

Rachel pushed back from the table, tilting her head up to gaze at Claire. “Busy day tomorrow?”

“Are you working locally?” Lucy asked.

“No, no . . . just . . .” What was she doing tomorrow? Wandering around the house or the village, trying to fill up all her empty hours. “Actually, I'm looking for a job,” Claire said. “So if you know of anything going . . .”

“The real estate market isn't too big here,” Rachel said. “Not like in Portugal.”

“It doesn't have to be real estate. I'd do just about anything, actually.”

“Dan Trenton at the post office needs an assistant,” Lucy suggested, and Claire couldn't keep herself from grimacing.

“I've already tried the post office,” she said. “Dan Trenton wasn't too impressed with me, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, Dan's a big softy really,” Lucy said, and Rachel snorted. “You should try again. He could use a little company in the shop.”

“You seem to know everyone, for only having been here six months,” Claire said.

“That's Lucy for you,” Abby chimed in. “She's the friendliest person I know.”

Lucy blushed and smiled and Rachel rose from the table. “Right, more wine,” she announced. “While there's time.” She gave Claire a goodbye type of smile, and Claire murmured something about how nice it was to see her again. Even though it wasn't.

She watched Rachel head over to the bar and wondered just what it was about her that bothered Rachel so much. They'd been friends once, even if they'd stopped in Year Six. There had never been a falling-out, no big argument or tears or tantrums. Just a casual, gradual drifting away, but Claire supposed that was natural. They'd been very different, and they'd been heading to different secondary schools. Still, it made her sad, both then and now.

“Rachel can be a bit prickly,” Lucy said. “She's got a lot on.”

Claire turned back to Lucy. “Has she?”

“With her mother bedridden and her younger sisters . . . Rachel manages everyone, and she works like a devil.” Lucy glanced at Rachel thoughtfully; she was leaning against the bar, chatting with Rob with a look of almost fervent determination on her face. “She wasn't on top form tonight, though.”

“I think that was because of me.” Lucy and Abby turned to stare at her in surprise, and Claire explained, “We were friends in primary school, a long time ago. But I think I annoy her now.”

“No,” Lucy protested, but she sounded unconvinced.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Claire said, and made her way through the tables to the door. As she was reaching for the handle, she glanced back at Rachel and felt a jolt of uneasy surprise to see Rachel gazing back at her. She started to smile, but Rachel simply moved her gaze on, as if she hadn't seen her at all.

Early the next morning she woke to the phone ringing shrilly, clicking over to voice mail, and then ringing ahead. With a groan Claire reached for the receiver by her bed and managed a groggy hello.

“Claire
.
”
Her mother's voice was breathy, melodramatic, and made her wince. “Do you
know
how many times I've called you?”

“Five?” Claire answered. Five voice mails on her mobile that she'd deleted.

“Do you realize how
worried
we've been about you?” Marie demanded. “We were expecting you
here
. We sent a
car
.” Her mother always spoke in accusing italics.

Claire rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, and in the distance she could hear the train coming into the village, clattering across the tracks.

“I'm sorry, Mum,” she said, “but I didn't want to come to London. I needed a little space.”

“Dr. Bryson said you shouldn't be alone.”

“For heaven's sake, I'm not suicidal.”

“Claire.” As usual whenever Claire dared to raise her voice, her mother sounded shocked and so very disappointed. “We're
concerned
. We want to
help
you.”

“I know. I appreciate that.” She took a deep, even breath. “I'm sorry.”

“Daddy's sending a car to get you,” Marie informed her briskly. “And this time you'll get in it, Claire, and come back to where you belong. Where we can keep an eye on you.”

“Mum, I'm twenty-eight, not eight,” Claire said. She could feel a
lump forming in her throat, her default response to her mother's commands. “I don't need looking after.”

“You're in a vulnerable state. The doctors at the clinic insisted you should be with people—”

“There are people here,” Claire interjected. “Last night I went to a pub quiz—”

A second of shocked silence followed. “You were at the
pub?
”

“I had water. Seriously, Mum, I am not about to fall off the wagon.” She almost added that she didn't think she actually
had
a drinking problem, but she kept herself from it. Her mother would just start pontificating about denial. And maybe she did have a problem. She'd gotten drunk. Roaring drunk, according to Hugh, and Claire supposed she had to believe him since she didn't remember much of the party. She might have started singing at some point. And dancing. Completely and utterly unlike quiet, malleable Claire, which had no doubt appalled and humiliated Hugh.