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“It’s not what it looked like.”

“I don’t actually know what it looked like. You’re going to have to fill me in.” He grins. “But judging by the very fast exit, and then you sitting in the doorway of your tent for a full two minutes and four seconds just staring wistfully into the distance, I’m going to go ahead and guess it was eventful.”

I rub a hand over my face. “It was an accident, her tent had a hole in it.”

“Sure.” James doesn’t sound for a second like he believes me. But then his tone changes, and the grin drops. “Look, I know you like her. You told me about that date, and the gala. And this morning you looked like a man who just got a very inconvenient reminder of the fact that he might still like someone.”

I don’t say anything, which is its own kind of answer. I also very much regret telling James everything that’s happened with Claire over a pint in The King’s Head earlier in the week, though at the time I thought we might not be seeing her as part of the marketing team again. Afterall, she hadn’t appeared at the school after that initial Monday.

“So what are you going to do about it?” James asks.

“Nothing. We’re at work. There are forty teenagers fifty feet away.”

“That’s not a no.” James raises his eyebrows. “That’s a ‘not right now’, which is different. I’m just saying, maybe things have changed. You said last time things didn’t work out because of her family, but it could be different now.”

There’s something in the way he says that which gives me pause. Does he know something I don’t? He’s giving me a very intense look, like he’s trying to communicate with his mind. It’s disconcerting. Our friendship hasn’t reached this level of eye contact.

“It’s complicated.”

“Most things worth having are.” James shrugs, apparently now a paragon of reason. “I’m not telling you to corner her by the cooking station and declare yourself. I’m telling you that you’ve spent the last few weeks moping, and now you actually look happy. So maybe work out what you want.”

He’s right. But knowing what you want and knowing what to do about it are two very different things.

Chapter 27

Claire

“You look tired, Claire,” my mum says when she greets me later that evening. No “How are you?”, no “Are you alright?”, just a comment that I don’t look good.

I’m not sure why I expect anything else.

Because I was still on the camping trip this morning, our standing brunch date has been exchanged for a Sunday dinner. We’re sitting in a dimly lit restaurant, a fancy one with candles on the table and plush velvet seats.

“I’m fine,” I mumble. “Just a busy week, and then a bad night’s sleep.”

“Mm.” Mum’s gaze flicks critically over my face. “You should’ve at least put on some concealer, darling.”

Sophia visibly winces beside me. I resist the urge to snap that I’m not presentable because I just spent a full week at work, and then the last two days on that Duke of Edinburgh trip. I barely had time to shower and unpack before I had to meet them at the restaurant. Of course I haven’t had time to blow dry my hair properly or do my makeup to meet Mum’s standards. Though, therapy is increasingly helping me to recognise that the standards are impossible, and would meeting them make me happy? Probably not.

As Mum launches into another one-sided debate about how the Suttons are “tacky” because they booked an all-inclusive resort instead of a villa when they went to Spain, I start to feel very done with this dinner, even though we haven’t even ordered our food.

And for once, I’m just tired enough, and just brave enough, to say something.

“Mum, can we not?” I ask when she pauses for breath. “I know you have a very different idea of what constitutes a holiday, but not everyone can afford the type of holidays we go on.”

I know that I’m incredibly lucky. Sophia and I went on amazing holidays when we were younger, and Mum and Dad always offer to help out financially, even though I’m desperately trying to be more independent. But I hate the way she judges anyone with slightly less. I don’t remember Tom and Kath ever going on holiday anywhere other than Devon to stay with their grandmother when we were younger. Their mum is a nurse and their dad teaches at a state school. They do fine, but not well enough to go on weeks of international holidays multiple times a year with business class flights.

The waiter brings over a glass of water for Mum, but it doesn’t have ice like she asked for, and he rushes back to the bar looking flustered. As he walks away I watch her closely. This isn’t the person I want to become. I’ve always known that but suddenly, running on caffeine, with a few weeks of therapy and about five hours’ sleep, the realisation feels stark.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” Mum asks. “Honestly Claire, you haven’t even said thank you that Sophia and I have gone out of our way to come to a restaurant close to your house.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind coming here,” my sister chimes in. She just gets a sidelong glare in response.

The restaurant suddenly feels too warm, the candlelight too bright. The clink of cutlery from nearby tables prickles the back of my neck. I reach automatically for my water glass, and notice that my hand is shaking slightly.

Breathe.

I just need to get through dinner.