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Clare dumped the boxes on the floor with the others. “I knew you were joking. You wouldn’t really have naked photos of Dad.”
“I have several naked photos, but they’re in the drawer by my bed, not in the boxes. Now sit down and let’s enjoy the tea while it’s hot. I’m parched. And I wouldn’t say no to a chocolate-chip cookie.”
Clare poured the tea, and made a mental note never ever to go in her mother’s drawers. “When did you find time to sort through all those photos?”
“Last winter, when we were snowed in. It was very cosy. Just me, a large whisky and all those memories.” Her mother selected the box on top and put it on the table next to Clare. “These are early photos of you and Becca. There are some of that year the two of you camped in the garden. Do you remember?”
She remembered. “Becca hated the insects. She crept into the house in the middle of the night and slept in the living room.”
“She was a g
irl who always knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it.”
“That’s true. She always said that no one was going to give her anything so she had to just take it.” Clare forced herself to open the box. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Was this going to make her feel worse or better?
“She had a difficult start in life. No child should grow up feeling unwanted.”
Clare wasn’t going to argue with that. She flipped open the first album and smiled. There was Becca, aged seven, a fierce look in her eyes as she’d urged a donkey on to greater speed.
“Look at her face. She was competitive even when she was riding a donkey. I always felt so inadequate. There were times when I wondered if she hung out with me because she knew she could beat me at most things.”
Her mother put her cup down. “Clare—”
“It’s true.”
“I know she made you feel that way, and because we’re being honest I’m going to tell you that I found it so frustrating. She made you feel bad about yourself. And you let her.”
“I—”
“You let her, Clare. You didn’t stand up for yourself. You didn’t say what you wanted from the friendship. It was all about keeping Becca happy. You were so shy when you were little, and having Becca in your life brought you out of yourself so for a while I was pleased, but then I saw that she didn’t really bring you out of your shell, she kept you there. And you were so anxious to be her friend, so afraid she’d reject you, that you allowed her to behave however she pleased with no rules or boundaries. You let her dominate you. Honestly? I think you were a little afraid of her. It was a very unbalanced friendship. Your father and I often talked about it.”
“You—you did?”
“Yes. If Becca had been a boy we would have been talking to you about toxic relationships, but for some reason I didn’t do that in this case so I bear the blame, too.”
“Blame?”
“You and Becca outgrew each other a long time ago. Your friendship was glued together by history, her insecurities and your inability to accept that sometimes it’s okay to let things go.”
Clare stared at her. “You think we outgrew each other?”
“Don’t you? It’s not a crime, Clare. People change. Friendships change. You met when you were four years old. No one is the same person at forty as they are at four. Even saying that aloud sounds faintly ridiculous.” Her mother topped up her tea. “It has always fascinated me that we’re prepared to end a romantic relationship that is no longer working but are generally reluctant to do the same with friendships. Not all friendships are meant to last for life. People evolve, and friendships evolve with them.”
It would never have occurred to her, even in the worst moments, to end her friendship with Becca.
But why not? Was it because she genuinely loved her friend? Was it because she couldn’t imagine not having Becca in her life? Or was it, as her mother had suggested, because she’d been afraid?
She stared into her tea, trying to remember the last interaction with Becca that had made her feel good. Not the last month of her life, that was sure. Becca had demanded too much of her and put Clare in an impossible position.
But that wasn’t all Becca’s fault, was it? It was hers, for allowing it. Her mother was right about that. Clare could have refused. She could have stood her ground and said that she wasn’t prepared to support her this time. She could have ended the friendship.
Even the thought of it made her heart race.
“Did you ever end a friendship?”
“Several times.” Her mother was calm. “And I’m not pretending it was easy, but nor did I ever regret it. Life is too short to fill it with friends who don’t care about you or bring you joy. Moaners, the people who drain you or use you, flaky friends who never show up when they say they will—unless those flaky friends make you happy of course, in which case keep them. But bad friends are like the old clothes in your closet. They’re the stained shirt, the sweater with the hole in it, the dress that no longer fits. They have no place and should be cleared out.”
Clare gave a wobbly smile. “I had no idea you were so ruthless.”
