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“Okay, what about fish and chips?”
Harriet hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, all right.”
“Okay.” Why, Rachel wondered, did everything always have to feel sodifficult? “Shall I help you take these out to the car?”
Harriet nodded, and Rachel took one platter while she hefted the other. They loaded them into the boot of the old Land Rover their dad had driven for about thirty years, and as Harriet slammed the door shut, she muttered, “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Rachel stood in the yard, shivering slightly in the autumnal breeze that was picking up, as Harriet climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.
She watched her drive away, releasing her breath in a long, slow hiss, wondering if they’d made progress or just declared a truce—which was, she supposed, progress of a sort. At least it wasn’t going backwards, which was something.
Rachel turned back to the house, squatting darkly under the late afternoon sky, its windows blank and unfriendly looking. Was she really going to stay here for the next few weeks, or maybe even months?
She squared her shoulders as she started walking towards the house, making a mental list as she went of all the things she needed to do to make that happen. Because yes, it appeared she was going to stay…for better or for worse.
Chapter Six
The next morningRachel came down at seven, determined to make an early start. She left her suitcase in the hall and went into the kitchen, her high-heeled boots clicking on the stone-flagged floor.
Harriet, already standing at the stove, gave her a knowing glance. “Leaving already?”
Were they back to that? Last night had felt almost—well, no, not quite friendly, but not hostile, either. Rachel had driven into Mathering—that was a blast from the past, another place that hadn’t changed one iota—and picked up some fish and chips, wrapped in newspaper and smelling divine. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had proper fish and chips; she generally ate fake-healthy takeaways, salads with quinoa and lentils that tasted like their plastic wrap, chilled and flavourless.
They’d even chatted while they’d eaten; Rachel had asked Harriet a bit more about her baking gig, and while she’d been somewhat reluctant and slightly cagey about the details, Rachel had still managed to learn that her sister had been offering baked goods for parties and events for about six months. Their dad hadn’t said much, and at one point he’d forgotten the word for what they were eating—fish—looking annoyed when Harriet had gently prompted him.
Rachel had been shaken by the lapse; no matter what Harriet or Ben had said, save for his brief senior moment at the memory clinic, she hadn’t actually seen any real evidence of her father’s memory fails until that moment, and suddenly it had all felt very real. She was glad she was choosing to stay, at least for a little while, until everything was figured out…if it could be.
But now Harriet thought she was leaving. Already.Again.
“I am going back to London, yes,” she told her sister in a measured voice. “Just to sort some things out so I can come back long term. I should be back on Friday.”
Harriet let out a sound like a snort, clearly disbelieving.
“Iwill, Harriet,” Rachel insisted staunchly.
“Okay.” Her sister couldn’t have sounded more unconvinced if she’d tried. In fact, she probably was trying, the way she always tried, to make Rachel feel miserably guilty and at fault for everything.
Well, never mind. She had three days’ respite, at least. Rachel went to pick up the kettle and fill it up, moving around Harriet, who was stirring some oatmeal on the stove. Fred wandered into the kitchen, sniffing hopefully by the stove before he plopped himself under the table.
“I saw Ben’s two new spaniels,” Rachel remarked as she spooned some coffee into the old, battered cafetière. “Sonny and Cher.”
Harriet jerked her head around. “When did you see them?”
“I stopped by the farm yesterday, after Dad’s appointment.” She spoke casually, as if it had been a friendly catch-up rather than a stinging summons. She realised, as she watched Harriet, that she’d said it like that to gauge her sister’s response. Why couldn’t anything ever be straightforward between them?
“Did you,” Harriet replied, her voice completely neutral, giving nothing away, although maybe it did, by its very neutrality. Rachel certainly didn’t know what to think.
“What’s the black Lab’s name?” she asked. “I forgot to ask Ben.”
“Brownie.”
“A bit basic,” Rachel remarked, half-joking, and Harriet scowled.
“Diana named him.”
“Oh.” Now she felt bad, as well as a bit dispirited, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was time to go. “I think I’ll take this in the car,” she said, hefting the mug of coffee that she’d poured. “Get on the road. Don’t worry, I’ll bring the mug back.”
