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When had Rachel ever said as much? But then, she acknowledged uncomfortably, maybe she hadn’t had to. She knew she’d thought it, more or less, and in all honesty, probablymore, and even though they hardly ever talked, Harriet had picked up on that. It made Rachel wonder what else her sister had picked up on.
It was something of an unsettling thought.
Turning away from the painting propped against the Welsh dresser, Rachel filled the kettle for coffee. She eschewed the very tempting loaf cooling on a wire baking rack—she wouldn’t make that mistake again—for a bowl of granola and yogurt. She and Harriet should probably divvy up the cooking and shopping, she mused as she sat at the table to eat her breakfast. Otherwise, they’d probably argue about everything. They’d no doubt argue anyway, but Rachel knew she still needed to pull her weight.
Neither her father nor her sister had made an appearance by the time Rachel finished breakfast, making sure to wash and dry the dishes she’d used, and leave everything as she’d found it. It felt a little like being a guest in someone else’s house, but maybe that’s what she was now. It had been a long time since she’d been home long enough to think of it that way—as home.
The day was looking optimistically bright and with nothing much else to do, Rachel decided to go for a walk with Fred. He lumbered up from his place by the stairs with a wheezy groan that made her both smile and ache; he was getting old, and she’d miss him when he was gone. Funny, he’d been her dog from the start, but she’d left him when he’d just been a year old. She’d left a lot of things. Her mind skated towards Ben, and then back again. She wasn’t ready to think about him yet, to open that Pandora’s box of memories, each one sweetly painful. She’d managed not to think about him for twelve years; she could hold on a little while longer.
She clipped the lead to Fred’s collar and headed outside, the day fresh and cool, the sun warm but the air still holding the dampness from the rain overnight. She decided to walk towards Mathering rather than up the hill behind the farm; she wanted to avoid another run-in with Ben, and she wasn’t sure Fred could manage the slope.
It was three miles to the small market town, along a country lane, but about a quarter mile down, a footpath ran along the cow and sheep pastures, perpendicular to the lane before turning left and following the Derwent right into the top of town. Rachel didn’t think she’d make it all the way into town, but she remembered it as a nice walk, and it kept her off the road.
Fred trotted faithfully behind her until they got to the footpath, and then she unclipped his lead and let him sniff around, walking briskly down the well-worn path, going into power-walking mode without even realising she was doing it, arms pumping, her stride long and sure.
“Rachel!” a woman called out. Her voice was familiar and full of warmth, and Rachel stopped abruptly, before she bumped into the welly-and-wax-jacket-clad woman in front of her. “You look as if you’re trying to get somewhere in a hurry,” Diana Mackey said, smiling.
Rachel flushed as she shook her head, conscious of the shrewd glint in Ben’s mother’s eyes. “No, just walking.”
“Well, don’t leave poor Fred behind,” Diana said with a laugh, as she nodded to the space behind Rachel. “He’s lagging, poor chappie.”
Rachel turned to see Fred trotting slowly along, about a hundred feet behind her. “I didn’t realise I was walking so fast,” she said with an attempt at a laugh. Or that Fred had slowed down so much.
“It’s good to have you back, Rachel.” Diana’s voice was warm, without any hint of accusation or judgement, but Rachel felt like fidgeting all the same. There was so much kindness in the older woman’s eyes, along with that decidedly knowing glint.
“Thank you.”
“Ben said you might stay for a while?”
“Until I’ve got things sorted with my dad.”
“I’m sorry to hear he’s been a bit poorly,” Diana told her, sounding genuinely regretful. “I suppose it happens to us all eventually.”
“Yes. I…I was sorry to hear about Douglas.” Diana looked a little surprised, and this time Rachel couldn’t keep from fidgeting. Diana’s husband had died at least four years ago, but Rachel hadn’t spoken to her since then, or even gone to the funeral. She hadn’t, she realised, even written a condolence card. She thought of Danielle telling her she’d missed her aunt’s funeral, and knew she’d been no better. She might have even been worse.
“Thank you,” Diana said after a moment. “He is greatly missed.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t go to the funeral,” Rachel blurted, and then blushed. Talk about too little too late. It felt like the story of her life right now.
“London is far away,” Diana replied, “and I know how busy your job keeps you.”
“Yes, but…” Rachel shook her head and gazed down at her mud-splattered boots, not sure what she was really trying to say.
“Listen,” Diana said, and she looked up again. “Why don’t you and Harriet and your dad come for tea tonight? It won’t be anything fancy, but it would be good to have a catch-up. It’s been too long. Even though Harriet and your dad are right next door, I don’t see them as often as I’d like to.”
“Oh, that’s…” Rachel stared at her helplessly. She didn’t want to go to supper at the Mackeys’ house and see Ben again, and yet part of her really, really did. She remembered how much time she’d spent there in her teens; the table of solid oak in their kitchen was as familiar as her own, and with no scorch mark in the middle.
“Ben will be pleased,” Diana stated firmly, and Rachel bit her lip. What did Diana think about the way she and Ben had ended things? It had been soabrupt, a single non-conversation that had kept them from pretty much ever talking again. Why had it happened that way? Who had been the more stubborn of the two of them?
“I’m not sure that he will,” she told Diana, feeling the need to be honest. “He seems to think I should have come home a lot sooner.”
“I suppose Ben thinks everyone should come back to Mathering sooner than they do,” Diana replied with a laugh. “He’s always been a homebird.”
“Yes.” Something she should have realised, perhaps, when she’d been making her own plans, making her own pie-in-the-sky assumptions.
“He really will be glad to see you,” Diana said, her tone turning meaningful. Rachel was pretty sure Ben would not be glad inthatway, especially since he seemed to care far more about Harriet than her these days. Which was fine, because it had been twelve years, after all. They’d practically been children when they’d dated, and their brief romance had only lasted a couple of months. Ben had probably got over it a decade ago, at least. And Rachel thought she had too, she’d beensureof it, which was why the ferment of her emotions now felt so unsettling.
“So, tonight at six,” Diana said, and it was not a question. “Tell your father I’ll make his favourite apple crumble for pudding.”
