AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It’s for charity,” she said, “and I do hope you’ll go. Ben’s going, aren’t you, love?”
Ben relaxed back in his chair. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he stated dryly.
“And Harriet, you’ll go, dear, won’t you?” Diana pressed.
“Um, maybe,” Harriet hedged. “Depends if I have an event on then…”
Rachel doubted she did, but she understood her sister’s reluctance. Mathering’s country dances were usually popular with the over-sixties, who danced with impressive vigour, and very few people younger than that. Rachel knew they kept trying to get the area’s few twenty- and thirty-somethings involved, or at least had in the past, but as far as she could tell, they’d yet to be successful.
“For charity, remember,” Diana pressed, and then turned to their dad. “Peter, you’ll go, won’t you?”
“What?” he barked, looking positively alarmed. “A ceilidh? I don’t think so. Never been much of one for dances.” And was even less of one now, Rachel suspected, with his balance issues.
Diana laid a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to dance,” she promised. “And it will do you good, to see the young people about.”
“Will there be young people?” Harriet asked sceptically, and Diana gave her a mock glare.
“At least the three I see here, I hope! We are trying to get them involved, you know. Do say you’ll come, Peter. It is for charity, after all.”
Rachel suppressed a sudden bubble of laughter at the look of pure panic that crossed her father’s face, and Diana’s rather shrewd glance in return. She was reminded that they’d been neighbours for forty years—their families for generations before that; Douglas Mackey’s family had farmed here for almost as long as the Mowbrays had. Had Diana and her mother been friends? Rachel realised she couldn’t actually remember, although she thought they must have been.
“Well, I don’t know,” her dad replied as he tugged at his collar. “Maybe.”
In Diana’s book it was as good as a yes, and with a satisfied smile on her face she went to get the promised apple crumble.
Rachel glanced at Ben again, but he’d leaned over the table to address Harriet, his expression animated. They were talking about some local craft fair, and Rachel didn’t know the first thing about it. She tried not to feel left out as she rose from the table to help Diana clear.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, love,” Diana protested as Rachel brought several dishes to the sink. “You’ll get that smart outfit dirty.”
Rachel flushed, trying not to feel even more left out. “It’s not that smart,” she half-mumbled, and Diana gave a protesting cluck.
“Looks very smart to me,” she replied.
From behind her, Rachel heard Ben murmur, “Too smart for Mathering, maybe.”
Harriet gave a snort of laughter in return, and Rachel saw them share a complicit glance that had her cheeks burning once again.
Ouch.She did her best to school her expression into something neutral as she finished clearing the table while Ben and Harriet continued to chat about the craft fair, having seemingly dismissed her after that stupid Mathering remark. Had heneededto say that, she wondered bitterly, especially when he’d been teasing, even flirting with her earlier? But of course that was all it had been—teasing. She was an absolute muppet, to consider taking it seriously for so much as a second.
The realisation shouldn’t have hurt nearly as much as it did. Rachelknewthat, but she still couldn’t keep sudden tears from stinging her eyes, a ridiculous lump from forming in her throat. It was hard enough to have Ben act as if he hated her; it was much harder when he acted as if he didn’t. She stood on the edge of the kitchen, watching as Diana fetched the ice cream from the freezer while Ben got the bowls and Harriet, at Diana’s instruction, started to serve, the three of them chatting all the while, and suddenly Rachel felt as if she couldn’t be in that room, feeling like such an outsider, for a minute longer.
She excused herself, barely aware of what she was saying, before hurrying out of the kitchen to the bathroom she knew was down the hall. It still had the same wonky latch that wouldn’t quite fit, she saw as she let out a muffled laugh that turned into something almost like a sob. Goodgrief. She was really losing the plot, she thought with a lurch of panic as she reached for some loo roll to blow her nose. There were just too many memories and feelings rising up and reminding her of who she was, who she’d chosen to be—her mum, her sister, her dad, Ben; the girl she’d left behind, the woman she’d become. It all felt like too much.
So much for her optimism.
A light tap on the door had Rachel tensing.Please, don’t let it be Ben…
“Rachel? Sweetheart?”
It was Diana, sounding so kind and concerned that Rachel wished she could quietly disappear and never, ever return. If Diana had come out after her, realising she was upset, then everyone else—well, Harriet and Ben, at least—must have seen that, as well. They were probably talking about her right now, and she didn’t know which would be worse—their condemnation or their pity.
“Rachel,” Diana said again, and a stern note had crept into her voice, reminding Rachel of when she’d been younger, when she and Harriet and Ben had got up to all sort of antics, demolishing an entire batch of cookies Diana had left out on the range…
Slowly, with deep reluctance, she opened the door. “Sorry,” she said, knowing she couldn’t hide her reddened eyes or the ragged tone of her voice. “I was just having a moment.”
“Oh, you poor lamb.” Without another word or a second’s hesitation, Diana pulled her into a warm, comfortable hug—the hug of a mother. She smelled of cinnamon and soap and her body was soft and welcoming in all the right places. Rachel found herself putting her arms around her as she hugged her in return, wondering when she’d last been hugged like this. When she’d felt so accepted, just as she was.
“It’s hard coming home,” Diana murmured as she stroked her hair. “Of course it is.”
