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“Come on, duck, give us a proper hug, then,” she said, putting on even more of a Yorkshire accent, and Harriet let out a shaky laugh as she hugged her back.
“How can you do such a dreadful accent when you’re actually from Yorkshire?” she demanded, and Rachel laughed.
“It’s been a long time, I suppose.” For the first time she could say such a thing without recrimination, without regret. She was here now, and she was staying.
“I can’t believe we’re going to lose him,” Harriet said as she eased back, wiping her eyes. “I thought there would be more time. Time to…”
She trailed off, shaking her head, and Rachel blurted, “There’s still time, Harriet. If you want to…talk to him. Make things better between the two of you.”
Harriet let out a weary, dispirited laugh. “And how would I do that? ‘You’ve got six months to live, Dad, do you think you could spare me some attention?’” She shook her head. “No thanks.”
“When he was in hospital the other week,” Rachel said, “he told me he had some regrets.” Harriet turned to look at her, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know what they are,” Rachel continued. “And I’m afraid I didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure I could handle any major revelations just then. But…you could talk to him. Honestly, about how you’ve felt. You should.”
“I don’t know.” Harriet shook her head slowly, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know,” she said again, and then, with reluctance, “Maybe.”
Rachel decided to leave it at that. It was up to Harriet whether she wanted to broach that particular subject with their dad, butthree to six monthscertainly made you think about things.
The kettle boiled, and Harriet poured water into the teapot. A long, ragged sigh escaped her as she plonked the kettle back on the stove, the sound turning into something almost like a sob as she stared blankly in front of her.
“Harriet…” Rachel began, only to stop as her sister shook her head.
“Sometimes,” she said, “I really hate this place.” Rachel remained silent, watching her warily, having no idea what the right thing to say was. “I hate that I never left,” Harriet continued, still staring into space. “I hate that I wasn’t able to. I hate that no one said I should. Except you, maybe,” she added, turning to Rachel with a sigh. “And I didn’t want to listen to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, knowing the sentiment was sincere but utterly inadequate.
“Do you know what I really hate?” Harriet continued with a nod towards the doorway. Rachel shook her head, waiting. “I hate the damned wallpaper. Every room in this house except the kitchen. It’s why I spend so much time in here, I think. That wallpaper is enough to drive you mad. Maybe it drove Mum mad, like the woman in that short story we read in English.”
“The Yellow Wallpaper?” Rachel guessed.
“Yes, that one. Maybe she walked out on us because of the wallpaper.” She let out a weary sound that Rachel thought was meant to be a laugh.
“You know, I hate the wallpaper too,” she said. “It’s hideous and ancient. I was thinking this place needed a facelift, earlier.” She paused. “We could tear it off, you know.”
Harriet looked at her as if she’d been speaking a foreign language. “What?”
“Tear it off. Strip it. Get rid of it all.” Rachel raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”
“Rachel,” Harriet said, sounding severe, “that wallpaper is probably a hundred years old.”
“Atleast. Time for it to go, don’t you think?”
They stared at each other for a long, frozen moment and then, in one accord, they both bolted for the door. They got caught in the doorway, struggling like a couple of clowns emerging from a Mini, and Harriet started giggling, with Rachel following suit. By the time they made it to the hallway, they were helpless with laughter, or perhaps hysteria.
Rachel stood on the bottom step of the staircase and, standing on her tiptoes, managed to reach the top, curling end of a strip of wallpaper. She gave a hard tug and the whole piece fell away with a shower of yellowed flakes of wallpaper paste, and a smell of dust and age.
Harriet let out a little shriek. “Oh my goodness, that lookedsosatisfying,” she exclaimed.
“It was,” Rachel confirmed as she tossed the long, tattered strip of wallpaper onto the floor. “It really was. You should try it.”
With something like a squeal Harriet clambered onto the step and reached for another curling edge. She tugged, even harder than Rachel had, and the whole thing came away in a single, shredded piece.
“Oh, my giddy aunt,” Harriet exclaimed, almost reverently, as she tossed the strip aside. “That felt amazing.”
Then they were both at it, straining and lunging, reaching for the curling edges and pulling as hard as they could. Dust, dried wallpaper paste, and bits of plaster came raining down as the floor was soon covered in strips of wallpaper, and the wall of the hallway became a speckled canvas of spackled wall.
By the time they’d finished the whole wall, they were both breathless and sweating. Harriet looked down at the knee-deep pieces of wallpaper littering the floor and shook her head slowly. “What have we done?” she asked. Rachel couldn’t tell if she sounded horrified or impressed.
“We made an improvement to this place,” Rachel stated firmly. “Definitely.”
