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Aaand…now they were back to bickering. Of course. “All I’m saying is,” Rachel replied evenly, “I would have liked to have known what was going on.”
“Oh, and am I supposed to be a mind reader, now?” Harriet snapped back. “Because the last time I called you about Dad, for his birthday, you acted as if it was amajorinconvenience to your oh so important life to so much as buy him a card. So, forgive me if I thought you wouldn’t be interested now.”
She didn’t think she’d acted that reluctant, had she? Even if she had been, because she dreaded coming home. Rachel decided not to go into all that. “Harriet, this is different,” she protested, keeping her voice quiet in a vain hope to avoid an all-out argument. “This is serious.”
“It might not be,” Harriet replied. “You can’t know for sure.”
“Come on—”
“I mean it.” She sounded fierce. “It could be anything. And I still think it’s Dad’s decision if he wants to go to a memory clinic or not. He’s not that out of it, you know, Rachel. He’s still perfectly competent to make his own medical decisions, and he knows what Alzheimer’s looks like. Maybe he doesn’t want to know if he actually has it.”
“To what purpose? There are medications you can take now—”
“Actually, there aren’t.” At Rachel’s look of blatant scepticism, Harriet continued acerbically, “I did some research too, you know. I’m sure you came with a whole folder file of stuff you’re going to lecture me on, but contrary to your belief, I amnotan idiot. The medications that may slow cognitive decline are still in the clinical trial stage. The medications thatcanbe prescribed only deal with a couple of symptoms—anxiety, aggression, that kind of stuff. And he doesn’t seem particularly anxious to me.”
“What about aggressive?” Rachel asked, and a tiny smile twitched her sister’s mouth.
“No more than usual.”
Rachel smiled back, sort of, and for a second it seemed they’d called a truce, which was such a blessedrelief. When was the last time they’d had a civil conversation, never mind actually shared a moment of solidarity? Before she’d left for university, certainly. This brief moment of shared humour reminded her of how close they used to be, as children. Two peas in a pod, their dad had said sometimes, except they’d never been that, not really. Rachel had been fiercely protective of Harriet, and in return Harriet had adored her. A symbiotic yin and yang that had worked until Rachel had chosen to step away.
“Well.” She heaved a sigh. “I guess we’ll find out what’s going on tomorrow. But if it is Alzheimer’s…”
“Let me guess. You’ll move up here and work remotely so you can help out with the farm, take Dad to appointments, just generally be around.”
Rachel stared at her, unsure how to reply, and Harriet let out a dry, humourless laugh. “Relax, I’m joking. Let me guess for real this time—you’re going by the end of the week, so I’ll have to manage as best as I can but maybe you’ll send money, come by every six months or so, and meanwhile you’ve got some information you got off the internet that you think I should read. Is that more or less the gist of it?”
Rachel felt herself flush. That wasexactlythe gist of it, and she didn’t like how wearily knowing her sister sounded. How callous she made her seem. She was actually trying. Sort of. “I can’t really work remotely,” she said stiffly, and Harriet laughed again.
“Like that was ever seriously on the table.”
Nettled, Rachel replied, “If I could—”
Harriet arched an eyebrow. “You would?” she finished, when Rachel hadn’t said anything more. “You wouldwhat, exactly?”
She was backing herself into a corner, Rachel knew, and no good could come of it. She’d made her choices, and so had Harriet. “If Dad has Alzheimer’s,” she said evenly, “we’ll have to work out some kind of plan.”
“Wewill?” Harriet shook her head. “The last think I need, Rachel, is for you to swan in here and tell me what to do before you swan out again. I’m the one who lives here, who deals with Dad, day in and day out, so maybe you’ll just let me get on with it, yeah?” With one last fulminating glare, her sister whirled around to stalk out of the kitchen. At the doorway she stopped to throw over her shoulder, “And, as it happens, I’m going to have to make an entire new loaf of bread because that one actuallywasfor something, you know? I have a life even if you don’t think I do.”
Before Rachel could reply tothat, Harriet was gone, marching down the hallway and outside, the front door slamming behind her. She’d half-risen from her chair when her sister had started shouting at her, and now Rachel sat back down in it with a thud. She’d always known her sister had resented her for leaving—how could she not know, when Harriet had made it so very clear—but she couldn’t remember the last time her sister had been that vocal or vicious about it. Rachel had become used to the passive-aggressive techniques her sister liked to employ—martyred looks, gusty sighs, telling silences—but not out-and-out accusations, flung at her like handfuls of mud, making her feel guilty,dirty, when she had nothing to feel guilty about.
Well, nothingmuch.
Harriet had been just as free to leave as she was, Rachel reminded herself as she tidied up; damned if she’d let her sister rake her over the coals for leaving a dirty plate in the sink. She was determined not to give Harriet a single reason to lambast her again.
But back then, twelve years ago? Harriet had been in her last year of secondary school when Rachel had gone to university, applying to universities herself, desperate to get away just as Rachel had been. The fact that she’d chickened out wasnotRachel’s fault. If anything, it was their mother’s, who had left their father—left them—just before Christmas that year. Harriet had had three uni offers, good ones. She could have gone, started over the way Rachel had, left Mathering and all its memories far, far behind, if she’d really wanted to.
She could have, but she hadn’t, and she’d been blaming Rachel for it ever since.
Rachel turned from the sink, determined to put such useless thoughts behind her. She was here now, and she had to make the best of it—and so did Harriet. They would have to do their best to survive the next three days without trying to kill each other. Not a high bar, admittedly, but one that was at least achievable. Hopefully. After that…well, somehow they would have to figure it out.
*
At two o’clockthe next afternoon Rachel was sitting with her father in the outpatient waiting room of Mathering’s tiny cottage hospital. The last time she’d been there had been when she was ten, and she’d broken her arm falling out of a tree. Ben had dared her to climb higher, and Rachel had never been able to resist a dare—or Ben. She’d had a crush on him since she’d been about six, although she would have furiously denied it to everyone and anyone, especially Ben himself. They’d always been in fierce competition—who could race to the end of their shared lane faster; who could climb the highest tree; who could pick the most blackberries in five minutes; who could do a handstand for the longest. Anything and everything had been something to win, until—
No. Best not to think of that.
Rachel turned to her dad, who had, predictably, not said a single word on the ten-minute journey into town, or in the fifteen minutes they’d been waiting for their appointment. He hadn’t spoken a word last night, either; they’d eaten the casserole Harriet had made in near-total silence, which was fairly typical for their family but still put Rachel on edge. She’d thought about at least engaging her sister in conversation, but considering the insults and accusations that had been flying between them so far, had decided against it. Maybe silence was better.
