‘Where’s Greta?’ Claire asked.
‘Right here,’ came a voice from the doorway. Greta radiated such a picture of glowing health that Claire heard Maggie catch her breath.
‘Jason, you’re married to an angel! A burgeoning angel, you lucky, lucky man!’ Again, that over-the-top voice that had always been Maggie’s trademark briefly resurfaced. It had often landed her in trouble.
‘I’m not sure about the angel bit, but I’m definitely burgeoning.’ The two women hugged lightly, and Maggie placed her hands on Greta’s belly.
‘Twins?’ she asked. Bangles and chunky bracelets jangled at her wrists, under the floaty sleeves of her gypsy-style top. ‘I think they’re both boys.’
Greta laughed, eyeing Jason.
‘They don’t want to know the sexes,’ Claire said, smiling and laying out the rest of the food. Callum joined them, and everyone sat around the table, soaking up Claire’s hospitality. There was much chatter and laughter for the next hour or so, with none of the eggs, bacon, tomatoes and homebaked bread left when Claire cleared away. Even Rain had managed to down a few blackberries and a quarter of a piece of toast.
Claire offered to make something else for Rain, but Maggie insisted they all ignore her fussy daughter and her silly eating habits. ‘She’s always on some stupid fad diet or another just to be awkward.’
‘It’s good to watch what you eat,’ Callum said. Rain gave him a small smile. ‘Especially when you get to my age.’
‘She’s got a long way to go, darling,’ Claire said. ‘Don’t worry, Rain. You won’t end up looking like him.’
‘How old are you, Mr Rodway?’
‘Rain!’ Maggie scolded.
‘Let’s just say I’m still in my forties,’ he said.
‘What he means is he’s nudging fifty.’ Claire grinned as he pushed back his shoulders and sucked in his stomach.
‘You still have time, then,’ Rain said.
‘For what?’ Callum leant forward on the table.
‘For some fun, of course.’ Rain stood, excusing herself from the table, lifting up her long legs as she stepped over the wooden bench.
‘Right,’ Claire said, after she’d gone, clearing her throat. ‘Anyone want more coffee?’
Chapter Fourteen
Rain sat on the closed toilet seat and pulled her phone from her bag.
—he def looks like a loser, she tapped into WhatsApp after spotting Marcus coming down the stairs.
—but he’s male, right? Katie, her best friend, replied seconds later.
Rain managed a smile despite her dismal mood.
—haha not entirely sure. She added a sticking-out-tongue emoji.
—don’t let the girls down.
Rain deleted what she was typing, about how she really felt.
—i won’t, she replied, adding a couple of cheeky aubergine emojis.
She put away her phone and rested her head in hands. Don’t let the girls down. But what about letting herself down? Despite what all her friends thought, she wasn’t really like that. She might act a certain way, but it wasn’t really her. Not if she dared to look deep inside.
She remembered taking to heart something her mother had once said, a drunken comment that was probably more to do with Maggie than anything, but it had resonated with her own low mood at the time.
‘You can’t fall off the floor, sweetheart…’ She’d passed out after that, but Rain had since wondered if it was Maggie’s fault that she hated herself so much. Her friends’ mums were different, always doing lunches and playing tennis and having people over and stuff. Maggie never seemed to have time for her. Katie’s mum took her shopping regularly, they went riding together, had spa days and did other cool things. Instead, Maggie was always off with some new man or other, far too busy for her own daughter.
‘No, I won’t let you down, Katie,’ Rain whispered, feeling a sudden surge of defiance. She stood up, grimacing as she caught sight of herself in the toilet mirror.
She knew what to do to make things better, she thought, flipping open the toilet lid. She dropped to her knees, forcing her fingers down her throat, stroking the soft flesh until the first retch came. Soon, the tiny amount of food she’d just eaten was swirling in the water, ending with the dark purple of the fruit she’d swallowed first – an indicator it had all come up.
Rain sighed, staring into the pan. She heaved herself up off the floor, pulling a toothbrush and paste from her bag. She scrubbed out her mouth, staring into the mirror. She didn’t hate herself quite so much now. Until next time.
She smeared a slick of gloss across her lips and rolled them together, pouting at her reflection. Then she flushed the toilet, slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out into the flagstoned hallway of the farmhouse. It was very different to anything she was used to. Sure, she’d lived in old houses before. She’d also had modern apartments with great expanses of glass overlooking city rivers and trendy eating areas. There’d been the houseboat on the Thames and the castle in Scotland, the Parisian apartment in the Marais over a gay nightclub where she’d never got to sleep before the early hours, and the stately home which had been open to the public during the summer. Maggie had a knack of rehoming them regularly.
But this place was different, and she wasn’t quite sure why. It smelt of cut grass and bacon, of coffee and bread, and then there were the flowers and the fresh-smelling washing folded and left on the stairs… but there was another scent. Something she couldn’t quite identify.
She snapped the elastic band around her wrist to make the tears go away.
Slowly, Rain put her bag on the polished hall table. A couple of letters addressed to Callum Rodway had been propped against a vase of lilies. There were some hooks on the wall beside the front door, each overloaded with a muddle of coats and scarves and a couple of bags. Below was a rack with a dozen different pairs of shoes, ranging from tiny black patent ones to men’s walking boots with soles like tractor tyres.
On the wall opposite was a collection of framed photographs of the family. In the centre of the arrangement was a large black and white photo of the four of them lying on their fronts on a furry rug. Amy was very young, probably only about two or three, and her geek brother was posing next to her, wearing too-big glasses and with a crop of spots around his mouth. There were various other pictures, mostly of the kids with the dog or at the beach. She straightened a couple of crooked ones.
Rain peeked into the living room beyond. It was similarly decorated with slightly shabby yet once plush furniture: faded sofas with giant cushions, a wicker basket overflowing with toys that would once have set Rain’s heart pattering, as well as several bookcases stuffed with paperbacks. There was a log burner and thick rugs on the wooden floor, heavy tapestry curtains and someone’s magazine left open next to an empty coffee mug.
She gritted her teeth as the tears welled up again. Her breathing was short and shallow. She knew exactly what was different about Claire’s house – a place she’d been in for only an hour. And she now realised exactly what the unfamiliar smell was too.
This place was a home. A proper, permanent home. It was comfortable, lived-in and brimming with memories. Rain fought the feelings of jealousy but couldn’t prevent the tightness in her chest. She wondered if she should throw up again.
The smell was undeniably of love.
‘Hey…’
Rain swung around and came face-to-face with Marcus. He was holding a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said back.
He wasn’t that bad-looking up close, she supposed, now that he wasn’t wearing nerdy glasses and the spots had cleared up. His ripped jeans and that T-shirt with the name of a band she and her friends talked about non-stop were OK too.
‘You a fan?’ she asked, staring at his chest.
‘Saw them at the O2 last year. They were awesome.’
‘Sick.’