Clara laughed. ‘Come in, mind the mess though. I’ve been trying to work out what goes where, and I have a man coming to put on the internet so I can be a modern person.’
Rachel followed Clara inside, stepping over unrolled rugs and boxes half unpacked.
The kitchen was looking disorganised and very messy, with paper everywhere and bubble wrap on the floor.
‘How’s your mum?’ asked Clara as though it wasn’t a big deal.
‘Fine, doing well,’ said Rachel with a smile.
She avoided Clara’s searching look.
‘You’ve been gardening?’ she said, changing the subject, looking at Clara’s hands.
‘Yes, the cottage seems too overwhelming and the sun is so nice. I love being outside.’ Clara looked out the open front door, as though she was dying to get out again.
Putting the items on the table, Rachel looked around.
‘Can I unpack your kitchen? I love organising and I want to help you after what you did for me the other night.’
Clara looked taken aback. ‘Really? That seems like a very big ask; I mean people hate unpacking and organising.’
‘Not me, I love it. Yes, really. I do like that sort of thing.’ Rachel hoped Clara would let her because it was true, she did love an organised kitchen.
Clara laughed. ‘If I don’t have to do it, then go on ahead. I trust you completely.’
Rachel smiled. ‘Go on then, into the garden with you.’
So Rachel Brown went to work, finally fulfilling her dream at Acorn Cottage, but this time it felt better doing it for Clara, as though she finally had some value and she could feel the little cottage humming with purpose again. That’s all we ever want in life, she thought. To have a purpose.
18
Rachel not only cleaned Clara’s kitchen, but she also unpacked the remaining boxes of kitchen items and put things away in cupboards and drawers and made the kitchen feel loved and warm, and as though it made sense. She’d found all manner of things left by the previous owner including tablecloths that just needed a wash, some mismatched plates and cups, a collection of buttons in a large jar, which she knew Pansy would love to play with, and a mousetrap with the skeletal remains of a long-passed creature.
It was nearly Clara’s favourite room in the house but right now it was the bedroom because Henry had been in it and had placed the roses and it was where she imagined their feet touching every night.
After Rachel had finished her work, they had all had afternoon tea together, set up by Rachel again, who had put out the cakes and cups and saucers and they all had a lovely time. Pansy had declared the Rabbit Cakes yummy and not just for rabbits.
Henry had asked Rachel about schools. Pansy had looked at him in shock and then choked on the cake until Clara had patted her back until it passed.
School? Was he staying? God, she could hardly bear to think about what that meant. Why did he want to stay? How long would he stay? So many questions but gosh, she had a huge crush on him.
Nothing had changed between them but he was in her thoughts all the time.
And Rachel. She was in her thoughts too but in a different way. The girl she met the night of the accident was not the girl who excitedly showed her where the mugs and tea were kept close to the kettle.
Rachel rode her bicycle home and Pansy had waved from the laneway until Rachel was out of sight, and Clara and Pansy went back inside to tidy up.
Henry’s face peered through the door. ‘Hi, you want to bring the pies to the van for dinner later?’ he asked.
‘Love to, what time?’ Clara smiled at him. God, she wanted to kiss that mouth.
Henry nodded. ‘Six-ish? I need to have a shower.’
Don’t even think about him in the shower, she told herself.
‘Your van has everything, doesn’t it, even a shower?’ Clara wiped her hands on the tea towel that Rachel had hung on the hook next to the dish rack.
‘Nearly everything,’ he said, and she wanted to ask what it didn’t have but she knew she was blushing.
‘Do you promise not to storm out again?’ he asked.
‘I promise,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I am sorry about that. I was thinking about something else at the time and misunderstood what you were saying.’
‘Then tell me about it at dinner?’
‘I will try.’
She took a bath in the claw-foot bath. She lay in the foamy bubbles and washed the gardening dirt and sweat away then dressed with more care than usual. So far Henry had only seen her in jeans and some horrible sweatpants that she had been gardening in today.
The air was still warm, almost muggy, so she slipped into a red sundress that she had once worn in holiday in Spain with Giles and Judy. She wondered now if that was where the affair had started. She had food poisoning and told them to enjoy the time together while she was sick in the room for three days. It was after those few days things had changed. Where once her boyfriend and best friend had seemed to hate each other, then they had private jokes and a need to say Spanish words as though they were in an Almodóvar movie.
Then three months later the traitors were holding hands while Clara set fire to the dinner table and threw a breadstick at Giles’s head.
And then he had the nerve to text her. It made her furious to think about and she sprayed extra perfume and put on a slick of red lipstick as a sort of revenge moment.
Too much? She wondered as she looked in the tiny bathroom mirror.
Who cares? she heard her mum’s voice in her head. Who cares if the boys like you? Who cares if you want to wear the pink stockings and red shoes? You be you, Clara Maxwell. When did she forget how to be
