The Long Weekend by Veronica Henry Page B

into the conversation; if Claire would still want to talk.
    ‘So,’ she tried. ‘Did he dump you, that bloke?’
    ‘You could say that.’
    ‘Bastard.’ Angelica knew from her mother men’s capacity to hurt. Their selfish, treacherous ways.
    ‘No,’ Claire contradicted her. ‘There were reasons. Good reasons.’
    ‘What? Like he’d found someone else? It’s not you, it’s me ; that sort of thing?’ Angelica rolled her eyes. ‘He looked very nice, but they are all the same, you know.’
    Claire smothered a smile at Angelica’s world-weary wisdom. It was a shame that she was quite so cynical so young. She supposed it was a defence mechanism; the protective armour of a girl who’d never known stability in her family life. She’d heard about her mother’s string of men. She looked at her watch. It was twenty to twelve. People would start coming in for lunch any time soon. They only did bar snacks at lunchtime during the week – Fred and Loz, the two local boys whom Luca had trained up, were in the kitchen prepping – but it was Friday, a bank holiday weekend, and the sun was out. They would have a flock of spontaneous lunchers any moment.
    Lunch, however, wasn’t the problem in hand.
    ‘I did something terrible,’ she told Angelica.
    ‘I can’t imagine you doing anything terrible.’
    Claire leant forward.
    ‘I thought I was doing the right thing,’ she said fiercely. ‘At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing.’
    ‘Of course you did!’ Angelica reached out and stroked her arm, to reassure her. It was strange, to be comforting Claire. She’d never known her to need a moment’s reassurance about anything.
    ‘Shit.’ Claire sat back and put her face in her hands. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. You must think I’m mad.’
    ‘No. Of course I don’t.’
    ‘I’ve thought about this happening so many times, but you never think it’s really going to . . .’
    ‘He seemed happy enough to see you.’
    ‘That’s the problem.’ She glanced round her anxiously. ‘Luca’s not up yet?’
    ‘Not yet. I did try waking him, but he’s out for the count.’
    ‘Good.’
    They sat in silence, Claire alone with her thoughts, Angelica with her curiosity. Eventually Claire spoke.
    ‘I’m not sure if I can handle this. But I’m going to have to.’
    ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
    ‘I don’t know. I never have. Not even with Luca.’ She paused. ‘Especially not with Luca. I’m ashamed of what I did. I’ve lived with it all this time. But I was only nineteen.’ She looked at Angelica, anguished. ‘I had no idea how the world worked. I was burdened with the biggest secret imaginable and I couldn’t share it with anyone.’ She slumped down in her chair, exhausted by the memory. ‘Eventually I did, of course. But by then it was too late.’
    ‘Maybe what you did wasn’t as bad as you think. Things often aren’t. They just build up in your head and you end up feeling guilty.’ Angelica had been made to feel bad about herself often enough in her short life to know that this was true. She’d come to the conclusion that guilt was a pointless emotion; that for every bad thing you did, people around you did worse. It had made life a lot easier once she’d worked that out.
    Claire looked at her thoughtfully.
    ‘I try not to think about it. It makes me feel sick, even now.’
    Angelica leant forward.
    ‘Tell me,’ she urged. ‘I’m not going to judge you. Honestly, I could tell you things about my life that would make your hair curl.’
    Claire picked up the bottle and poured another inch.
    ‘Oh God. I’m going to be drunk in charge of reception at this rate.’
    ‘It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m here. I can deal with it.’
    For a full ten seconds there was silence, except for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the shriek of seagulls.
    ‘I didn’t expect to fall in love,’ Claire began. ‘And it wasn’t just with Nick. It was with his whole family. His life. His house.