BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

Back in the present, I said, ‘Mum, no need for you to come to the funeral. You’d lost contact with her.’

And I needed to be free to leave at a moment’s notice, without being told I was being disrespectful.

‘Now that’s settled, I need some advice.’ Claire got to her feet and began removing her fashion-forward flares.

‘What’s going on!’ Mum cried. She was terrified of naked skin.

‘Francesca says my kneecaps look like the faces of two old Russian women wearing headscarves. Do they?’

Francesca was Claire’s seventeen-year-old and shaping up to be a handful. But she could be very funny and on the money. Interested, I focused on Claire’s kneecaps. They were bumpy, certainly, but I wasn’t seeing actual old women.

‘I don’t know,’ Mum said. ‘If you stare at anything long enough, it starts looking funny.’

‘Like the man who saw Michael Bublé in a slice of toast,’ Margaret said.

‘I do see old women in headscarves, yeah,’ Helen said. ‘But I don’t know if they’re Russian.’

‘D’you know what’s a funny thing to do?’ Mum exclaimed, obviously bored of Claire’s knees. ‘If you stare at your own face in the mirror for long enough, you start to look like the devil.’

‘Ah, never mind.’ Claire was also bored. ‘It’s not going to stop me wearing short dresses.’

‘Put your trousers on again, good girl,’ Mum said.

4

Crunchie launched herself at me in ecstatic welcome and Kate declared, ‘Rachel, hey, you’re home!’

‘Hello. Hel-lo, who’s a good dog?’ As Crunchie danced around, I rubbed her ears. ‘Who’s a good dog? You are!’

In the living room, Kate pointed at her paused screen. ‘Korean series. Completely insane. But I love it. Maybe you should give it a go. So would you like some tea? Camomile and rose.’ She’d clambered off the couch and was already in the kitchen, getting me a cup. ‘Helps with sleep.’

‘What about you, my clean-living little niece! How’d your surveillance go today?’

‘Good! Your man turned up; I got lots of photos.’

‘Can I ask a question? Theoretical at this stage? Would you mind missing work on Friday morning?’ Quickly, I added, ‘Helen says you can have the time off. But not if you need the money.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘You know Luke? My ex-husband? His mum died, funeral’s on Friday—’

‘—Quin’s away and you need a wingman? On it.’

‘You sure? You don’t mind missing work? Maybe Helen will pay you anyway.’

That was our cue for hollow laughter, which turned into the real thing.

‘When did you last see him?’ Kate asked.

‘Twenty twelve,’ I said. ‘Six years ago. The day he left.’ Even remembering it—me crying and begging him to stay—made me feel nauseous.