by Kate Hewitt
“Look at this one,” Simon said, and picked up a sterling silver snowflake with a red velvet ribbon from the box. “Is it an heirloom?”
“It belonged to my mother,” Ruth said with a small smile. “She had the most amazing collection of ornaments, all very elegant. My sister and I split them between us when she died.”
Simon held it out with a smile. “Then perhaps you should do the honours.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Ruth answered with a laugh. Her gaze darted hopefully to Anna. “Why don’t you hang it on the tree, darling? You haven’t hung any yet, have you?”
“No, she hasn’t,” Esther chimed in.
Her sister was obviously keeping her eye on her.
Wordlessly Anna rose and took the ornament from Simon. Their fingers brushed as she took the ribbon and she felt the most inconvenient frisson of attraction. Even more alarmingly, she thought Simon felt it too, judging by the way his hand jerked a little as she took the bauble. That was the last thing she needed in the present circumstances. Anna turned away and went to hang the snowflake on the tree, conscious of everyone’s eyes on her.
“Well done,” Roger said in a too-jolly tone that made Anna feel as if she were six. Why couldn’t any of this be easy?
Anna gave her father a quick smile and sat back down on the sofa, wanting only to be ignored. She caught Simon’s eye and before she could look away she saw the expression on his face—pity mixed with regret. Everything she’d told him reeled through her mind and she closed her eyes. This was interminable. A few seconds ticked by before someone broke the silence, saying something about the tree, and Anna snapped open her eyes.
“I think Charlie needs a walk,” she announced, and Ruth looked up startled.
“Oh, but we’ve just started—”
They hadn’t just started; they’d been in the sitting room for nearly an hour. The York Minster Choir carols was on its second playing, and the tree was mostly decorated. The only thing left were a few bargain baubles and the star at the top, a cardboard cut-out covered in kitchen foil that had graced their tree since before Anna could remember.
“I think he needs some air,” Anna said firmly. “I’ll be back soon.” She left before anyone could make another protest, calling for Charlie and then hurrying to the entrance hall where she yanked on wellies and her parka, praying no one would follow her and make a fuss. She needed to be alone, to absorb and accept Simon’s presence in her family’s life, as well as the knowledge he possessed.
Looping the lead around Charlie’s neck, she zipped up her parka and started outside. Although it was only a little past three, the sky was already darkening to lavender, the snowflakes that had been drifting down from inside the comfort of the cosy sitting room now stinging her face.
Charlie loped along as Anna strode down the church lane and then turned left, out of the village, towards the footpath that led up through the fells. She’d never been much of a hiker; she hadn’t been sporty as a child and city living suited her that way, but now Anna battled valiantly up the ever-steepening path, past prickly gorse bushes and winter-flowering heather until she emerged on a relatively level path that followed the shape of the fell and overlooked the village now quite far below.
It had been a long time since Anna had been up on the fells, and she breathed in the clean, icy air and felt the tightly held parts of herself loosen a little bit. The sky was wide and endless up here, with vivid streaks of lavender darkening to grey, and the first stars beginning to twinkle on the horizon.
She took off Charlie’s lead and let him run about and sniff as she walked down the path towards a look-out over Thornthwaite with an old, weathered bench. Anna sank onto it gratefully and closed her eyes, conscious that it was getting dark and even colder, and that being up on the fells in such weather, even such a low elevation as this, was not entirely wise. Still she didn’t want to move. The thought of returning to the vicarage with everyone’s well-meaning worry felt suffocating. She couldn’t bear it, not yet.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Anna let out a little shriek of surprise and opened her eyes. Simon stood in front of her, hands dug into the pockets of his North Face jacket, smiling sheepishly.
“I do, actually,” she replied, but she moved over so he could sit down. “Why did you follow me?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“You could have let me know you were behind me.”
“You were walking too fast. I could barely keep up as it was.”
Anna sighed. “And I suppose everyone saw you leave the vicarage right after me? What are they all going to think?”
“I’m not that daft, thank you very much,” Simon said lightly. “Your mother asked me to go after you. She thought you were upset.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “She’s not exactly subtle, is she?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” The last thing she wanted to do was explain about her mother’s attempt at matchmaking. If Simon didn’t see it, she certainly wasn’t going to point it out.
“I came after you really to talk to you. About last night. To apologize—”
“For what exactly?” Her words came out thankfully sharp and clear.
He’d caught her on the back foot earlier, and she’d been reduced to an anxious, stammering wreck but she felt better prepared now. Somewhat better prepared.
“For putting you in a difficult position. That wasn’t what I meant to do at all.”
“Why didn’t you say you were the new curate?” Anna asked. “I asked you if you worked at Sellafield, and you just said you were in a different field. But it was as if you were hiding it.”
“I suppose I was,” Simon answered after a pause. “Not for some nefarious reason, but because I’m not here officially yet, not till Sunday when I’m licensed. The bishop told me I needed to keep a low profile.”
“So you went to the pub.”
“Is that a crime?” he asked lightly. “I had a bit of cabin fever. I moved up here a week ago and the only person I’d met was your father. He’s lovely, but I was going a bit stir crazy, a bit lonely.”
Anna stared out at the stunning view, now mostly shrouded in darkness. Lights appeared in the darkness, cosy cottages and narrow terraced houses. She could see the star lit up on the church tower, like the beacon it had been some two thousand years.
“Why did you get me to say all that stuff?” she asked in a low voice. “I’m not blaming you for the fact that I spilled my guts, but you certainly encouraged it. You kept asking me questions, kept prompting me...”
“I wanted to help.” Simon sounded wretched. “Honestly, Anna, that was it. You seemed like you needed to talk, and I thought I could be that person. It wasn’t until you mentioned Dan and Rachel that I realized we’d see each other again. Not,” he added quickly, “that I regret that. I know you’re angry with me right now, but I hope we can be friends.”
“Friends?” Anna asked in a voice choked with disbelief.
“Why not? Is it so terrible, that I know a few things about you?”
“Is it so terrible?” Anna repeated slowly. She turned to look at him and, in the gathering dusk, she could barely make out his features. That made it easier to say what she knew she needed to. “Simon, I know it must seem like I’m being petty or childish, to hold last night against you. I know it wasn’t your fault that I said everything I did, especially after that second cider. But...” She took a deep breath, willing herself to go on even though her heart was starting to beat hard and she was beginning to get that choking, marbles-in-the-mouth feeling. “You have t-t-t-to understand,” she said painfully, her voice low, “how completely t-t-t-terrifying it is for me to have someone know all my s-s-s-secrets.” She took another deep breath, willing herself to calm. “All the things I’ve kept to myself, I’ve hidden on purpose, and it’s cost me a lot to do that, and now s-s-s-someone who knows my family, will s-s-s-see them every day...” She shook her head, unable to go on.
Her throat had closed up and her eyes stung with tears.
“Anna.” Simon put his gloved hand on top of hers. She could feel the warmth of his palm even through the fleece. “I’m so sorry for making you feel so vulnerable. That was not my intention, I promise you. And I hope you can come to understand and believe that I would never, ever use anything you said against you. I’d never think worse of you, either. If anything, I think you’re brave.”
“Brave?” she repeated disbelievingly with a big, revealing sniff. “How?”
“Because you’ve had a lot of sorrow and suffering to deal with and you’re still here,” Simon said.
“That’s not saying all that much.”
“Actually,” he said bleakly, “it is.”
His tone gave her pause, and she wondered what made him say such a thing, and with such conviction.
“Tell me something about yourself,” she said quietly. “Since I’ve told you so much.”
Simon was silent for a long moment, making Anna wonder if he was going to say anything. It had grown so dark that she couldn’t see his face at all.
“Well?” she asked shakily. “Isn’t there anything—”
“There’s plenty,” Simon replied. “I’m just thinking what to say.”
“Something embarrassing,” Anna said. “Since I told you so many embarrassing things.”
Simon lapsed into silence again, and Anna waited, wondering what he was going to say, if anything. “I was bullied in school,” he said at last. “That’s not exactly embarrassing, but it’s something personal I don’t tell everyone.”
“Why were you bullied?” Simon didn’t seem like the type of person to be bullied. He was so relaxed and confident, at ease in himself.
“It was in primary. I was a rather gawky lad—all skinny knees and elbows, and I had a bit of a know-it-all attitude as well. Not a good combination.”
“So what happened?”
“A couple of blokey boys decided to make my life a misery. Every day in year five, they’d find me, corner me, and do something dreadful. Sometimes it was just a pinch or a slap. Other times it involved my head and a toilet.”
“Oh, Simon.” Anna stared at him, appalled. “But that’s awful. Didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I was too embarrassed. I didn’t want anyone knowing I was getting the daylights kicked out of me on a regular basis. But I should have—it ended up making me so unhappy and anxious that I went off ill for weeks, and then my mum home educated me for year six, which was the longest, dullest year of my life, but it was still better than facing primary again.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It was awful at the time, but then I started secondary and found a good group of mates and it was fine. I recovered, but it still leaves a mark.” He paused. “Doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” Anna scuffed her welly along the ground. “I wasn’t bullied like that. I was just labelled weird and so I kept to myself. A Chinese girl came to the school in year ten, and no one liked her, either. So, we became best friends by default.” Funny, she hadn’t thought of Joanne Chang in years. She’d barely been able to speak English, and Anna hadn’t had a word of Chinese, but they’d clung together out of necessity. After school, Joanne’s family moved to Southampton, and Anna never saw her again. They kept in touch for a little while, but it hadn’t lasted. Sometimes Anna wondered if anything did.
“Then it seems we’re not so different, at least in some respects.” Simon shifted on the bench. “Now, it’s getting rather dark and I think your family is worried about you. It’s not good to be on a fell after sunset, so I think we should head down.”
“All right.” Looking around, Anna realized just how dark it had become. A few stars glimmered in the sky, and the moon slid behind a bank of clouds. “You don’t happen to have a torch, do you?”
“Just the one on my phone.”
“I didn’t even bring my phone.” She felt a pang of fear. It was cold up there, and more experienced hikers than she had got lost and died on a fell in winter, never mind at night. What had she been thinking?
“Come on,” Simon said gently, and reached for her hand. “It’ll be okay.”
And Anna, strangely enough, believed him. She let him draw her to his feet and then, with Charlie trotting by her side, she followed him down the narrow footpath that was lit only by the pin-prick beam of the torch on Simon’s phone. The wind that funnelled through the fells was much colder than it had been a mere hour ago, when the sun had been starting to set. Every trace of warmth had vanished, leaving nothing but cold, bitter iciness.
By the time they reached the bend in the path as it went steeply down, the lazy snowflakes that had drifted by had turned into needling sleet. Anna looked down the steep, narrow path lost in darkness and felt another tremor of fear. She, who had grown up in the Lake District, had made a newbie offcomer’s error, going out unprepared and at the wrong time.
Simon squeezed her hand. “Don’t let go,” he said seriously, and then started down. Anna clung to him, inching her way down the steep path, Charlie pressed close to her side. It felt as if they were walking forever, inch by treacherous inch, the friendly lights of the village never seeming to get any closer.
Her nails dug into his arm as her feet slipped on the path and she collided into him, sending them both stumbling. Anna let out a stifled shriek as she started to tumble, envisioning an endless fall down the hillside, but then Simon righted himself, drawing her close to his body.
All at once Anna was conscious, achingly so, of several things—the solid strength of Simon’s chest, the protective shelter of his arms, and the immediate sense of total security that she felt, wrapped in his embrace, as her feet found solid ground.
He stroked her hair as he murmured, “Are you all right?”
Anna nodded, her heart still hammering in her throat. She didn’t want to move. Simon didn’t seem to want to either for he simply stood there, his arms around her, for another minute or two, until Charlie whined and Anna let out a shaky breath and started to draw away.
“We should go...”
“Yes.” Simon stepped back carefully on the steep, rocky ground, and then, still holding her hand, he led her down towards the welcoming lights of Thornthwaite.
Chapter Six
When Anna came downstairs the next morning, the house was surprisingly empty save for Charlie, who was looking mournful, curled up by the front door. Anna scratched him behind his ears and tried to savour the quiet she hadn’t had since she’d come back home.
Last night, after she and Simon had returned to the vicarage, her family had, predictably, made a complete fuss of them both, as if they’d been lost in a blizzard for two days instead of gone, as it turned out, for a little over an hour.
“Anna, we were so worried,” Rachel had exclaimed, while Esther had watched with folded arms and narrowed eyes, and her mother had insisted they both have a tot of brandy ‘for the shock.’
Anna tried to keep it low-key, insisting she’d just gone for a walk and forgotten how early it got dark this time of year, but no one seemed to be listening to her. It was like being caught in an undertow of noise and bustle; eventually she just gave up, drank her brandy, and let people cluck around her. At one point, she’d caught Simon’s eye—she seemed to have a habit of doing that—and he’d given her a smile of amused complicity, so far from the pity she’d been afraid to see. She’d smiled back, and something inside her that had been tight and hard and heavy had inexplicably loosened and lightened.
Simon had left soon after, and Anna had retreated from the noisy hubbub of her family to her room upstairs, where she’d watched Netflix on her phone and tried not to feel guilty for causing such a stir.
Now she wandered around the downstairs, surprised to see that even her father’s study was empty—she’d have expected him to be hard at work on a sermon or something. The kitchen was empty as well, although her mother had left a note on the table.
I’m deliveri
ng the parish newsletters and Dad’s out with Simon. There are eggs and bacon in the warming oven, and the coffee in the pot should still be warm. Back soon. Love, Mum.
How her mother kept so many plates spinning all the time Anna had no idea. She made three hot meals a day, had a constant parade of guests through the vicarage, delivered the parish magazine, taught Sunday school and spoke at the Mother’s Union meetings, as well as a thousand other things, while her family, Anna acknowledged with an uncomfortable prickle of guilt, more or less took her for granted. And Ruth never seemed to mind.
Anna took the bacon and eggs from the oven and poured herself a mug of coffee. She wished she could talk more honestly to her mother, and to her father and the rest of her family, for that matter. She loved them so very much. And yet there seemed to be this yawning chasm between her and them, and she had no idea how to bridge it. Her parents and sisters didn’t even seem aware of it.
That gaping crack she’d gone and fallen in, just as she’d told Simon. Could finally coming back to Thornthwaite help her to clamber out? Or would she just fall in deeper still?
Anna was finishing the last of her eggs when the front door opened with a gust of cold wind, and she heard her sister Rachel’s cheerful and breathless voice.
“Anybody home?” Before Anna could reply, Rachel came into the kitchen, her eyebrows raised as she caught sight of Anna. “You’re on your own?”
“Mum’s delivering magazines and Dad’s out with the curate.”
Rachel’s eyebrows went higher. “You mean Simon?”
“Yes.” Anna didn’t even know why she’d called Simon “the curate,” as if he were a stranger, but Rachel had obviously noted it.
“A moment of peace, then,” Rachel said after a pause when Anna suspected she’d been debating whether to press her yet again about last night’s abrupt departure. “I’ve just come by for the service bulletins for the carol service for school. It’s in the church in an hour—are you going?”
“Going?” Anna hadn’t been to one of the village school carol services since their younger sister Miriam had finished year six. “I didn’t...”