by Kate Hewitt
Heat stole through Anna’s cheeks as she tried to meet her mother’s gaze and failed. “I don’t think so,” she murmured. “Not really.”
“Not really?” Her mother sounded pleased Anna had admitted that much.
“I don’t know,” Anna answered, and that felt as if she were admitting even more. “What can I do to help get ready for Christmas?” she asked brightly in a glaringly obvious attempt to change the subject.
Ruth laughed fondly. “Oh, my darling. I do hope the horizon looms closer than you might even realize. As for Christmas... would you mind terribly if I asked you to clean the downstairs bathroom? With the wardens coming over for their sherry...”
“Of course.” Impulsively, Anna leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek.
She wasn’t used to offering demonstrations of physical affection but, in that moment, she felt the need as well as the desire to. Her mother was a wonderful woman, and even though Anna had purposely stayed away these last few years, she’d always loved her and missed her. And, Anna realized, despite all her anxieties, she was glad to be back in Thornthwaite.
She spent the morning scrubbing and cleaning, and then in the quiet lull of the afternoon when her mother was having a rest and her father was looking over his Christmas Eve sermon, she decided to walk over to the curate’s flat.
It felt like a move of unparalleled daring, at least for her, but Anna was determined. She’d dreaded coming back to Thornthwaite but, amazingly, she found a small part of her confidence had been restored—thanks to Simon. Telling him her secrets had liberated her, even if the prospect was still rather terrifying.
She slipped out of the vicarage without telling anyone where she was going; she’d be back in time for the special evening meal they always had on Christmas Eve, shepherd’s pie to remember the shepherds who followed the star on that holy night, followed by her mother’s chocolate mousse pie, simply because it was delicious.
The curates of Thornthwaite had always lived in a flat up on Finkle Street, in a tall, terraced house owned by the diocese. The top two floors were rented to tenants and the ground floor was reserved for a curate, when there was one. Anna had only been in the flat a handful of times over the years, when one curate or another had invited the vicar’s family over for tea crowded into the small sitting room, cups balanced precariously on knees.
Now she stood in front of the door of peeling red paint, a tarnished brass knocker in the shape of a lion grinning at her, daring her to do it. Knock. Enter.
“Anna!” Simon’s surprise morphed into a smile of genuine delight as he answered the knock she’d finally, after a few minutes, dared to give, lifting the knocker and dropping it with an echoing thud.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything...” Already she was feeling the weight of her nerves, the anxious beat of her heart.
“Of course not. Come in, come in.” Simon stepped aside so she could enter the tiny entrance hall with its ancient flocked wallpaper and floor of cracked Victorian tile, everything overlaid with a dated 1980s refurbishment.
“This place has seen better days, hasn’t it?” she remarked as Simon led her through to the small sitting room with its wildly patterned carpet.
“Yes, the diocese keeps promising to update it but nothing’s happened yet.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter much to you, since you’ll be moving soon.”
“Perhaps, but the next curate will suffer headaches from all the clashing plaids.” The smile he gave her was already wonderfully familiar, lopsided and endearing. “Let me get you something to drink.”
“All right.” The nervousness she’d felt at coming here, at presuming, was slowly starting to abate, like the receding of a tide. “Thank you.”
“And let me take your coat.” He leapt forward to do so, his hands coming onto her shoulders. They spent a humorously awkward moment with Simon trying to help her struggle out of her coat as her arms got caught up in the sleeves. By the time he’d finally relieved her of her parka, they were both breathless and blushing.
“Sorry about that,” Simon muttered, and went to hang her coat in the hall.
Anna paced the little room, already feeling her apprehension return. What was she doing here? What did she want? She glanced down at the gift she’d bought, wondering if it was ridiculous. She doubted Simon had bought her a gift. They barely knew each other. And yet...
“A glass of wine?” Simon asked as he came back into the room. His hair was mussed in its usual way, and he wore a pair of faded jeans and a jumper with holes in the elbows. His eyes were warm and glinting and he looked wonderful.
“Yes, please, preferably not mulled.”
He laughed at that. “You’ve had your share for the season?”
“And then some. I do like it, but Mum makes it by the vat.”
“Be back in a tick.” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of pinot noir. “It’s not posh, but I hope it will do.”
“It’s lovely, thanks.” She thrust the box she’d been holding at him. “I brought you this.”
“Oh—a present?” He looked both surprised and pleased.
“Just something small. For, you know, your ordination.”
“Thank you. That’s so kind.” He took the box, gazing down at it with something like wonder. Anna gave an uncertain laugh.
“Well, open it, then.”
“All right.” She fidgeted while he did, fighting the urge to explain the gift, which seemed silly. Perhaps she should have given him something solemn and leather-bound, rather than a gift that was more like a joke.
Simon lifted the two mugs. “‘Keep Calm and Pray,’” he read on the first. “And ‘More Tea, Vicar?’” he finished on the second. “They’re perfect.”
“I thought you could start up a collection of religious kitsch.”
“These are not kitschy at all,” he demurred, his eyes sparkling. “Really, I was half-expecting something in stained glass. Shall we christen them?”
“You mean with the wine?”
“Why not?”
Simon opened the bottle with a satisfying pop and then poured generous measures into the two mugs, handing one to Anna.
“This won’t make you tiddly for the midnight service?” she teased, and Simon shook his head.
“Even if it does, I’m only standing up front looking vaguely important. Your father is giving the sermon.” He paused, his mug in one hand. “Will you be there?”
“Yes. The midnight carol service is one of my favourites.”
“Cheers, then.” He hefted his mug and they clinked china before Simon gestured for her to sit on the faded, overstuffed sofa. “So, how are things up at the vicarage, in the wake of all the family news?”
“Okay, I think. I haven’t seen Rachel or Esther since yesterday, though.”
“They seemed to be hit hard by your father’s retirement.”
“It affects them more, living here.”
“And what do you think about it?”
Anna sighed and tucked her knees up under her as she took a sip of wine. “I’m surprised, but I’m also glad for my father,” she said slowly. “He’s so jolly and cheerful about everything, but when he was talking yesterday I suddenly had the sense that he’d been stagnating here for a while. It was strange.”
“I think he’s ready for something new,” Simon agreed, and she glanced at him.
“What about you? How do you feel about becoming the next vicar?”
“Nervous. Hopeful.” She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of his lopsided smile. “I’ve wanted to live in a small community, a place where you can really know people, where you can help them.”
“Is that why you decided to go into ministry? To help people?”
“Yes, it seemed like the best way to do it. Minister to their souls along with their bodies.”
“You sound like my dad.”
“He’s a great man.”
“You won’t get tired of it? All the ba
ptisms and funerals and squabbles over pews or hymns? Sometimes it all seems appallingly tedious.”
“That’s life, though, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“What about you?” Simon asked after a moment. “Do you think you’ll stay in Manchester for the long-term?” The question, so casually asked, still seemed weighted with extra meaning.
“I don’t know,” Anna said slowly.
“You’re happy there?”
Happy? The word jolted her unexpectedly and, to Anna’s horror, tears welled in her eyes. No, no, no. She didn’t want to cry.
“Anna?” Simon prompted gently, and she knew he could see the tears she desperately didn’t want to shed.
“Sorry.” She drew a quick, shuddery breath and dashed her eyes on her sleeve, hoping to stave off a full-on sob. “Everything’s been a bit emotional, with Dad’s retirement and coming back here. I haven’t been back for Christmas since my uni days.”
“What have you done at Christmas instead?”
“Gone out with friends in Manchester. One year my friend and I booked an all-inclusive holiday in Tenerife that was wretched. Sometimes I’ve just worked.”
“Why,” Simon asked gently, “have you been avoiding Christmas at home?”
“Because, like I told you before, it’s hard to be here.”
“But Christmas in particular?”
She paused, startled by his perception. “Jamie loved Christmas,” she confessed quietly. “He was so hyper, so full of boy energy. It drove us all mad, but when it—he—was gone. The vicarage felt so very empty. That first Christmas without him... it was awful.” She shook her head slowly, willing the tears that still threatened back. “It will be twenty years in April. I shouldn’t be this affected still.”
“I don’t think you ever get over grief,” Simon said quietly. “You learn to live with it, but it stays a part of you.”
Anna looked up at him, noticing the stark lines of sadness on his face. “You’re speaking from experience.”
“Yes.”
“This is the thing, isn’t it?” she asked. “That you mentioned when we were driving to Keswick.”
Simon hesitated, and Anna searched his face, looking for clues. He looked so bleak it made her hurt.
“Yes,” he said at last.
“Will you...” She paused, realizing she was asking something important and intimate. “Will you tell me about it?”
Simon gazed at her for a moment, still looking so sad that Anna felt a tremor of fear. She longed to help him, to comfort him, but with the grief etched so clearly on his face she wondered if she could. What did she have to offer anyone in terms of solace? She was still so trapped in her own pain and guilt.
“Yes,” Simon said at last. “I will.”
Chapter Ten
Simon had serious reservations about burdening Anna with his own emotional pain so early in their friendship, but she deserved his trust along with his honesty, and he wanted to give her both. Still, it was hard.
“First, more wine,” he said with a wry smile, and topped up both their mugs.
“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” Anna said quickly. “I know how hard it is to share personal stuff. You know I know.” She smiled ruefully, the sheen of tears from her own grief still in her wide blue eyes. “I don’t want to presume anything. We barely know each other.”
Simon arched an eyebrow. “We barely know each other?” he repeated lightly, trying not to show how surprisingly hurt he was by that casual remark. “I don’t think that’s exactly true.”
“No, but...” Anna bit her lip. “I didn’t mean it quite like that. Only that we haven’t known each other for very long.”
And yet he felt like he’d known her forever, or near enough. It startled and unsettled him, to realize just how much he’d come to enjoy her presence, how alarming he found the prospect of her returning to Manchester and then relegating him to the horrible family friend status, handshakes and chitchat after a Sunday service when she was home—except of course she wouldn’t be coming home, because her parents wouldn’t be here and the vicarage wouldn’t be her home. It would be his.
“Simon?” Anna prompted, looking concerned.
“Sorry, I was miles away for a moment.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I lost someone I loved very much a few years ago,” he said, deciding to start with the plain, hard facts. “My fiancée, in fact.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” Anna’s face was soft with sadness, her eyes wide and dark.
“We’d been engaged for several years.” He paused, debating how much to reveal. He wanted to be honest with Anna, but he also wanted to be respectful of Ellie’s memory. “I suppose, looking back, that should have been a warning sign. Ellie, my fiancée, kept changing the date of our wedding, pushing it back. She told me she wanted to get married, but everything had to be perfect. And she went through periods of...” He paused. “Of questioning everything. Of questioning me. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when she was twenty-one, a year after we’d started dating. We met our second year in uni, and I asked her to marry me on our graduation. It all seemed perfect, except of course it wasn’t. Nothing is.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna said quietly. “I feel like that’s all I can say, but it doesn’t seem enough. It must have been so very difficult.”
“It was.” Simons hesitated, knowing he needed to tell her the whole story and yet resisting the emotional gutting of reliving those terrible moments and days. Even now he could see Ellie’s face, pale and desperate, begging him to help her and yet he couldn’t.
“Ellie really struggled with her condition,” He resumed after a moment, choosing each word with care. “She hated going on medication, but she needed it. She felt like a failure, but she wasn’t.” His throat had started going tight as he remembered the battles they’d had over her prescription pills, how he’d beg her to take them and she’d refuse, screaming at him that if he loved her he wouldn’t make her take them. “The medication made her feel numb,” he explained to Anna. “She said it was like... like being dead inside.” He forced himself to meet her compassionate gaze. “And she’d rather experience the lows as well as the highs than nothing at all.”
“I suppose,” Anna said after a moment, “I can understand that.”
“Yes, I could as well. At least I tried to, but some of her lows... were really low.” He swallowed hard. “And it was frightening, to see her so sad and depressed.”
“Oh, Simon.” Anna leaned over and rested a hand on top of his.
“I felt helpless a lot of the time,” he continued, “but I also sometimes felt annoyed. Angry, even. It felt like she was being selfish. I know that isn’t really fair—”
“Nothing about this situation sounds fair.”
“No, I suppose not. Life isn’t fair, is it? And no one ever said it would be.” He sighed, deciding he needed to finish telling her all the bad bits. “Four years ago, Ellie went through a really bad patch. I was so worried about her, but maybe not worried enough.” He met Anna’s gaze, her face looking so sorrowful and lovely, and said the worst of it. “She killed herself.”
Anna gasped softly. “Oh, Simon...”
“An overdose. I was the one who found her.” He closed his eyes briefly, remembering the sight of her lifeless body on her bed, her head lolling back against the pillow. “I’d been coming over to pick her up for dinner with her parents. To discuss wedding plans.” He drew a shuddering breath. “I called 999, and they were brilliant, they came quickly, took her to A&E, pumped her stomach, did everything they could. But it was too late. She slipped into a coma and then she died five days later.”
Anna squeezed his hand. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”
“But you can, can’t you? Because you know what it is to lose someone. Maybe not to feel like it’s your fault—”
“It wasn’t your fault, Simon.”
“I know she had a mental illness, I under
stand that logically, I really do. But I was the most important person in her life at that time. She loved me, she depended on me, and I can’t help but feel that I let her down. I did let her down.”
“It wasn’t your responsibility to keep her alive.”
“Wasn’t it?” Simon looked at her bleakly, compelled to more honesty than he’d ever offered anyone before. “I was planning to marry her. I should have been more diligent, more determined, to help her get the help she needed. There’s no way around that, Anna.”
“Blaming yourself can’t help,” Anna said softly. “Guilt is the most awful emotion, Simon, especially when it’s coupled with regret.”
She looked so sad Simon felt a whisper of apprehension. “You almost sound as if you’re speaking from experience.”
Anna was silent for a long moment. “I suppose,” she finally said, “in a way, I am.”
She hadn’t meant to tell him about Jamie, about her part in his death, and yet now that Simon had unburdened himself so much she felt she had to. She wanted to. Maybe it would help.
“Jamie died when he was hit by a car right on Thornthwaite’s high street.” Her heart started to pound, her throat going tight, her tongue feeling thick as she forced the words out. “It was g-g-g-going too fast. I know that.”
Simon cocked his head, his warm, thoughtful gaze sweeping slowly over her. “But?” he prompted softly.
“But Jamie ran into the street because he was ch-ch-chasing me.” Somehow she managed to get the words out. “We were on our way to school, Mum was behind with Miriam, who was only two. She told us to s-s-s-slow down, but it was s-s-s-such a w-w-w-warm day.” She was stammering more than she had in a long time, reliving that awful, awful moment, suspended forever in time in her mind.
The squeal of the car’s brakes. The dull thud of the car hitting Jamie’s body. Turning around, the laughter still bubbling up in her chest, to see his body fly through the air and then land on the pavement with a terrible, sickening thud.
“He was s-s-s-so s-s-s-still,” she whispered, and then found she couldn’t talk at all.