by Kate Hewitt
Somehow, she was gathered up in Simon’s arms as he pulled her close to his chest, her cheek resting against the comforting and steady beat of his heart. He smelled of old-fashioned aftershave and spicy wine. “It wasn’t your fault, Anna. It was the car, just as it was Ellie’s illness.”
“B-b-b-but if I hadn’t been running...”
“And if the car hadn’t been there, going too fast.” He sighed, a sad breath of sound. “The driver must struggle with guilt, as well.”
“It was a woman on her way to work. I remember, she was devastated.”
“I’m sure.” Simon was silent for a moment, stroking her hair as she cuddled into him, craving the security of his embrace. “What point does guilt serve?” he asked finally, his voice quiet and sad. “To make us aware of our mistakes and failings, yes, but then surely we must move on. There is no point being mired in guilt. It only destroys us.”
“How do you move on? How do you let yourself?”
“I think it’s a choice you have to live out every day. But it can also be a gift, a sudden sense of peace in your soul...”
“Have you felt that?” Anna asked. “Have you moved on?”
“Sometimes I feel as if I have. But on some days, when the memories are coming at me, I don’t.” He sighed again. “Like I said, it’s a choice, a battle, you face every day.”
And one she’d been losing. Back in Manchester, she could sometimes make herself forget about her part in Jamie’s death, but, here in Thornthwaite, in the vicarage with the love of her parents feeling wonderful and suffocating at the same time? It all came rushing back, overwhelming her, making her feel as if she were drowning in it.
“You told me before your social anxiety and stammering started after Jamie’s death,” Simon said slowly. “But it’s not just that, is it? It’s the guilt you feel.”
“Nobody’s ever said anything,” Anna whispered. She clenched her eyes shut but a tear still trickled out. “We talk about Jamie sometimes, we remember him, but no one has said anything about the day of his death. How it could have been avoided.”
Simon eased back so he could look her in the face. Anna’s eyes fluttered open, her heart tripping in her chest at the intent look on Simon’s face. Gently, he wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb, and the whisper of his skin against hers made her ache.
“Anna,” he asked quietly, his thumb still resting on her cheek, “do you think your family blames you? Is that what you’re afraid of?”
It was a question that had lurked like some dark, poisonous cloud on the fringes of her mind, but she’d never let it take over. Never let herself voice it, because to do so would have been to give in, to be lost in that darkness, and never find her way out. But somehow, now, Simon’s asking it felt like a bit of light breaking in, the opposite of what she would have expected.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose I do.”
“Then you need to talk to them about it. I could reassure you and tell you that I know they don’t think that, but you need to hear it from them.”
“I can’t,” Anna said, the word a fractured sound. “I can’t.”
“I understand how you feel that way. I felt like I couldn’t talk to Ellie’s parents... facing them after I found her, telling them she’d killed herself... it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it was also one of the best. Because then we could grieve together, to share the pain. And I think one of the reasons you’re so bogged down by this is because you haven’t shared it. You haven’t grieved with your family properly.”
As soon as Simon said the words, Anna knew he was right. It settled into her very bones, along with an ache of yearning. She wanted to share her grief with her family, but how? What if she saw the knowledge in her parents and sisters’ eyes? What if they did blame her?
“They don’t,” Simon said softly, and Anna let out a shaky laugh.
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I’m not sure. I just did.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers skimming her cheek, making her shiver. “I feel as if I’ve known you a long time.”
Awareness rippled goose bumps along her skin. “I feel as if I’ve known you a long time, as well.” She looked up at him, a tremor of excitement going through her at the sudden heat she saw in his eyes. The attraction she’d felt wasn’t one-sided as she’d feared. Simon felt it too.
His fingers skimmed her cheek again. Anna’s heart bumped in her chest. She’d been kissed precisely two times before, both sloppy and slightly unpleasant affairs at the end of a date. She’d never been kissed properly, tenderly, and she wanted to be so now. She wanted to be kissed by Simon.
He was looking at her with the familiar, steady warmth, his fingers resting on her cheek, and Anna’s heart was starting to beat like some wild thing locked in a cage. How did these moments work? Should she lean closer? Close her eyes? What if she’d got it completely wrong and he didn’t want to kiss her at all?
“I don’t know if now is the right moment,” Simon said in a slightly hoarse voice. “Considering all the heavy things we’ve just talked about. But the truth is, Anna, I’d really like to kiss you.”
Relief burst through her like joyous birdsong. Much better to simply state the truth than play at signals. Much more Simon. “I... I’d like you to kiss me,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?” Simon’s expression was grave. “Because I know we’ve just had a very emotional conversation, and I feel like a kiss is kind of a serious thing for both of us.”
“You mean you know I don’t go around kissing lots of blokes,” Anna said with a little laugh. She remembered her drunken confession about having barely been kissed, and she knew Simon remembered it, as well.
“And I don’t go around kissing a lot of women,” Simon answered. “In fact, I’ve only kissed two other women in my whole life.”
“And I’ve only kissed two men.”
“So we’re even.”
“In number of people if not number of kisses.”
“Should we make a graph?” Out came his wonderfully lopsided smile.
“I think maybe,” Anna said, “you should just kiss me.”
And so he did, bending his head so his lips brushed hers in a slow, questioning sweep. Excitement zinged through her, along with a rush of something else—something warm and safe, as opposed to the physical thrill she was definitely feeling, as well. It was as if her heart was saying yes, you, at last, even as her body was crying out, more, please. More, more.
Simon’s hand came down to rest on her shoulder as he deepened the kiss, slowly, questioningly, giving her ample opportunity to back off or break away. But she didn’t. Her heart was hammering and a thousand sensations and thoughts were exploding through her mind and body, but she didn’t want this kiss to end.
But then it did, after several exquisite minutes, as Simon broke away with a ragged breath. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils dilated. “That was...”
“Very nice.”
“I was going to say a lot more than that, but, yes. Very nice.” He raked a hand through his shaggy hair, shaking his head slowly. A tremor of fear rippled through her.
“Simon...”
“I care about you, Anna.” He turned to look at her resolutely. “I know we haven’t known each other very long, and you’re going back to Manchester in another week, but I care about you. I want this—us—to go somewhere.” He searched her face, clearly trying to gauge her reaction. “Does that scare you off?”
“No...” Not exactly, anyway. It thrilled and terrified her in equal measure, but was she scared off? Was she going to go rabbiting back to Manchester rather than face the possibility of a real relationship? Well, maybe. “I’m a little scared,” she confessed. “Not of you. But of... this. You know I don’t have a lot of experience with relationships.”
“Experience can be overrated.” He glanced at the clock with a sigh. “I have to get ready for the evening service now, so we’ll have t
o continue this conversation later. Gives us some time to think, at least.”
“Yes...”
“Why don’t I walk you back to the vicarage?”
“Okay.”
Anna waited on the sofa, replaying that lovely, lovely kiss through her mind as Simon went to get ready for the evening service. It was comfortable there, and rather novel, to be thinking about being kissed while waiting for a man to walk her home. Her mind drifted to future scenarios of seeing Simon, dating him, having a boyfriend. All quite lovely, and yet...
Where, really, could this relationship go? Was it crazy to spin it out to its conclusion before it had even begun? She was in Manchester; Simon was in Thornthwaite. Simon was going to be the vicar of Thornthwaite, which brought with it a whole host of challenges beyond their geography. She was so not vicar’s wife material.
“Ready?” Simon came into the sitting room dressed in his black clerical shirt and dog collar, his hair brushed into dubious submission.
“Yes.” Anna stood up and Simon fetched her coat; she fumbled as she tried to slip her arms in, and once again they were doing the awkward coat dance. “I’m so not good at this,” she said, and, although she’d meant the coat, she realized she meant a lot of other things too. She didn’t know how to do relationships, at least romantic ones. Friendship was fine, and family was a minefield, but this? Simon?
Simon rested his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t overthink it, Anna,” he said, and leaned his forehead against hers. “Please, not yet. Give it a chance to breathe. Give us a chance to grow.”
His words both relieved and comforted her. “You really have a knack for knowing what I’m thinking.”
“Maybe because I’m thinking it, too.”
“Are you?” She leaned back so she could look into his eyes. “What are you thinking right now, Simon?”
“That I like you a lot and I hope you like me, but there are a fair amount of challenges to us having a relationship.”
She nodded slowly, wondering what challenges he was thinking of beyond the obvious one of them living three hours apart. Was he worried about taking on another girlfriend with “issues”? Anna did not have the courage to ask him.
“Come on,” he said, and he slipped his hand in hers. “Let’s go.”
And so she told herself not to overthink it, just as Simon had asked her, as they stepped out into the frosty night and started walking towards the vicarage. She wouldn’t give into fear, at least not yet. And, as they walked hand in hand, Anna found that was easier than she’d expected. She simply wanted to enjoy this moment for all the beauty it held.
Chapter Eleven
The church looked its most serenely beautiful for the midnight Christmas Eve carol service. Anna stepped into the soaring, candlelit space and breathed in the scent of fresh holly and evergreen, candle wax, and the usual musty church smell that felt as if it had always been a part of her.
After Simon had dropped her off at the vicarage, she’d spent a fairly fraught few hours helping her mother get ready for the wardens’ tipple after the five o’clock service. She’d managed to say hello to all of them, before thankfully disappearing into the kitchen, and then they’d had their usual family Christmas Eve meal of shepherd’s pie. Rachel and Dan and Will and Esther had all come, and everyone had been a bit subdued, in light of knowing this was the last such meal they’d share in the vicarage, the only family home she and her sisters had ever known.
They’d all hung their stockings afterwards, a family tradition, and Ruth had hung up Jamie’s stocking, also a tradition, one that made Anna ache. It always hurt to see that empty stocking on Christmas morning, yet her mother had always been insistent it was a way to remember he was still with them, if only in memory.
Then her father had returned to church to prepare for the carol service, and Rachel and Esther had gone off; Anna had noticed that Rachel still seemed tense, and Dan looked a little unhappy. What on earth was that about?
She’d spent the rest of the evening wrapping the presents she’d bought for her family and putting them under the tree. Her mum would fill everyone’s stockings; it was one of her favourite parts of Christmas, because she’d never had a stocking as a child.
“My parents were too sensible,” she’d said more than once. “But I think they’re just magical.”
Anna was looking forward to opening all the thoughtful little treats she’d find in her stocking tomorrow morning, lovingly picked out by her mother. Ruth’s thoughtful kindness never ceased to amaze and humble Anna.
At eleven-thirty, she and Ruth had headed over to church, smiling and murmuring Christmas greetings to others who were coming down the church lane. Anna had always enjoyed the special feeling of complicity and togetherness that the midnight service provided; everyone coming out on this cold, starry night, to share in something sacred and reverent. The church was hushed and quiet as she and Ruth sat down in a pew near the front, creamy, white candles flickering at the end of each one.
And then the service began, and Anna lost herself in the music and majesty, the sense of expectation she always felt blossom in her on Christmas Eve.
Each carol soared upwards, voices joined together, offering both praise and thanksgiving. And she had so much to be thankful for—a family who loved her deeply, a good job, a circle of friends, Simon. Her gaze tracked him up by the altar, his expression both serious and serene. Yes, she was very thankful for Simon, even if she had no idea what, or how much, the future held.
As the service ended, people left quickly and quietly, murmuring their greetings; it was one-thirty in the morning and everyone wanted to get home. Ruth slipped out hurriedly, telling Anna she’d see her back at the vicarage; Anna knew she would be busy filling up everyone’s stockings.
Anna stayed where she was as the church emptied out, savouring the stillness, trying to let her mind be peacefully blank. She hadn’t realized how late it had become until she heard footsteps and then the creak of the pew as someone slid in next to her.
“Hello, Anna Banana,” Roger said. “Are you all right?”
Anna looked at him, his dear, weathered face and crinkly eyes, that familiar, affable expression mixed with tender concern. The church was quiet and empty, no one there but the two of them.
“No, Dad,” she whispered. “I don’t think I am.”
Roger’s brows drew together and he put one comforting hand on her shoulder. “Darling,” he said. “What is it? Will you finally tell me?”
“Finally?” she repeated in a shaky voice. “You mean, you’ve known...”
“Your mother and I have always been concerned for you, Anna. Staying away for so long, always so quiet. But we hoped you’d tell us if you were sad or worried about anything in your own time. Your own way.”
Anna’s throat was getting tighter and tighter, making it hard to speak. Harder than it usually was, which meant it was just about impossible. So she just shook her head, and then her father drew her into a big hug, her second one of the day, and just as needed.
“Anna, darling,” he said. “Whatever it is, it won’t change anything between us. You know that, don’t you? Not one miserable little jot.”
Anna squeezed her eyes shut. “D-d-d-do you think it’s my fault Jamie died?”
She felt her father stiffen in surprise. “What...” he began in a distant, shocked voice, and Anna hurried to clarify.
“I know you wouldn’t say you did. I kn-know you wouldn’t even think it. B-b-b-but is there s-s-s-some part of you, s-s-s-some small part that does? Because I r-r-r-ran ahead and Jamie ch-chased me?”
Roger was silent for a long moment. “I have never,” he finally said, each word a throb of sincerity and emotion, “thought that for one second. Not one nanosecond, not even the smallest, meanest part of me. Never, Anna. Do you understand me?” He took her by both shoulders and leaned back so he was looking at her, his expression suddenly fierce. “Never. Never. Do you believe me?”
Wordlessly, Anna nodded, be
cause she did, and yet somehow it didn’t make anything better. She still felt it. She still felt the grief, the guilt, the pain. Would it ever go away?
“Anna, oh, Anna.” Her father’s voice broke and he pulled her into a tight hug. “I think about him every day. I know I haven’t said, but perhaps I should have. Perhaps I should have talked about him more, about that day more, to let all of you experience your grief. If I’d known you were carrying this all along... if I’d known for one minute—” He broke off and with shock Anna realized her father was crying, only the second time she’d ever seen him weep.
The first had been after Jamie’s death, when he and Ruth had returned home from the hospital, after Jamie had been pronounced dead. He’d told her and her sisters the news, and then he’d broken down, his hands covering his face, his shoulders shaking.
It had been an awful moment, to see her father in thrall to such grief, and it made Anna understand why he hadn’t given in to such emotion since. He’d wanted to be strong for his family, his daughters. But maybe sometimes strength didn’t look or feel the way you expected it to.
“Dad, it’s okay,” she burst out, tears streaking down her own face, as well. “It’s okay. Don’t blame yourself.”
He smiled at her through his tears, looking older and wearier and more careworn than she’d ever seen him look before. “I suppose we all blame ourselves. It seemed like such a senseless tragedy, and yet I have to believe God is in that, Anna, as much as He is in any of the good things in our lives.”
“I know you do.” She didn’t know whether she’d have the same measure of faith as her father, but she admired him for it, and the fact that he had held onto it even when his only son had died.
“Do you believe me?” he asked seriously, once they’d both managed to compose themselves and wipe the traces of tears from their faces. “That I don’t blame you?”
Anna considered it, probing her tender feelings the way she would a sore tooth or an open wound. “Yes,” she said at last.