A Vicarage Christmas

by Kate Hewitt

  “Of course I don’t. But it doesn’t mean that I’m not willing to take the risk.” He stared at her, seeming almost angry, and she stared back, feeling hopeless.

  “I d-d-d-don’t want to get hurt,” she said quietly. “M-m-m-maybe that makes me a coward. But it’s the truth.”

  “Then you’re going to live a very lonely, boring life,” Simon said. “Because everything good in life involves taking a risk. Being willing to get hurt.”

  Ouch. Maybe she’d expected a little more sympathy from him, but she wasn’t seeing it in his face. And it made her realize even more how wrong they were for each other. Maybe Simon didn’t have the patience for her worries and nerves, because he’d dealt with it all before. Ellie had dragged her feet and kept pulling back; maybe Simon knew this time he wanted something different. And Anna didn’t know how to be different. She’d hardly ever taken a risk in her life.

  They ate the rest of their meal in dismal silence, and then he walked her back to the vicarage. The sky was black and starless, the air frigid and damp. They stood outside the weathered sandstone steps of the vicarage and blinked at each other in the darkness.

  “So, is this it?” Simon asked, a wobble in his voice, and Anna felt she had no choice but to nod.

  “I guess it is.”

  He held out his hand for her to shake, which only hurt her more. All those lovely kisses... “Goodbye, Anna.”

  She could barely squeeze the words out of her throat. “Goodbye, Simon.”

  They shook hands and then, afraid she was about to burst into tears, Anna turned and walked into the vicarage.

  The house was quiet even though it was only a little after nine. Her parents were probably upstairs in the TV room, watching whatever latest BBC drama had caught their fancy. Rachel was back at her house, and Esther and Will were at theirs. Walking slowly up the steps, Anna felt lonelier than she had in a long time.

  She paused at the top of the stairs; the door to the TV room was partially ajar and she knew she could walk in there and see her parents curled up on the sofa in front of the fire, the telly on. They’d welcome her in and pass her popcorn and fill her in on whatever program she’d missed. She wasn’t really alone, not the way she’d felt for so long. She knew that now, and yet...

  She didn’t want her family right now, the love and acceptance from them that she’d always had even if she hadn’t felt it. It was important, essential, and yet right now she wanted Simon.

  Slowly, Anna walked down the wide upstairs hall with its high ceiling and diamond-paned window at the end, overlooking the rest of the village. How many games had they played in the hall, using it as a bowling alley or a dodgeball court? She could almost hear Jamie’s laughter echoing in the high-ceilinged space as he challenged his sisters to play with him.

  She still missed him. She would always miss him. That wouldn’t change, but maybe she could fight it less. Accept it more. Grief was a part of her. And now she had a new grief, fresh and raw, from losing Simon. From pushing him away. Yet what else could she have done?

  Anna walked to the door in the middle of hallway, the second smallest bedroom sandwiched between two larger ones. One of the bigger bedrooms had been made into the TV room and one had been Esther and Rachel’s. This bedroom remained unused, the door closed.

  Now she opened it, holding her breath. Of course the room looked completely different. Long ago, Ruth and Roger had decided to pack up Jamie’s things and turn the little room into a guest bedroom. It remained one, with a double bed with a plaid duvet, an empty bureau, and a chair stuck in the corner. Devoid of personality, of memories, except she still felt the lingering remnant of Jamie’s presence. Once the room had been messy, the bedclothes rumpled, the floor covered in bits of Lego. She could picture it now, even though it had been decades since it had looked like that. Since Jamie had been alive.

  Letting out a long, low breath, Anna sat gingerly on the bed. The room was freezing, with the door closed against the heat of the rest of the house. She saw frost on the inside of the window pane.

  Had she made a mistake? The question echoed emptily through her. Had she acted out of fear and self-protection as she always did, and pushed Simon away for no purpose? And yet he’d gone. He hadn’t put up much of a fight in the end. That hurt, even though Anna knew it was unreasonable. What had she expected? For Simon to never take no for an answer?

  Well, maybe. A little. And maybe that was part of the problem. She’d wanted him to do all the heavy lifting. She hadn’t met him halfway in anything. Looking back, she could see that it wasn’t fair. And yet she didn’t know how she could have acted otherwise. She was still the person she was, and Simon was—

  A sudden, loud hammering came from downstairs. Someone was knocking on the front door. Violently. Anna froze as she heard her father come out of the TV room.

  “Do you think someone’s ill, Roger?” Ruth called worriedly. “Or worse?”

  “It sounds urgent,” her father called back.

  He sounded just as worried as his wife. People didn’t knock on the vicarage door late at night like that unless something was wrong. Anna tiptoed to the door of Jamie’s old bedroom and strained to listen. She heard the creak of the front door opening, and Charlie’s lethargic lumbering down the stairs to sniff the newcomer out.

  And then her father’s surprised exclamation—“Simon!”

  Simon. Anna slipped out of the room to the top of the stairs.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Roger,” Simon said, sounding unaccountably grim, “but I need to speak to Anna.”

  “Anna?” Roger sounded surprised. “But I thought she was with you.”

  “No, she came back. Haven’t you seen here?”

  “I’m here,” Anna called softly, and then she started walking down the stairs. Her heart was pounding, although with fear or excitement she couldn’t say. Both, no doubt. She turned the corner in the stairs and nearly stumbled at the fierce look in Simon’s eyes as he caught sight of her.

  “Anna, I handled everything wrong,” he said, and Roger’s look of affable bemusement turned to one of genuine bafflement. Anna almost laughed.

  “I was just thinking the same thing, about me,” she said in little more than a whisper. It was hard to speak up but at least she wasn’t stammering. Not this time.

  “You were?” Relief flashed across his dear features. “I shouldn’t have let you go—”

  “And I don’t think I should be here,” Roger murmured. “I still want to catch the end of Doctor Foster.” He hurried upstairs, shooting Ana a quick, encouraging grin as he passed her.

  “I’m sorry,” Simon said. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  “What exactly are you apologizing for?”

  He shook his head, impatient with himself. “I was hurt and a little angry that you were willing to give up on us before we’d barely begun. But I gave up too. And I did that before, Anna. I backed off because I thought it was the right thing to do, but it’s just another form of fear.” He took a step towards her and reached for her hand. His long, lean fingers twined with hers. “You’re scared. I understand that. I feel it, too. It’s hard, so hard, to let someone in, especially when you might lose them.”

  “It’s not just that,” Anna whispered. Simon’s honesty compelled her to offer him her own. “Simon, the truth is... the truth is... I’d make an awful vicar’s wife.” He stared at her silently for a few seconds and a flush began to spread across her face. “I know I’m rushing ahead here and jumping the gun on a million things, but I can’t help but think it. Feel it. I’m all wrong for you. I can’t teach Sunday school, or lead anything or speak from the front...”

  “I’m not looking for a vicar’s wife, Anna,” Simon said as he drew her gently towards him. “I’m not interviewing for a job position. I’m not accepting applications here.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Sshh. For a second, please.” He drew her even closer to him so that they nearly bumped noses. “I don’t c
are about any of that. I know some people might, but they don’t have anything to do with you and me.”

  “Still,” she protested, “I don’t want to feel like I’m letting you down. Like...” It hurt to say it, but she did. “Like I’m too broken for you.”

  Simon froze, his stare seeming to bore right into her. “Too broken for me?” he repeated. “Do you really think that?”

  “Sort of,” she whispered.

  “I’m just as broken as you. I genuinely believe everyone’s broken in one way or another, but since we’re talking about us I’ll keep to the point.” His smile was both wry and sad. “Do you think I just bounced back from Ellie’s death? It broke me into pieces. And part of me will always be in pieces, just as you will be, from your own grief. I don’t want someone who isn’t broken, Anna, because it’s only when we’ve been broken that we can truly know what it means to be healed and whole. And together, maybe, we can both be that. Please, please don’t ever think you’re too broken, or you’ve got too many issues, or you aren’t good enough.” Suddenly he sounded fierce. “Because if that’s the case, then I’m not good enough for you.”

  “Maybe,” she suggested, her smile wobbling all over her face, “then we should both be not-good-enough for each other.”

  “Maybe,” Simon agreed. He brushed the whisper of a kiss across her lips. “I like the sound of that.”

  Anna stepped into the comforting shelter of his arms and closed her eyes. She had no idea what was going to happen, or how they were going to make it work, but she realized those things didn’t matter quite as much as she’d thought they did. Taking this step towards Simon, towards life and love, was the most important one. And Simon had taken that step as well, and together they would walk hand in hand into the future... and whatever it held.

  The End

  The Holley Sisters of Thornthwaite series

  Welcome to Thornwaite, a quaint village tucked up in England’s beautiful but rainy Lake District... where homecomings happen and surprises are in store for the four Holley sisters...

  Book 1: A Vicarage Christmas

  Book 2: A Vicarage Reunion

  Book 3: A Vicarage Wedding

  Book 4: Coming Soon

  Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from A Vicarage Reunion

  Kate Hewitt

  Book 2 in the Holley Sisters of Thornthwaite series

  Start reading below!

  “Esther!”

  Her mother’s tone of pleased surprise morphed into confusion, and then, predictably, worry, as her kindly face creased with concern. “Why have you got a suitcase?”

  “Two suitcases,” Esther Langley answered, and hefted both as she stood on the stone steps, the March wind cold and damp as it buffeted her. “May I come in?”

  “Of course, darling. You don’t have to knock. You usually don’t.” Her mother’s forehead was furrowed as she stepped aside so Esther could walk into the Victorian tiled porch of her childhood home, the vicarage of Thornthwaite, a village of two thousand hardy souls nestled at the foot of Lonscale Fell in England’s Lake District.

  Esther put the suitcases down in the porch and her mother glanced at them askance. “Shall I put on the kettle?”

  Esther nodded in relief, grateful for the momentary reprieve from her mother’s well-meaning concern. “Please.”

  She followed her mother down the hall and around the back of the Georgian house to the kitchen, the cosy heart of the home. The family’s elderly black lab, Charlie, was sprawled in his usual place in front of the rather battered Aga, and there was a smell of sugar and spice in the air.

  “I’ve just made some Bakewell tarts for the pop-in morning in the church hall,” Ruth said as she filled the electric kettle and switched it on. “But they can spare two, I think.”

  “Thanks, Mum.” Esther let out a hefty sigh and sank into one of the colourful, mismatched chairs at the table of scarred oak where she’d eaten countless childhood meals. It felt both good and awful to be back in her childhood home at aged thirty-five, enveloped in the sweet-smelling warmth of the kitchen, yet with a leaden weight of sadness and disappointment in her stomach.

  Ruth didn’t ask any prying questions as she made the tea, and Esther rested her chin in her hands, feeling absolutely shattered but knowing she couldn’t show up at the vicarage with two suitcases and no explanations. Her mother deserved to know why she was here. In any case, her life’s trials would inevitably play out on the small stage of the village; that was the price of being one of the vicar’s daughters for the last thirty years. Everyone knew everything about her, sometimes even before she did.

  She’d learned their family dog before Charlie, Molly, had died from a well-meaning neighbour expressing condolences as Esther had walked home from school. In her teenaged years, she’d discovered her sister Rachel had been dumped by her boyfriend by the woman at the post office shop. That was how life went in a village like Thornthwaite, and Esther had learned to live with it, mainly by never giving anyone anything to talk about it. Too bad that wasn’t possible now.

  “So.” Ruth put down two Bakewell tarts, each on its own little plate with a napkin, on the table. “Is everything all right, Esther?”

  Esther took a sip of tea, closing her eyes as she savoured the comforting warmth of the drink her mother believed cured almost every ailment, or at least helped a little. Unfortunately, she still felt empty and aching inside, and no amount of tea, lovingly brewed as it was, could help that. She didn’t think anything could.

  “I’ve left Will.” Best to state it plainly, up front, get the worst right out and then try to recover. Soldier on, as she was desperate to do, mostly because she didn’t know what else she could do. Most of her life had been about ploughing ahead, head down, chin tucked low, getting things done.

  Ruth goggled at her, nearly spluttering her mouthful of tea. “Left... but...”

  “We’re separating,” Esther clarified. “That’s why I’m here. Will offered to be the one to leave, but with the farm it didn’t make much sense.” She put her hands flat on the table, her wedding ring winking in the light. She’d wondered about taking it off, making things clearer, at least in her own mind, but she didn’t feel ready for that yet. She’d only been separated, informally at that, for two hours.

  “Oh, Esther.” Ruth bit her lip, looking near tears. “Is this... is this because of the baby?”

  “There was no baby, Mum,” Esther reminded her. Even now, two months after the miscarriage—if she could even call it that—she felt the lightning flash of pain, like a toothache but in her heart. The blank blackness of the ultrasound screen still reverberated through her, an image she’d never be able to banish, an image of nothing, and she’d felt an awful nothingness when she’d seen it, and then something worse. Something she couldn’t bear to articulate, even to herself, and certainly not to her mother.

  “There was a baby, Esther,” Ruth said quietly, her expression both sad and dignified. “It’s just that it died very early.”

  “So it’s in heaven?” Esther answered, unable to keep a sarcastic edge from entering her voice, and her mother winced. Esther felt a flash of guilt, on top of the pain. She hadn’t meant to sound so cutting, so disbelieving, but she’d seen the screen and her mother hadn’t. There had been nothing there. Absolutely nothing. And faith felt like a very frayed, thin thread indeed in moments like that one, although her parents chose to cling to it as often as they could.

  “Sometimes this happens,” the doctor had said, called in by the newly-qualified and nervous ultrasound technician. “The gestational sac is empty, because the embryo never actually developed...”

  No embryo. No baby, and there never even had been. All along, while they’d been telling everyone and buying booties and baby gros, there had been nothing there. It felt like a mean trick played on them by fate—or God, if she wanted to believe the way her parents did, except of course they didn’t believe God operated like that. No doubt, her father would smile sadly and say th
ere was some wretched purpose in this, as there was in everything. Esther reached for her tea.

  “All right,” Ruth relented, her tone cautious. “As you say, then. But it’s still a loss, Esther, no matter what showed up on that screen.”

  Esther buried her nose in her mug and kept her gaze lowered. No need to reply, then, although she still felt churlish, and she hated hurting her mother, who had to be one of the gentlest people on earth. How she shared the same DNA, Esther had no idea. She was certainly missing some of those crucial genes.

  “Is that why you and Will have separated?” Ruth pressed, sounding genuinely upset. “Because grief can do strange things to people, Esther. Trust me, I know—”

  “I know you know.” Esther could hardly compare her own relatively paltry loss to her mother’s grief over her only son and Esther’s younger brother, Jamie, hit by a car and killed instantly when he was only ten years old. It had been twenty years ago, but sometimes the pain still felt fresh and raw, like a wound that kept breaking open, oozing blood, reminding everyone of how much it had hurt.

  Over the years, they’d all become used to his absence, gaping as it was. They toasted him at Christmas and on his birthday in July, recalled happy memories, smiling and laughing a little, and occasionally brought out the photos. It all seemed healthy and right, the sort of thing you read about in self-help books as the proper way to manage grief, but sometimes Esther felt as if they were just applying a layer of gloss to an ugly stain. It didn’t make it better. In some ways, it only made it worse.

  Which was why, in her own blunt, forthright way, she’d decided to name this particular wound for what it was. Something that couldn’t heal instantly or easily or maybe even at all. And it wasn’t the miscarriage. It was her marriage.

  “Do you mind if I stay here for a while?” she asked her mother.

  “Oh, darling, of course not. We have the room, obviously, but...” Ruth trailed off, looking unhappy, and Esther knew why. She hated the thought of Esther and Will being apart, and she probably thought a romantic dinner out at The Winter Hare, the village’s tiny bistro, would knock the problem on its head, bring them back together, easy peasy. All they needed was a little wine and good food to grease the wheels of their creaky marriage.