by Kate Hewitt
The person she’d ended up spending the most time with was Dan. In addition to the occasional cup of tea and chat at the surgery, they’d taken to having dinner at his place a couple nights a week, sometimes followed by an evening in front of the telly.
It was so nice to have someone to hang out with, and that weird, romantic awkwardness that Miriam had felt fluttering inside her on occasion had been firmly banished to the back of her brain. She knew Dan didn’t see her that way, and really, she didn’t see him that way, and it was just too fun being friends to mess it up with foolish what-if thoughts. She was so grateful that he had invited her into his life, and that she’d found a place there.
All thoughts of Dan were banished from Miriam’s mind as she stood in the foyer of her former home and waited to greet her parents. It would be the first time she’d seen them in person since she’d told them on Skype that she was pregnant, and she couldn’t help but feel nervous.
She was over seven months pregnant now, and was starting to feel like a whale. She knew it would be a shock for her parents to see her up close and personal, and she was afraid she was going to need to brace herself for their reaction.
“Hello, hello!” Already they were coming into the vicarage in a flurry of hugs and kisses and exclamations. Miriam hung slightly back, her smile a bit fixed.
“Miriam!” Her mother came to stand in front of her, beaming. “Look at you. Blooming!”
“Big,” Miriam corrected on a shaky laugh. She looked at her mother uncertainly for a millisecond before she was enveloped in her arms and hugged so tightly she had to catch her breath.
Miriam realised in that moment that while she’d known she missed her mother, she hadn’t understood how much—not until she was in her arms, breathing in her achingly familiar lily of the valley scent, her face burrowed in her shoulder.
“I’ve missed you,” Ruth whispered into her hair. “I’ve missed you so much.” She gave her another squeeze and then stepped back, and then her father was standing in front of her, that familiar, affectionate smile creasing his face.
“Dad…” Miriam whispered, and he held out his arms. She stepped into them, uncertain even now, but then Roger’s arms closed around her and he pressed his lips against her hair.
“Dear Miriam,” he said. “Dear, dear Miriam.”
Later, after all the hugs had happened, they retired to the kitchen, which still felt like the heart of the house, and Anna made tea while everyone sank into chairs, Charlie’s tail thumping the floor with regular, eager beats.
“You must be so jet-lagged,” Esther said. “What time is it in China?”
Roger glanced at the clock that had been there from their childhood still hanging on the wall. “Three in the morning?”
“Goodness. Do you just want a sleep?” Rachel asked. “The guest bedroom is made up for you…”
“The guest bedroom,” Ruth repeated with a funny little laugh, and all four sisters exchanged uncertain looks. Ruth and Roger were staying at the vicarage, their former home, but not in the master bedroom that had once been theirs, and now belonged to Simon. How strange was it going to be for them, to be staying here as guests?
“I don’t want to go to bed yet,” Ruth said, and the awkward moment moved on. “I want to hear all your news.”
“I don’t have any news, really,” Rachel said, with a pointed look at Esther. Ruth, ever attuned to such things, caught it.
“Esther? Do you have something?”
“Well…” Esther blushed for what Miriam suspected was the second time in her entire life, and Will reached for her hand. “Actually, Will and I both do.” There was a pregnant pause—ha ha, Miriam thought—and then Ruth gasped, one hand fluttering to her throat.
“Do you mean…?”
“Yes, I’m pregnant. Due in July. It’s still early days, though. Very early. I have a scan next week.” Esther’s lips trembled as she smiled. “I was going to wait until we had it before I said anything, but somehow I just couldn’t keep the news to myself.”
“Oh, darling, I’m so glad you didn’t.” More hugs, and Ruth dabbing at tears. Miriam placed one hand on her bump, felt her baby kick. She wondered when, or even if, she would tell her family that she was thinking of keeping this little girl of hers. That with every day, she really thought she would. Now, however, was not the moment; it was Esther’s. Miriam didn’t think she was brave enough anyway. She knew everyone would be happy for her, ecstatic even, but it would start the juggernaut of familial involvement and concern that would bury her in an avalanche of advice. Right now, it felt like her secret, although it wasn’t so secret, because Dan knew.
They’d spoken about it several times in the few weeks since she’d told him she was planning on keeping the baby. He’d assured her that she could still keep working at the surgery as long as she wanted, and bring the baby, as well, after she was born.
“And if you need help turning the second bedroom into a nursery, just let me know.”
A strange sort of thrill had run through Miriam at the thought of them painting the room together, assembling a cot, all the stereotypically sweet things. It had been another one of those moments where she’d had to remind herself that they were just friends, good friends, and that’s all they ever would be.
“Miriam? What about you?” Ruth turned to her with a bright smile. “Any…news?” The slight quaver of uncertainty, the air feeling like a held breath, made Miriam realise what everyone was waiting for. Hoping for.
“No,” she said after a second’s hesitation. “Not really.” She gave an apologetic smile, knowing she wasn’t ready to say what she was thinking.
The talk moved on to wedding stuff then, which made her breathe a sigh of relief. It was all happening—Christmas, the rehearsal dinner, the wedding itself. Miriam let the bridal talk wash over her as she sat back in her chair, trying to imagine giving birth a month after that. Her daughter’s due date was only two months away but it felt like a lifetime. In a way, it was.
After an hour or so, both Ruth and Roger were starting to flag, and Anna shooed them to bed, armed with fleece-covered hot-water bottles.
“You’re in Rachel and Esther’s old room,” she said as they all started towards the stairs. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Yes, of course,” Ruth said, just a little too brightly. “Lovely.”
Miriam set off for home a short while later, promising to be back at the vicarage for a family brunch the next morning, and then an afternoon of wedding planning and preparations. Anna was laid-back about it all, but it was pedal to the metal now when it came to the last-minute details—flowers, seating plans, service sheets.
Outside the air was breath-stealingly cold, the sky high and starry above. The moon was a sliver of silver, and looked very far away. A few sheep bleated in the distance.
Miriam stood there for a moment, breathing in the cold, clean air, revelling in the stark beauty of a dark wintry night. It felt strange, leaving the vicarage, to head for her own home. With all her family gathered around the table, it had almost felt like home again, as if she could just head upstairs to flop onto her childhood bed.
Yet she couldn’t, because so much had changed, and standing here now she realised afresh how grateful she was for everything—parents who loved her, sisters who put up with her, two jobs she actually enjoyed, a home she could call her own. Why had she not seen it all before? She’d been so focused on her own deficiencies and failures she hadn’t seen the provision that had been there all along.
Her parents would say it was a God thing; her sisters probably would, too. And while Miriam had always resisted that pat, Sunday school answer, right now, staring up at a billion stars, she felt something in her soften. A God thing. Maybe it was.
The next morning, when Miriam let herself into the vicarage with a cheery hello, her father met her in the foyer with a cup of coffee in one hand and a finger to his lips.
“What…?”
“Best leave them alone,”
Roger advised. “Come into the study. I know it’s Simon’s, but old habits die hard and he’s out anyway.”
Mystified and the teeniest bit alarmed, Miriam followed her father into what had once been his inner sanctum. She’d been in here loads of times, of course, for work, but it felt like a different room entirely with her father settling into one of the two frayed armchairs by the wood stove.
Miriam hung back, uncertain. As a child and more often as a teenager, she’d been called into this room for one of her father’s serious talks. He hadn’t been stern so much as perplexed, inviting her to explain her stubborn acts of rebellion for herself. She’d never had a good answer for them, and so she’d just maintained a stony or bolshie silence, arms folded, foot tapping in deliberate impatience. Looking back, Miriam realised how patient her father had been with her rather obvious theatrics.
“Sit,” he invited, gesturing to the chair opposite. Miriam went slowly, sensing a talk with a capital T. “So who are we best leaving alone?” she asked as she sat down.
Her dad pursed his lips. “Your mother and your sister.”
“Anna?” Miriam was mystified. “Why?”
“Because one was the lady of the house, and the other is soon to be, and neither knows how to act with one another.”
“You mean…they’re arguing?” She could not imagine it.
“No, nothing as uncouth as that.” Roger smiled, although his eyes were shadowed with concern, or perhaps just tiredness. “They’re just trying to figure out the new normal. It’s not always easy. But it’s not them I want to talk about, Miriam. It’s us.”
Us. The word seemed to fall into the stillness of the room with the thud of importance. “Us?” Miriam repeated, not sure what tone to take—light? Or confused? Or something far scarier?
“Yes, us.” Her father met her gaze with that steady, unwavering look she knew so well from her childhood—calm, unflappable, warm, yet serious. It put a lump solidly into her throat. “I feel that you’ve been avoiding me.”
She managed a shaky laugh. “Dad, you’ve been in China.”
“Even so.” Still with that look. She felt pinned to the chair, to his gaze. She couldn’t look away. “Have you been?”
The question, so honestly stated, made her want to cringe and look away, and yet she couldn’t. Her father’s ability to face the question head-on forced her to do the same, and it almost felt like a relief. “Perhaps, a bit.”
He nodded slowly, looking sad rather than surprised, which made Miriam ache. “And why is that, do you think?”
The honesty was harder now. Miriam stared down at the worn carpet, tracing the fleur-de-lis pattern with her toe. “I…don’t know.” She couldn’t say it.
“I think I can hazard a guess.”
Her head jerked up at that. “Can you?”
Roger smiled sadly. “Yes, but I’d rather you told me.”
Miriam licked her lips. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. “Because I can’t stand to think that you’re disappointed in me,” she whispered. “Or…humiliated by me. Because of…”
“Miriam.” Roger leaned over and placed his hand on hers. To her shock she saw tears in his eyes. “I am not disappointed in you, or humiliated by you. And I’m sorry, so sorry, that you’ve thought even for a moment that I was.”
“But you must be a bit, Dad,” Miriam protested. “You’re a vicar. And I’m such a screwup…”
“You are not a screwup.” Her dad’s voice was fierce. “Miriam, you are a beloved child of God, whether you feel you are or not. And no child of God is a screwup.”
“Well,” she said with a sniff, “I’ve made a pretty big mistake.”
Her father was silent for a moment, and Miriam risked a look at his face. The sheen of tears was gone, but he still looked sad. “Miriam, I would not be telling the truth if I told you that I was delighted you’ve found yourself pregnant without a husband or even a boyfriend in the picture.” He sighed. “You know my beliefs on such things, but I hope you also know that I love you, always and no matter what. And that I will love my grandchild, absolutely. And,” he added quietly, “we’ve all made mistakes, myself most of all.”
“Not like this—”
“In the grand scheme of things, a mistake is a mistake. We all fall short, Miriam, in one way or another. I know I’ve fallen short in so many ways when it comes to our family.”
“To our family?” Miriam repeated in disbelief. “No, Dad—”
“Yes. I…checked out emotionally, after your brother died. I know you don’t remember—”
“I hate that I don’t remember,” Miriam admitted in a low voice. “It feels like this big thing everyone shares but me. I know that’s stupid—”
“It’s not stupid. Grief can unite and it can divide, in all sorts of ways. My point is, I haven’t always been the man I’ve wanted or meant to be. But I don’t sit around raking myself over the coals for it, and telling myself how awful I am, because that serves no purpose, Miriam.” His voice and smile were both gentle. “I believe in a God of love and forgiveness and grace, so that every day has fresh mercies for me—and for you. I hope you believe that, too.”
“I’m not sure what I believe,” Miriam confessed. “But it sounds good.”
Her father smiled at that. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? And it is good, because it’s true. But for now…” He held out his hand and she took it, liking the way his fingers closed over hers, imbuing her with strength. “Will you forgive me, Miriam?” he asked quietly.
“Forgive you?” she repeated, goggling. “What for?”
“For letting you down. I know I have. Somehow I’ve made you believe I’d be disappointed in you.”
“That’s on me, Dad—”
“And on me. Will you forgive me?”
Wordlessly Miriam nodded. She’d never expected that. And then, as she absorbed what her father had said, she realised what she needed to say. “Will you forgive me?” she whispered.
Roger smiled, although a certain sorrow lingered in his eyes. “I’m not the one you need to ask,” he told her.
When they entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Miriam could sense the tension in the air, although both Anna and her mother smiled as they caught sight of her and her dad.
“Coffee anyone?” Ruth asked brightly, and then shot Anna an uncertain look. “That is…”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Anna went to switch it on, and Miriam sat at the table, unsure how to handle the undercurrents she felt rippling through the room, or what they were even there for.
“I’ve had a coffee,” Roger said, coming over to put his arm around his wife’s waist. “But I’d love another one.” He kissed her cheek, and she gave him a grateful smile, looking almost tearful.
Miriam glanced at Anna, whose gaze was downcast, her face troubled. What was going on?
“We’re here,” Esther announced from the hallway. “I made an egg casserole, but I’m not eating a bite of it. I was almost sick when I was cracking the eggs.”
“TMI, anyone?” Rachel said as she followed Esther and Will into the kitchen. Sam was out with Nathan again, although Miriam thought he’d be invited to a family gathering soon.
“It looks delicious,” Ruth said, holding her arms out just as Esther handed the dish to Anna.
“Oh…” Esther looked between Anna and her mother. “Are you making coffee, Mum?”
“I’m not sure,” Ruth answered with an uneven laugh. Another uncertain glance at Anna who put the casserole in the warming oven of the Aga.
“Why don’t you mmm…make a pot?” she suggested. Esther frowned, and Rachel looked confused. If Anna’s stammer was coming back while in the bosom of her family, something was seriously going wrong.
An hour later, after a meal that was awkward and pleasant in turns, Miriam went upstairs with her sisters to have a fashion show of the dresses for Ruth. Roger had informed everyone that the men would do the washing up, to Will and S
imon’s amiable bemusement.
“I want to see everything,” Ruth said as she settled on the bed in Anna and Miriam’s old bedroom.
“Shall we save the best for last?” Esther asked with a smile for Anna.
Dutifully all three sisters tried on their dresses; the dress that had been roomy a month ago was not so much now, with Miriam’s bump straining the seams. She did look like a red blob, she thought ruefully as she studied her reflection. Only Esther was blunt enough to say so.
“I think you look lovely,” Ruth said firmly. “And that will be you one day, Esther, remember.”
“Hopefully not in a bridesmaid dress,” Esther answered. “Unless you have some news, Rachel…?”
“News? What?” Rachel shook her head, blushing. “Not yet. I mean, not. No.”
“Not yet?” Ruth looked pleased. “That sounds promising. I do hope you’ll bring Sam here for a family meal or at least a drink before we go.”
“Yes, of course I will. It’s just…it’s a lot for him to take.”
“He used to live with us,” Ruth protested, for they had provided emergency foster care when Sam was small, for a short while. “But I understand.”
Then it was time for Anna to try on her wedding dress, and everyone got a bit teary as she modelled the simple dress with its lace overlay and capped sleeves.
“Oh, darling, you look gorgeous. Radiant.” Ruth got up to hug her, and Anna hugged her back tightly. Whatever tension they’d been experiencing downstairs, it had evaporated in this moment.
“Now we need to talk about Christmas,” Ruth said once they’d wiped the tears away and were settled downstairs with more coffee.
“What about Christmas?” Rachel asked.
“Well, I need to know what to buy for presents.” Ruth gave Miriam a pointed look, putting her on alert. “For example, do I need to buy baby clothes?”
The silence in the kitchen turned electric, expectant, as four gazes trained themselves on Miriam. She took a sip of tea to stall for time.
What was she waiting for, really? She’d made her decision, even if the scared part of her insisted that she still wasn’t one hundred per cent sure. In her heart, she was, and had been for a long time—and it was only right and good that her family knew it.