Christmas at the Vicarage

by Rebecca Boxall

  A very pleasant evening ensued and Rosamunde was given a tour of the house, which was tidy but not fastidiously so. The tour included Benedict’s studio, where she noticed a work in progress.

  ‘You’ve been inspired?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t want to jinx it,’ said Benedict. ‘But yes, my inspiration seems finally to be returning. I’m working on this vase for Mrs G. I just need to finish painting it. What do you think so far?’

  Rosamunde found it touching he was making a Christmas present for Mrs Garfield and was suitably impressed with the vase, which was a bright shade of Mediterranean sky blue. She remembered Kizzie saying Benedict’s signature style was the vibrant colours of his pots. As she looked at some of his older pieces she found herself imagining Benedict living in some beautiful villa in the hills of Mallorca, working diligently as sun shone through into his workshop. The brightly coloured objects seemed such a contrast to the cold and damp of the West Country at this time of year, but then perhaps just working on the pots was enough to lift his spirits.

  As the evening drew on, Rosamunde felt at ease with Benedict’s friend, who was warm and charming. It turned out the men had been friends since Benedict’s car accident, which had happened when he was twenty-five. Ed, an ex–army officer, was driving the truck that collided with Benedict’s car on a dark, wet night and following the accident the men had formed an unlikely friendship. Ed had been wracked with guilt and had arranged for an army physiotherapist, who helped rehabilitate wounded soldiers, to work with Benedict. Thanks to the excellent treatment, Benedict had managed to get rid of the limp he’d been left with after his complex fracture, and now the only legacy of the accident was some lingering back pain, which flared up every now and again.

  ‘What do you do now you’re retired from the army?’ Rosamunde asked Ed over supper.

  ‘I was in the Veterinary Corps so I work as a vet nowadays,’ he explained. ‘It’s very different now I’m working with farm animals, but I love it and it means I get to live in the country. Can’t stand cities. I do visit London once a month, though, to see the children. I’m divorced,’ he added, as he looked Rosamunde squarely in the eye.

  Rosamunde thought, quite simply, that a more eligible man for her could not exist. What’s more, it was clear he was interested. But was she? Could she finally find it in herself to unfurl her heart again? She certainly found Ed attractive and when she kissed his cheek goodnight he smelt wonderful. But then she kissed Benedict. And, to her surprise, he smelt even better.

  28.

  JULY 1999

  For the next twenty-four hours Rosamunde enjoyed an intense journey of re-discovery, banishing worry and guilt from her mind as she and Stephen explored every inch of each other anew in a pretty hotel room in Sussex.

  There were new discoveries – how did Stephen get that scar on his leg? – as well as old habits, such as Rosamunde falling asleep in the nook of Stephen’s neck as she’d done twelve years before. There were also some disappointments.

  ‘Are you working on a movie at the moment?’ Rosamunde asked as they lay in each other’s arms.

  ‘What?’ queried Stephen, confused. Rosamunde rolled onto her side to look at him.

  ‘You’re a film director, right?’ she asked. Stephen laughed.

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, babe, but I’m an accountant. I had amnesia, remember? It was only a couple of years ago that I recalled how fervently I’d wanted to direct movies. Bit late to change career direction now and anyway, don’t tell anyone, but I quite like my job,’ he stage-whispered. ‘A friend of mine works in film, though. That’s why I was at The Groucho the other night,’ he explained.

  Rosamunde was disappointed. She’d always thought he’d have followed his dreams if he’d survived, but then she could hardly blame him for not doing so when he couldn’t even remember them. How she hated his grandmother at that moment when she thought of all the dreams she’d prevented Stephen from realising for such selfish reasons. And my life too, Rosamunde screamed inwardly. You’ve messed up my life, too, you stupid old bag! And yet, had she really ruined Rosamunde’s life? Yes, it was hard all those years ago but she had Giles now. She was about to marry him. Wasn’t she happy? Rosamunde pushed these thoughts away and allowed her lips to seek out Stephen’s.

  However, when Stephen dropped her back at Rachel’s flat the following day, they were forced to consider what to do next.

  ‘What now?’ asked Rosamunde, turning to him from the passenger seat. Stephen sighed.

  ‘I can’t be without you, babe,’ he told her. He didn’t need to ask Rosamunde to know she felt the same. ‘Look, how about I get some time off work and come down to see you? We need to formulate a plan before we tell Jodie and what’s-his-face.’

  ‘Giles,’ Rosamunde told him, prickling. She might have been about to shatter Giles’s heart, but he deserved to be called by his proper name.

  ‘Sorry. Giles. What do you say?’

  Rosamunde could hardly think straight but she agreed. After a lingering kiss, she dragged herself out of the car, barely able to tear herself away, and ran up the steps to her sister’s flat where Rachel was waiting with the lack of judgement and glut of comfort only a sister can provide.

  Later that day, Rosamunde returned home to find Giles working on her computer at the desk in the small sitting room. As soon as she entered the flat she felt both guilty and oppressed. She rushed to the window to let some air in.

  ‘Good trip?’ asked Giles, looking up briefly from his work. ‘Where’s the dress?’

  Rosamunde realised, in horror, that she had forgotten about it entirely and the gown was at this moment hanging in her sister’s wardrobe. ‘Oh, I left it at Rachel’s so you wouldn’t see it. She’s bringing it down before the wedding,’ she told him, ashamed at how easily the lies were pouring from her tongue. She realised quite quickly that she couldn’t cope with having Giles in the flat right now and so she feigned a bad migraine and sent him back to his bachelor pad, telling him she’d see him tomorrow.

  ‘It’s probably down to pre-wedding stress,’ he told her, concerned. ‘Make sure you get lots of rest, now, won’t you?’ he bossed, solicitous. Rosamunde wished he would stop fussing but promised she would.

  Having despatched him from the flat, she turned and rested against the inside of the door, before sliding down it with a sigh of relief, exhaustion and despair. Her sister would be better at this, she thought, and she wondered for a moment if Stephen was worth the heartbreak and upset she was about to cause. But her doubt didn’t last long: when she brought the image of him into her mind she found herself immediately revived from her exhausted stupor. She loved him with a fervour that both excited and terrified her and when he arrived unexpectedly an hour later, unable to be apart from her for any longer (and, presumably, after making excuses to Jodie), she succumbed to their bubble of bliss for another twenty-four hours.

  During this time, while holed up in Rosamunde’s tiny flat, they decided they must tell Jodie and Giles as soon as possible. It wasn’t fair to drag this out.

  Rosamunde and Giles had arranged to meet at the Vicarage the following evening for their rather late-in-the-proceedings wedding interview with Bernie to discuss the finer details of the service. He’d had a run of weddings and his daughter’s had been put to the bottom of the pile. And so Rosamunde decided she would bite the bullet and explain everything to Giles then. Stephen, meanwhile, would return to London and start the process of separation and divorce with Jodie. The prospect of the days ahead was miserable but Rosamunde and Stephen were resolute. They’d never been so certain about anything in their lives.

  It was thus that Rosamunde found herself arriving at the Vicarage on a beautiful summer’s evening to find Bernie and Giles sitting in the garden drinking Pimm’s. The scene was so perfect she felt like a vandal about to smash an exquisite piece of artwork. So she stood frozen by the garden gate until Gladys gave her away as she bundled towards Rosamunde with a loud miaow.
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  When Giles saw her he stood up to embrace her, smiling, but as soon as he took in her face he sat down again with a thump. It was as if, in that moment, he absolutely knew, although nothing whatsoever had been said. Bernie made himself scarce and the next two hours were full of painful explanations, sad pleadings from Giles and heart-wrenching tears. By ten o’clock Giles had left and Rosamunde, though by now shivering from the evening chill and the trauma of the last couple of hours, remained rooted to the garden chair. When Bernie emerged with a warm cardigan and a glass of brandy, asking no questions but giving her a brief squeeze, she was unspeakably grateful.

  ‘Poor Giles,’ she said.

  ‘Better now than later,’ replied Bernie, always a wise old owl.

  She had done it. The next few days would have to be spent unscrambling the wedding plans but she began to feel a weak sense of relief that there need be no more lies. No more deceit. It was all out in the open, however devastating.

  Most of all, Rosamunde felt relieved that she and Stephen were edging slowly closer to being together again – at last.

  29.

  MONDAY 15TH DECEMBER 2014

  When Rosamunde bumped into Benedict in the newsagent’s on Monday morning he looked terribly gloomy.

  ‘Why the long face?’ she asked, as she grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge.

  ‘Guess who’s back in Potter’s Cove for Christmas?’ Benedict answered. He didn’t pause before continuing, with a grimace, ‘Clara.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ replied Rosamunde, with a sympathetic smile. This was the trouble with growing up in a small village. There were some ghosts that haunted you forever. ‘Have you seen her?’

  ‘No, I just bumped into Bob the postman and he told me he saw her arriving at her parents’ house early this morning with her husband and baby. What am I going to do?’

  ‘What you are going to do,’ Rosamunde ordered him, ‘is not allow her to ruin your Christmas. Anyway, she’s got what she wanted – she has a husband and baby now. She’ll probably be all sweetness and light.’

  Rosamunde was mistaken. Later the same day she came across Clara outside The Kiln. Rosamunde spotted her a moment before she was seen herself and contemplated ducking into the café to avoid any conversation before deciding to be brave.

  ‘Well, well,’ came the whiney voice. ‘Rosamunde Pemberton!’ she announced. ‘Or maybe you have a new surname by now? Are you married?’ she asked, getting straight to the point.

  ‘Hi, Clara,’ Rosamunde replied, doing her best to be friendly. ‘And no, not married.’ Clara put on her faux-sympathetic face.

  ‘Oh, really? That’s a shame. I thought you might have found someone else by now, after all that business with that chap. What was his name? Giles?’

  ‘That’s right, but no,’ Rosamunde replied with a tight smile. Clara wasn’t holding back. The irritating woman took a moment to coo at the baby on her hip. The infant looked much like her – sort of blonde and horsey, with freckles.

  ‘How about children?’ Clara demanded to know next.

  ‘Again, no,’ Rosamunde answered. She was sure her voice must sound strangled. Clara couldn’t even manage faux sympathy now. She just looked gleeful, as if she’d won some sort of race Rosamunde had no idea she was participating in.

  ‘This is Hugo,’ she told Rosamunde proudly. ‘And his daddy’s name is Rupert. I’m sure you’ll meet him over the next few days. We’re down until Boxing Day,’ she said brightly.

  ‘Great,’ Rosamunde managed before spotting Benedict taking Humphrey for a walk down to Inner Cove. ‘Better get on but lovely to see you, Clara,’ she lied before scuttling off in Benedict’s direction so she could warn him to steer clear.

  By the time she drew near him she was out of breath.

  ‘Benedict, wait!’ she shouted. He walked terribly fast. He turned around and, as he did so, she suddenly found her remaining breath taken from her as she took in – as if for the first time – his distinct jaw line and beautiful Roman nose. When he saw it was Rosamunde he smiled, and his large dark eyes crinkled with friendliness. Oh no, Rosamunde thought to herself. Suddenly her anxiety in the bath the other night made sense to her. How had she not realised this before? She despaired inwardly. Only she would find herself falling in love with a man who was gay. She could cry at the ineptitude of her pitiful heart.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Benedict asked, rushing towards her as Humphrey gambolled along beside him. ‘You’ve gone quite white,’ he said. Rosamunde shook herself mentally and physically.

  ‘Fine.’ She grinned. ‘Someone walked over my grave, that’s all.’ He looked puzzled.

  ‘You know,’ she said. ‘When you get that weird shiver down your back.’

  ‘Crazy lady,’ Benedict declared with a grin as he hugged her to him. As Rosamunde looked up over his shoulder she saw a figure on the slipway looking down at them.

  ‘Let go, quick,’ Rosamunde ordered and, confused, Benedict did so.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, she’s gone again,’ replied Rosamunde. ‘It was Clara. We don’t want her thinking you’re heterosexual again,’ she laughed.

  ‘No,’ Benedict said gravely. ‘That we definitely don’t. Still, she’d never think we were a couple,’ he added. ‘So I think we’re safe.’

  Rosamunde felt hurt, but she bit her lip and they walked on together along the damp sand, their noses pink on this icy December day. Rosamunde decided to change the topic of conversation.

  ‘How’s Ed getting on?’ she asked.

  ‘Good,’ Benedict replied. ‘He’s a fabulous guest. No trouble at all. He seems to be rather taken with you,’ he added.

  ‘Really?’ Rosamunde decided to be modest, though really it would have been impossible not to have noticed.

  ‘Believe me, Rosamunde, he’s enraptured by you. I’ve told him what you’re really like but he won’t be deterred,’ he teased. ‘How about you?’ he asked, stopping now to look out to sea. He looked all at once more serious. ‘What do you think of him?’

  ‘I like him,’ she answered. Then, recognising that Ed might be just the man to take her mind off Benedict, she added, ‘I really like him.’

  Benedict turned to her, as if a little surprised. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Rosamunde. ‘In fact, I don’t suppose you could fix me up on a date with him, could you?’ What harm could it do, after all, to go on just one date?

  30.

  JULY 1999

  When Rosamunde told Stephen she’d broken off her engagement to Giles he breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

  ‘And you?’ she asked. ‘Have you spoken to Jodie yet?’

  ‘When I got back she’d left me a note saying she’d gone to visit her brother in Canterbury for ten days. He’s not been well,’ he explained. ‘But as soon as she’s back next Saturday I’ll tell her. I can’t tell her over the phone. It won’t be long now,’ he added. ‘And in the meantime I’m free as a bird again. I managed to square some time off work. Shall I come and stay?’

  Rosamunde had also managed to arrange some time off work and told Stephen he should but that they’d have to stay at the Vicarage, as Giles was in the process of moving his various possessions out of her flat. The prospect of Giles and Stephen meeting was too hideous to contemplate and she knew her father would welcome Stephen in spite of the difficult circumstances.

  The first day was inevitably filled with stressful practicalities. Mrs Garfield, stalwart as ever, arrived at nine o’clock with a notepad and a list of phone numbers. They sat at the kitchen table with the telephone and took it in turns to call around while Stephen made endless cups of coffee for them and Bernie, less helpfully, looked at the crossword. The church arrangements were of course easy to untangle, but there was the reception to cancel, including the venue, food, drink and entertainment. Rosamunde was glad it wasn’t her father having to stump up the bill – she and Giles had decided to pay for the wedding themselves and she’d now told Giles she would cover h
is half. It was the least she could do. Giles had tried to insist but Rosamunde wouldn’t hear of it and thankfully she had a healthy-looking savings account.

  There were also the guests to call and in a way this was worse, since they wanted explanations. After calling several of her own friends, Rosamunde was exhausted and Mrs Garfield was clearly uncomfortable with the task, so – by now almost in tears – Rosamunde made an SOS call to Kizzie, who’d kept a discreet distance since Rosamunde had told her the news, not wanting to intrude but making it clear she was at the end of a phone if needed. Kizzie left the girls with her mother and soon arrived at the Vicarage with kisses for everyone. She tucked her dark hair behind her pretty ears and quickly made her way down the list of friends and family like an efficient secretary at a multi-national company. Her direct yet gentle approach to those concerned made the task easier and by the end of the day everyone necessary had been notified. The little group – Bernie, Mrs Garfield, Kizzie, Stephen and Rosamunde – celebrated with an Indian takeaway.

  Unscrambling a wedding at the last minute had not been pleasant, but there followed a magical week in which Bernie, Rosamunde and Stephen pottered around the Vicarage. Bernie had always liked Stephen and although he might well have disapproved of his conduct (and, indeed, of Rosamunde’s) he managed to be delightfully un-judgemental. The three of them chattered easily away in the summer warmth of the pretty garden, which was full to bursting with burgeoning roses, and they took long walks along the cliffs. Bernie would often take himself off to give Rosamunde and Stephen time alone as well. Despite some lingering feelings of remorse over poor Giles (and, indeed, the unknown Jodie, whom Stephen telephoned every couple of days, re-appearing afterwards with his face etched with guilt), Rosamunde felt exquisitely happy.

  It was as though the last twelve years had never happened and the couple had been plunged back to their youth, but with the benefit of experience and the knowledge that time was not to be squandered. The day before Stephen was to return to London they borrowed a boat from Gerard and ventured out to Kipper’s Cove. The sea was a little choppy but it was sunny and the cove was sheltered. As soon as the boat was anchored the pair jumped off the deck into the icy depths of the ocean beneath them before surfacing with chattering teeth and racing each other to the shoreline. When they reached the shore they sprawled out on the sand to dry off, marvelling at having the whole beach to themselves.