A Vicarage Wedding

by Kate Hewitt

  “Come on, Nathan,” she said as firmly as she could. “Bailey needs to eat her supper, and so do we. I’ve bought pizza dough and all the toppings—we can make our own pizzas.” Yes, against all her teacher’s instincts, she would resort to bribery, if that’s what it took for the two of them to get home in one piece.

  Still Nathan continued to swing, his legs pumping, his head tucked low, determinedly ignoring her. Rachel watched him with increasing frustration. How on earth was she going to get him off the swing?

  “Nathan…” Taking a deep breath, she reached forward and grabbed the swing’s chain; the force of Nathan’s motion nearly knocked her off her feet but she held on and with more effort than she knew she possessed, managed to stop the swing. “We’re going home,” she said firmly, and to her shock Nathan flew off the swing at her, his clenched fists connecting with whatever part of her they could find.

  “Whoa…what!” Rachel’s voice ended in a shriek as she brought her hands up to her face to ward off the worst of his blows. “Nathan… Nathan!” She was in shock, for even after a week in the classroom, she’d never seen him so out of control—or so violent, his fists hammering her body.

  “Whoa there, buddy.” Another parent, a burly-looking dad, put his arms around Nathan in a gentle but firm bear hug, forcing him to still. “Time to stop.” His voice was kind, his manner authoritative, and after what felt like an age Nathan stopped resisting, sagging in the man’s hold, the fight clearly gone out of him.

  Rachel lowered her hands, dazed and shaken by the episode. “I’m sorry…” she began, and the man shook his head, smiling in sympathy.

  “I have a son who is autistic.”

  “But Nathan isn’t—” She stopped, because she didn’t actually know if Nathan was autistic. Admittedly he didn’t have all the typical symptoms, but then no child did. Autism was a spectrum, and it manifested itself differently in every child. One of those symptoms, Rachel knew, was an inability to tolerate disruption to routines, which Nathan had clearly just exhibited.

  Her mind whirling, she reached for Nathan’s hand, breathing a sigh of relief when he took it. “Come on, Nathan,” she said, her voice wobbling a little from the sheer intensity of the situation. Nathan seemed oblivious to the fact that he’d just been doing his best to beat her up. “Let’s go home.” She managed a smile for the man. “Thank you.”

  Back at the flat, things settled down as Rachel got out the makings for pizzas and Nathan spent a contented ten minutes decorating his. Miriam was out at the cinema with Esther and Anna, who was back for another weekend of wedding planning. While Rachel enjoyed spending time with all her sisters, she was glad to avoid it this time; she wasn’t in the mood for wedding talk or how-are-you-coping questions. But then, she never seemed to be.

  As challenging as Nathan was, he was also a distraction, and that was something Rachel needed. After they made and ate their pizzas, she put on the latest Pixar film she’d borrowed from the library’s small DVD collection, and made popcorn for them both to share. By eight o’clock Nathan was yawning and Rachel managed to chivvy him downstairs and into bed without too much hassle.

  Along with the DVD, she’d taken out several children’s stories from the library, including her favourite, The Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton. It might have seemed a bit young for a worldly-wise seven-year-old, but Nathan listened with surprising avidity, which made all the difficulties of the evening worth it, or at least almost.

  When he was settled in bed, Rachel flopped onto the sofa and reached for her laptop, typing autism symptoms into the search engine. After an hour of scrawling various websites and diagnoses, she didn’t feel any the wiser; Nathan didn’t have all or even most of the symptoms she’d expect, but he definitely had some. She was no doctor, but as she spent more time with him, Rachel couldn’t help but wonder if Nathan was something other than just difficult. Something that required a diagnosis.

  Despite her best intentions to stay awake for when Sam returned so she didn’t have another awkward and disorientating wake-up, she dropped off to sleep sometime after midnight, only to startle awake when Sam opened the door to the flat.

  “I wasn’t asleep,” she blurted, and Sam gave her a small smile.

  “I don’t mind, Rachel. It’s late.”

  “How late is it?” she asked as she peered blearily at her watch.

  “Half past one.”

  “How do you do it? Staying up that late night after night, and having to get up early with Nathan?”

  Sam shrugged. “You do what you have to do.”

  “Still, Sam, it’s awfully hard.” She regarded him with both sympathy and admiration, or at least she thought she did, but whatever expression Sam saw in her face, he obviously didn’t like it, because his mouth tightened and his jaw clenched.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Rachel,” he said, and it sounded like a warning.

  “I don’t, but would that be so bad if I did?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to be your pity case.”

  “I felt the same, you know, with everyone feeling sorry for me after I was jilted. But I’m realising that pity doesn’t have to be a bad thing, not when it’s based in compassion. It means people care.” The words seemed to have more meaning than she’d intended them to. She cared.

  Sam regarded her for a few tense moments, seeming to battle some deep emotion. Then his brows pulled together in a ferocious frown. “Do you have a black eye?”

  “What?” Rachel put one hand up to her eye, only to wince as her fingers brushed her skin. “Oh. Maybe.” She hadn’t actually looked in a mirror all night, but now that she thought about it, the area around her eye did feel tender.

  Sam moved closer, crouching down in front of the sofa and taking her face in his hands as he examined her eye. Rachel went completely still, far more conscious of Sam’s nearness, and the careful way he held her face in his hands than any pain in her eye. His palms were callused and rough and yet his touch gentle.

  “You do. It’s turning purple.” His thumb skimmed underneath her eye and Rachel flinched a little. It did hurt, now she was aware of it, but she felt something else too. Something a far cry from hurt, something that was far more powerful. Sam grimaced. “Sorry. How did you get a black eye?”

  “Ah…”

  Sam’s expression darkened. “Don’t tell me it was Nathan?”

  “He didn’t mean to—”

  “What happened?”

  “He didn’t want to get off the swings—”

  “Oh.” Sam nodded slowly. “I should have warned you about those. He’s a bit obsessed.”

  So Sam knew? “You could say that,” Rachel answered.

  “Still, he shouldn’t have hit you. I’ll have to talk to him in the morning. He will apologise.”

  “It was as if he couldn’t control himself,” Rachel ventured. “As if he didn’t even realise what he was doing.” She hesitated, thinking of her Internet searches, but she didn’t really want to get into that whole conversation at one o’clock in the morning. “Don’t be too tough on him, Sam.”

  “Maybe he needs a little toughness.” Sam took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’m sorry, at any rate. That’s clearly more than you bargained for.”

  All of this was more than she bargained for—Nathan’s demands, Sam’s nearness, the way her heart was starting to race as his fingers twined with hers.

  As if suddenly aware of what he was doing, Sam dropped her hand as if it were scorched. “See you tomorrow,” he said gruffly.

  This time he didn’t walk her to her door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ON SUNDAY EVENING Rachel and Miriam headed to the vicarage for the usual family dinner, i.e. a scorched roast and subsequent takeaway alternative. Rachel was looking forward to seeing her sisters as well as Simon and Jasper; it wasn’t the same as having her parents around but over the last few weeks they’d all developed a friendly, familial camaraderie that felt both comforting and fun.

  The
kitchen was full of laughter as the two sisters headed in, enveloped in the warmth from the Aga, the cosiness of the scene. The table was set for seven, with two places squeezed on one end, and something delicious-smelling bubbled away on the stove.

  Charlie thumped his tail on the floor as they came in, and Rachel crouched down to fondle his silky ears.

  “Where’s your puppy, then?” Esther asked.

  “Where’s yours?” Rachel returned good-naturedly. “We should get them all together, see how they get on.”

  “I think we should wait a few weeks before we bring Bailey,” Miriam chimed in. “She hasn’t quite got her toilet training sorted.”

  “Yes, please,” Jasper said with a theatrical shudder. “Definitely wait.”

  Sitting around the table as Anna dished out the beef stew she’d made, Rachel felt a deep-seated happiness bloom inside her. For what felt like ages now, she’d been struggling to look forward to, well, anything. Lately, since her dreams had been taken away, life had felt like a long, hard slog, and while it was still challenging in parts—a lot of parts—it was also starting to feel more hopeful. More like living. She had family, and Sunday dinners, and Anna’s wedding, and weekends with Nathan, yes, even those—to look forward to.

  And she’d spent a little more time with Sam… Last night she’d managed to stay awake for his arrival and they’d ended up chatting for a good hour before she’d headed downstairs. It had been surprisingly easy and companionable; they’d steered clear of any touchy topics—the past, Nathan, her responsibilities or Sam’s need for help.

  Instead Sam had told her some humorous horror stories of a few of his customers, and she’d shared about her one dismal experience waitressing. They’d agreed that they both loved Thornthwaite, even though it felt like a fishbowl at times. Sam hadn’t said anything too personal, and Rachel hadn’t pried, but it had felt nice, and she’d had a warm glow in her heart region when she’d stumbled up to bed at three in the morning.

  “What are you smiling about?” Esther asked as she noticed Rachel’s rather silly grin from across the table. “You look like the proverbial cat with the cream.”

  “No, no cream, no cat,” Rachel said hurriedly. “I was just thinking.”

  “Oh, do tell,” Jasper said, leaning forward. “You sound like you have a wonderful secret.”

  Rachel started to blush. She didn’t have a secret, but of course now she looked as if she had one, because it was discomfiting to have everyone’s speculative gazes trained on her and so her cheeks were going wretchedly scarlet.

  “Honestly, there’s nothing,” she protested. “I live a very boring life.”

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Sam West,” Esther remarked shrewdly, and Rachel’s mouth dropped open. Sometimes it felt as if her sister could read her mind.

  “I haven’t,” she exclaimed, because really, that was mostly true. “If anything, I’ve been spending time with his nephew.”

  “Yes, what’s that about? Miriam mentioned something.” Rachel glanced at Miriam, who shrugged. Esther could ferret information out from anyone.

  “He’s been made temporary guardian of his nephew,” Rachel explained carefully. “And he hasn’t any childcare coverage for Friday and Saturday nights, so I’ve agreed to help, just for a little while.”

  “That’s awfully nice of you,” Esther remarked in that same shrewd tone. “Considering it completely scuppers your social life.”

  “What social life?” Rachel joked, except she wasn’t even joking. Talking to Sam last night was the extent of her social life…and she didn’t actually mind.

  “You need to get back out there,” Esther insisted. “And if you’re babysitting every weekend night, you’ve got limited opportunity.”

  “I’ve got limited opportunity anyway, since I live in Thornthwaite. And it’s only been six weeks, Esther. Give me a break, please.”

  “You’re not getting any younger—”

  “Trust me, I know.” Rachel gave her well-meaning sister as quelling a look as she could before she turned to Miriam with a determined smile. “Miriam had her scan last week—did you bring the print-out, Miriam?”

  Her younger sister looked discomfited to have the spotlight swung on her, but Rachel was desperate to get out from under it herself.

  “No, I didn’t,” she answered. “You can’t see much, anyway. Just a bunch of blobs and squiggly lines.”

  “Everything’s healthy, though?” Esther asked, sounding a tiny bit diffident. Rachel felt a pang of sympathy for her. Six months ago, Esther had been pregnant, only to discover at the first scan that the embryo had never developed. No doubt she was remembering it now.

  Will put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Exciting times, Miriam,” he said easily, and gave Esther’s shoulders a squeeze. She leaned in to him, her head against his shoulder.

  Rachel watched them, trying not to let envy curl its vine-like tendrils around her heart. She could have had that with Dan. Nearly a month after the wedding…she could have even been pregnant by now, with her own happy news to share. And no matter how much she was trying to move on, how much she tried to accept what Dan had decided, it still hurt that she didn’t have that. She might never have that.

  Quite unexpectedly she caught Jasper’s eye; he seemed to be regarding her with a certain, knowing sympathy that made Rachel squirm. She looked away quickly.

  “We’re going to have the most fabulous wedding photos,” Anna said with a laugh. “With Miriam looking as if she’s about to pop!”

  Miriam grimaced. “And with a bridesmaid dress that will resemble a tent. I can hardly wait.”

  “Oh, but you’ve got to be a bridesmaid,” Anna said quickly. “Pregnant or not, I want you all by my side.”

  “And of course we’ll be there,” Rachel assured her. “I can’t wait.” This was met with a predictably awkward silence that Esther even more awkwardly broke.

  “How is Sam doing with his nephew, anyway?” she asked, swinging the spotlight back onto Rachel. “Sam has had a rather troubled past, hasn’t he?”

  “Has he?” Rachel tried to sound diffident, as if she didn’t know at least some of it.

  “Troubled?” Miriam asked. “How so?”

  “His father was an alcoholic who ended up in jail,” Esther supplied. “I don’t know about his mum.”

  “That’s awful—”

  “Let’s not talk about him like this,” Rachel protested. “None of us would like it if—”

  “And he got into trouble himself as a teenager, didn’t he?” Esther looked to Will for confirmation, who shrugged.

  “I knew him from rugby, but we weren’t in the same year. I couldn’t say.”

  “Really,” Rachel protested. “I don’t think…”

  “You’re sounding very protective.”

  Rachel shot Esther a sharp look. “No more than any of us should be—”

  “It’s common knowledge, anyway,” Esther continued, a stubborn glint in her eye. Rachel knew the only reason her sister was pursuing this line of conversation was because she wanted to figure out what Rachel felt about Sam, which was, of course, nothing—or at least very little. Not much, at any rate. They were friends.

  “Sam is a very private person,” she said with quiet dignity. “I doubt very much he’d appreciate us all gossiping about him. Anyway,” she continued with determined emphasis, “what about Miriam?”

  “What about me?” Miriam looked startled, as well as annoyed that Rachel was throwing her under the conversational bus again.

  “You need a job,” Rachel declared. “We were talking about it the other day. Maybe someone here knows if there’s anything going.” She sat back with a silent sigh of relief as everyone began discussing Miriam’s job prospects, or lack thereof.

  “I really don’t have any transferrable skills,” Miriam protested as the suggestions came thick and fast, and rather wild. “I could not help out at the primary school, Anna, and while The Queen’s Sorrow
might be looking for a sous chef, beans on toast really is the extent of my abilities.” She tried to smile, reclaiming a bit of her old insouciance, even if it seemed only a thin veneer. “I’m really just an expert in having a good time.”

  “Don’t keep selling yourself short,” Rachel admonished. “What about your photography? And the website you built and managed?”

  “Website?” Simon sat forward, looking alert. “Do you have experience building a website, Miriam?”

  “Only a titchy one, straight out of a box,” Miriam dismissed. “It was nothing, Simon.”

  “I’m looking for a part-time administrator for the church,” Simon said. “Helen Hughes has retired after thirty-five years, claiming she could only work with your father.” He smiled wryly. “Which is fine, because I really need someone who knows their way around a computer as well as a website.”

  “Mrs Hughes was a bit of a dinosaur when it came to technology, wasn’t she?” Anna reminisced fondly. “But she made the most amazing biscuits. She brought some every time she came to the vicarage.”

  “Simon, that’s really very kind of you, but I don’t think I’m your woman,” Miriam said. “My typing speed is snail-like and the website I built could be done by one of Rachel’s pupils. Honestly…”

  “Why are you shooting yourself in the foot?” Esther demanded. “Here’s a job, and you need one. You could teach yourself what you don’t know.”

  “And you could keep at it after the baby is born,” Anna chimed in. “You’d work in Simon’s office—you could put the baby down for a sleep upstairs! And lots of lovely ladies from church around for cuddles.”

  “The pay’s not much,” Simon said in apology, and Esther snorted.

  “It’s better than what she’s making now, which is nothing.”

  “Still…” Miriam looked dazed by how quickly it all seemed to have been decided.

  “It would be twenty hours a week,” Simon said. “If that’s not too much?”

  “Too much?” Esther scoffed. “What else is she doing?”