A Vicarage Christmas

by Kate Hewitt

  “My year threes are singing ‘Silent Night’ on recorder.” Rachel’s mouth curved as Anna winced. “Surely you don’t want to miss that?”

  “Twenty eight-year-olds screeching away? Of course not.”

  “Bah humbug,” Rachel said good-naturedly, but Anna had the uncomfortable sense her sister was a little hurt by her careless remark.

  Rachel was fiercely proud and devoted to her year three class, and this was the first time since she had started teaching that Anna had been home for the end-of-term service.

  “I suppose I could,” Anna said, trying to inject a note of enthusiasm into her voice. “Get into the Christmas spirit.”

  “It does seem like you could use a dose of festive cheer.” Rachel frowned. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it, Anna?”

  The way she phrased the question was classic Holley family. Papering over all those cracks. Seeing what they wanted to see, hearing what they wanted to. Anna loved them all, but sometimes they filled her with despair.

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” She’d meant to speak lightly but it came out a little bit like a challenge, a question she wanted answered for real because she was so tired of pretending everything was absolutely fine. Perhaps that was why she’d ended up spilling her guts to Simon over a half-pint of elderflower cider.

  “I don’t know. Just making conversation. I’m glad you’re doing so well.” Rachel started the inevitable backtracking. “So, are you coming to the service? Because you should head over soon. A lot of eager parents are already there, warming the pews.”

  “Which is quite a feat.” The church, with its soaring nave and antiquated portable heaters, was cold even in the height of summer, although “height of summer” in the Lake District could still mean snow.

  “All right,” Anna said as she rinsed her plate and mug and then put them in the dishwasher. “I’ll come over.”

  Rachel left soon after with her arms full of service sheets, and Anna brushed her hair and teeth, giving her rather wan reflection a rueful look before she shrugged into her parka and headed outside.

  The sky was low and grey with billowy clouds that promised snow but might not deliver, the air sharp and cold. Anna dug her hands into the pockets of her parka as she crunched across the gravel on the way to the church.

  It had been a long time since she’d made this short walk, from house to church; she hadn’t been back to Thornthwaite for a Sunday or special church service since uni, except for Esther’s wedding five years ago. Roger had taken the service, wiping a tear from his eye as he’d pronounced Will and Esther man and wife.

  A montage of memories flitted through her mind now—harried Sundays when her mother spit-washed them in the entrance hall of the vicarage before chivvying them over to the church, breathless and inevitably a little late. A few of the older members of the congregations had thinned their lips in disapproval at their tardiness, but most people had smiled tolerantly, glad simply to see young people filling the pews.

  Anna recalled a round dozen of nativity plays, where she’d progressed from a sheep to an angel to a shepherd to a wise man. In year six, she’d been offered the role of Mary, as her sisters had been before her, but Anna had had to refuse. No way could she have stood up in front of everyone and said those lines. Who am I, that an angel of the Lord should come to me? She’d been a stagehand instead.

  Now the head teacher of the primary, Sheila James, greeted her with a cheery if slightly distracted hello as Anna came in through the doors; a couple of year six boys were meant to be handing out service sheets but were making paper airplanes out of them instead.

  Anna took one with murmured thanks and slipped into the last pew. She breathed in the familiar, musty scent of the church—dusty velvet mixed with candles and a hint of freshness from the flower displays adorning each ancient pillar. The church was full of proud parents and all the schoolchildren of Thornthwaite Primary, ranging from the angelically docile to the devilishly unruly. The poor little reception years looked tired and dazed; the year sixes were either bored or self-important as they did all the scripture readings.

  Anna leaned back against the straight-backed pew and tried not to think about the service in this church that hovered on the edge of her memory, a constant, dark shadow. She’d been in here hundreds if not thousands of times but it was that bleak day that she remembered the most. The day of Jamie’s funeral.

  The casket had been so small. Her father, who had taken every baptism, wedding, and funeral—hatch, match, and dispatch, as he said—in Thornthwaite for ten years at that point, had not been able to take that service. A neighbouring vicar had done it, and Roger Holley had sat in the front pew with his family, his face drawn into stark lines of grief.

  Anna flipped open the service sheet, determined not to remember. It looked like the service hadn’t changed since she was a child—the pupils sang the same songs, gave the same readings. She supposed there was no point messing about with a good thing.

  “Sorry, I’m not doing this on purpose, but do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is taken.”

  Anna looked up to see Simon smiling at her apologetically as he gestured to the empty stretch of pew next to her. The church was full; more parents had come in, and even the folding chairs placed at the end of many of the pews were occupied.

  “No, of course not,” Anna said, determined not to seem petty. “Please.” She scooted over a little more as Simon sat down.

  He was wearing his usual cords, although these weren’t so battered as the pair he’d had on at the pub, and a polo-neck jumper with a collared shirt underneath. His hair was still the same unruly mane, although he’d clearly attempted to tame it with a brush and some water. He gave her a quick, sideways smile, his eyes glinting warmly. Anna had a sudden, vivid recollection of the way he’d held her out on the fell, his hard, solid body pressed to hers. A shudder went through her at the memory that she quickly repressed. No point thinking of Simon that way, not now.

  Thankfully, the service started, precluding any conversation, and Anna settled in to listen to a dutiful recitation of the second chapter of Luke. In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree...

  “They were all quite good, weren’t they?” Simon said when, an hour later, the service had finished with a rousing rendition of “O Come All Ye Faithful.” “Quite sweet, even the recorders.”

  Anna let out a little laugh. “I’m not sure my eardrums will ever be the same. I don’t know how Rachel manages it in the classroom every day without earmuffs.”

  “I suppose she gets used to it.” They left the pew together, navigating the press of eager schoolchildren who were now free for two weeks of Christmas holiday.

  “How come you weren’t up there with Dad?” Anna asked. Her father had introduced the service and led the prayer at the end, as he did every year.

  “Not till Sunday. That’s when it’s all official.”

  “Just two more days then.” And Monday was Christmas Eve. “You’ll be thrown right into it,” Anna remarked. “All the services on Christmas Eve and Christmas.”

  “I don’t mind. No other plans.”

  “What about family?”

  “My parents live in Spain.” Simon shrugged. “To be honest, they don’t really do Christmas, not properly.”

  “What did they think of you going into ministry?”

  “They think I’m completely daft.” Simon smiled, but Anna thought she saw the shadow of sadness in his eyes. “We never even went to church when I was growing up.”

  “Then how did you come to be a curate?”

  “University. My best friend was keen and dragged me along to church. It felt right, and it made sense.” He shrugged. “I never thought I’d go into ministry full-time, though, but here I am.”

  “And what were you before you trained to be a curate?” Anna asked, more and more curious about him. He looked to be about thirty, so he hadn’t gone straight from uni to theolog
ical training like some of her father’s previous curates.

  “I studied history at uni then did my PGCE. I was a history teacher at a fairly rough school outside London for five years before going to theological college.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “But very rewarding.” He smiled. “I hope this will be even more so.”

  They’d reached the front doors of the church where Anna’s father was greeting and shaking hands with the steady stream of parents and pupils. “Anna, Simon!” He smiled, looking pleased to see them both. “Was the service a stroll down memory lane for you, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, a bit,” Anna answered. “Funny how it hasn’t changed at all.”

  “Oh, they always talk about changing it, but people are sentimental about these things.” He appraised them both, his eyebrows raised. “What are your plans today?”

  “I thought I might do a bit of Christmas shopping,” Anna began at the same time Simon said, “I need to go into Keswick to do some Christmas shopping.” They stopped and stared at each other, surprised and a little abashed.

  Roger chuckled indulgently. “Sounds like a date to me,” he said, and turned to the parents waiting behind them.

  “We don’t have to go together,” Simon said once they were out of the church, the air damp and cold. “No matter what your father said.”

  Anna dug her hands deeper into her pockets and hunched against the cold. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” she said, surprising them both. “I can’t drive so I’d have to take the train to Windermere or Carlisle, and it takes ages. If you don’t mind giving me a lift...”

  “I’d be happy to,” Simon said. “Of course. More than happy. I’m just glad you’re not avoiding me.”

  “I’m not that childish,” Anna answered, meaning to sound light but it came out a bit querulous. “I just had to get used to the idea that knowing all that about me, you’re going to be close to my family.”

  “And you’re used to it now?”

  “No,” she admitted frankly. “But I’m getting there.”

  Simon nodded in acceptance. “When do you want to go to Keswick?”

  “Anytime. I just need to get my bag.”

  “Shall I pick you up in front of the vicarage in fifteen minutes or so?”

  “Okay.” As Anna walked back home, she realized she was looking forward to going to Keswick with Simon.

  It would be good to get away from Thornthwaite for a bit and, yes, she was glad it was with Simon. Even though he knew too much about her, even if it made her feel weak and exposed and raw, she still liked him as a person and she wanted to get to know him better. The realization brought a tremor of trepidation as well as of excitement. This was whole new territory and while it wouldn’t seem like much to some, or even most, it was a lot to her.

  Her mother had just got home when Anna opened the door, Charlie rushing her as Ruth shrugged out of her coat. “Were you out at the service?” Ruth asked as they moved into the kitchen and she switched on the kettle, as she always did. “Was it lovely? I’m sorry I missed it this year, but I don’t think I could bear hearing the same songs yet again.” She gave Anna a ruefully apologetic look. “Is that awful?”

  “Not at all. There are only so many kiddie carol services one can endure.”

  “I’ve always admired how your father keeps it fresh for himself. He always seems so genuinely pleased to be there.”

  “Yes.” Roger had the gift of looking at life with enthusiasm, no matter what. Almost.

  “I should have gone this year, though,” Ruth said, sounding sad suddenly. “If I’d been stronger, perhaps...”

  “What do you mean, Mum?” Anna looked at Ruth in growing alarm. “Stronger? For a carol service?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Ruth waved her away as the kettle clicked off. “I’m just being sentimental, because of the season.” But Anna felt it was more than that, and she had no idea what.

  “Is everything okay, Mum?” She realized how rarely she asked that question. Her parents always seemed so happy, so busy, bustling through their lives, and she tended to take them at face value... just as the rest of her family did to her.

  “Fine, fine.” Ruth concentrated on dunking teabags in mugs, and Anna had the feeling she was not meeting her eye on purpose. “Just a bit tired, perhaps. What are you up to today, darling?”

  “I’m going to Keswick with Simon to do some Christmas shopping.”

  “Oh, lovely.” Ruth looked up, her face flushed with pleasure, and Anna sighed.

  “Don’t get any ideas, please, Mum.”

  “Ideas, what ideas?” Ruth said with too much innocence. “If you make it to Booth’s, could you pick up some sherry? We’re just about out and the wardens are coming over tomorrow evening. You know how Edith Appleton likes her tipple.”

  “All right.”

  A knock sounded on the front door, and Anna went to open it. Simon stood there, looking just as he had when she’d left him at church, but for some reason the sight of him caused a sunburst of pleasure in Anna’s heart.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  They smiled at each other for another moment and then Anna reached for her bag. “Onwards to Keswick.”

  Simon opened the passenger door of his beat-up Volvo, making it feel even more like a date. Except of course it wasn’t, not even remotely. He was just giving her a lift. They’d probably split up as soon as they reached the car park. Anna settled back into her seat as Simon started down the church lane. No, this most certainly wasn’t a date.

  Chapter Seven

  Simon glanced sideways at Anna sitting in the passenger seat, her expression pensive and peaceful. At least, he hoped it was. He couldn’t always tell what Anna was thinking, but she seemed to have, for the most part anyway, got over her reluctance at being with him. And that was a good thing.

  Yet in the short time he’d spent with her, Simon realized it wasn’t enough. He didn’t want to be tolerated. He didn’t even want to be simply liked. And maybe that was unwise or even crazy, but he felt a connection with Anna Holley that he hadn’t felt with another person in a long time. He felt an attraction too, and that part of him had been dead for so long he was amazed to feel it springing back to life. But it was, and it had been since Anna had first come into The Bell, looking flushed and pretty and sad all at once.

  From the first moment he’d seen her, Simon had wanted to take away that sadness and that was unwise. He couldn’t take away someone’s sadness. He was no one’s rescuer; that much he’d learned, and in the hardest way possible.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he announced, and Anna turned to him, her eyebrows raised.

  They’d left Thornthwaite and were now driving down the single-track lane that led to the A66, steep-sided, snow-covered fells on either side of the narrow road. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and Simon hoped he never took it for granted. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it, at least.

  “You were thinking?” Anna prompted. “Are you going to tell me about what?”

  “Yes, sorry. Just admiring the view. I was thinking about everything you told me.” She grimaced and he hastened to add, “Not like that. Not the particulars. Just... the fact.” Anna’s mouth tightened and she didn’t reply, just looked out the window as the rust-coloured fells streamed by. Simon wondered at the wisdom of bringing all this up again. Anna seemed too poised to put it behind her; why had he gone and ripped off the plaster of silence?

  He knew why, of course. Because he couldn’t leave things alone. Because he had a compulsion to make things better, to rectify and heal, and sometimes that was a good thing. Sometimes it wasn’t. In any case, it never was enough.

  “I was thinking about what you said last night, about how terrible or painful it was for someone to know all your secrets.” Anna let out an audible breath and said nothing and resolutely Simon ploughed on. “But what if it’s not terrible or painful? What if it can be a relief, Anna? Because the reason anyone ke
eps secrets is so people don’t know about it, whatever it is, the worst or the weak or whatever. And the reason someone doesn’t want anyone to know is because they’re afraid what people will think when they find out. They’re afraid of being judged or rejected or something else... but what if that doesn’t happen? I know, Anna, and I’m still here. I’m enjoying spending time with you, and I’d... I’d like to get to know you better, even knowing what I do.”

  Anna was silent for a long moment. “Even knowing?” she repeated finally, her voice toneless, her face still turned towards the window.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know.” She shook her head, biting her lip. “I just don’t want you to think differently about me. To f-f-f-feel sorry for me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Are you sure?” She turned to him suddenly, her expression sharp and fierce. “Are you absolutely s-s-s-sure? Because I’ve seen the expression on your face, and sometimes it looks a lot like pity.”

  “I felt sorry for you yesterday,” Simon said carefully, determined to be honest. “Because you were in a difficult position, and I was the one who put you there. And you were right, your family is a bit full on. Well meaning, but—”

  “They’re wonderful,” Anna interjected fiercely, and Simon smiled.

  “Absolutely. They’re wonderful. I wouldn’t say a word against them, and I admire your father hugely. But... I suppose, in certain situations, they can be a bit full on. I’m only saying I understood what you meant, back at The Bell.”

  “Thank you,” Anna said after a pause. “But I still wish I hadn’t told you all that. You’re going to look at me differently because of it. You won’t be able to help it.”

  Simon frowned. “How do you think I’m going to look at you?”

  She gave a little shake of her head, and then sighed. “Like someone who’s broken.”

  The words pierced Simon right to the core. “We’re all broken, Anna. That’s the nature of being human. I’m as broken as you are, if not more.”