A Vicarage Christmas

by Kate Hewitt

  “How?” she demanded. “You seem pretty together, to me.”

  “We all try to hide it, don’t we?” he shot back. “We’re not out there, yelling from the rooftops how messed up we are inside, how sad and scared.”

  “Are you sad and scared?” She sounded dubious.

  Simon knew he didn’t have any right to hide things from her when she’d told him so much, but it felt like dangerously overloading the front end of their relationship, if he could even say they had one. A friendship, at least, he hoped. Of sorts.

  “I have been sad and scared,” he said at last. “Even if I’m not feeling that way precisely at this moment.”

  Anna was silent, staring out the window. “I won’t ask you about that now,” she said finally. “Even though I’m curious. But just because I bared my soul doesn’t mean you should. It’s not tit for tat.”

  “Thank you,” Simon said, feeling both startled and touched because even though he would have told her if she’d asked, he realized he wasn’t ready for the same kind of sharing yet.

  “But there is something, isn’t there?” Anna said quietly. “I mean something specific. Some event or relationship or something, something that’s hurt you in some way.”

  “Yes,” he said after a moment. “There is.” It felt like a surprisingly big confession.

  Keswick was heaving with shoppers and holidaymakers and it took twenty minutes to find a space in one of the town’s car parks. The pedestrianised street leading to the Market Square was thronged with people and strung with Christmas lights, with shop windows decorated with ornaments and holly.

  “This is certainly putting me in the Christmas spirit,” Anna said as they browsed in a craft shop and she inspected some mohair wool for Esther, who had always been a great knitter.

  “It certainly is.” Simon absently flicked through a book of knitting patterns. They had, by mutual, silent agreement, decided to stay together to shop. Anna had considered offering to split up, which made sense, but she hadn’t wanted to and she was glad Simon had chosen to stay with her, even if he had nothing to buy in the craft shop.

  “Who are you buying presents for?” she asked as she selected several balls of the mohair and paid for them at the till.

  “Not too many people. Your father, for one, and my own parents. I’ll send them something touristy, most likely.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

  “No one else?” Anna asked. It was an even smaller list than her own.

  “A friend from theological college who’s moved to a curacy in Nottingham. He’s married and just had a baby, so I’ll most likely buy some revoltingly twee baby gro that says ‘Santa’s Littlest Helper’ or something.”

  Anna laughed at that. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

  They strolled out of the shop and back into the busy street. “So, what are you thinking of getting my father? A book on the most beautiful churches in Britain? He’s only got three.”

  Simon gave a wry grimace. “People mean well.”

  “Yes, I know, but if you know my father at all, you know religious kitsch is definitely not his thing. Although, I have to admit, I’ve given him a fair share of it over the years. When I was about nine I gave him a paperweight that said ‘you have to look through the rain to see the rainbow.’”

  “He still has it on his desk. And twee as it is, it’s also true. But it’s good to know I have a lifetime of naff religious gifts to look forward to.”

  “I promise not to buy you any paperweights,” Anna joked, and then blushed, because what she’d said made it sound as if they had some sort of future together, as if she’d be buying presents for him for many Christmases to come.

  “That’s a relief,” Simon said lightly, without any awkwardness, and they continued down the street.

  It was remarkably pleasant simply to stroll and browse, chatting about nothing important or even in particular. Comments about gifts, about shops, about Keswick, little jokes and asides, all the conversation Anna, in her anxiety, usually couldn’t manage. Why was it suddenly possible, and even easy, with Simon?

  Because he already knew her worst and weakest, as he’d said? It was a rather incredible silver lining to that cloud of doom.

  They had tea and scones in a tiny little teashop with spindly tables and chairs, their knees inadvertently pressing against each other under the table. In addition to the mohair wool for Esther, Anna had picked up the latest juicy beach read for Rachel, who loved those types of books, and a fleece jumper for her mother, who never seemed to have enough. For her father, she’d bought a moleskin diary for the new year. Simon had bought an assortment of locally made chutneys and jams for his parents, and the promised baby gro for his friend, with “The Littlest Elf” written on the front in red curlicue script.

  “So everyone in your family is together for Christmas save for your youngest sister, Miriam,” Simon said as they sipped their tea. “What’s she like?”

  “A bit of a wanderer. A free spirit.” A smile of affection tugged at Anna’s mouth. “Spoilt, of course, for being the baby, but she doesn’t seem to be the worse for it.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-one. She was a bit of an oops, but we all adore her.”

  “Your father said she was living in Australia?”

  “Yes, for now. You never know where Miriam will turn up next. She took a gap year when she was eighteen, but then she ended up never taking her place at uni. She’s always got some job, nannying or waitressing or picking fruit, something to pay the bills as she travels around the globe. She’s only been back home twice in all that time, although she Skypes fairly often.”

  “You all must miss her.”

  “Yes, we do. My parents worry. I hope she’ll come back at some point and settle down, although to what I don’t know. I can’t picture Miriam working the nine-to-five like the rest of us.”

  “She sounds like quite the character.”

  “She’s lovely. Warm and full of fun.” Anna felt a pang for her sister. “She came and stayed with me in Manchester when she was about sixteen, and we had such a laugh.” Miriam was one of the only people who had, on occasion, managed to bring Anna out of herself. “Anyway, I’m sure we’ll Skype her on Christmas Day. And of course there’s this announcement Mum and Dad are going to make. Who knows what that is.” Something in Simon’s face made Anna say slowly, “But you do, don’t you?”

  “I can’t say,” Simon said and Anna felt a sudden lurch of fear. “Wait, is it serious? I was assuming it was just something random, like they’re going to buy goats or a timeshare in Majorca.”

  “Two very different things,” Simon said with a smile.

  “Yes, but—” Anna shook her head slowly. “It isn’t something like that, is it?”

  “Really, Anna, it’s not for me to say. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re really freaking me out now.” She put her cup back on the saucer with a shaky hand. “No one’s... no one’s ill, are they?”

  “No.” Simon looked regretful. “Sorry, I wish I hadn’t said anything.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I know, but even admitting I know something... it’s irritating and upsetting to you. I get that, but I really can’t violate your father’s confidence.”

  “Right.” She took a deep breath. “They said they were going to tell us on Sunday, after church.”

  “Then you don’t have to wait long.”

  “Two days.” Suddenly it felt like forever. “We should get back,” Anna said, looking at the lowering skies. “I fancy getting stuck in Keswick Christmas traffic at nightfall about as much as I do being up a fell then.”

  “Likewise,” Simon said, and rose from the table. He insisted on paying for their teas and Anna decided not to protest. She wanted to recapture some of the easy camaraderie they’d begun to share earlier in the day, but it felt elusive now, with the worry of her father’s announcement hanging over her like a cloud, shrouding one of the fells in the distance, misty and
cold, obscuring the view.

  Back in the car, they sat in Keswick traffic for twenty silent minutes before turning onto the A66. Simon gave her a wry smile. “We seem doomed to awkward oversharing.”

  “Or not sharing enough,” Anna shot back, but she was smiling. She was glad Simon had said something. “Do you think you’ll be happy in Thornthwaite?” she asked after they’d driven a few miles in less tense silence, if not precisely companionable.

  “I certainly hope so. I’ll do my level best to be.”

  “Still, it can be a lonely place for a single person,” Anna said. “It’s all young couples and families and empty nesters.”

  “I imagine I’ll be quite busy.”

  Anna nodded, wondering why she’d bothered to make the observation. Had she been fishing for information? Was Simon single? Did it matter? He lived in Thornthwaite; she lived in Manchester. She could scarcely believe how quickly she’d thought about it, though. The memory of his arms around her, her body leaning into him, flashed through her mind yet again. Was she starting to crush on him simply because he was nice, and she had so little experience? Probably.

  “What are you thinking about?” Simon asked, and Anna turned to him with a start.

  “What? Why do you ask?”

  “Because you looked deep in thought.”

  “Umm... I don’t even know.” Her mind had gone completely blank so she couldn’t even come up with a credible excuse. “Just zoning, I suppose.”

  “Right.”

  Anna willed herself not to flush. Face, calm down. Do not go scarlet. Do not. Do not. She felt the colour and heat surge upwards and she looked towards the window. Night was falling, the fells already lost in dusky gloom. It was highly likely Simon didn’t think of her that way. Wouldn’t consider her romantically in a million years. His training vicar’s daughter? A long-distance relationship at the start of a new job? A woman who had already shown herself to be fairly unhinged and anxious? Of course not. She was mad to be entertaining such a notion, even for a second.

  By the time Simon had turned into the church lane, it was completely dark and Anna was feeling tired and a little bit dispirited. “Where’s your house?” she asked as he parked in front of the vicarage. “Are you staying in the flat off the high street?” Several curates had made that their home.

  “Yes, for the moment.”

  “For the moment?” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you planning on moving?”

  “Eventually.” Simon sounded evasive. He got out of the car and came around to open her door. “Thanks for coming to Keswick with me.”

  “Thanks for driving me.”

  He walked her to the door, just as if it was a date. Just as if he might kiss her at the end, even if just on the cheek.

  “I enjoyed the day, Anna,” Simon said quietly. “I hope we can do it again.”

  “Go Christmas shopping in Keswick?” She dared to tease.

  “Just spend time together, really,” Simon said with an adorably self-conscious smile.

  Anna’s heart tumbled in her chest. “Th-th-that would be nice.” Damn her stammer. Now was not the time.

  “Good.”

  For one heart-stopping second, Anna was sure he was going to kiss her. On the cheek, but still. He leaned forward, and she braced herself, her toes curling inside her boots.

  Then the front door was wrenched open, and Rachel stood there, looking shaken and upset. Simon stepped back and Anna stared at her sister in surprise.

  “What—” Anna began, but Rachel just shook her head and moved past them, out into the night.

  Chapter Eight

  “What’s going on with Rachel?”

  Anna stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her mother fly around, a pot in one hand and a salt shaker in the other. “Can I help?”

  “You’re back,” Ruth exclaimed, banging the pot on the stove. “It’s just spaghetti bolognaise for tea, I’m afraid...”

  “That’s fine, Mum.” Anna took the salt shaker out of her hand and filled the pot up with water. “I can do it, if you like. Spag bol is in my limited repertoire. You can sit down, put your feet up.”

  “I like being busy...” Ruth began, but strangely she looked almost tearful. Anna felt another pang of worry assail her.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked as she rummaged through the fridge for a package of mince.

  “Why wouldn’t everything be all right?”

  Classic Holley, to deflect with a question. “Because you seem a little...” Anna paused, wanting to choose her words with care. “Riled.”

  “I’m not riled.” Ruth sighed. “Just feeling my age, perhaps.”

  “Your age?” Her mother was fifty-nine.

  “Or something,” Ruth said with a sigh.

  “Does it have to do with Dad’s announcement? What is that about, anyway?”

  “I can hardly tell you before your sisters. You’ll find out soon enough, tomorrow night.”

  “Why tomorrow night?”

  “We wanted it after Simon’s ordination.”

  Anna stared at her, mystified. “Why?”

  “I can’t explain it now. Are you going to put that mince on to fry?”

  “Yes.” Anna ripped open the package. “If you can’t tell me about that, can you at least tell me what’s going on with Rachel?”

  “Rachel?” Now Ruth was the one sounding mystified. “What about her?”

  “She just ran out of the vicarage looking upset.”

  “Did she? I have no idea why.” Ruth’s forehead furrowed. “She and Dan had just come in from walking Charlie. I thought she’d be over the moon, now the holidays have properly started.”

  “Yes...” Had she been imagining how upset Rachel had looked? But she’d brushed by them without a word. There might be a simple explanation, and yet... Anna couldn’t help but feel there was more going on than she knew.

  She glanced at her mother, who was standing in the middle of the kitchen as if she didn’t know what to do. “Are you sure you’re all right, Mum?”

  “What? I’m fine.” Her mother disappeared into the pantry and came back with a stack of plates. “If you’re going to make the bolognaise, I’ll set the table.”

  Anna didn’t get a chance to talk to Rachel that evening, as she came in right as they were sitting down for supper, and then went back to the shoebox-sized cottage she rented on the high street. Ruth had offered to let her live at home to save money, but Rachel had wanted her own space, just as Esther had, moving out right after uni, even though she’d stayed in the village. Still both of her sisters seemed to spend most of their time at their parents’ house, and Anna could understand why.

  The vicarage, despite its draughts, was a cosy, welcoming place. She could acknowledge that, enjoy it even, although it was still a hard place to be for her.

  After supper, her father asked her to play a board game, and she spent a companionable evening with her parents getting slaughtered at Scrabble.

  “Not another seven-letter word,” she exclaimed as Ruth lay out her tiles. “That’s your third one.”

  “Your mother is the expert Scrabble player in this family,” Roger said with a fond look for his wife. Ruth looked up with a smile. “How many games do you think we’ve played at this table, in front of the fire?”

  “Hundreds,” Ruth said softly, and they exchanged a look that seemed to mean more than Anna could fathom.

  Would she ever have that one day? A whole shared history of little moments in life, games and jokes and laughter, along with the bigger stuff—the milestones, the birthdays, the sorrows and joys? Her mind flitted to Simon and she banished the thought. She barely knew him. It was silly to be thinking that way.

  The next day was Saturday, two days before Christmas Eve, and Ruth enlisted Anna’s help from the moment she got up to help clean the house, make the evening meal, and generally get the vicarage ready for Christmas. Anna gathered fresh holly to decorate the mantelpieces, and made an extra batch of shor
tbread because her mother was worried they wouldn’t have enough. She hoovered the downstairs twice, because Charlie shed all over the hall carpet before lunch, and then took him for a walk before banishing him to the entrance hall where he stared at her balefully through the glass-paned door.

  The wardens were coming over for their pre-Christmas sherry that evening, and then there was the big Sunday dinner with her father’s announcement tomorrow. On Christmas Eve, they had the Sunday school for a Christingle-making party before the service, and then of course all the fuss of Christmas itself. Anna wondered, not for the first time, how her mother managed it all.

  On Sunday morning, the church was full to bursting, which was unusual, since the regular attenders numbered in the dozens rather than the hundreds. Christmas bulked the numbers up, and of course there was Simon’s ordination with the bishop preaching the sermon.

  Anna dressed carefully, wearing the burgundy knit dress she’d been intending for the Christmas Day service, and pulling her dark hair back into a low bun. She was being silly, she knew that; Simon would be so busy with the service, he probably wouldn’t even notice her.

  Lots of other people did, though, and Anna made her way monosyllabically through the well-meaning parishioners who wanted to hear about her life in Manchester, and why she didn’t come home more often, and what did she think about Dan and Rachel? Anna’s palms went damp and her heart raced and she forced out smiles and single words—as ever, it was all she could manage.

  She finally found her way to the pew where her sisters and their significant others were already seated, unable to keep from giving a gusty sight of relief.

  Rachel gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s a bit like running the gauntlet, isn’t it?”

  Anna just nodded. Rachel chatted with everyone, words, smiles, and even hugs were all so easy for her to give. And yet her sister looked a little strained right now, lines of tension bracketing her eyes and mouth.

  “Rach”—Anna leaned over to whisper—“are you okay?”

  Rachel gave her a startled glance. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her sister sounded so surprised that Anna decided she must have been imagining Rachel’s angst yesterday. Maybe she’d just been in a rush.