Home for Winter

by Rebecca Boxall

  She shut the door and crept through the master bedroom to the dressing room where she located jeans, a T-shirt and a warm jumper, as well as thick socks.

  ‘Clothes are just outside,’ she called through to the bathroom before waiting patiently for the girl to emerge. ‘I’m Serena, by the way!’ she added. ‘Just shout if you need me!’

  Half an hour later, the two women were sitting with steaming mugs of tea, huddled as close to the Rayburn as possible.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Serena, gently curious.

  ‘I had to leave . . .’ the girl explained. Her sobs had abated, but her breath was still uneven and juddering. ‘I was about to marry this guy. My father organised it. But he’s so awful – he makes out he’s this amazing, charming businessman, but on the rare occasions we’re alone, he hits me. Only in certain places, so the bruises are never visible. There’s this glint in his eye, a glimmer of anticipation. Not for the wedding, or our being together, but for the harm he’ll be able to cause me once we’re properly alone. I had to escape.’

  ‘An arranged marriage?’ asked Serena.

  ‘A forced marriage in my case,’ the stranger explained. ‘I’m not at all against arranged marriages. A few of my friends have had really successful ones. But my father can be blind and he’s been bowled over by this man’s wealth and success and is determined I should marry him, regardless of what I think or feel. I’m sorry. I can’t even say his name. He repulses me.’

  ‘But couldn’t you just tell your parents what he’s really like? Surely they want you to be safe and happy?’

  ‘My mother, yes, but she’s completely in my father’s shadow. My father and brother, they know I don’t want to marry him, but they don’t care. They will honestly kill me if they find me . . .’ She tailed off, her dark eyes wide with fear.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive my ignorance, but are these kinds of marriages influenced by religion or culture?’

  ‘Culture. Well, money and culture. My parents aren’t even devout. But, in the small region in India my parents are from, it’s the way things have always been done. The shame I’ll have brought on the family now by running away . . .’

  ‘They won’t find you here,’ Serena assured her. ‘But where’s your stuff? Is this bag all you have? How did you even get here? And what’s your name? I’m sorry – too many questions.’

  ‘That’s alright, I understand. I’m Ashna,’ the girl replied sadly. ‘This evening I knew the time had come to leave. I couldn’t stay any longer, with the wedding day edging closer. I packed a few things and, once I was certain my family were asleep, I made my escape. I live in Essex and I literally didn’t know where to go, especially as I don’t have any money. I just thought I’d hitch and see where I ended up. Probably stupidly dangerous, but I was that desperate. I just thought if I could make it to the countryside, at least an hour from home, that might be a start . . . But if my father and brother find me, they’ll kill me,’ Ashna repeated, the dark pools of her eyes glistening with new tears. She was still shivering and Serena rummaged around in the laundry, where she managed to locate a warm blanket in a removal box marked Bedding. She returned to the kitchen and wrapped it round Ashna’s thin shoulders.

  ‘Will they have any idea where you’ve gone?’ asked Serena.

  Ashna shook her head. ‘We have no connections to this place. I only ended up here because one of the guys I managed to hitch a ride with was on his way home to the village after a shift at the local hospital. I was upset and said I didn’t know where to go, so he suggested I try the Vicarage. Dr Charles, he was called; he was so kind. He gave me his number in case I didn’t have any luck here. Do you know him?’

  ‘No,’ said Serena with a smile. ‘We only moved in today,’ she explained. ‘My partner, Will, is the new vicar. We hardly know anyone. In fact, you’ve arrived in the nick of time. You’ll be company for me. You must stay as long as you need to. We have acres of space.’

  ‘But I have no money,’ Ashna lamented. ‘How can I stay without paying for bed and board?’

  Serena thought for a moment. It was clear Ashna was proud and reluctant to accept charity. ‘Have you seen the state of the house?’ she asked, looking around. Ashna’s round eyes took in the ancient kitchen. ‘The place is in dire need of a makeover,’ Serena continued. ‘Will’s going to be busy with his new parish and I’m in no state to set about the renovation on my own.’ She decided not to elaborate on the reason for this just now.

  ‘Will you help me give the Vicarage a facelift, in return for bed and board?’ she asked. Ashna reached out to take her hand and Serena gripped it, astonished at how smooth her skin was. The girl must be so young.

  ‘How old are you?’ Serena asked.

  ‘Twenty-one,’ Ashna replied. ‘Serena, you’re my saviour,’ she added, and the deal was done.

  4.

  APRIL 1990

  It was Miss Jones, their teacher at the local primary school, who seemed to be the only person to recognise that it was always Luna who made friends and Serena who was included by default. Luna was hugely popular, being one of those people whose dominant character draws others towards them. She was funny too, in a vicious sort of way, always devising hilarious nicknames for the teachers. She was responsible for the entire school calling the head teacher, the unfortunately named Mr Longbottom, ‘Droopy Bum’.

  Serena had once thought it would be nice to have a friend who was just hers and had made a special effort to befriend, as surreptitiously as she could, Louise Bradbury, who was new to the school in September the previous year.

  An opportunity had arisen when the class were rehearsing for their nativity play in December. Luna had persuaded the teacher to give her the coveted role of Mary, while Serena was a snowflake with three other girls, including Louise. They’d been required to learn a special song and dance, which meant a separate rehearsal time to Luna, and it gave Serena the opportunity to chat and giggle with Louise before and after practice (and sometimes during, much to the music teacher’s chagrin).

  By the time of the Christmas party (the day after the nativity play), they were firm friends and instantly sat together in the hall while the teachers brought through all the sandwiches, cakes and jugs of squash. But, of course, Luna was also at the party and she quickly caught on that Serena had quietly made herself a friend. By the end of the autumn term, she’d managed to muscle in, charming Louise and turning things from duo to trio. Serena, resigned, had accepted the situation.

  Now it was April.

  ‘Serena Meadows, will you stay behind after class for a moment, please?’ asked Miss Jones. Luna reluctantly left the classroom with the rest of the group, her large green eyes inquisitive.

  ‘I have a favour to ask,’ said Miss Jones. ‘I thought about all the children in the class I might ask and decided you would be perfect for the job.’ She smiled and Serena, feeling honoured, smiled back.

  ‘What is it, Miss?’ she asked.

  ‘I have a nephew who’s just started boarding school and, not only is he new to the school, but he’s new to the country as well. His parents live on a Spanish island called Majorca and he’s always gone to school there until now, but as he’s just turned eleven – a little older than you – his parents have decided to send him to England for the rest of his education. I know he’s feeling very lonely. He doesn’t know anyone here and it’s always awful starting a school midway through the year, when everyone else has already buddied up. I wondered whether you would write to him, as a pen pal? You have the best writing in the class and you’re such a kind girl. I know you’ll be able to cheer him up. What do you say?’ asked Miss Jones, pushing her red spectacles further up her nose. Miss Jones was the best teacher Serena had ever had. She was young and glamorous and wore marvellously wacky clothes.

  ‘But will he want to get letters from a girl?’ asked Serena. The boys she knew weren’t interested in girls at all.

  ‘Ah, well, Freddie is very used to girls – he has three si
sters. I think he’d love it.’

  So Serena agreed, not realising at all that Miss Jones had Serena’s interests at heart just as much as her nephew’s. Serena was about to leave the classroom when she turned around.

  ‘Should Luna write to him as well, Miss?’ she asked.

  Miss Jones shook her head firmly.

  ‘No, Serena. Freddie can be just your friend,’ she said, and Serena almost skipped out of the room. At last, she would have a friend of her own.

  5.

  FEBRUARY 2015

  Will was concentrating, trying to prepare his sermon for the next day. It was his first morning service and he was anxious to make a good impression. Sermons were the making or breaking of a vicar, of that he was certain. They needed to be long enough to satisfy the die-hard churchgoers and short enough to avoid blank stares of boredom from the less devoted flock. Five minutes was about right in his view. Then they had to be amusing without being too flippant, and informative without being too know-it-all. It was one of the toughest parts of the job getting the balance right, week after week, and Mrs Pipe had already made her feelings on the subject clear.

  ‘Not going to be one of those long-winded ones are you, Reverend Blacksmith?’ she’d asked the previous day. ‘Last vicar beat the devil round the gooseberry bush he did, with his shaggy-dog stories.’

  Will had promised her he tried to restrict his sermons to five minutes, but Mrs Pipe had clucked her tongue sceptically and muttered something about that being ‘dubersome’.

  Now it was evening, and Will and Serena were in the study while Ashna, despite encouragement to join the pair of them, was in her room reading the first of a stack of English classics Serena had lent her. Serena was also reading a novel, stretched out on the sofa beside the newly installed log burner, which was exuding a slightly smoky aroma and crackled comfortingly. As their first and immediate act of renovation they’d decided to install one of these stoves in the front hall as well as in the study and, aside from the kitchen (which had the warmth of the Rayburn), they now didn’t venture into any other downstairs room. They got through an enormous amount of logs, but as long as the burners were kept going, the difference to the temperature was astonishing. With the place feeling cosier, Serena decided it was a home made for winter. She could just imagine it all dressed up to the nines at Christmas time – under normal circumstances anyway. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever want to celebrate that time of year again as things stood.

  She took off her reading glasses and put her book down beside her. ‘Will,’ she said.

  ‘Mmm,’ he replied, not looking up.

  ‘Do you mind having Ashna here?’

  Will put his papers to one side, giving up on his preparation for now. ‘Of course not,’ he replied. ‘She’s a breath of fresh air, and a comfort for you, I think?’

  Serena nodded, twisting her blonde curls around her finger as she often did. ‘Well, it’s got me thinking,’ she went on. ‘The house is still so vast even with the three of us now. And we could do with some extra money – the renovation’s going to cost a fortune, even if we do try to cut corners. I wonder whether we should advertise for another lodger. A paying one. What do you think?’

  Will took a sip of his gin and tonic and thought for a moment, his fiery head of hair tipped to one side. ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ he said at last, gently jumping on her suggestion. ‘But we’ll need to vet them carefully. We’ve all got to be able to live together. Ashna too must have a say. Do you think you could organise an advert in the local paper?’ He didn’t want to push Serena, but it seemed that she might, at last, be turning a corner, her energy returning a little.

  ‘I’ll do it on Monday,’ she smiled, returning to her book. Will breathed an inward sigh of relief. There was a sparkle to that smile he hadn’t seen in months. Slowly, he hoped, they were getting there.

  Unfortunately, the response to the advert was not overwhelming – only one person applied and he was fresh out of prison. Will and Serena were unsure whether even to invite him for an interview, but Ashna gently commented that everyone deserved a second chance and, suitably chastened, they arranged for Pete Milton to meet the three of them the following evening.

  Will, Serena and Ashna sat nervously by the fire in the study as they waited for Pete to arrive. Serena expected him to be late, but on the dot of seven the doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Will.

  Serena and Ashna sat in silence as they tried to hear what was being said in the hallway. There was laughter, which was heartening. They smiled at each other. The next moment, Will and the stranger made their way into the study, Will carrying a bottle of wine.

  ‘Look,’ Will said to Serena. ‘This is Pete and he’s very kindly brought us a bottle of red.’

  ‘No idea about wine, I’m afraid, so it could be rubbish, but the bloke at the grocer’s down the road asked me who it was for and when I told him, he said: “The new vicar is partial to a full-bodied red. I suggest the Claret. This one was an exceptionally good year.” ’

  Serena giggled. Pete’s impression of the rather particular and well-spoken grocer was spot on, even though Pete’s own accent was true Essex.

  Serena introduced Pete to Ashna, explaining that she was a lodger as well.

  ‘Where are you from?’ asked Ashna as Will ran downstairs to find some glasses and a corkscrew. Serena threw another log on the fire.

  ‘Essex. Chelmsford. I’m a proper Essex boy.’

  ‘No way! That’s where I’m from too. Guess that makes me an Essex girl,’ Ashna said, smiling shyly.

  Serena observed the pair of them with interest. She couldn’t help but feel the flicker of her famous matchmaking tendencies rising to the surface. She’d always enjoyed pairing people up, with some success: she’d managed to fix up her friend Lisa with a lovely Aussie she’d gone on to marry.

  And both Ashna and Pete were stunning. Pete had dark blue eyes that shone like sapphires, just like Will’s, although his colouring was otherwise very different. He was as dark as Will was fair, with an enviable olive skin tone, and where Will had a thick thatch of red hair, Pete’s was dark and cropped very short. Serena thought he must be close in age to Ashna. Mid-twenties at the most. A decade younger than her and Will.

  The evening turned out to be a scream. They opened the red and drank at least two more bottles between the four of them. Ashna had never drunk alcohol before living at the Vicarage, but had soon become accustomed to the joys of a glass of wine.

  By eleven that night, they’d all agreed Pete could move in. It was true he’d recently served time for his participation in an armed robbery, but he promised he’d very much seen the error of his ways and instinctively they all knew that was the case.

  Serena had been a bit worried about asking him why he’d been in prison – she didn’t want to embarrass him – but Pete had been very open and honest.

  ‘I know it doesn’t make it any better really, but I was the getaway driver. My cousin and his mates decided to rob a bank and they roped me in. They’d never done nothin’ like it before but they Googled what they needed to do. S’pose it’s no surprise we were caught. Nobody got hurt, but my cousin’s mate had a gun. Not that I knew that. They kept me in the dark about the details. I was just meant to drive them off. We got about half a mile down the road before the cops stopped us. My cousin and his mates got a longer stretch than me, but I still got four years. Served two, then managed to get parole. Not the best two years of my life, but the prison chaplain became a great mate. A solid bloke, he was. That’s what made me get in touch when I saw your advert. Thought a vicar might see past the trouble I’ve been in. I only saw it by chance – my great-aunt lives nearby and I was round there mowin’ the lawn for her when she showed me the ad. I’ve been stayin’ with me parents but they don’t want much to do with me any more. They’re pretty well off these days – my dad’s done well sellin’ conservatories to all the commuters living in Essex. They’ve given me a bit of
money to get me goin’ with a fresh start, but they don’t want me in sight,’ he explained with a wry smile. ‘I’ll need to look for a job, but I’ve got enough to cover the rent for a few months. Seems like a nice village for a new beginning, anyway.’

  ‘You’ll be joining the club,’ Serena told him, picking up her glass of wine. ‘We’re all new here. Me, Will, Ashna. A brand new start – together. Let’s drink to that.’ And they did.

  The imminent arrival of an ex-con at the Vicarage caused a few raised eyebrows. Word had spread quickly in the small village and the day before Pete was due to move in, the staccato shrill of the doorbell startled Serena. She made her way up from the kitchen, only to jump again when it burst into life just as she was about to open the door.

  ‘Sorry,’ she apologised breathlessly. ‘I still haven’t got used to how huge the house is.’ She smiled at the woman on her doorstep. ‘Do come in,’ she added, drawing back the door.

  ‘Thank you. You must be the vicar’s wife.’

  ‘Actually, we’re not married. Will calls me his lover,’ Serena giggled.

  ‘How very modern,’ came the crisp reply. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. Miss Dawson, churchwarden and, if I say so myself, a pillar of the church and local community.’ She was ample, with thin silver hair, spectacles perched at the end of her nose, and below her chin was a turkey’s wattle that wobbled disconcertingly when she spoke.

  ‘I saw the vicar at the church yesterday. I was arranging the flowers for Sunday. He didn’t mention you would be taking in a lodger,’ she added, disapprovingly. Serena was slightly taken aback. She hadn’t realised quite how much input country parishioners would expect to have in their lives.

  ‘Please, come and have a cup of tea,’ she said, ignoring the accusation. ‘This way,’ she added, although she imagined Miss Dawson probably knew the Vicarage better than Serena herself, being such a stalwart of the parish.