A Vicarage Reunion

by Kate Hewitt

  “Do you make a habit of coming to coffee mornings?” she said, bemused, and he grinned and spread his hands.

  “The cake is very good.”

  “Yes, it is.” They appraised each other for a few seconds while Esther tried not to feel uneasy. “Look, I’ll come straight to the point. Your sister mentioned you’d separated from your husband and I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a drink.”

  “Oh.” Esther’s mind buzzed with shock. No matter how friendly Mark Taylor was, she still hadn’t quite been expecting that. She’d been separated from Will only for three weeks. “Um…”

  “Just as friends,” Mark said quickly. “I know the separation is recent. But I thought, you know, maybe you could use a friend.”

  She could, but a friend who was a single male and certainly charming as well as attractive? Esther’s unease deepened. It felt too much like a date, and yet…

  “Only if you want to,” Mark added. He looked like he was beginning to regret his invitation, and for some reason that made Esther blurt, “No, I would. It’s so kind of you to ask. I’ve been in what feels like an isolation tank for the last few weeks, so… yes. Thanks.” They made hasty, awkward arrangements to meet at The Queen’s Sorrow on Friday night, and then Esther was walking out into the fresh spring air; her father had promised to pick up the signup sheet when the coffee morning was over.

  “How did it go?” Ruth asked as soon as Esther came through the vicarage door.

  “Fine, I think. Why weren’t you there, Mum?” Esther asked curiously as she came into the kitchen. “Don’t you usually go to the coffee mornings?” Armed with several cakes.

  “Yes, but…” Ruth shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel like we were ganging up on you.”

  “Ganging up…” Esther sank into a chair. “I wouldn’t have felt that way.”

  “I’m glad.” Ruth did her usual thing of bustling about the kitchen, although Esther couldn’t see there was much to do. She wiped an already clean counter and moved a few mugs around. “I just didn’t want you to feel pressured somehow. Anyway.” She turned back to Esther with a bright smile. “How did it go? Tell me all about it.”

  So Esther did, sparing no details, not even her cake-spraying episode, and was rewarded by sending her mother into gales of laughter, so much so that she found she was laughing too, and what had seemed fairly mortifying half an hour ago now was rather hilarious. And, Esther realized, it felt good to laugh, like exercising a muscle that had started to atrophy.

  “I don’t think I’ve laughed like this in ages,” she said, once they’d both subsided. “My stomach muscles hurt.”

  “So do mine, or what little stomach muscle I have left, after five children.” Ruth sighed and leaned back against the chair. “It feels good, though, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.” Esther regarded her mother for a moment. “Mum,” she asked, “do you really want to go to China?”

  Ruth blinked, clearly surprised by the sudden switch. “What makes you ask that?”

  “I don’t know… I suppose because you seem so happy here.”

  Ruth glanced down at the kitchen table, tracing the pattern in the grain of wood with her fingers. “I have been happy here,” she admitted quietly. “Of course I have. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy somewhere else.”

  “But do you want to go to China?” Esther asked, leaning forward, feeling a sudden need to press the point.

  Ruth looked up with a weary smile. “Esther, after seven years of marriage, don’t you know the answer to that?”

  “What?” She blinked, confused. This wasn’t about her.

  “I want to go to China,” Ruth said simply, “because your father wants to go to China. And if you’re thinking of trotting out some tired feminist principles, please don’t. This isn’t about bending my will to a man’s. It’s about marriage, and what it means.”

  Esther stared at her for a moment, trying to sift through all she’d said, and all she hadn’t. “So you don’t really want to go,” she said after a moment, and Ruth gave an exasperated harrumph.

  “That wasn’t what I was saying at all. And if you think it was, you’ve missed the point entirely.”

  Chastened, Esther stayed silent. Maybe she had missed the point… in a lot of ways. Was there some lesson her mum was trying to impart to her that related to her and Will? It made Esther squirm inside to consider it.

  “But what if,” she finally burst out, “you go to China and you don’t like it and you’re not happy? What if making Dad happy isn’t enough?”

  Ruth frowned at her, her gaze searching. “Why do I feel as if we’re not talking about China anymore?”

  Because they weren’t. With a gulp, Esther blurted, “I didn’t want to have a baby.”

  Ruth blinked slowly, her eyes wide with shock. Esther instantly regretted her admission.

  “But… why not?”

  “Plenty of people don’t want to have children, Mum.” She couldn’t look at her as she said it.

  “You don’t want to have children? Any children?” Esther shrugged, still not meeting her mum’s eyes. “You never said anything about it.”

  “I suppose I didn’t quite realize.”

  “But Will knows?”

  Esther looked up with a rather grim smile. “He knows now.”

  Ruth gave Esther a hard stare, the kind she’d been subjected to as a child, when her mother had known she’d done something wrong but wasn’t sure what. “Are you saying he didn’t know before? When you were pregnant?”

  Esther swallowed hard. She was starting to wish she hadn’t brought all this up. “No,” she admitted in a low voice. “He didn’t.”

  “Esther, is this why you’ve separated? Because Will wants children and you don’t?”

  “No… not exactly.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because we weren’t making each other happy.”

  “I think you were making Will happy,” Ruth said tartly. “I’m quite sure he would say that.”

  Feeling cornered now, Esther became a bit reckless. “Fine,” she said. “Then he wasn’t making me happy.”

  “I’m not sure it’s the job of a spouse to make one happy,” Ruth replied, “but I won’t belabour that particular point now. Didn’t you think counselling might help? Something?”

  “There was no point.”

  Ruth shook her head. “No point? Esther, can you honestly say you’re happier, happy at all, now, living at home? Because frankly, darling, you’ve seemed quite miserable.”

  “I know, but it will get better,” Esther answered. She felt like a stubborn six-year-old, arms folded, expression mutinous.

  “Will it? Things don’t magically get better, my darling. Just as I won’t magically be happy in China. It takes work. Commitment. Happiness is a choice, not a mood that just comes on you when everything is aligned just right, the waters of life still and peaceful.”

  Esther had nothing to say to that. She wished she could just sneak away upstairs, but she knew her mother wouldn’t let her.

  “Esther, look, let me be honest here.” Uh-oh. She was definitely in trouble now. “After Jamie died, I felt low. Really low.” Esther looked up in shock. She hadn’t been expecting that. “I ended up seeing a therapist, to talk through the grief, but also other things that came up. When something big happens, something bad, it can make you start to question everything. Wonder. Doubt… even the biggest and most important things. Especially those.”

  “Mum…”

  “No, listen.” Ruth held up a hand as she gave Esther a stern look. “I understand that you weren’t happy with Will, and there are probably a lot of reasons for that. But you can’t walk away from seven years of marriage without trying. It’s not fair to Will or to you, and it’s not right. And the truth is, I thought I raised you better than that.”

  “Mum!” Esther jerked back as if she’d been slapped, shocked at how hurt she felt.

  “Well, I did,” Ruth said calml
y. “I understand needing to come back here and hide away for a while. I understand needing a change, giving up your job, all that. But Will is a good man, and as far as I know there hasn’t been any infidelity or abuse, has there?”

  “No,” Esther muttered, blushing. “Of course there hasn’t been anything like that.”

  “Well, then.” Ruth placed both hands flat on the table, as if coming to a decision. “I think you need to try again with Will. I’ll say it as plain as that. I’ll also say you need to sort yourself out first, and that might mean some counselling, talking to a therapist like I did. There’s no shame in it, Esther.”

  “I know,” Esther mumbled, but she thought she’d rather have her gall bladder removed with a pair of tweezers. She didn’t like to talk about her feelings, and neither did Will, which was why they were where they currently were.

  “I love you,” Ruth said, a catch coming into her voice. “That’s why I’m saying all this. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Esther said, her voice catching as well. She believed her mother completely. “I know, Mum. I love you, too.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Esther stood on the threshold of The Queen’s Sorrow, her heart thudding uncomfortably as she perused the crowded pub. She was due to meet Mark Taylor there, as much as she didn’t really want to. After her rather reckless acceptance of his invitation at the coffee morning, she realized she didn’t have his mobile number to cancel, and she’d been reluctant to send the message through Rachel.

  For the last few days, her mother’s surprisingly stern words had been ringing in Esther’s ears, and making her chest hurt. I thought I’d raised you better than that. She’d bristled at her mother’s tone, but inside she’d cringed because Ruth was right. Esther hadn’t treated Will fairly, but she also didn’t know if she could have done otherwise. She’d been in such a wretched place, and crawling out of the darkness felt like the hardest thing she’d done, and she’d barely started.

  Still, having a drink with a single, attractive man on the heels of all that hardly felt like the right or wisest course of action. Yet here she was.

  “Esther!” Mark called to her, waving from a cosy table at the back. Esther plastered a smile on her face and immediately felt it slip. She really didn’t want to be here.

  “Let me get you a drink,” Mark said, rising as she approached the table. “What would you like?”

  “A glass of white wine, please, but I’ll pay—”

  “Nonsense.” She gave him what she hoped was a quelling look, but it seemed to bounce off him. “You can get the next round.”

  The trouble was, she didn’t want there to be a next round. Feeling miserable, Esther sank onto a stool and watched Mark weave his way through the crowd towards the pub. The Queen’s Sorrow was the village’s posh pub, with an open fireplace and squashy chairs, and an air of relaxed, restrained cheer that was a far cry from the raucous feeling at The Bell. Not that Esther had ever been in The Bell, but she’d walked outside it on a weekend evening, heard the shouts, jeers, and catcalls.

  She let her gaze sweep over the crowd, grateful that for once she didn’t recognize anyone. The last thing she wanted was it getting back to Will that she’d been out having a drink with a man. Of course, just because she didn’t recognize anyone, didn’t mean they didn’t recognize her. That was the joy and headache of living in Thornthwaite and being the vicar’s daughter. Someone here was bound to recognize her, just as the news was bound to get back to Will. She couldn’t avoid it.

  “Here we are.” Mark placed a glass of white wine down in front of her with a flourish, and placed a glass of red in front of his seat. Will never drank wine. Somehow, seeing that glass of red, made Esther miss him more.

  “I’m not sure I should have come out tonight,” she blurted as Mark settled himself across from her.

  He frowned and took a sip of wine. “Why not?”

  “Because… because I’ve separated from my husband but it’s still very new. And I’m not sure I’m ready for… well, anything.” Esther took a gulp of wine, needing the crisp, tangy comfort of it.

  “But we’re just friends,” Mark said in an oh-so reasonable tone. “Having a drink. Surely your husband wouldn’t object to that, even if you were still together?”

  He would, Esther knew. Just as she would. She and Will had only needed each other. The thought of Will going out for a drink with some woman made her want to laugh with sheer disbelief, or possibly sway with terror. She definitely wasn’t ready for this.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “No, I’m sorry.” Mark smiled wryly, raking a hand through his hair. “Clearly I rushed things. Look, finish your wine, we can chat while you do it, and then you’re free to go. Hopefully my company won’t be too burdensome for a few minutes.”

  “It’s not that it’s burdensome—”

  “I know, I know, I was just joking.” His smile deepened. “Why did you get separated, if you don’t mind me asking? Is that too personal a question?”

  Yes, it most certainly was. Mark must have seen that in her face for he had the grace to blush and duck his head. “Sorry, obviously it is. What shall we talk about, then? What do you do for work?”

  “I was working for Natural England but I’ve just taken a redundancy package.” At least, she’d composed the email and had it in her drafts folder. She wasn’t quite ready to press send, but she might do it on Monday.

  “Redundancy, eh?” Mark looked impressed. “Now that sounds like a sweet deal, getting a fat wodge of dosh to walk away from work.”

  “Well… yes, I suppose.” Although she wouldn’t put it quite like that.

  “So, what are you going to do? I know you’re behind that community garden scheme…”

  “Yes, that’s my plan. After that, who knows?” Roger had brought the signup sheet home from the coffee morning and Esther had been heartened to see twenty signatures on it.

  She’d looked into applying for a council grant, and had even tentatively booked the village hall for a community meeting next week. All she had to do was put up posters in the village and of course think about what on earth she was going to say.

  But she was starting to feel excited, like a flower unfurling inside her after a long, hard winter, and that was a good feeling. Mostly.

  Mark asked her a bit about the community garden, and she asked him about his job teaching music, travelling around local schools to offers lessons in violin and piano. He seemed like a nice-enough bloke, and in a different life she might have felt a little catch of interest. As it was, as soon as her wine was finished, she was glad to make her escape, and Mark noticed with a wry grimace.

  “So do you think we’ll do this again?”

  “Probably not,” Esther admitted honestly. “But who knows?”

  “Look me up when you think you’re ready to move on, then.”

  “I will,” Esther promised, but she doubted she would.

  She walked out into the fresh, cool night, the sky clear and full of stars, breathing a loud sigh of relief. So dating was definitely not on her horizon, but was she actually trying to reconcile with Will?

  The possibility sent her stomach writhing as if a pit of snakes had just taken residence there. She remembered the look of cold contempt on his face, and cringed. Would he really be interested in anything from her now, never mind what was on her heart? And did she even know how to go about baring that vital organ?

  Esther started walking back to the vicarage, her mind still in a ferment. Yet as she turned down the darkened lane and walked past the church, something in her inexplicably lightened. She couldn’t explain it, really, and yet she felt it; her heart buoyed just a little as she approached the square hulk of the vicarage and climbed up its weathered steps. She wasn’t dreading coming home. Far from it.

  “I’m home,” she called, and heard both her parents’ distant calls back. Roger emerged from his study, glasses pushed up onto his forehead, his hair askew.

&n
bsp; “Hello, darling. Where have you been?”

  “Out at the pub.”

  “With friends?” He seemed cheered by that idea, and Esther decided not to enlighten him further.

  “Er, yes.” She smiled and Roger wandered back into his study.

  Esther found her mother upstairs, curled up on a sofa, reading one of the historical sagas she loved. The smile she gave Esther as she poked her head in the door was warm and genuine, and made Esther feel suddenly emotional.

  “Hey, Mum.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Esther perched on the edge of the sofa. “I went for a drink at the pub.”

  “With…”

  “A friend.” Esther took a quick breath. “I’ve thought about what you said the other day, though. About needing to talk to Will.”

  Ruth’s expression softened. “I’m sorry if I sounded harsh…”

  “No, you didn’t. You weren’t. I haven’t been fair to Will. I know that. It’s just…” Another breath, this one feeling as if she had to drag it into her lungs. “I’m not sure I have the strength or the courage to talk to him, especially now that he probably hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you, Esther.”

  “You don’t know what I said to him.”

  “I know Will. I know the man is as steady and sure as a rock. He might be angry, he might be hurt, but he’ll listen.”

  Esther nodded slowly. He would listen, but what would she say?

  Two days later, on Monday evening, Esther stood in the parish hall, her heart thumping against her ribs as she shuffled papers in front of her. It was quarter to seven and no one was in the hall for the first meeting of the community garden scheme. Maybe no one would come, a possibility that filled Esther with both disappointment and a treacherous relief.

  She’d spent the weekend papering the village with posters, helped by Rachel, who had been kicking around because Dan had a Saturday surgery.

  “When do you two ever see each other?” Esther had asked as she Blu-tacked a poster to the front window of the village’s post office shop.