by Kate Hewitt
“I know you did, but… I thought maybe that was just…”
“A spur of the moment thing?” Will filled in. “Have I ever seemed like a spur of the moment bloke, Esther?”
“No.” And she’d liked that, too. She’d always known where she was with Will. It was with herself that she didn’t know where she was.
“So. Dinner.”
“When?”
He shrugged. “You name the day.”
Her heart and mind both raced. A date. Would it be hideously awkward, like they were play-acting at being a couple? She couldn’t even imagine it. “I’m going to Manchester next weekend to try on bridesmaid dresses.”
“Doesn’t have to be a weekend.”
“No…” Why was she hesitating? Either she wanted to do this or she didn’t. And there was no real reason not to do it, except for her fear. And the lack of control. But those were two things she needed to deal with, so… “How about Wednesday?”
Will gave a slow nod. “All right, then. Wednesday, it is.”
“What about the farm? Will you have lambs…?”
“There are always lambs this time of year. If something happens, I’ll let you know.”
“All right.”
“I’ll see you then,” Will said, and Esther watched as he turned and walked out of the garden, his slow, easy stride so familiar. Then he was gone.
Around her people were standing up and starting to move around, their lunch break finished. The warmth of the day was starting to seep away, a slight chill in the early April air. There was still plenty of work to do, but Esther suspected people would call it a day if she let them. And why not? They’d all worked hard.
“Are we going to have another meeting?” Sophie asked as she helped tidy up the dirty mugs and platters that only held flapjack crumbs. “To organize the planting? And we should probably have a committee of some sort…”
“Yes, we’ll definitely need another meeting. I’ll sort out the village hall…”
“Why not have it in the vicarage?” Ruth suggested as she picked up a carafe. “It’s big enough, and it’s far warmer than the hall.”
“That’s an idea,” Sophie chimed in, brightening. “The village hall always smells like stale beer.”
That was true enough. “If you’re sure, Mum…”
“Of course I’m sure.” Ruth smiled at Sophie. “We certainly have the space.”
“All right, why don’t we make it for next Monday? That will give me time to get a bit more organized. I’ll send an email out to everyone.”
Sophie nodded, and after they’d tidied up, Esther thanked everyone and people began to trickle away, until the garden was empty, an expanse of freshly tilled earth, admittedly strewn with rocks and twisted roots, but still. It was a start.
A flash of purple amidst the deep, black soil drew her curiosity and Esther stooped to see a few tiny crocuses struggling through the earth. Somehow they’d survived the blades of the tiller, and were now tilting their tiny heads towards the sun. It made her smile, even as something in her tightened. If a little flower could survive having its entire environment chucked about and overturned, then perhaps she could survive this stage of life and loss. Perhaps she could survive having her whole self churned up and overturned, and maybe even be stronger as a result. She could grow and bloom.
Esther crouched down to pat the earth around the crocus and clear away the bits of twisted roots. The least she could do was give the little flower a fighting chance.
Back in the vicarage, her father had closeted himself in the study and Ruth had gone out to visit someone. Esther was just contemplating taking Charlie for a walk when her gaze rested on a card stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Hope Heals Counselling. Had her mother put it there on purpose, a not-so-subtle hint? Esther certainly hadn’t noticed it before.
She plucked the card from the fridge and studied it for a moment, wondering if she was mad even to be thinking about it. She hated talking about her feelings, and she’d talked about them more in the last few days than she had in years. And here she was, thinking about doing it some more, to someone who she had to pay to listen.
And yet… Will’s comments unsettled her, mostly because he was right. She had been going through life with a scorecard in hand, always needing to work hard, be the best, and keep control. All things she’d had to give up in the last few months, and that was hard. Her mother had seemed to think counseling could help, and Esther had finally got to the point where trying felt better than simply sitting and staring at the wall, trying to empty her mind out because the jumbled thoughts were too much to take. She’d always felt a need to work hard; perhaps she could work hard at this. Getting better. Moving on. Making her life—and her marriage—work.
Esther slid her mobile phone from her pocket and dialled the number.
She’d just finished making an appointment for the following Thursday, feeling anxious already at the prospect of spilling her guts to a stranger, when Rachel blew in the front door, full of bubbly enthusiasm.
“Esther, are you free? You won’t believe it, but we’ve found the perfect house.”
“Have you? Where’s Dan?”
“Oh, he had to go to the clinic for an afternoon surgery.” Rachel waved her fiancé away with one blithe movement. “Do you want to see it? I can keep the keys for another hour.”
“All right.” Esther was heartened to see her sister looking so happy. For the last few weeks Rachel had seemed either dour or tense, and so unlike her bubbly self. Perhaps it was simply wedding nerves, but it had worried Esther, and she suspected her mother as well, although as far as Esther knew Ruth had restrained herself from interfering.
A few minutes later, they were in Rachel’s little tin can of a car, hardly suitable for the narrow tracks that often got snowed in during the winter, but Rachel had never minded. She stayed in the village or holed up at home if she couldn’t get out, and, as she said, if she couldn’t get to school, nobody else could.
Now they drove through Thornthwaite, past the pubs and school, all the way to the top by the new estate, and then Rachel turned down a narrow single-track lane that headed towards Windermere.
“How far is it?” Esther asked as fells and forest streamed by. Bunches of blue and purple crocuses were clustered along the road, and a few slightly chilled-looking daffodils bobbed their yellow heads in the breeze.
“A couple of miles. If you go the back way, it’s only fifteen minutes to Keswick.”
“The back way?” Esther suppressed a smile. “Every way is back way around here.”
“You know what I mean. It’s perfect, it really is.” Rachel let out a happy sigh. “We’ve been looking and looking and nothing seemed right, you know? But I really think this could be it.”
“You sound happier about the house than the wedding,” Esther remarked, meaning it as a joke, but Rachel’s jerking a little bit made it feel like an insult. Or an accusation.
“It’s an important decision,” Rachel said after a moment, her gaze fixed on the road, and Esther wondered what she was talking about—the house or the marriage. She decided not to ask.
They drove for a few more minutes, the road curving around dramatically as it hugged the bottom of the fells, and then up a steep little lane so narrow the hedgerows brushed the wing mirrors before they parked in front of a substantial house of classic grey Lakeland stone, with a front porch trimmed in white and a path of flat flagstones leading up to it.
“Wow.” Esther unbuckled her seat belt and got out slowly, her gaze on the house. “That’s a huge pile.”
“It’s not so big,” Rachel defended. “Only five bedrooms.”
“Only?” Esther shot her sister a curious look. “Are you planning on having loads of kids, then?”
Rachel looked startled. “It’s a bit early to start thinking about that.”
“Is it? Sometimes I think Will and I should have thought about it earlier.” Maybe if they’d discussed it more, she would have r
ealized how she felt, and they could have avoided… well, some of the heartache, maybe. Or maybe she could have got over her fear and anxiety, recognized it for what it was.
“Why? What would have changed then?” Rachel asked, and Esther hesitated as she realized she didn’t want to get into her whole not-wanting-a-baby thing with her sister. Telling both Will and her mother had been hard enough.
“It’s just, things would have been clearer,” she said with a shrug. “You both want to be thinking the same things when it comes to the big issues, you know?”
“I know,” Rachel answered, but she sounded as if she wasn’t really listening as she fished for the keys in her bag. “Let me show you the inside.”
The inside was amazing. Esther stepped into the stone-flagged entrance hall, the walls a tasteful pewter that was surely thanks to Farrow & Ball, and then followed Rachel into the sitting room, which had an enormous fireplace and views of Lonscale Fell, and the dining room, with its high ceiling and wood stove.
“But this is the best bit,” Rachel said as they walked to the back of the house; the kitchen cum family room spanned the entire width, with French windows that led onto a terrace with a breath-taking view of the fells, Derwentwater glinting in the distance.
“Wow.” It was an incredible kitchen, complete with a state-of-the-art Aga, marble counters, and bespoke cabinets. “Is the floor heated?”
“Yes, under floor heating in every room,” Rachel answered happily. “We won’t be getting frostbite while getting into the bath, the way we did as kids.”
“Yet, but…” Esther shook her head slowly. “Rachel, how much does this place cost?” It had to be a very pretty penny. Property in the lake district, even the tucked-away parts, was dear.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Rachel answered with a shrug as she gazed out the French windows at the incredible view. “Anyway, we’re selling both our houses and only buying the one, so…”
“Well, it is beautiful.” Esther gazed at her sister, the slightly stubborn jut of her chin, the slump of her shoulders. Something didn’t feel quite right, but she didn’t know what it was, and Rachel didn’t seem inclined to tell her, anyway. But, determined to be different now, she persisted. “Rach… is everything all right? Between you and Dan?”
Rachel stiffened and then turned around, her arms folded. “Of course everything is,” she said, a defensive, defiant note in her voice. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It’s just—”
“I brought you here to show you the house,” Rachel cut her off, sounding uncharacteristically angry. “Not lecture me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I need to get the keys back,” Rachel said, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Esther no choice but to follow.
Chapter Fifteen
“Ready for dress number one, ladies?”
Esther winced both at the sales assistant’s obsequious trill as well as the overly sweet cocktail she’d just taken a sip of. It was Saturday afternoon, and she, Anna, and Ruth were all sitting on white faux-leather divans while Rachel tried on wedding dresses. Miriam had joined them by Skype, the laptop set out on a glass coffee table so she could see as much as possible. Her sister had looked tanned and happy and relaxed, a white sand beach visible behind her, quite at odds with the rain lashing the windowpanes of the boutique.
“Yes,” Ruth called brightly, her cocktail untouched. “We’re ready!”
It had been a week since the garden clear out, and Esther had been busy wrapping up her work with Natural England as well as getting the community garden running, with a lot of help from Sophie West, who seemed keen and energetic and was far more organized than Esther was. They’d opened a bank account and created an official email address, engaged a freelance landscaper, and put a notice in the parish magazine. Sophie had even knocked up a website and had plans for a fundraiser in the summer, “Prosecco and Strawberries” in the vicarage garden. Simon, who would have taken possession of the vicarage by then, had already said yes.
It had also been a week since Rachel had shown her the dream house, and as far as Esther could see, not much had changed there. Her sister still seemed both tense and determinedly happy, which as far as Esther could tell was not a good combination. Esther hadn’t seen much of Dan, but when he’d stopped by the vicarage once he had seemed unusually preoccupied, making her worry all the more. She feared there was a little bit of trouble in paradise… but then there was no such thing as paradise, was there? Like both her parents had said, happiness took hard work.
Besides working on the garden, Esther had been getting ready for her big date on Wednesday, which had involved having her hair highlighted, something she’d never done before, and waxing in places she never had before, just in case. Wednesday afternoon had had her looking glossy and new, and it had all been for naught because Will had had to cancel thanks to trouble with one of his new lambs.
Esther had been a bit surprised by how disappointed she had felt. She’d thought she hadn’t been all that excited about their date—more nervous, really, but apparently she’d been deceiving herself, because when he’d cancelled she’d been gutted, as well as grateful she hadn’t actually told anyone about the date since it wasn’t happening.
Will had rescheduled for Sunday evening, but she knew what a farmer’s life was like, and therefore, a farmer’s wife. She wasn’t holding her breath, or onto her hopes.
The following day she’d gone to her first counselling session in Keswick, dreading it so much her stomach had churned until she’d had cramps. But in the end talking about herself hadn’t been as hard as she’d thought, even if she’d inwardly squirmed for the entire half hour, answering Claire, the counsellor’s well-meaning questions with hesitations and mumbled half-sentences, which hadn’t seemed to bother the kindly woman a whit.
It had, Esther had realized after it was over, felt better than she’d expected, sort of like picking at a scab only to realize that what was underneath wasn’t as raw and bloody and wounded-looking as she’d feared.
“Has she come out yet?” Miriam asked from the laptop, craning her head as if she could see more from her place on the beach ten thousand miles away.
“Almost,” Anna answered with a laugh. “Come on, Rach!”
Rachel, after a flurry of excitement over satin and lace and girly cocktails, had gone ominously silent behind the thick ivory curtain.
“Do you need any help with the buttons?” the sales assistant, Tara, piped up as she twitched the curtains.
Esther glanced at her mother, who was smiling although there was a faint furrow between her brows, a sure sign she was a bit worried. Despite the air of genuine excitement Esther knew her sisters felt, something seemed a little too forced about the occasion, or at least about Rachel. Or was she just projecting her own dilemmas onto her poor sister?
“Here she is,” Tara called, and she swept aside the curtain with a dramatic rattle of rings. Rachel stepped out, smiling tremulously, in an absolute meringue of a dress, the huge white bell skirt engulfing her curvy frame.
“Wow,” Anna said after a second when everyone was silent. “It’s so…”
“Big,” Esther supplied, because how could she not?
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Rachel said with an attempt at a laugh. “I feel like Cinderella on steroids.” Tara looked slightly affronted by this, but Anna let out a little bubble of relieved laughter.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly…”
“Let me see,” Miriam demanded from the laptop, and when Rachel stepped in front of the screen, she let out a great, big bellow of laughter. “Definitely, Rach, you look like you’re jacked up on egg whites there. Try another one.”
“Has Miriam taken over for Esther now?” Anna quipped, and Esther pretended to look offended.
“No, of course she hasn’t. Rachel, that dress is hideous and you know it. Or if you don’t, you’re blind. Try something else.”
Their good-natured plain speaking se
emed to break the mood, or perhaps make it, because suddenly everyone was laughing, and more cocktails were poured, and Rachel was smiling as she went back into the dressing room.
“I don’t know if Tara appreciated our candour,” Anna stage-whispered, and Miriam’s voice erupted from the laptop.
“Wait, what? Who’s Tara?”
A flurry of laughter, questions, and exclamations later, Rachel emerged from the dressing room in a slinky, diamante-encrusted number.
“Well?” She twirled around, the mermaid-like train of the dress sparkling as it swirled.
“It looks,” Ruth offered hesitantly, “like something you might wear after the wedding…?”
Esther snorted and Miriam demanded that Rachel stand in front of the laptop again.
“You do look poured into it a bit,” she offered. “You want to be drinking the cocktails, not looking like one. Speaking of… what are you all drinking? I can see it’s bright pink but not much else and all I’ve got here is a bottle of water.”
“Poor you,” Esther said dryly, and Miriam grinned.
“They’re drinking sex on the beach,” Tara informed them helpfully, and Ruth looked startled.
“It’s not really called that, is it?” she asked.
“No, of course it’s not,” Anna said quickly, and Esther suppressed another snort of laughter. Ruth gave her daughter a knowing look.
“Don’t lie to me,” she scolded with a smile. “I’m naïve, not stupid. But why on earth would they call a drink such a terrible name?”
“Perhaps we’d better leave that one unanswered,” Esther murmured. Not that she’d know. Cocktails, not to mention literal sex on the beach, were both beyond her range of rather humdrum experiences.
“How about this one?” Rachel stepped from behind the curtain with an uncertain flourish, a tentative smile on her face.
“Oh, Rachel.” Ruth clasped her hands together. “You look radiant.”
“Doesn’t she?” Tara agreed in the trill-like voice she couldn’t seem to turn off. “I think this might be the one, ladies.”
