A Vicarage Wedding

by Kate Hewitt

  “Is that so wrong?” Ruth interjected quietly. “Compassion is no bad thing, darling.”

  “Pity is,” Rachel returned, grimacing. She hated feeling like she was a cross between a sob story and a joke. “But I am glad about the money.” Her grimace deepened as she thought about the flight from Manchester she was meant to be on tonight, and the honeymoon suite in a luxury hotel in Provence that she and Dan were meant to be enjoying, with all the treats and tours she’d happily booked, picturing them strolling hand in hand down narrow, cobblestone streets, walking into their future. “That’s not going to be the case with the honeymoon, though, is it?”

  “Well, actually, I have an idea about that,” Esther said as she came into the kitchen, looking as brisk and no-nonsense as ever.

  “You do?” Rachel regarded her sister warily, having no idea what she had planned.

  “Yes, I do. Obviously, you should still go. Your name is on the ticket and the whole thing will go to waste otherwise.”

  “Go on my honeymoon alone?” Rachel couldn’t think of anything worse. Well, she could, but it had already happened.

  “No, not alone, that would be beyond sad. No, I think you should go with someone.”

  “Who…?”

  Esther smiled. “Me.”

  The silence fell like a thunderclap while everyone stared at Esther in surprise.

  “I fancy a holiday,” she continued breezily, “and since I don’t have a job at the moment, I can take the time off. Plus, I think we could use some sisterly bonding time. Will can manage the farm on his own, can’t you?”

  Will’s smile was slow and easy. “Just about.”

  Esther turned to Rachel, eyebrows raised. “What do you say?”

  What could she say? “But Dan’s name is on the plane ticket…”

  “He’ll have to forfeit his ticket, which he’s perfectly happy to do. And I can book my own. It’s not that expensive, about a hundred quid.”

  Rachel didn’t want to think about Dan being perfectly happy not to go on their honeymoon. “What if someone else wants to go? Anna or Miriam?”

  Anna shook her head decisively. “I can’t take time off work, and I want to spend what holiday time I do have with Simon.” She gave her boyfriend, the former curate who had now taken over both vicar’s role and vicarage, a loving smile.

  “Miriam’s travelled loads,” Esther scoffed. “And she’s still recovering from jet lag.”

  Everyone turned to look at Rachel expectantly.

  “It does seem like it could be a good idea, love,” Ruth said hesitantly. “A chance to get away, have a rest…”

  What could she say but yes? And it wasn’t as if she didn’t want to go on her honeymoon with her older sister…well, it sort of was, but still. She loved Esther, even if she didn’t always appreciate her brand of bossiness. And getting away from Thornthwaite, as her mother had suggested, and all the prying, pitying eyes for a week while the wreck of her would-be wedding was swept away…that was seriously tempting.

  “All right then,” Rachel said. “Sounds good.”

  Chapter Three

  “WOW, THIS PLACE is seriously deluxe.”

  Rachel stood in the doorway of the honeymoon suite, wilting with exhaustion, while Esther strolled around the huge room and then plucked a strawberry from the fruit bowl taking pride of place on a coffee table in front of a huge, squashy sofa.

  “I think it’s bigger than our downstairs. Our entire house, maybe.”

  “Yes, well it was meant to be our honeymoon.”

  “Don’t be grumpy,” Esther chided. “Let’s enjoy this.”

  “I think I’m allowed to be a little grumpy,” Rachel returned. “Considering.”

  “You were grumpy all the way over on the plane.”

  “I was asleep,” Rachel shot back. “And who are you to talk, Esther? You were grumpy for about three months after you left Will.” Her sister had been reconciled to her husband of eight years for four months, and now they seemed stronger than ever, but Rachel wasn’t the only who had let herself derail after a major bump on the road. And she wasn’t even derailing the way Esther had—leaving her husband, quitting her job, moving back home. All Rachel was doing was indulging in a bit of a bad mood. Was that a crime?

  Fortunately, Esther had the grace to look a little abashed. “Sorry, you’re right. I’m rubbish at cheering people up, that’s all.”

  “Maybe I’m not ready to be cheered up. You did watch Inside Out, didn’t you? Remember it’s okay to be sad?”

  “Ye-es…” Her sister did not sound convinced.

  “Well, I’m sad. Let it lie, at least for a few days. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Esther nodded solemnly. “I will. But can we have these his and hers massages that were booked for tomorrow morning?” She waved a notice that had been left on the coffee table, next to the fruit bowl. “There’s nothing creepy about his and hers massages, is there?”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not the massage version of the Kama Sutra or something. It just means having them at the same time.”

  “Phew. I was a little worried there. I’m already a bit concerned about the double bed, king-sized as it is.” She nodded towards the huge bed on its own dais. “You kick in your sleep.”

  Rachel let out a little hiccup of laughter. Surprisingly, her sister was cheering her up…whether she meant to or not.

  They hadn’t talked much on the train to Manchester, or the flight to Nice; Rachel had been too exhausted, and Esther had seemed happy enough to read her book. It had been an unutterable relief to leave Thornthwaite and all the sympathetic smiles. Ruth had hugged her tightly before she’d left.

  “I’m glad you’re getting away,” she’d whispered fiercely, “but you know I can stay on, Rachel, if you’d like me to. If you need me…”

  “It’s okay, Mum.” Ruth and Roger were due to leave for China a week after Rachel got back from her would-have-been honeymoon. “You need to be with Dad.”

  “Still…we’ll talk about it when you get back.” Her poor mother looked so anxious, and Rachel couldn’t keep from feeling another spurt of resentment at her former fiancé for putting so many people in such an untenable position. She’d have liked to get a proper head of steam on her anger towards Dan, because that felt so much simpler and easier, but whenever she tried, she remembered that little flicker of relief she’d felt when he’d told her the wedding was off, and she knew she couldn’t.

  It had only lasted a second, and she’d barely recognised it for what it was; yet still it remained, a most inconvenient truth, and one she was not yet ready to examine too closely.

  She’d been fully prepared to marry Dan. She’d been planning on it. She’d bet her whole life on it, and yet…

  And yet. When Rachel let herself think about it, she couldn’t suppress a cold, creeping suspicion that while Dan had been the instigator of the decimation of all her hopes, she had been the architect. And that was a fear that was not only inconvenient, but also deeply uncomfortable. Downright terrifying, in fact, and so she didn’t let herself think about it. The point was, she’d loved him, and he’d loved her, and they’d been planning on building their life together.

  Soon after they arrived at the hotel, she and Esther both fell into bed; it had been an endless, emotional day and they needed their sleep. Rachel woke in the morning to bright summer sunlight streaming through the French windows; the air was drowsy and warm and she lay in bed, stretching indulgently, before reality crashed in and she tensed all over.

  She wasn’t married. She wasn’t getting married. Everything she’d thought was going to happen, all that her life was going to look like, wasn’t.

  She closed her eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of lavender and honeysuckle, before throwing off the silky duvet and rising from bed. Esther was already awake, showered and dressed, by the looks of the open suitcase and the towel hanging on the bathroom door’s rail.

  Rachel reached for one of the hotel’s complim
entary dressing gowns, made of a thick white terrycloth as soft as velvet. She found Esther sitting outside on the private terrace, spreading jam on a croissant.

  “This place is amazing. They just delivered breakfast at ten, without me even asking.”

  “It’s past ten?” Rachel squinted in the bright, Technicolor sunshine; from their terrace, she could just glimpse the hotel’s pool, the placid aquamarine water shimmering with sunlight.

  “Yes, I didn’t want to wake you, because you seemed absolutely knackered.”

  “Did you sleep all right?” Rachel asked as she sat opposite Esther on a delicate wrought-iron chair.

  Esther poured her some hot, fragrant coffee and pushed a little pitcher of foamed milk across the table. “As well as can be expected, considering how much you kick. Dan had a lucky escape.” She grimaced quickly. “Sorry. Too soon for jokes?”

  “Definitely.” Rachel busied herself making her coffee milky and sweet, her hair thankfully falling forward to hide her expression, which she couldn’t quite trust or judge.

  “I won’t mention him again, promise. So, we’ve got the massages booked in an hour, and according to the itinerary left in the room, there’s a walking tour of the old town of Aix booked for this afternoon—apparently we don’t want to miss Les Cours Mirabeau, or the birthplace of Cézanne.”

  “Right.”

  “And then tonight we have a reservation for the tasting menu at a Michelin-starred restaurant.” Esther raised her eyebrows. “Did you plan all this or did the hotel?”

  “I did.” Rachel took a sip of coffee, avoiding her sister’s gaze. “It was meant to be my honeymoon, you know.”

  “I know. I’m impressed. Will and I never had a honeymoon, so I’m glad to finally get one in, even if he’s not here. Rather appropriate, considering—sorry.” She shook her head. “I really must stop that.”

  “Yes,” Rachel agreed. “You really must.”

  Yet as low as she felt, it was hard to stay down in the dumps when she was sitting on a lovely little terrace, sipping delicious coffee, in the south of France. Everything was perfect—from the rich, slightly bitter coffee, to the sweet strawberry jam on her flaky, golden croissant, to the honeysuckle-scented air and the sunlight pouring over everything like golden syrup. Despite herself, Rachel started to relax.

  She continued to relax as they went for their massages at the hotel’s luxury spa; it was impossible to tense up when a very competent Swedish masseuse was digging deep into her stressed and knotted muscles. Rachel came out feeling as if she’d been melted like butter.

  They spent an hour lounging by the pool, and Esther ordered sandwiches from the pool bar for lunch, before they headed upstairs to change for their walking tour.

  Thankfully, Esther had not felt the need to make much conversation, and Rachel was content simply to be and let herself be pampered by all the luxurious treats she’d planned several months ago, when she and Dan had decided on the south of France for their honeymoon.

  It was good of him, she acknowledged in a rare moment of empathy, to have forsaken his place on this trip, although perhaps he really hadn’t wanted to go. Perhaps he’d never wanted any of the things she had. She felt as if she had to question everything now, and it was an awful feeling, like dangling in mid-air, the solid ground she’d assumed had been right under her feet now miles below.

  She wondered how Esther had handled the conversation with Dan about the honeymoon, and then decided not to ask. She wasn’t ready for grim details yet.

  The old town of Aix was lovely, with a wide, pedestrian thoroughfare lined with elegant mansions with wrought-iron railings that dripped with brightly coloured bougainvillea, interspersed with upscale boutiques and outdoor cafés where tourists and locals alike lounged, sipping their lattes and reading newspapers or simply watching the world stroll by.

  By the time they got back to the hotel Rachel’s feet were aching and she was tired but a little bit happy—strangely so. Everything was so beautiful, and it felt good, after weeks of frantic stress, to relax. All she had to do was not think and she could enjoy all this week had to offer. Hopefully.

  But of course it couldn’t last. Over dinner that night, both wearing their nicest sundresses, sipping wine, Esther started at it again.

  “So why do you think Dan called it off, really?”

  “Esther.” Rachel put down the tasting menu of ten courses she’d been perusing. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this? Too soon, remember?”

  “But don’t you want to know?”

  “Not really. Not yet.”

  “I would, if I were you.”

  “Well, you’re not me, are you?” Rachel answered with some asperity. “And, in any case, you stuck your head well in the sand when it was your marriage that was at risk. Didn’t want to talk about it to anyone, didn’t even want to think about it yourself. So please don’t push me, okay?”

  Esther looked abashed. “You’re right, you’re right. Sorry.”

  Rachel wondered how long it would be before her sister couldn’t keep herself from asking another prying question. Five minutes? Ten?

  Amazingly, Esther controlled herself the whole meal, making sure only to talk about innocuous subjects—food, wine, France. She touched briefly on family—Anna and Simon, and when they might get engaged, before discreetly skimming away from that potentially fraught subject, although Rachel didn’t actually mind thinking about Anna and Simon and their undoubtedly forthcoming engagement; she wanted Anna to be happy. Someone should be, at any rate.

  Tonight, however, Rachel focused on enjoying the food and drink, as well as the lovely ambiance of the restaurant, all shadowy candlelight and murmuring customers.

  She kept up the mind-blanking enjoyment for the next few days, going from beauty treatment to leisure activity to decadent meal and back again, spending time in between lounging by the pool, supplied by Esther with a series of frothy blockbusters to read that did a very good job of keeping her thoughts otherwise engaged.

  And while Esther was as good as her word, keeping silent about Rachel’s marital woes—or lack of them, really—as the week wound to a close reality began its inevitable, relentless intrusion.

  She was heading back to Thornthwaite in two days, and she had no plans whatsoever for the rest of the summer holiday. She also had no place to live…yet another aspect of this whole tragic debacle that she’d kept herself from thinking about.

  Now, their departure forty-eight hours imminent, Rachel felt brave enough to tackle the subject with her sister.

  “Nowhere to live?” Esther raised her eyebrows so they appeared above her sunglasses, two dark arcs. “What about that pile up on the fells?”

  Rachel grimaced. Thinking about that house—her absolute dream house—hurt, a lot. “We’ll have to sell it, I suppose. It was a stretch with both of us living there, but now…” She shrugged, trying to dissolve the lump that was rapidly forming in her throat. She’d been going to have her children in that house. Their BabyGros were going to hang on the Aga railing, neatly drying. Their laughter would ring through the wide corridors and up the sweeping staircase. There was a big gnarled oak tree in the back garden, perfect for climbing, and a rope swing.

  Tears stung her eyes and she looked away, not wanting Esther to see how much losing that house pained her. Her sister had confronted her once before, when Rachel, in a frenzy of excitement, had shown it to her, before they’d bought it. Esther had been quietly wary, even disapproving, knowing the house was beyond their means, and sensing, even then, that Rachel cared more for the house than her husband-to-be.

  She didn’t, of course, but the house had been important. It had been the place where all the wonderful things she’d had planned were going to happen not just for her, but for her and Dan and their family, as well. Things she thought they’d both wanted, had both valued. Had she been wrong? Did Dan care more about temperamental, fizzy feelings than the reality of day-to-day life together? Based on his reason for
calling off the wedding, it seemed so.

  “Can you keep your current place?” Esther asked, bringing Rachel out of her circling thoughts. She had been living in a cosy terraced cottage a stone’s throw from the vicarage for the last five years, having bought it on the cheap, because it had needed complete doing up. As DIY was not her strong suit, she’d only managed to do the absolute minimum.

  Still, it had sold—to a lovely young married couple with a baby on the way. The husband was a joiner, and keen to get cracking on the renovations. They’d already moved in, since Rachel had been living at the vicarage for the last few weeks, and she’d seen most of the kitchen fittings in a skip outside. No, she definitely couldn’t move back to her old place.

  “It’s sold,” she told Esther. “You know that.”

  “But sometimes you can negotiate—”

  “No, they’re already living there.” She shook her head, her throat tightening again. “It’s completely impossible.”

  “Could you rent…?”

  She wasn’t sure she could afford to rent anywhere, not at least until the dream house sold. As it was, she and Dan were going to have to sit down and hammer out all the awful financial implications of their wedding-that-wasn’t.

  “Maybe,” she said, because she didn’t want Esther to know how skint she really was. Her parents had put a lot towards the wedding, but she’d wanted the best and so she’d paid for plenty out of her own pocket. She’d wanted the blasted fairy tale, and she most certainly hadn’t got it. Perhaps it had been foolish to want those kinds of dreams, to live for the castles-in-the-air expectation that could—and did—so easily fall flat. But she’d thought her dreams had a solid foundation, a basis in reality. She hadn’t realised how flimsy they had ended up being.

  “You don’t sound too enthused,” Esther remarked. “You could live with us, if you wanted.”

  Rachel tried not to show how appalling she found that prospect. She knew her sister meant to be kind, but Esther and Will were just re-establishing their blissful married life, and Esther had mentioned, cautiously, that they were trying for a baby. Rachel would be third-wheeling in the extreme.