by Kate Hewitt
This morning he was dressed in his usual suit, having foregone the priestly robes years ago except for the most formal of services, and smiling as cheerfully as ever, greeting everyone at the door. He reached out and gave Rachel’s hand a quick squeeze as she went by, which nearly sent her hurling into the emotional abyss she’d been hovering on since the breakup.
Blinking back tears, she took her seat in the second pew, next to her mother, as well as Esther and Will, where she’d sat since she was two years old, kicking the pew in front of her, riffling through the dusty hymnals, her mother’s placating hand on one shoulder.
“You okay, Mum?” she whispered and Ruth nodded, her chin tilted at a determined angle as she stared straight ahead, blinking rapidly even as she smiled.
“I’m fine, Rachel. Really.”
Rachel glanced around at the packed pews, taking in all the different people from various walks of life who had come to say goodbye. The Tamworths who ran the village post office; the Lewises, the proprietors of The Winter Hare; Sarah Wilkes, the head teacher of the village school where she taught; and countless other people besides.
Then Rachel’s wandering gaze snagged on a familiar face—those piercing blue eyes, that stern, unsmiling mouth. The bartender from The Bell, whose boots she’d been sick all over. His gaze met hers and an electric current of awareness and embarrassment zinged through her. What on earth was he doing here? She was sure he’d never come to church before.
The organ music began with a momentous swell, and everyone rose to their feet as her father strode purposefully down the aisle. The service had started.
The hymns and readings were a blur as Rachel struggled to keep hold of her composure throughout. It all felt so poignant and raw, seeing her father where she’d always seen him for so many years. She’d taken him for granted, she realised, even as she’d appreciated him, or thought she had: his steady, stabilising presence, his ready good humour, his willingness to listen even when he was busy with a thousand other cares.
And her mother, always ready with a cup of tea, a listening ear, and something delicious to eat. How many times had Rachel flung herself into a chair at the kitchen table—the one that wasn’t even there anymore—to moan to her mum about her latest drama, whether it was a mean girl in secondary school, a doomed relationship in uni, or the trials and tribulations of being a primary school teacher? Her mother had always listened, offering compassion and wise advice mixed with humour and hugs. Skype just wasn’t going to be the same.
As her father took the pulpit for the last time there was a rustling among the pews, and someone blew their nose rather loudly. It was clearly an emotional moment for everybody.
Her father’s friendly gaze scanned the crowded pews before he smiled, a smile that was full of sympathy and sadness, happiness and hope.
“This is a hard moment,” he said, and his voice choked a little, shocking Rachel, because her father never seemed sad. Next to her Anna’s eyes shone with tears and Esther was looking particularly stony. Ruth’s smile wavered, and Rachel reached for her hand, sensing her mum needed some strength. Ruth shot her a grateful look, her eyes as wet as Anna’s, and then resumed looking ahead.
“But it’s also a good moment,” Roger continued. “To see you all here, to know God’s work will continue to be done in this village that I and my family have called home for thirty years. Today’s text is John 17, Jesus’s prayer for all believers, and while I cannot put myself directly in the place of Christ, it is my prayer as well for all of you.” He smiled before looking down at his notes. “Now let us take the passage verse by verse…”
Rachel had heard enough of her father’s sermons to know he would do what he always did, go faithfully through whatever text he had chosen, never mind the import of the day. Her mind was in such a tumult that she could barely take in what her father was saying; it just felt so final.
She focused her energy on not breaking down, especially when, as her gaze wandered yet again, she saw Dan sitting in a pew across the aisle. Her heart lurched with emotion, one she didn’t think she could name. Loss and love mixed together, along with the sad realisation that she didn’t miss him—the man rather than the dream—as much as she should have.
After the service, everyone milled around the church, enjoying cake and champagne, the last of several celebrations that had been thrown for the Holleys. Rachel was just debating whether she wanted a glass of champagne when she bumped into someone standing next to her and saw, with a ripple of shock, that it Bartender Man.
“Oh, sorry.” She blushed as he regarded her in his usual unsmiling way. “I’ve been meaning to say thank you for—well, for being so kind the other night. I really am sorry—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He sounded gruff. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”
“I’m sure you have.” She eyed him uncertainly. “It’s nice to see you here, anyway. Have you—have you come to church before?” She’d meant simply to be friendly, but somehow the question came out sounding a little patronising. The man continued with his stony appraisal.
“Yes.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ve seen you.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’ve been here.”
The conversation stalled out and Rachel wondered how she could get away without appearing rude. “What’s your name?” she asked a bit desperately.
“Sam West.”
“I’m Rachel—”
“Holley. I know.”
She shouldn’t be surprised, since most people in the village knew her, yet somehow she was. “How did you—”
“I grew up here. In fact, we went to school together.” She couldn’t keep from goggling a bit and he let out a short laugh. “You don’t remember me obviously, but we were in the same chemistry class for GCSE.”
“We were?”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t have noticed me. I played rugby.”
“Ah.” Well, that made sense, then. She’d been into music and art, and the rugby players had been a bunch of loudmouth jocks she had strenuously avoided. Yet he seemed to have had taken notice of her, which was odd. “Well, it’s nice to meet you properly,” she said awkwardly. “And I promise not to be sick on your shoes ever again.”
“Then you’d better avoid that,” Sam said, with a nod towards the row of plastic flutes lined up on a table. It took Rachel a few seconds to realise he was joking. At least, she thought he was. She smiled back uncertainly, and then she drifted away, grateful for her escape yet also feeling weirdly energised by the interaction. There was no doubt Sam was good-looking, in his own way, and he was also kind of…intriguing. But she’d probably never see him again, Rachel acknowledged, especially since she intended never to set foot in The Bell ever again.
All too soon people were trickling away, and the church’s self-appointed hospitality committee was cleaning up the empty flutes and crumb-scattered paper plates. Her parents were spending the night in Manchester before flying out early in the morning, and Simon was driving them to the airport.
Roger had wanted their goodbyes to be said here. It was a perfect afternoon for farewells—golden sunlight, hazy blue sky, a few sheep bleating mournfully in the distance. Their suitcases were lined up by the Passat estate they’d had for at least ten years, and which they’d given to Anna for when she moved back to Thornthwaite. Now there was nothing left but to say the actual words, and yet Rachel found her throat closing as they all stood in the foyer of the vicarage, her parents ready to go, Simon with keys in hand.
“I can’t believe this is really happening,” she said as her father checked he had their passports and her mother slipped on her coat.
“We’ll be back for Christmas,” Ruth said briskly. “And of course we’ll Skype as often as we can.”
“But still…” Rachel drew a shaky breath. She shouldn’t make a scene, not now, when everyone was just about keeping it together. This morning before church she’d seen her mother walking slowly through all the rooms, saying her ow
n private goodbye to each one. Rachel had watched from the top of the stairs as Ruth had gone into Jamie’s old room. She still hadn’t come out when Rachel had tiptoed away, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment.
“Skype will be good,” she said now, and Ruth smiled in relief, grateful Rachel was going to keep it together so she could, as well.
“Yes, it will. We’ll have so much to tell you!” Quickly and tightly, she hugged each sister in turn, and then Will as well. “You know how much we’ll miss you all. I don’t need to say it—”
“And we’ll miss you—”
“Anna, I want to know all the wedding plans, all right? Every little thing—”
“Of course, Mum.”
“Esther, keep me posted on the job front—”
“When there’s something to say, I’ll tell you,” Esther said with a wry smile.
“And Miriam, you’re still looking peaky. Do get some rest, darling—”
“I will, Mum. Don’t worry.”
“Rachel.” Ruth’s forehead wrinkled with concern as she hugged her. “This is just a blip, my darling. You know that, don’t you?”
It was a heck of a blip. “Yes, I know.”
Then it was Roger’s turn to hug them all, cracking jokes to hide his emotion, and with far too many tears shimmering and lumps forming in throats, they finally got in the car and then with a honk of the horn and the crunch of gravel they were gone. Gone.
Rachel, Esther, Anna, and Miriam all stood there, Will alongside, silent and slightly shell-shocked as they watched the car disappear down the lane, past the church, over the bridge, and then out of the village. It felt like the aftermath of a tornado, everything battered and still.
“Well,” Esther announced finally, “I brought wine.” She gave Rachel a knowing glance. “I would have brought champagne, but I didn’t want you puking.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Rachel threw Anna an exasperated look. “You told her about that?”
“Sorry.” Anna didn’t sound remotely repentant. “It kind of slipped out.”
“Sure it did.”
“Come on.” Esther headed back into the house. “A final farewell, just for us. Will’s going to get us all a takeaway from Keswick.”
“Right-o.” Will saluted and then headed to his battered Rover. The four sisters trooped inside the vicarage, which felt weirdly empty and silent, already a shell of itself, a husk of a house.
“Where to?”
“The kitchen’s just not the same without the table,” Rachel said rather mournfully.
“Yes, why did Simon get rid of that?” Miriam demanded. “That table’s a legend.”
“It wasn’t Simon,” Anna answered. “It was me. It didn’t feel right, him just taking it on, somehow. It was our family’s—”
“It belongs here,” Miriam cut across her, her tone stubbornly final. “Doesn’t it?” She looked at her sisters for support and both Rachel and Esther nodded.
“Yes, have him bring it back, Anna. The universe feels a bit off-kilter without it in the middle of the kitchen.”
Anna gave a wobbly smile. “All right, then. I just didn’t want to presume…”
“Of course, when you get married, you’re going to have to make this place your own.” They’d all drifted into the dining room with mutual, silent accord, and now Esther unscrewed the cap on the bottle of the wine and started to pour. “You don’t want us complaining about the new drapes or the fact that you painted the kitchen blue. We’d be like the worst sort of nosy parker parishioners.”
“You aren’t really going to paint the kitchen blue, though, are you?” Rachel couldn’t keep from asking. The kitchen had been yellow for as long as she could remember.
“I—I don’t know.” Anna looked flustered. “Truthfully, I can’t imagine changing anything. It’s quite daunting, you know, to—to think of moving in here. Taking Mum’s place, even though I know I couldn’t, not even a little bit.”
“You must make your own place,” Miriam said firmly. “I know it’s all raw and new now, but we’ll get over it. We’ll have to. Life moves on.” She sounded both resigned and determined, making Rachel wonder yet again what was going on with her sister. What did she have to move on from?
“So tell us about this new man in your life,” Esther said as she passed Rachel a glass of wine, and Rachel’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“New man…” There was no new man, not remotely.
“The bloke you were talking to at church. Sam West, isn’t he?”
“How do you know him?”
“He was a mate of Will’s from a long time ago. Is he the one you puked on?”
“On his shoes. I was sick only on his shoes.”
“Not the best way to impress someone,” Miriam remarked dryly.
“I don’t want to impress him!” Rachel practically squeaked. “I barely know him. And, in case you can’t remember, I only just had a very bad breakup a little over two weeks ago. I’m hardly ready even to think about dating someone else.”
“It wasn’t that bad a breakup,” Esther said, and Rachel spluttered into her wine.
“Wasn’t that bad…! Esther, do I really need to remind you, that Dan jilted me the day before our wedding?”
“He was doing you a favour,” Esther said bluntly. “You know he was, even if you won’t admit it yet. You didn’t love him, Rachel.”
“Esther,” Anna murmured. “That—that seems a bit harsh, even for you.”
“Can you deny it?” Esther’s laser-like gaze met Rachel’s. “Really?”
“I did love him,” she said stubbornly. “How would you know, anyway?”
“Because I saw the two of you together and you looked miserable half the time, as if you were only there on sufferance.”
“Sufferance… Come on, Esther. I wasn’t that bad.”
Esther cocked a knowing finger at her. “Ah, but you admit it was something like that.”
“Perhaps a little.” Rachel blew out a breath. “Look, I get it, okay? Something wasn’t right between us. I accept that. But I was still planning on marrying him, and I still think we could have been happy if we’d tried. So. I’m not jumping back into the dating pool anytime soon, all right?”
“What about you?” Miriam asked, nodding towards Esther. “If we’re going to give each other a grilling. When are you going to get a real job? That community garden out back is up and running, isn’t it?”
For the last few months Esther had been organising a community area in the Victorian walled garden that was part of the vicarage property. Now, in the height of summer, it was bursting with allotments, a fish pond was being dug out, and fruit trees had been planted. Several villagers had come forward eager to do the work, leaving Esther with only a little paperwork to manage.
“When are you?” she shot back, and then laughed. “Oh, we’re a handful, aren’t we? Do you remember how, when we used to bicker as children, Mum would make us hold hands afterwards?”
“I hated that,” Rachel exclaimed with a laugh. “It always felt so forced and fake.”
“And yet it made us get along, eventually.” Anna smiled sadly. “Mum always had a lot of good ideas like that.”
“She did.” Esther gave herself a little shake. “Goodness, we’re talking about them as if they’ve died.”
“It feels a bit that way though, doesn’t it?” Rachel said quietly. “I just can’t believe they’re not here anymore.”
“I know.” Esther was silent for a long moment. “What do you think Jamie would be like, if he were here?”
A ripple of sorrow seemed to pass through each sister as they remembered the brother who had been born smack in the middle of them, and who had died twenty-one years ago now. Rachel could still remember that torturous moment in all its hideous clarity. She’d been racing ahead, eager to get to school and tell her best friend Chloe about some ridiculous piece of Year Six gossip. Jamie had been running to keep up with her, and so had Anna, who had only
been eight. Ruth had been behind them, with Miriam in the pushchair, calling out to take care.
It had all happened so fast, and yet at the same time so slowly. Rachel had darted across the road, and then skipped on ahead. Jamie had followed; the car had come out of nowhere, or so it had seemed. She’d racked and racked her memory, trying to determine whether she’d seen the car, when she’d gone across. She must have, surely, even if it had been no more than a blur in the distance?
What she could recall in perfect detail was the loud squeal of brakes as the driver of the car, going far too fast to begin with, tried to stop, and then the far worse sound of the thud of Jamie’s body flying through the air and then falling to the ground.
“I—I think he’d be cracking jokes the whole time,” Anna ventured. “He always had such a great sense of humour, didn’t he? He’d be telling us not to be so mopey and stupid.”
“Mum would tell him not to say stupid,” Rachel said with a smile, and Esther laughed softly.
“Yes, although perhaps he would have grown out of calling things stupid. He’s been frozen at just ten years old. Who knows what kind of man he might have become.”
They were all silent, considering that, and then Esther raised her glass, her expression solemn.
“To Jamie,” she said, and the other sisters all raised their glasses.
“To Jamie,” they echoed, and they all drank as the room filled with twilight shadows, the sun setting on the world that had once been loved and known.
Chapter Eight
TWO WEEKS ON life without her parents was starting to feel both utterly strange and weirdly normal. She, Miriam, and Simon had found a halting routine of sharing the same space; Simon kept semi-apologising for living in what was essentially his own house, and Rachel and Miriam kept semi-apologising for being there.
None of them, unfortunately, could cook beyond scrambled eggs and pasta, and so they ended up having a lot of both, as well as the occasional takeaway.
