by Kate Hewitt
THEY WORKED IN silence for several minutes, hauling and heaving, as the sum total of Rachel’s possessions were loaded into the back of his beat-up van. She tried not to think about how different everything was to how she’d expected, how she’d hoped and prayed and wished for, but it was hard with her dream house looming above them, its windows blank and staring.
“Is that the lot?” Sam asked when the garage was emptied. The van was only half-full.
“Yes, that’s everything.” Rachel glanced at the house again and swallowed. “Would you mind waiting for a bit? Just a minute or so. I want to check on the house.”
Sam nodded in his impassive way. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.”
She walked on slightly unsteady legs up to the shiny red front door, a door, a life, that had promised so much. Fumbling with the key, she fit it into the lock and then pushed the door open.
The house smelled empty. Lonely. Rachel stepped into the soaring foyer, breathing in the smell of dust and emptiness and remembering how she’d imagined it all—the smell of freshly baked cookies, or ground coffee, or apple wood from the open fireplace in the sitting room. So many good smells to accompany the life she’d planned on having, the one she’d hoped to share with Dan.
Her footsteps echoed through the hall, as she walked back to the kitchen, the heart of the home with its big red Aga, the French windows overlooking a garden that led right up into the fells. She pictured where the table would have gone, with a dog bed beside it, a highchair one day…
Then she thought of her parents’ table, with its lovable scars and chips and even teeth marks, still stuck somewhere in storage, and her eyes started to sting, a huge lump forming in her throat, the kind she knew she couldn’t just swallow back down. She sniffed loudly, willing it all back, but that wasn’t happening. She hadn’t cried, not properly, since the wedding had been called off and her body was finally calling time on her lack of emotion.
“Oh, help,” she muttered, barely managing to get the words out before the lump took over and her eyes started streaming.
She wiped at them desperately, half wanting to give in and half really not wanting to, because now certainly was not the time. Sam was waiting. Her stuff needed to be unloaded. She couldn’t have a breakdown now.
“Rachel…?” Sam’s voice echoed through the empty house, and then Rachel heard his footsteps coming towards the kitchen. She drew a shuddering breath, wiping at her eyes, but it was hopeless. She was a snivelling wreck.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said as he came into the kitchen. “But your phone was ringing and I didn’t know if it was important.” He held out her smartphone, which she’d left on the front seat of his van.
“Thanks.” Rachel’s voice sounded clogged as she attempted to clear her throat. She reached for the phone and Sam gave it to her, frowning as he noticed her tears, or rather, her blubbering mess.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sorry, I’m just having a moment.” She tried to laugh but it came out as a sob and then she was starting all over again with the streaming eyes and the wretched lump in her throat that made speaking nearly impossible. She shook her head as she kept wiping her eyes. “Sorry, sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.” Sam took a step closer to her, so she caught a whiff of his aftershave. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Turn back time?” Rachel tried to joke, but she really shouldn’t have attempted another laugh, because that clearly wasn’t working. “No, sorry. There’s nothing.” She drew a shuddering breath, willing her body to behave itself. “Coming back here was harder than I thought.” Obviously.
Clumsily Sam patted her shoulder once, and that small gesture touched Rachel more than anything else he could have done.
“You were going to live here, weren’t you?”
She managed a smile through her tears. “How much do you know about me, Sam?”
He shrugged. “Word gets around.”
“So you know I was supposed to get married three weeks ago.”
He paused, his intent gaze scanning her face. “Yes.”
She sighed. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. “Well, it didn’t work out. Obviously. But this house…” She flung an arm out, gesturing to the huge kitchen. “This was meant to be our dream home, where we raised our children, where we all sat around the dining room table for cosy suppers, where we lived our life together…”
“Where you had your puppy,” Sam added and Rachel nodded.
“Yes, that too. It was all going to happen here. The life I’ve always wanted—the home, the happiness, the togetherness and joy…and now none of it is happening. It really is all just dreams. Maybe it will always be just dreams.”
“Life sucks sometimes,” Sam offered, and Rachel let out a wobbly laugh.
“Thank you for saying that, because no one else has. And yes, it does. Sometimes it really sucks.” She made a face. “We were never allowed to say that word at home. My mum thought it was rude.”
“Sometimes it’s the right word, though.”
“Yes.” She smiled at him, thankful the steady stream of tears was finally abating. “Thank you for understanding that.”
“It’s all right.” He glanced around the empty kitchen. “So are you selling this place?”
“Yes, we have to. Neither of us can afford it on our own. In fact, we couldn’t really afford it together. It’s best if it’s sold, but unfortunately there haven’t been any offers yet.”
“Early days, still.”
“Yes, I suppose.” She drew in a shuddery breath and nodded towards the door. “Should we get a move on?”
“Do you want to see more of the house?”
She gazed around the empty kitchen with its marble counters and expertly distressed oak cupboards, the archway into the just-as-large family room. The kitchen alone was probably bigger than the flat above The Bell. Really, the place was huge—and it had been out of their budget. Way out of their budget.
Perhaps Dan was right, at least a little bit, about how she’d cared more about the trappings of their future life—the house, the dog, the kids who would come along—than she had about him. She’d certainly been set on this house, and now it seemed foolish of her, to have wanted something so badly. In the end, it was only a house. A very big house.
Sighing, Rachel shook her head. “I don’t need to see any more.”
They walked in silence back to the van, but it felt companionable rather than tense. Having a cry had been embarrassing but it had also felt good, healing. Rachel took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as she glanced at the jumble of her belongings in the back and straightened her shoulders. Onwards.
Back in Thornthwaite, Sam parked in front of The Bell and they started emptying the van, carrying boxes and bins up the narrow steps to the flat above. Sam hefted the furniture while Rachel kept to the little stuff, and soon the cosy living area of the flat was nearly full of her belongings. With each load Rachel felt something bloom inside her, something fragile and small but there—a tiny seed of hope, burrowing its roots down into the tender soil of her soul.
“So,” Sam said when they’d finished, as he’d wiped his brow with his forearm. “Do you need anything else?”
Rachel glanced at the pile of her things. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ll have to sort through it all.” When she’d been packing up, she’d been in a rush, and she’d assumed they would use Dan’s furniture, which was far nicer than hers, at least until they could buy new things together. Her stuff, as was painfully obvious right now, was charity shop tat and castoffs from her parents, and she was missing quite a lot of essential items, such as a bed, because she’d given it away.
“All right, then. Well, just let me know.” Sam turned to go and impulsively Rachel reached for his hand, startling him so he tensed, his eyes narrowed.
“Thank you, Sam. You’ve been really kind.”
“It’s all right.” She was still holding his hand, cl
inging to it like a limpet in fact, and so with a self-conscious smile Rachel released it and stepped back.
“I haven’t even signed a contract or anything. Are you sure you can trust me?”
“Pretty sure,” Sam answered. He handed her a set of keys. “Rent’s due on the first of the month. Since it’s halfway through this month, you can pay me half whenever, if that suits you.”
“Sure, fine—”
“Good.” He gave her a quick nod and then he left. Rachel stood in the middle of her new home, hardly able to believe how quickly everything had happened. Miriam hadn’t even seen the place yet! As usual, Rachel had rushed into something head first, impetuous, impulsive, but it had felt right. Yet how many times had she thought that?
Dan had felt right when they’d started together—although, upon further reflection, she knew he hadn’t, not completely. What he’d represented had felt right, so right—the home, the family, the life. But Dan himself? Rachel had liked him, loved him even, but she could acknowledge now that he had never felt like her soulmate, if she was even going to believe in that rather romanticised concept. But in truth he hadn’t even come close to such a thing. They’d been friends more than anything else, and Dan had known it.
Rachel gazed out the flat’s windows at the steep rooftops of the village, the fells beyond, and then turned to the other side to catch sight of the church and the vicarage. Past and future.
Taking a deep breath, she turned from the windows and started back to tell Miriam of their new plans.
*
THEY WERE MOVED into the new flat by sundown, with both Jasper and Simon helping haul over the last of Rachel’s stuff from the vicarage as well as Miriam’s two suitcases. All in all, it wasn’t that much; the only furniture they had was a tiny table, a single armchair, and one bureau.
Simon insisted that he and Jasper bring over two beds from one of the spare rooms, although Rachel initially resisted.
“You can’t sleep on the floor,” Simon pointed out reasonably. “And I don’t need them.”
Rachel relented, mostly for Miriam’s sake, who was looking decidedly nonplussed at sleeping on the floor in her still-undisclosed condition.
“We’ll do it up slowly,” Rachel told her, conscious she had said the same thing to Dan when they’d been in the enormous kitchen of the dream house. He’d been so sceptical; he’d wanted her to move in with him after the wedding, which Rachel realised now would have been far more sensible. But she’d wanted to get started on the fairy tale right away. Looking back, she realised, with a guilty pang, that she should have just moved in with Dan after the wedding. Why couldn’t she have been happy with that? Why had she insisted on over-the-top everything?
Because you thought it would make you happy. She’d been determined it would, and now she wondered why. She’d never thought herself shallow; she was a simple girl at heart, a girl who just wanted a home and husband and a couple of kids. She loved teaching, she adored village life, and she didn’t have grand aspirations to, well, anything. And yet somehow she’d let herself get caught up in fairy-tale pretensions without even realising she was doing it.
She needed to be different now. She would be, living life as it was rather than how she longed for it to be. Providence had put her here, and here she would stay. For now, at least.
After Simon and Jasper had finished bringing over everything, Rachel opened a bottle of wine and they sat in the sitting room with the windows wide open to the night air, which wasn’t as warm as she’d initially thought, and so she ended up closing the windows after a few minutes. Typical Cumbria.
Still, it felt like a minor achievement to be sitting in her own flat, having navigated the recent bumps in her road, her sister and friends around her. She’d considered asking Sam if he wanted to join them, but he was manning the bar in the pub as usual. Rachel wondered if he had any help; he always seemed to be there.
“To the future,” Rachel said grandly, and everyone heaved their plastic tumblers aloft.
“To the future!”
“I hope you’ll be happy here,” Simon said after they’d had a sip of what was quite cheap plonk—with Miriam sticking to sparkling water—“but if it doesn’t work out, you know you’re always welcome back at the vicarage.”
“Thank you, Simon.” Rachel was touched by his kindness. “I think we’ll be all right here. But I do appreciate the open door.”
“And you’re coming on Sunday,” Jasper reminded her. “I’m doing a leg of lamb.”
“Are you? I’m impressed. A man who cooks.”
“Don’t be impressed until you’ve tried it,” Simon warned her with a laugh. “Back at Cambridge, Jasper couldn’t even make beans on toast. In fact, his mother sent him these ridiculous hampers from Fortnum and Mason to make sure he wouldn’t starve, and that was with full catering at college.”
Jasper shrugged as he downed the last of his wine. “I was a growing boy.”
Rachel shook her head, glimpses into Jasper’s unashamedly privileged life always managing to both amuse and awe her. What did he really think of this poky little flat? Not that it really mattered.
After Simon and Jasper had left, Rachel set about unpacking the last of the boxes while Miriam sat in their one armchair, watching her.
“I’m sorry, I know I should help, but I’m absolutely shattered. When is this going to get better, do you think?”
“I’m afraid I’m not an expert on pregnancy-related matters. End of the first trimester, perhaps?” Rachel placed the dead houseplant on the windowsill. She’d watered it and it was starting to perk up a little, so now it only looked mostly dead. It seemed apt.
“A few more weeks, then.”
“When are you going to tell people, Miriam? Esther and Anna? And Mum and Dad?”
“Soon, I suppose. I’ll have to, won’t I?”
“You’re still thin as a stick,” Rachel acknowledged wryly. She’d always struggled to keep her curves under control. “Where do you think my Casablanca poster should go?”
“In your bedroom?”
“You never were a fan of old films, were you?”
“I’m more of an action flick girl.”
“Right.” Rachel stopped bustling about and perched on top of a packing crate that would have to serve as their other chair. “But seriously, Miriam. You should tell family, at least. People will be supportive, and you’ll feel better for it. Mum and Dad will want to help you.”
“From China?”
“They’re good listeners. Good advice-givers, too.”
“I know.” Miriam sighed. “I just dread disappointing them, and I know I will. Even if they’re really, really nice about it, which they most certainly will be, I’ll still feel like I’ve let them down.”
“You have to live your own life—”
“And getting pregnant was not the way I wanted to do that.”
“What about the father?” Rachel asked cautiously. “Do you want to talk about him?”
“Not really.” Miriam sighed. “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me either, Rachel.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“The truth is, I didn’t really know him that well.” Rachel tried to school her face into an unshocked expression but she must have failed because Miriam let out a huff of humourless laughter. “I know, I know, it sounds so sordid, and I guess it is. It was a party on the beach and we got to talking because he was—is—English and I’d had too much to drink… The only thing I know about him is his name. Rory.” She cringed, shaking her head. “Isn’t that awful? How can I tell Mum and Dad or anyone that? Now you will look at me differently, like I’m some—”
“No, I won’t, Miriam. I never will.” Rachel leaned over to hug her. “In any case, I’m hardly one to talk to you about being impulsive—”
“But you’ve never done anything like this.”
“‘There but for the grace of God, go I,’” Rachel quoted with a sad smile. “It could happen to anyone, Miriam. Well,
any woman. We’re all fallible. All susceptible.”
“Still.” Miriam shook her head. “I’m so mad at myself, for being so stupid and reckless. For not thinking—”
“You were carried away. It does happen. Is there any way you could get in touch with this bloke?”
“I don’t know. Is he really going to want to know? He was travelling after finishing uni.” She grimaced. “His whole life is in front of him.”
“So is yours.”
Miriam shook her head. “I don’t want to drag him into this, Rachel. And I don’t even know what he’s like, not really. He’s basically a complete stranger.”
Rachel bit her tongue against the urge to tell her sister that a man should know if he’d fathered a child, even a virtual stranger. They could talk about that later.
“Well, that’s all in the past,” she said with determined brightness. “And this is our future.”
Miriam looked around at the jumble of boxes, the few bits of furniture. “Hooray,” she said dryly, as a peal of raucous laughter floated up from the pub two storeys below.
Chapter Twelve
IT WAS THE week before school started, and Rachel was in her classroom, taking down the faded summer reports and decorations, to replace them with all her new autumn kit. It was one of her favourite parts of the year, when everything felt shiny and new—freshly sharpened pencils, brand-new crayons, and plenty of optimism and determination. September felt like a much better time for new year’s resolutions, rather than January.
It was now four weeks since her wedding had been called off, and the wound was definitely healing, or at least scabbing over. She’d had several conversations with Dan, mostly about the house—they’d had three showings and were hoping to have an offer soon—but she felt as if they were moving back into friendship territory, and it felt surprisingly natural. Maybe they really had worked better as friends, after all.
She’d also gone to dinner at the vicarage twice; Jasper’s roast lamb had been a disaster, charred on the outside, raw on the inside, with mint sauce so strong it had tasted like toothpaste. He’d been abject, but in typical Jasper-style he’d rallied wryly, giving Charlie the dinner of his life and ordering a curry from Keswick for everyone.
