A Vicarage Wedding

by Kate Hewitt

  “I’ll do better next week,” he’d promised. “I’ll try a roast chicken.”

  “Please don’t,” Simon joked. At least Rachel thought he was joking. “Stick to takeaways.”

  “That hurts, Simon.” Jasper looked comically wounded before turning to Rachel in appeal. “You believe in me, don’t you?”

  “You could always try again,” Rachel said, ignoring the flirtatious way Jasper always seemed to address her. She didn’t think he really meant anything by it; he was just that way. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

  Now, after she’d set up her classroom, she was going to drive to a farm near Carlisle to pick up her Golden Retriever puppy, and she could hardly wait. She was so ready to retrieve a little piece of the dream life she’d constructed for herself. Miriam had been dubious about bringing a dog into their lives, but Rachel was determined.

  She’d already bought a crate, and feeding bowls, a lead and a collar with a heart-shaped tag, and a book on puppy training. All she needed now was the puppy.

  With a smile Rachel stapled several leaf-shaped cut-outs in various autumnal colours to her new noticeboard. Twenty-four new children to greet next week, another favourite part of her school year—all that possibility and potential in those shining, freshly washed faces. She was ready to get back to work, to feel busy again.

  “Rachel!” Another teacher at the school, Diane Cross, popped her head in the Year Three classroom. “How are you? How’s married life?”

  Diane, Rachel recalled, lived outside the village and had spent the summer teaching at a summer school outside London. She steeled herself for one of undoubtedly many awkward conversations.

  “I wouldn’t know, actually, Diane.”

  Diane frowned. “What…?”

  “I didn’t get married.” Rachel waggled her ringless finger, trying to pitch her tone between pragmatic and cheerful. “We called it off at the last minute. Shocker, I know.”

  “Oh, Rachel…” Diane looked aghast.

  “It’s all right,” Rachel said firmly. “I’m getting over it. Naturally I was devastated, but I’m moving on, and really, it’s better this way.” She kept her smile in place with less effort than it had taken even a week ago. She really was speaking the truth, amazingly. “How was your summer?”

  Diane stammered through some description of her month and a half at summer school, and Rachel murmured the right replies, but she could tell Diane was still uncomfortable. How long would it take her colleagues to see her just as herself, and not the jilted fiancée? Rachel supposed it hadn’t helped that she’d bored for England about her wedding for the last six months.

  “Let’s talk soon,” Diane said as she edged out of the classroom. “We’ll go out for a drink.”

  “Why not at The Bell?” Rachel suggested. “I’m living above it now.”

  Which made Diane look even more startled and somewhat horrified, so much so that Rachel almost laughed. She liked living above The Bell. It was central to the village’s main offerings, which admittedly were only the school and the post office shop, but still. The flat was bright and cosy and quaint, especially now Esther had given them their old sofa, and Will and Sam together had managed to lug it up the narrow stairs, getting it stuck only once.

  Beyond that, Rachel hadn’t actually seen much of Sam; he seemed to work all the time, and when he wasn’t at work, he was out. She’d paused several times on the way up to her flat in front of his, and considered knocking on his door to say hello, but she’d never quite been able to work up the courage.

  She had a feeling Sam would open the door with that flatly unimpressed look on his face, clearly wondering what she wanted. It would have been nice to have seen a bit more of him; he seemed like a decent guy, even if he was one who kept his distance.

  “Right, The Bell,” Diane said, and scooted out of the room. Rachel watched her go with a flicker of regret, as well as one of relief. One day these conversations would be easier. Hopefully.

  It was a lovely evening for a drive to Carlisle, and Rachel rolled the windows down and let the breeze blow over her as she drove up the A595, enjoying the way the sun spread its honeyed light across the fells, colouring them in gold. She’d asked Miriam if she wanted to come along, but although she was starting to feel a bit better, her sister had declined. Miriam wasn’t nearly as sold on the puppy as Rachel was.

  Half an hour later she pulled into a cosy farm, a sprawl of whitewashed buildings around a central courtyard, dogs barking happily as Rachel got out of the car, and then was lovingly mauled by a pair of Golden Retrievers.

  “Duke, Sorcha! Down!” a woman barked, and the dogs immediately sat down, tongues lolling and tails wagging.

  “Wow, they’re well trained,” Rachel said.

  “They’re scamps, but very lovable.” The woman, smiling and grey-haired, came forward to give Rachel a brisk handshake. “Rachel, yes? I’m Evelyn.” She raised her eyebrows. “Your husband didn’t want to meet your new family member? He’s a vet, isn’t he?”

  Not again. Rachel decided this was one awkward conversation she could avoid. “He’s working, I’m afraid,” she said, which as far as she knew was true. “But I’m very excited to meet her.”

  “Come through, then.” Rachel wended her way through a cosily cluttered kitchen, admiring the colourful, mismatched pottery, the various jumpers drying over the Aga rail, the jumble of wellies by the cloakroom door. It all looked so lovably lived in, exactly the kind of house she’d wanted, the kind of home she’d grown up in. It felt more elusive now than ever, and so she focused on the one good thing coming her way—an adorable ball of golden fluff with chocolate-button eyes. Her puppy.

  “This one’s yours,” Evelyn said cheerfully as she scooped up the squirming ball of cuteness with expert ease. “She’s lovely. Has a very gentle temperament.”

  “I can’t wait.” Rachel held out on her arms and Evelyn put the puppy into them; she squirmed and wriggled and licked Rachel’s face, making her let out a little yelp of happy surprise.

  “A match made in heaven,” Evelyn said with satisfaction.

  “She’s perfect,” Rachel exclaimed. She was in love already, her arms holding fast to her wriggling bundle of affection. “Absolutely perfect.”

  On the ride home Rachel kept glancing at her puppy, who after a vigorous sniff and a little wee, had settled down in a corner of the blanket-lined box Rachel had placed in the footwell of the passenger seat. She really was the cutest thing Rachel had ever seen. Miriam might not be convinced about having a dog, but she’d fall in love with this puppy. She wouldn’t be able to help herself.

  It didn’t, however, quite work out the way Rachel had hoped. She carried a beautifully sleeping puppy nestled in the box inside and up the stairs, only to have her wake up as soon as Rachel had set the box down to open the door to the flat.

  Before she could blink, the puppy had scrambled out of her box, her bottom landing with a thump, and was trying to get down the stairs, half-tumbling, half-crawling down each step.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Rachel exclaimed, and scooped her up, cradling her to her chest. “You’re not ready for stairs, little one.”

  The puppy gave her an adoring look and weed all over her shirt. Rachel yelped and held the puppy away from her; she looked scared and ashamed, and Rachel’s heart melted all over again. Her shirt was sopping. How did such a little thing have so much wee?

  “Rachel?” Miriam opened the door, taking in the sight of the cowering puppy and the blossoming yellow stain on Rachel’s shirt. “Ah. Just as I expected.”

  “Isn’t she adorable?”

  “Umm. Sure.”

  “Oh, come on.” Rachel nudged the empty box inside with her foot and then, with the door closed firmly behind her, let the puppy down on the floor. She sniffed, turned in a circle, and did a little wee—and a poo.

  “Ugh!” Miriam backed away. “Seriously, Rachel…”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad. Puppy poo is
rather innocuous.” She grabbed a paper towel and disposed of the offending faeces. “She needs to be housetrained, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  Rachel gave her sister a mock glare. “You like dogs, Miriam. You loved Charlie when we were growing up. I have a vivid memory of you lying next to him, your arms wrapped around him, after school. There is even a photo of you together—your hair is dyed pink.”

  “I remember. A mistake in Year Twelve.” Miriam retreated to the sofa, hugging a cushion to her chest.

  “So why aren’t you in love with this puppy?” Rachel asked as they both watched the puppy sniff around and then curl up into a ball by Rachel’s feet. Bless.

  She looked up, smiling, waiting for Miriam’s answer, only to see her sister’s face crumple.

  “Miriam—”

  “I’m scared,” Miriam said, her voice coming out in something between a whisper and a whimper.

  “Scared…?”

  “Of taking care of something. Loving something—someone.”

  Rachel’s heart twisted as she realised they were no longer talking about the puppy—or at least not just the puppy.

  “I’m no good at it, Rach,” Miriam continued, her voice wobbling all over the place. “I never have been. I’ve been so selfish my whole life—living for myself, travelling where I like, dropping a job as soon as I feel like it. I didn’t study in school—do you remember how Mum and Dad despaired of me? How on earth can someone like me raise a child? I’ll be a horrible mum.”

  “Miriam, don’t say that.” Gently Rachel scooped up the puppy and placed her in the box, where she curled into a corner. “You don’t know what kind of mother you’ll be. The maternal instinct is pretty strong—”

  “In some people, maybe.”

  “And why not in you? You have a lot of love to give, Miri, and I think you’ll be a dead cool mum.” Rachel was gratified to see a smile flicker across Miriam’s face. “The past doesn’t have to define you, though, Miriam. Yes, we’ve all lived a certain way, made plenty of mistakes. But it doesn’t mean we have to be that way in the future. That’s what Mum or Dad would tell us, and it’s what I’ve had to tell myself. Repeatedly.”

  “What mistakes have you made, Rachel?”

  “Well, becoming engaged to the wrong man, for starters.”

  “Do you really think Dan was the wrong man?”

  “Yes, I do. And it hurts to realise that, because I was so consumed with constructing my dream life that I didn’t even realise the foundation wasn’t solid.”

  “Dan seems like such a good guy.”

  “He is a good guy, a wonderful guy.” Rachel’s voice trembled. “And he’s a great friend…but that’s all he ever really was. A friend. I thought it was enough for a marriage, and sometimes I think it can be. Love can grow…but Dan didn’t agree with me, and I’m coming to see that he probably was right. We weren’t suited…not in that way.” She tried to smile. “So here I am, for better or for worse.” Words she’d never got to say, and now never might. She was thirty-two after all, and the dating pool in Thornthwaite was more like an evaporating puddle. “But we’re talking about you now. Are you going to talk to Mum and Dad?”

  “Yes, I’m Skyping them tomorrow. Dreading it.”

  Rachel nodded, relieved that Miriam was at least taking some positive action. “Do you want the place to yourself, or would you rather have some moral support nearby?”

  “Place to myself, I think.” She made a face. “Sorry…”

  “Don’t be sorry. Whatever you want.” The puppy stirred, raising her head to gaze at them balefully over the rim of the box, her chocolate eyes mournful and appealing. “What do you think we should name her?”

  “Did you already have a name in mind?”

  “I had a couple. Daisy, because she’s yellow, or Bailey, after my favourite liqueur, since that’s kind of yellow, as well. Or at least beige.”

  They grinned at each other, and then Miriam nodded. “I like the sound of Bailey, especially since I won’t be able to drink any for about seven months.”

  “And it’s fitting, since we’re above the pub. Have you seen Sam around?”

  Miriam’s eyebrows rose. “No, should I have done?”

  “No, I just wondered where he was. I thought I’d let him know about the puppy.” Rachel didn’t know why she’d automatically adopted a pseudo-insouciant tone. It was a sure giveaway of…something. “Anyway, I’m sure I’ll see him around sometime.”

  “And he’ll hear the puppy soon enough. Don’t they bark all night long?”

  “Only in rom-coms,” Rachel promised. “She’ll be as good as gold, I promise.”

  As it turned out, Bailey wasn’t quite that good—but almost. Rachel took her out several times over the course of the evening, and then finally settled her around eleven, as the pub’s custom was starting to empty out. She barked and whined for about an hour and then thankfully settled to sleep.

  Rachel was just dropping off herself when she woke suddenly to what she thought was a pounding on the door. She sat bolt upright in bed, her heart thudding in time with the pounds on the door.

  Bailey started howling and Rachel threw on a dressing gown and rushed to the door, sure someone had a bullet wound at least, as Miriam stumbled out of her own bedroom, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired.

  “Who is that…?” she mumbled as Rachel unlocked the door, a split second later realising that might not have been the wisest idea. What if some drunken lout from the pub had stumbled upstairs?

  But it only took her a few stunned seconds to realise that no one was actually knocking on her door. Someone was knocking on Sam’s door downstairs.

  “Sam.” The woman’s voice was wild, desperate, and drunken. “Sam! Open up, please. Come on, please, Sammy.”

  Miriam came to the door, exchanging an uneasy look with Rachel. “Who is that?” she whispered.

  “I have no idea.” Rachel listened to the continued pounding with a horrified fascination. Sammy? It couldn’t be some random customer from the pub. It was someone he knew.

  “Sammy!” The woman bellowed again, her voice seeming to fill the hallway and ring in their ears. “Open the bloody door!”

  Finally, Rachel heard the door being unbolted and then Sam’s low voice. “Tiffany, what are you doing here?”

  “Let me in, Sam.”

  “Tiff—”

  “It’s Nathan, Sam. They’ve taken him.”

  “Taken him—”

  “Earlier tonight.” The woman, Tiffany, started to cry.

  “Ssh, ssh.” Sam’s voice was low and comforting. “Come inside, Tiffany. I’ll sort it, don’t worry.” Still crying, Tiffany went inside, and the door clicked softly shut behind her.

  Miriam and Rachel exchanged a silent, wondering look; they’d been transfixed, listening to the whole conversation, but now Rachel felt guilty for eavesdropping, even as she was dying to know who Tiffany was, and where’d they’d taken poor Nathan.

  “A man of mystery,” Miriam murmured as they closed their own door. Bailey was running around in circles, barking, clearly wide awake again. “Who do you think that is? A girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know.” It was nonsensical, but she didn’t like the thought of that woman, drunken and sobbing, being Sam’s girlfriend. “I suppose it’s none of our business.”

  “No, but I’m still curious, aren’t you?” Miriam stretched and yawned. “I’d just finally got to sleep, as well.”

  “Me too.” Rachel glanced at Bailey. “I might as well take her down for another wee since I’m up.”

  “All right. I’m going to head back to bed.”

  Rachel scooped up Bailey and crept down the stairs, pausing only for a few seconds on the landing outside Sam’s door. All was silent.

  She went out to the patch of grass across from the pub, the late night—or rather, early morning—air damp and chilly, the whole village utterly quiet and still. Bailey had her wee and Rachel picked her up again, hurrying bac
k indoors. This time she didn’t pause by Sam’s landing, wanting only to get back to bed.

  She woke the next morning to a chilly, grey overcast day—hello to September. Miriam was still asleep when Rachel stumbled out of bed to brew some much-needed coffee. As the kettle was boiling, she threw on her dressing gown to take Bailey downstairs; she was already starting to regret having a puppy on a second-floor flat.

  She headed back inside, Bailey tucked under one arm, only nearly to smack into Sam’s chest halfway up the first flight of the stairs.

  “Oh…!” Even though there had been no impact, she was still breathless. Bailey squirmed and Rachel grabbed her with her other arm. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

  “Sorry,” Sam said gruffly. “And sorry for the disturbance last night that I’m sure you heard.”

  “Well…yes.” Rachel regarded him uncertainly. He looked exhausted—unshaven, with bloodshot eyes and a stale smell of beer on him from spending the night serving pints. But then she probably didn’t look that great, either, with her hair in a bird’s nest and wearing a ratty dressing gown that she normally didn’t even let her sisters see, yet she’d thoughtlessly gone outside in it because it was so early and she was exhausted. “Is…everything okay?”

  “Not really.” Sam raked a hand through his hair. “But I’m trying to sort it.”

  “If there’s anything I can do…” Rachel began, although she couldn’t imagine that there was.

  Sam stared at her for a moment, his eyes penetratingly blue even when they were bloodshot. “Actually,” he said. “There might be.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  RACHEL STARED AT him, startled. She hadn’t actually expected him to take her up on her nebulous offer, even though she was willing. “Oh, okay. Well, how can I help?”

  “I need to be out this afternoon, and I’d rather not have to close the pub. It shouldn’t be too busy, if you wouldn’t mind manning the bar for a few hours?”

  “Manning the bar?” Now she was even more startled. He was trusting her with his entire operation? “I mean, sure. Fab. It’s only… I’ve never actually pulled a pint.” Or operated a till, for that matter.