by Kate Hewitt
Chapter Fourteen
OVER THE NEXT few days Rachel kept an eye out for Sam, but she didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of him. She’d have almost thought he was avoiding her, except she knew he was busy in the pub, which she hadn’t gone into. She hadn’t wanted to seem aggressively helpful, especially since Sam had been reluctant to ask for help in the first place. But she was curious, and something more than that. She cared. Sam West seemed like he could use a friend, even if he didn’t want one.
In any case, she was busy herself, getting ready for school and then enduring two inset days where they had to listen to the long-suffering head teacher Sarah drone on about all the new government policies that seemed to herald every single year of teaching. Rachel loved the beginning of every school year, the possibility and promise of each one, but she hated the boring bureaucracy.
Miriam, at least, had perked up a bit, taking responsibility for Bailey and going on several walks around the village, a camera slung about her neck. Rachel had forgotten how much her sister liked photography; she’d set up a website ages ago, documenting her travels. Rachel was glad she was taking an interest in something again, and perhaps it could even lead to some sort of job at some point. She knew Miriam needed to start earning money, but she was reluctant to push her sister into anything when she was still feeling so battered and fragile.
The Saturday before school started, all four sisters converged on the vicarage for a family meal and Skype session with their parents. Miriam had promised to tell the others about her pregnancy, something Rachel knew she would find incredibly difficult.
Even though she’d only been living in the flat above The Bell for a few weeks, it already felt strange to be back in the vicarage with her sisters, the place foreign yet familiar, both achingly so.
“You put the table back!” Esther said in approval as they all congregated in the kitchen.
“It seemed right,” Anna said shyly. “As long as none of you want it…?”
“It wouldn’t fit in our flat,” Miriam said, and Rachel nodded her agreement.
“It belongs here,” Esther declared. “I’m glad it’s back.” They all took a moment to gaze in bittersweet memory at the table of scarred oak with its cheerfully mismatched chairs.
“How are the wedding plans coming along?” Rachel asked finally, because someone had to and it might as well be her. Break that dreaded ice. Anna had come back for the weekend to start planning, and she was staying with Esther and Will.
“We’ve booked the church, of course—”
“Not difficult to do, when your groom is the vicar,” Esther interjected dryly.
“I did have to check with the parish secretary,” Simon half-joked.
“And we’ve decided to have the reception in the parish hall. I know it’s simple—” this with a strangely apologetic look at Rachel “—but it felt right. We’re not fancy people.”
“With flowers and decorations you could do the hall up quite nicely,” Esther said. “And hopefully cover the smell of sweaty socks from having the Scouts meet there every week.”
“Plus the price is right,” Miriam chipped in, and Rachel tried not to feel slightly accused by it at all. She hadn’t been happy with the parish hall, clearly, or a reception in the vicarage garden the way Esther and Will had had.
She’d insisted on the posh hotel in Keswick, a three-course meal, linen napkins and crystal goblets, the works. She’d wanted something special, but she felt shallow now for caring about those things. Did it have to be shallow, to want things to be nice? Had her sisters, and her parents even, felt she was over the top with her wedding preparations, with her whole life? In the aftermath of her cancelled wedding, she felt as if she were starting to question everything…not just about her relationship with Dan, but about herself.
“Something smells delicious,” Esther remarked as she nodded towards the cast-iron pot on top of the Aga. “I gather Anna has been cooking, rather than Simon?”
“You gathered right.”
“Beef bourguignon. I’ve made enough for Simon and Jasper to eat it all week.”
“Thank heavens,” Jasper added with a theatrical shudder that made everyone smile.
It was all so cheerful, the seven of them gathered around the table as Anna doled out the beef, Charlie sniffing underneath for scraps, and yet there was something poignant and even sad about it too. Rachel felt her parents’ absence keenly; she could almost hear the ghostly remnant of their voices—her father’s jovial comments, her mother’s insistence that everyone have second helpings.
“I have an announcement,” Miriam said in the middle of the meal, her voice loud and abrupt. Rachel tensed as Esther and Anna looked on in surprise, Simon, Will, and Jasper all nonplussed.
“This sounds serious,” Esther remarked.
“It is, rather.” Miriam placed both hands flat on the table; Rachel saw her fingers tremble and realised how nervous she was. Miriam, the boldest and sassiest of them all, looked terrified, and she longed to reach over and give her sister a hug, but she didn’t think Miriam would appreciate it in this moment.
“Well, spit it out then,” Esther said not unkindly. “We’re all ears.”
“I know you are.” Miriam’s voice trembled along with her fingers. “All right, here goes.” She took a deep breath and then expelled it slowly. “I’m pregnant.”
The silence in the cosy kitchen felt like a thunderclap. No one said anything for far too long. Jasper glanced questioningly at Rachel, and then looked away. Esther and Anna both looked completely gobsmacked. Miriam pressed her lips together and tried to smile.
“Well, there you have it,” she said. “I’ve managed to silence even Esther. That’s quite a feat.”
Esther took a sip of water, still looking dazed. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. “I wasn’t expecting that one.”
“No, I’m the one expecting,” Miriam joked feebly, and Anna gave her a sympathetic smile.
“How…how far along are you, Miriam?” she asked.
“Twelve weeks, due in January.” Miriam glanced down. “I have a scan next week, to confirm. The dates, not the pregnancy. That’s definite.” She tried for a laugh, but it wobbled and she stopped, looking down at her plate.
The silence stretched on as everyone struggled with what to say. Miriam was starting to look near tears but she blinked them back, her gaze still fixed on her meal.
“Well, you know what Dad would say,” Rachel jumped in with determined cheer. “Babies are always miracles.”
“In fact, he did say that, when I Skyped him and Mum a few days ago,” Miriam said, the threat of tears now audible in her voice. “He said they were always a gift from God.”
“Oh, Miriam.” Anna’s voice choked and she scraped her chair back, rushing to her sister to throw her arms around her. “I’m sss…sorry we’re all a bit stunned. We should be happy for you, that is—” She trailed off uncertainly, and then just ended up clasping her tightly in a hug that Miriam returned.
“Thanks, Anna.”
Esther was looking at Miriam thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed, and Will rose from his seat. “I think this might be my cue to bring out the whisky,” he said. “Simon? Jasper? Join me in the other room?” He nodded meaningfully towards the four women huddled around the table, and Simon and Jasper jumped up with alacrity.
“Right, yes. Sounds like a capital idea,” Jasper said. He clapped Miriam on the shoulder awkwardly. “Congratulations and all that.”
“So what about the father?” Esther asked bluntly as soon as the men were gone.
Miriam’s expression turned closed. “Not in the picture.”
“Not now, but he obviously was, at one point. Have you told him?”
“No.”
“Esther—” Rachel said warningly, and her sister gave her a quelling look.
“No matter what kind of tosser he is, he deserves to know.”
“He’s not a tosser,” Miriam said with a sniff. “Not exactly.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Do we have to do this right now?” Anna pleaded. “We’ve only just heard…”
“Esther is just being Esther.” Miriam sniffed again and wiped her eyes. “Good grief, these hormones. I will tell him, Esther, at some point. At least I’ll try to.”
“Try to? What does that mean?”
“Enough,” Rachel commanded. “You’re badgering her, Esther.”
“Sorry, it’s just…” Esther shook her head. “And you told Mum and Dad?”
“Yes.” She sniffed again. “They said they’d support me.”
“Of course they’d support you. Oh, Miriam.” Esther shook her head sadly. “Babies are miracles, but they’re bloody hard ones. Are you sure you want to do this?”
Miriam looked shocked. “What’s the alternative?”
“You could give it up for adoption.”
“I suppose…” Miriam looked uncertain. “I might think about it.”
“But you should keep the baby if that’s what you really want,” Rachel added. She didn’t want Miriam to feel pressured either way. “Whichever decision you make, we’ll support you, Miriam.”
“Of course we’ll support you,” Esther interjected impatiently. “She knows that.”
Miriam managed a little laugh. “Cheers, Esther.”
The tension eased a little, as everyone looked around at each other with wry smiles. This was really happening.
A few minutes later, Will and Simon poked their heads back in the kitchen, followed by Jasper.
“All clear?”
“If you mean are all threats of tears or other excess emotion passed, then yes.”
“Phew.” Will came into the room, smiling good-naturedly, followed by Simon and Jasper. A few minutes later the four sisters headed to the sitting room to Skype Ruth and Roger, the laptop in pride of place on the coffee table as they huddled around it. It was a relief to Rachel that her sisters knew about Miriam’s blessed state; she’d been feeling a bit anxious, being the only one to know, and yet…
It was also strange that everyone knew, that it had already become part of the fabric of their family life, woven into its colourful, complicated strands; as they Skyped their parents after dinner, Ruth asked after Miriam’s health, and reminded her to take prenatal vitamins, and then reminded Rachel to remind her to take them. This was the new normal—Anna getting married, Miriam having a baby, Esther and Will trying for one. At least Rachel had a puppy.
She was not going to feel sorry for herself, she decided as she took Bailey out for a wee that evening. Bailey cavorted around the sheep pasture, sniffing excitedly, while Rachel perched on top of the drystone wall and tried not to shiver in the damp night air. No, she was not going to feel left out or left behind or whatever, simply because it felt as if everyone else had exciting things going on in their lives except for her.
It was ridiculous to feel that way, anyway, because obviously Miriam’s news was mixed, and her little sister was still feeling decidedly ambivalent about becoming a mother. Esther might be feeling prickly about not being pregnant, and Anna was worried about becoming a vicar’s wife. No one’s life was perfect or untroubled. Rachel knew that, but the hurt rushed in anyway, along with the sorrow. Why, Dan? Why, God? Why had this happened to her?
Rachel could almost hear her father’s calm voice telling her that trust was easy when things were going fine. The point to trust, he’d say with a smile, is when things aren’t. That’s when you put your faith where your mouth is.
Rachel had always had a faith, had counted on it, even taken it for granted. It was simply part of who she was. She’d wrestled with it when Jamie had died, but somehow that had been not easier, but simpler—what else could you do when faced with such tragedy but trust? The alternative was too grim to contemplate.
And yet now it felt harder, because she’d lined everything up so perfectly and it felt as if God had simply smacked the chessboard of her life and sent all the pieces spinning. Why? Why?
Rachel sighed heavily, and then gave herself both a literal and mental shake. She was hardly the first person in the world to have her life go off course. It didn’t mean she had to wallow. She hadn’t wanted anyone else to feel sorry for her, so why should she feel sorry for herself?
She glanced back at the vicarage, a darkened hulk against the night sky, and then at The Bell, lit up, with boisterous laughter coming from inside. A few drunken lads stumbled out of the front door. Slowly she turned towards home.
By Monday morning, the first day of the new school year, Rachel had managed to shake off the sorry-for-herself mood that she didn’t have time for anyway. She left Miriam in charge of Bailey and headed towards the primary school, aiming to be at her desk before eight. Although she loved a lie-in, Rachel was always an early riser on the first day of school.
The school smelled of cleaning fluid and new paint—just about the only time it would smell fresh—as Rachel stepped in her classroom, appraising the colourful noticeboards, the laminated nametags for the cubbyholes, with a smile of satisfaction.
She shed her jacket and hung up her bag, pulling her laptop towards her for the register, when Sarah Wilkes, the head teacher, walked into her room.
“Morning, Rachel. Ready for another year?”
“Absolutely.” Rachel smiled extra brightly, just in case Sarah had come in for a little pitying check-in. If you’re finding you can’t manage… If you need a few days off…
No, she did not want to have that conversation.
“There is a new addition to Year Three,” Sarah said, surprising and also relieving Rachel. So she wasn’t here to offer pity, thank goodness. “A young boy who is new to the village.”
“Oh? A new family?” Since she had only twenty-four in her class and was legally allowed to take thirty, Rachel couldn’t foresee any problem. Sarah seemed to, however, for she was regarding Rachel with a frown settled between her straight brows.
“Not quite a new family. I’m afraid this child has somewhat of a difficult background. He was in care, and he’s now living with a relative, temporarily at least.”
Rachel stilled, schooling her expression to one of professional interest. Sarah had to be talking about Sam’s nephew.
“What’s his name?”
“Nathan. Nathan West.”
Rachel nodded. So, Sam must have been granted at least temporary custody of his nephew. Why hadn’t he told her? Although, really, why was she surprised he hadn’t? Sam was a man of few words and fewer feelings, or so it seemed to Rachel. Still, it stung a little that he had his nephew living with him, the boy was even in Rachel’s class, and Sam hadn’t said a word.
“Anyway,” Sarah resumed, “let me know if you run into problems. I’ve had his report from his previous school—one of them, anyway, and there have been a few issues.”
Rachel recalled what Sam had said about Nathan being no angel, due to his difficult background. “I’m sure I can handle it,” she said with confidence. She could deal with one troubled little boy. She could show him both the affection and discipline he might have been lacking in his short life.
“Well, keep me updated,” Sarah said. “I know you’re experienced.” With a smile of farewell, she left the room; already the junior children were arriving in the playground, their uniforms looking September-smart, with pristine cardigans and pinafores, crisp polo shirts and flannel shorts.
The Year Threes always looked titchy in September, having just moved up from the Infants building for children up to the age of seven, especially compared to the gangling Year Sixes who would soon be bursting to head to the comprehensive secondary school in Keswick.
Rachel straightened a cut-out leaf on the noticeboard, and then a laminated nametag on one of the cubbyholes. Her heart raced with excitement and a touch of apprehension, as it always did on the first day of school, today perhaps more than other first days. She was curious to meet Nathan West.
A few minutes later the be
ll rang and the children formed semi-orderly queues outside for each year group. Rachel stepped outside, glad it was sunny for this start, and stood in front of her line of Year Threes.
“My brother said you’re the nicest teacher in the school, Miss Holley!” a girl with beribboned plaits called from the middle of the queue.
“That’s very kind of him to say so.”
“My mum said you were supposed to be Mrs Taylor,” a boy shouted, and Rachel kept her expression pleasantly neutral.
“I’m Miss Holley to all of you,” she said briskly. “Now look smart. It’s time to go inside and hang up your coats.”
She scanned the line of children but she didn’t know all the children from Infants, and she didn’t recognise Nathan West, not that she’d know what to look for.
The next few minutes were taken up with the cloakroom scuffle of finding cubbyholes, shedding bags and coats, and stowing lunch boxes.
Rachel scanned the register as the children began to trickle into the classroom, looking slightly awed at the chairs and desks that were bigger than the ones in the Year Two classroom—it was a significant step up to Juniors.
“Take a seat on the area rug in the story corner, please,” Rachel called out, “and sit criss-cross apple sauce. I’ll call the register and then we’ll assign tables.” The children began to sit down, and Rachel took her seat, the register on her lap, when a sudden wailing came from the cloakroom.
Quickly she rose and went to see what was going on; a boy was sobbing, one hand pressed to his cheek, which sported a red welt. Another boy was glaring at him.
“What’s going on here?” Rachel asked in her sternest teacher’s voice.
“He hit me!” The boy sounded disbelieving even as he continued to cry, tears running down his plump cheeks. “He hit me right in the face!”
Rachel turned to the other boy, who glared at her, his blue eyes glinting with defiance. “Did you hit him?” she asked calmly.
“He put his coat on my hook.”
“I didn’t mean to! I thought it was my hook.”
