by Kate Hewitt
“Don’t worry, the side ramps are up,” Sam assured her, and she made a face. Although two minutes later, when she took her first turn bowling, she was glad for the ramps because otherwise every single attempt she made would almost certainly be a gutter ball.
Sam, predictably, bowled a strike his first two and then three turns. Rachel watched him, her arms folded, admiring his easy, confident stride that managed not to veer into irritating swagger.
“Is there anything you’re not good at?” she asked, and Sam looked surprised.
“Plenty. Most things.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Really?”
“Really. You renovated that apartment, you bought the pub, you’ve bowled three strikes. What can’t you do?” As she said the words, she realised how truly impressed she was. How much she admired him. And yet Sam looked as if he thought she was taking the mick.
“I couldn’t do school,” he said at last. “Scraped by with five GCSEs. Three Cs and two Ds.”
“Considering how much upheaval you had at the time, that’s hardly surprising.” Sam shot her an eloquently disbelieving look, and Rachel had to laugh. She and her geeky group of friends had all been about the ten A stars. “All right, fine. Three Cs and two Ds is rather a poor showing. But school isn’t everything.”
“No, but it is a lot, especially when you’re fifteen.” He sighed and shook his head before managing a wry smile that felt like a fist squeezing her heart. “Anyway, there’s plenty else I can’t do. Come on, Nath.” He reached for Nathan’s ball. “I’ll help you this time.”
Nathan, who had been methodically kicking the sides of the bowling alley, brightened at this prospect and Rachel settled back in her seat to watch man and boy together.
They played two full games before Nathan began to be bored—never a good thing—and Sam suggested they head for the lounge area near the video games. While he got them coffees Nathan parked himself in front of one of those enormous driving games, complete with seat and steering wheel, and watched the screen beckoning him to deposit a pound in the machine with tremendous avidity.
“He’ll watch that thing for hours,” Sam remarked as he sat on one end of a leather sofa and Rachel settled on the other, murmuring her thanks as Sam handed her a frothy latte loaded with sugar, just as she liked it.
“Will he?”
“I don’t have to put any money in it, even.”
“That’s lucky.” Rachel glanced at Nathan, who was staring at the colourful, moving screen with ferocious concentration. It was the same way he’d watched game shows in her flat, and Rachel couldn’t keep an alarm bell from ringing inside her head. It wasn’t quite normal, the way he watched it, but right now she wouldn’t begrudge Sam a few minutes’ peace.
She glanced back at Sam, who was sipping his coffee pensively, blue eyes slightly narrowed in a way that had become familiar.
“You’re good with him, you know,” she said quietly, both because she meant it and she thought he needed to hear it.
Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m trying. Not sure I’m succeeding all that much.”
“You are.”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. It’s not as if I had the best example.”
“No.” When Rachel thought of Sam’s childhood, her heart ached with sadness.
“Actually…” He glanced at her, a small, uncertain smile curving his mouth. “You know who I think of, in terms of who I want to be like?”
Bemused and curious, Rachel raised her eyebrows. “No, who?”
“Your dad.” His gaze grew distant with memory. “I was only at the vicarage for a couple of weeks, but I remember your dad. The way he was with all of you and your mum. And even at that age I thought that was someone I’d want to be like, one day.” He looked away, seeming embarrassed that he’d said so much. “Not that I’d ever even come close.”
“You do, Sam.” A lump was forming in Rachel’s throat, one of pure emotion. “You do.” She was incredibly moved and touched that her father had been such a role model to him, and that his time at the vicarage had had such an impact—which made another realisation slam into her. “Sam, do you…do you remember Jamie?”
Understanding dawned in his eyes and softened his features. “Yes, of course I do.”
“What do you remember about him?” She almost didn’t want to ask, because she knew it would be painful. Thinking about Jamie always was. But she also felt as if she’d been given a gift, or found a secret treasure—new memories of Jamie. Hers were so precious and so few, especially with the passage of years. She took them out sometimes like old photographs, examining the details, trying to find the truth.
“He played football with me,” Sam said after a moment. “In the garden. He was only five or so, about half my size. One time I came in with dirty trainers and left muddy footprints all over the place and Jamie took the blame for me, because he saw how terrified I looked. I don’t think your mum would have been all that bothered, but…”
“That sounds like Jamie.” She smiled even though she could feel the pressure of tears behind her lids. “What else?”
“I annoyed him constantly, I think, but he was quite patient. Mostly, anyway. I always kept trying to wrestle him and he’d just take it, even when I played dirty, which was really rather bad of me, considering I was bigger than he was.”
“I’m amazed I can’t remember any of it. A couple of weeks, you said?” She shook her head slowly, searching through her memory banks for something, one little detail, but it was all distant and cloudy, as so much of her life before Jamie’s death was. It was as if her brain had closed it off, made a definitive before and after.
“Well, I think you basically just ignored me,” Sam said frankly. “I was a boy; you were a girl…” For some ridiculous reason that statement made Rachel blush.
“You must have been in my year at school,” she said, willing her flush to recede.
“No, your mum drove me and Tiffany to our primary school in Whitehaven, because that’s where we’d been going before.”
“Whitehaven! That’s over half an hour away.”
“Yes, your mum was—is—amazing.”
“And after you left? What happened then?”
“Back to my mum in Whitehaven, and then placed with a care worker in… I can’t even remember, to be honest. There was a whole bunch of them.” He glanced at Nathan, who was still watching the video screen with intense concentration. “I don’t want that for Nathan. Whatever your faith in the system, Rachel, I know he’d be bounced around because he’s challenging.”
“Perhaps he wouldn’t be bounced around at all, if he stayed with you.”
“If he stayed with me,” Sam repeated with grim emphasis. “Yes.” He shifted restlessly on the sofa. “But let’s not bring all that up again.”
So they weren’t going to talk about Nathan’s potential—or not—assessment. “Okay,” Rachel said after a moment. “Let’s talk about something else.”
The silence that stretched between them for several seconds felt strangely important.
“Have you sold that house yet?” Sam asked finally, startling Rachel a little because she’d been expecting something else, although what she couldn’t have even said.
“No, but the estate agent thinks an offer will be coming shortly, which would be fab.” She sighed. “You know, though, we never should have bought that house in the first place.”
“Why not?”
“It was too expensive. But I loved it so much.” She glanced at him, wanting him to understand. That sub-zero fridge comment still stung a little. “More for what it represented than anything else.”
“And what did it represent?”
Rachel hesitated as she sifted through her thoughts. “The kind of life I’ve always wanted,” she said slowly. “The kind of life I had growing up—family, children, laughter, love. I know our lives most like
ly seemed charmed to you, looking in from the outside, but after Jamie died it always felt like the perfect picture had a big smudge in the middle.” She paused, searching for the words, the need for Sam to understand urgent and important. “I felt like I had a big smudge in the middle of myself.”
“Why?” Sam’s voice was both rough and gentle, and the pressure behind Rachel’s lids that had thankfully eased now returned in force.
“Because I blamed myself for his death, at least partly. Anna did too, I found out recently. I was running ahead because I wanted to get to school to see my friend, and she was behind me. Jamie was chasing her, but I went first. I should have seen the car.”
“I’d always heard that it came out of nowhere.”
“Did it, really? Mum and Dad were always so careful about having us look both ways, check all the way up to the top of the high street. I was in a rush.”
“You were what? Ten?”
“Eleven and a half.” She sighed, trying to blink back the tears. “I don’t actually blame myself anymore. I haven’t for a long time. It took therapy and prayer and time and healing, but I did just about get there.”
“Good.”
“But the house…even my engagement…” She could hardly believe she was saying this, and yet with each word she knew it was true. Terribly, tragically true. “It all had to do with Jamie’s death, in a strange way. I wanted that life back, that we had before he died. I wanted to make it for myself, because it felt like…like something I’ve always been missing. Our family life has been wonderful,” she added quickly. “My parents are amazing. But you don’t get over something like that, you know?”
“Yes. I know.” Of course he did. He might not have lost a loved one the way she had, but he’d certainly lost. They’d both been broken in different ways.
“I know Dan thinks I was a bit shallow,” she continued shakily, “and I don’t really blame him, because I most likely seemed shallow—the big house, the Aga, the Range Rover.” She shook her head. “And I admit my head was turned—I went a bit OTT, which is what I pretty much do with everything. But I just wanted the safety, the security. The warmth and the welcome. Does that make any sense?” She glanced at him, craving his compassion as well as his understanding, and although his expression was inscrutable Rachel could feel in her bones that she had both.
“Yes, it makes a lot of sense.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m the same, in a way. I came back to Thornthwaite because it was the one place that had ever felt like home to me.”
“Was it?” She tried to swipe discreetly at her damp eyes. “And why did you buy the pub?”
“It seemed like a going concern, and with my background I thought it would be a good fit. I know The Bell is seen as rough, but I try to keep it under control, and I won’t serve anyone who has had too many.” He cracked a small smile. “Although I need to keep an eye on the champagne, obviously.”
Rachel let out a tremulous laugh. “What a way for us to meet.”
“Yes, but I’m glad it happened.” Her heart tumbled in her chest and she found she couldn’t look away from that piercingly blue gaze. Was he saying what she thought he was…?
“I am, as well,” she whispered, and Sam looked away.
“You’ve been good for Nathan.”
Oh. The implication was clear—this was about Nathan, not Sam. It was hard not to feel crushingly disappointed, and yet even with that set-down Rachel felt a flicker of hope. Surely she wasn’t imagining the connection she felt to him, the almost magnetic pull that had her leaning across the sofa?
“How did you manage to buy the pub?” she asked as she sat back. Maybe she was imagining it all.
“I worked hard and saved for ten years.” He grimaced. “It wasn’t easy.”
He really was a self-made man—strong, independent, loyal, fundamentally decent. And sitting there, cradling a now-cold cup of coffee, Rachel knew she couldn’t ignore the persistent and deep-rooted truth—she was falling in love with him.
“I think Nathan’s had enough,” Sam remarked as he nodded towards his nephew, who was now pounding the screen with the flat of his hands. “How about we grab some lunch before heading back?”
“Okay.” Except she didn’t want this day to end. Had they reached something new, or would Sam sink back into trying to ignore her?
“Rachel.” He paused, staying her with one hand on her arm, his palm warm against her skin. “Thank you for saying all that…about Jamie. I know it’s not easy.”
Now she really was going to cry. “I wanted to.” She drew a quick, shaky breath. “We’re…we’re friends, aren’t we, Sam?” Except that wasn’t what she wanted to ask, because she wanted them to be more than friends.
Something flashed across Sam’s face and then was gone. “Yes, of course we are,” he said. “We’re friends.” And then he dropped his hand from her arm and went to fetch Nathan.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully enough—Nathan gorged himself on chips and left his sausage on the plate, and between both her and Sam they kept things on an even keel. Occasionally Rachel felt Sam’s gaze resting on her, but when she looked at him he’d look away, and because he was so stony-faced she had no idea what he was thinking—and she wanted to know, very badly.
As they headed back to Thornthwaite, the silence between them was comfortable, or at least Rachel hoped it was; the conversation they’d had earlier had created a certain familiarity and even intimacy between them. Surely she wasn’t imagining that.
Sam pulled the van into the little courtyard where she’d bowked on his boots over two months ago now. Nathan scrambled out of the van and raced ahead, flinging open the door to the pub.
“Nathan,” Sam called, but then he shrugged, turning to Rachel with a little smile. “The flat’s open.”
Rachel got out of the van slowly, still not wanting anything to end. Now that they were alone she felt a growing sense of expectation building inside her, and she hoped Sam felt it too. He climbed out just as slowly, and they remained there, on either side of the van, neither of them speaking.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Rachel finally said stiltedly. “I had a really nice time.”
“So did I.” They gazed at each other over the hood of the van, neither of them so much as blinking, everything silent and still. Rachel felt as if everything was happening at a distance, and yet so very close. Surely she wasn’t imagining this. He wanted to kiss her; he was thinking about it, surely, surely. Here, in the dank courtyard that smelled of rubbish and old beer, where they’d first met, he was going to kiss her. He had to. She didn’t know what she’d do if he didn’t, but she knew she’d be crushed.
Rachel’s breath caught as Sam walked to her side of the van and reached around her to close the door she’d left open, his arm brushing her shoulder. Her heart did a little jump and she turned to him, so close now she could see the little gold flecks in his irises. Yes. This was going to happen.
Her heart thudded in heavy, deliberate beats as Sam gazed down at her; they were so close their bodies were very nearly brushing. His hand was still on the door, his expression intent and yet also uncertain.
But she didn’t want him to be uncertain. Rachel gazed up at him, hoping her feelings, or at least some of them, were visible in her eyes and expression. Kiss me, you fool. She wasn’t brave enough to say it.
“Rachel…” Her name died away on his lips and then she didn’t need to be brave at all, because Sam bent his head down and Rachel closed his eyes as his lips brushed hers. It was the softest, barest of kisses, and yet it felt more important than anything Rachel had ever done in her life. This wasn’t a random snog or even the culmination of an intense and emotional day. This was a declaration and not just a desire. It was so much more than a kiss.
And yet it was a kiss, a wonderful kiss, the kind that made her stomach fizz and fireworks spark behind her eyes as she reached up to place her hand on Sam’s cheek, his stubble rough against her fingers. He deepened the kiss so
her whole body fizzed and her toes curled. She’d never felt like this before. Never.
And then Sam stopped. He broke the kiss and stepped back from her, looking both dazed and regretful. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yes, you should have,” Rachel blurted. “You very much should have.”
But Sam was shaking his head. “I don’t want to mess you about, Rachel.”
“Is that what you were doing?” She couldn’t keep a note of hurt from creeping into her voice. She’d been offering her soul; had he just been going for a snog?
“You deserve someone better than me,” Sam said resolutely. “A lot better.”
Oh. Her heart twisted, melted, and ached all at once. “Perhaps I’m the one who should make that decision, Sam—” she began gently, but he was already turning away from her, still shaking his head.
“That won’t happen again,” he stated in an awful, final tone, and as Rachel watched him disappear into the pub, she had a terrible feeling he meant it utterly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“WHAT IS WRONG with you?”
Esther stared at Rachel in exasperation as she blinked the vicarage kitchen back into focus. It was Sunday night and she’d spent the last twenty-four hours swamped with misery, reliving the best memory of her life. She hadn’t spoken to or even seen Sam in all that time.
“Nothing,” Rachel said, completely unconvincingly. Esther rolled her eyes.
“Come on, Rach. You’re looking like the walking dead here. Anna made the most delicious casserole and you haven’t had so much as a bite.”
“I don’t mind,” Anna said with a smile, although her gaze turned worried as she glanced at Rachel. “But you don’t seem yourself, Rachel.”
“She isn’t,” Miriam chimed in, and Rachel gave her youngest sister a warning glower, or tried to. Her relationship with Sam, or lack of it, was not up for discussion.
“What do you mean, she isn’t?” Esther demanded. “Is this about Dan?”
“Dan?” Miriam scoffed. “Get a clue, Esther. Dan’s history. You saw that ages ago.”
“Tell me it’s not Jasper,” Esther said, and Simon winced.
