A Vicarage Reunion Read online

  “Sometimes these things fester though, don’t they?” Dan said, and Will stared at him blankly. Fester? Open sores on a hoof festered. Not feelings. And yet even he knew what Dan meant. A bit.

  “Esther isn’t the sort to hold a grudge or anything like that,” he protested. “If she’s got a problem, she’ll tell you. Tell me.” At least he’d thought she would—and she certainly had today. Except he still didn’t feel any the wiser.

  “True enough, I suppose,” Dan acknowledged with a wry smile. “She can certainly be blunt, can’t she? I got my hair cut a few weeks ago and she said it made me look like a shorn sheep.” Will smiled a little; he’d never minded the sharp side of Esther’s tongue. “But what do you think is going on, then?”

  Will shrugged again. What else could he do? He had no idea what was going on, and even if he did, he didn’t think he wanted to share it with Dan. But he did know his wife, or at least he’d thought he did, and she was one of the most practical, down-to-earth, no-nonsense people he knew, and so this kind of over-the-top, abrupt, and emotional behaviour was totally unlike her. That’s what he couldn’t get his head around.

  Her practical, purposeful air had been one of the things that had attracted him to her, when they’d met ten years ago at a quiz night at The Queen’s Sorrow. He’d looked at her and thought, there’s a woman who will tell you like it is. Who won’t mess you about. A woman you could build a life, a family, with. And then she’d laughed—a surprisingly deep, throaty, sexy sound, and Will had been sold.

  He’d asked her out that night, they’d had dinner at a little Italian place in Keswick that weekend, and they’d been an item by Monday, engaged two years later, married the year after that. All smooth, smooth sailing, not a ripple in the water. Or so he’d thought. Now he had the uncomfortable sensation of feeling the need to question everything, doubt everything, something he never thought—or wanted—to do.

  “Shall we order our food?” he asked, and Dan nodded. “I’ll go up to the bar. What would you like?”

  “Fish pie for me, thanks.”

  Will nodded and rose from his seat, grateful to have a short reprieve from Dan’s kind but cack-handed attempt at a man-to-man chat.

  He shouldered his way to the bar; the football lads were getting a bit arsey, on their third or fourth pints by now, the raucous laughter holding a slightly menacing edge. Will leaned his forearms on the bar and gave his order to the hassled-looking barman, who was keeping an eye on the lads behind him.

  “Busy tonight, eh, Sam?” Will asked.

  Sam had gone to the comp with him and taken over the pub five years ago, after it had been run nearly into the ground by a bickering couple constantly on the brink of divorce. Not like him and Esther… or so he’d thought.

  “A wee bit too busy, I’m thinking,” Sam answered. “Those lads need nowt more to drink. They’re well kaleyed. What are you having then, Will?”

  Will gave the food order, and then waited while Sam rang it up on the till. He glanced to the man parked on a stool to the right of him, an old codger with a flat cap pulled down low over his face, his expression set and stony, his gnarled hands clasping his pint of ale.

  That could be him in another thirty years, Will realized with a jolt. Coming to the pub every night for the company, never mind the beer. Living alone, with only a dog to ease his loneliness, the kind of fate he’d feared until he’d met Esther. Until he’d found a place with her, a home, damn it. He didn’t want to give that up without a fight. He couldn’t.

  Staring at the old geezer next to him with his surly, set expression, he had a sudden urge, almost a compulsion, to walk out of the pub, right up to the vicarage, and take Esther by the shoulders and ask her to come home. Demand or beg, he didn’t much care which at this point. He just wanted her back.

  “That’ll be sixteen fifty, Will.”

  Will glanced up at Sam and nodded, his mind still on the man next to him, on the unending road of loneliness stretching in front of him, and on Esther. Always on Esther. He handed over a twenty-pound note, and as he did so the man on the stool glanced over.

  “Areet, eh?” he asked in a Cumbrian accent so thick even Will struggled to understand it.

  “Areet,” he answered brusquely, not quite meeting his eye, and then he took his change and headed back to his table.

  Dan seemed to have taken the hint that Will wasn’t up for some kind of heart-to-heart chat, and so they talked about farming and football for the rest of the evening, and after another half-pint—since he was driving—Will managed to relax a little.

  “It’ll come all right,” Dan said as they walked out of the pub; Sam was in the process of forcibly ejecting the drunk lads, taking two by the scruffs of their necks.

  “What will come all right?” Will asked as he stepped out onto the pavement. The night was black and starless, the air damp and chill, full of the plaintive sound of bleating sheep, the symphony of farming life.

  “You and Esther.”

  “Ah.” It all came back to him with a chest-slamming thud, nearly making him take a step back into the two lads who were keyed up and drunk and no doubt looking for a fight. And Will almost thought about giving it to them, just to relieve the pressure building inside him, pressure that had nowhere to go.

  “What are you staring at?” one of the lads asked rudely, his fists balling at his sides. He reeked of beer and cheap aftershave, dressed in a tight football jersey and a pair of low-slung trackie bottoms.

  “What do you care, what I’m staring at?” Will growled back. He was six inches taller and at least two stone heavier.

  “Hey, hey, let’s not get worked up here,” Dan said easily, and with a hand on his shoulder he steered Will towards the street. “Don’t waste your breath on those lads, mate.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Will unclenched his fists and flexed his fingers. He wasn’t a fighter. He’d only swung a punch once in his life, and he’d lived to regret it more than just about anything he’d done. But that was something he didn’t think about, a memory he’d dropped into the deep, empty well inside his mind. He never looked down there.

  But right now he was angry, and he wasn’t used to it, and he didn’t know where to put it. Why the hell had Esther left him?

  He swung away from The Bell and started down the pavement, only to come to a stop when he saw the two figures on the other side of the street, both of them standing stock still, looking shocked. Dan’s fiancée Rachel… and Esther.

  Chapter Three

  Esther stopped right there in the street and stared at Will as if she hadn’t seen him in ten years, rather than ten hours. His hair was rumpled, sticking up on one end, as if he’d driven his fingers through it or forgot to use a comb all day—or both. He was staring at her the way she suspected she was staring, mouth open, eyes wide. Gormless.

  “Oh…” Next to her Rachel muttered under her breath, and Esther glanced at her sister sharply as she clocked that Will was with Dan, and she was with Rachel, all of them out at the pub, albeit different ones. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark, or rather Thornthwaite.

  “Did you plan this?” Esther asked in a low voice, and Rachel bit her lip.

  “Not… exactly…”

  Yeah, right. Esther felt as if she was about thirteen, being pushed forward by a giggly friend to give a boy her phone number. Except Will wasn’t standing there waiting, trying to look cool. No, he’d actually walked on, Dan hurrying to catch up, right around the corner to Finkle Street, out of view.

  “Good thing, then,” Esther said as briskly as she could, and marched on towards the vicarage, trying not to feel hurt. It had been a bad idea to come out with Rachel, anyway. She’d only agreed because her sister was a cross between a golden retriever and a pit bull when it came to social occasions—jumpy, overfriendly, and aggravatingly tenacious. And Esther had been feeling the littlest bit lonely, just hours into her newfound separation.

  “Esther, wait,” Rachel called, and hurried to catch up
with her.

  Esther broke her stride, but only just. “Tell me the truth,” she demanded as they crossed the little stone bridge over St. John’s Beck. “Did you plan that?”

  “We didn’t plan it,” Rachel hedged, but the ‘we’ gave it away.

  “So, let me guess. After I told you that I’d left Will, you and Dan decided to hatch this cute little plot to take us both out to the pub, and then, oh, wow, what a coincidence, we meet outside in the street, fall into each other’s arms, and boom, we’re back together.” Esther shook her head, trying to dissolve the hard lump of disappointment and anger that had formed at the back of her throat. Why had she become so stupidly emotional? Why did this hurt so much?

  “It wasn’t quite like that,” Rachel said as they turned up the darkened lane to the church and the vicarage beyond. “We just wanted to help. Give you both someone to talk to. Honestly, Esther, that was all.”

  Esther sagged, knowing she was being prickly, even for her. It was just that she felt so lamentably raw. “I know,” she said on a gusty, ragged sigh. “I know you mean well, Rachel. It’s just… I’m not there yet, okay? Neither of us are. This is… very new.”

  “Sorry,” Rachel whispered, looking so wretched Esther took pity on her.

  “You don’t need to apologize. You took me out for a drink, and I was in desperate need of a large glass of wine.”

  “That’s the least I could do.” Rachel gave her sister a rather shaky smile. “Because, Esther, if you and Will don’t make it… is there any hope for the rest of us?”

  Esther stopped where she was and turned slowly towards Rachel. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just that you guys always seemed so solid. Perfect for each other, low maintenance, comfortable, just happy to be, you know? And if that isn’t working after all…” Rachel trailed off, biting her lip.

  “You don’t need to worry about you and Dan. What happened between Will and me… well, it’s not a problem you’re likely to have.” A pressure was building in her chest. Rachel would never react the way Esther had to life’s tragedies. No one would, because it wasn’t normal, to feel the way she had. Still did.

  Rachel frowned. “What did happen?” she asked gently, but Esther just shook her head.

  “I can’t go into that now. I’ve got to be up at six tomorrow to drive to a farm north of Carlisle. And… and I just can’t. I’ll see you later.” She started walking again, quickly, her head down, the misery in her chest swamping and suffocating her. She hated feeling like this, but she didn’t have the energy to fight her way through the morass. Who knew what was on the other side, anyway?

  Rachel got into her car, which she’d parked in front of the vicarage, as Esther stepped into the house. Inside everything was quiet; her father was at a wardens’ meeting and Ruth was curled up on a sofa in the upstairs family room, Charlie stretched out by the fire, as she watched one of the BBC dramas she liked.

  “Everything all right?” she asked lightly when Esther dutifully poked her head in the doorway, feeling like a teenager reporting in before curfew.

  “Fine. I’m just shattered, and I’ve an early morning. Good night, Mum. And… thanks.” Ruth smiled and nodded, her eyes seeming sad, and Esther turned away, towards the upstairs.

  Her room was freezing, due to the lack of central heating on the vicarage’s top floor, although her mother had thoughtfully brought up a space heater for her, as well as a hot-water bottle.

  Esther stared at the fleece-covered rubber bottle and the lump in her throat thickened. That bottle made her think of those wintry nights with Will, tucked up in bed, happy simply to be, just as Rachel had said. They had had something, Esther knew that. It just hadn’t been enough. She hadn’t been. She couldn’t have been, to feel this way now.

  Esther got ready for bed, slipping beneath the cold sheets, clutching her hot-water bottle. The space heater emitted a feeble, electric warmth that barely took the chill from the air.

  She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, but despite her exhaustion everything in her felt wide awake and aching. The house seemed unfamiliar even though she’d grown up in it, and the creaks and rattles as the wind battered the windowpanes and the house settled into itself kept making her jolt awake. Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep, only to surface from sleep at four-thirty in the morning as if she were coming from deep underwater.

  She showered and dressed, stumbling around in the dark, and then drank a cup of instant coffee by the Aga while Charlie lifted his head, looking at her in vague resentment for disturbing his slumber.

  By the time she hit the road a little after five she was feeling awake but grotty, as if it was the end of a long day rather than the beginning.

  The rambling sheep farm near Hexham was a pleasant spot, at least, and the drive up the A595 was smooth and uneventful, save for a few tractors.

  As Esther pulled into the farmyard, a couple of spaniels set to barking, and the front door opened before she’d got out of the car. Jane Telford stood on the stone slab step, her hands on her hips, a smile on her broad face.

  “I’ve got a brew on,” she called, and then whistled for the dogs, who, after sniffing Esther thoroughly, retreated to the kitchen. Esther had always liked the Telfords’ farmhouse. She only visited twice a year, but the family always welcomed her like a long-lost and much-loved relative. Their farmhouse was similar to hers and Will’s—or was it just Will’s now?—except there were more people and dogs, and somehow that made the place feel more loved and lived in, a proper home, than the empty rooms of her own house, rooms they’d expected to fill eventually. At least Will had.

  Esther ducked her head under the stone lintel as she stepped into the cheerful kitchen; the kettle was whistling away on top of a dark blue Rayburn, and the dogs were getting under everyone’s feet, tails wagging furiously.

  “You’ll have a cuppa,” Jane said, not a question, and Esther nodded. She had so many cups of tea during a day of farm visits that by evening she could practically hear her insides slosh. “You’ll never guess who’s here,” Jane continued as she poured boiling water from the kettle into an enormous brown teapot that looked as if it had come over on the ark. “Izzy,” she finished triumphantly, as if that should mean something to Esther.

  Slightly panicked, she scrolled through her mental Rolodex of names, trying to recall an Izzy. Izzy… Izzy Telford… ah, yes, Jane and Jim’s oldest daughter, who had married two years ago. Esther had been invited to the wedding, a big local knees-up in the village pub, but she hadn’t gone, she couldn’t remember why not now. Probably because of the farm. That was usually why she didn’t do anything.

  “How is Izzy?” she asked as she sat down at the kitchen table and a dog flopped onto her feet. “And… Darren?” The name popped unbidden out of her mouth and she hoped she’d got it right.

  “They’re right as rain,” Jane answered, handing Esther a mug of tea. “And Izzy’s had a bairn since you’ve been here last!”

  “A bairn…”

  “A wee one,” Izzy said with a laugh, coming into the kitchen in her dressing gown, unselfconsciously sporting a serious case of bedhead, a newborn baby nestled in her arms, its fists curled up by her face like two flowers, the gently pursed lips reminding Esther of a rosebud.

  “Born just three weeks ago,” Jane said proudly. “And doing so well. Isn’t she, precious?” She leaned over to give the baby a smacking kiss on the forehead.

  “Adorable,” Esther murmured. She was struggling to put a smile into place. “A girl?” she added, just to check, because you never knew.

  Izzy laughed. “She certainly is. Caitlin Rose.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Why don’t you have a cuddle, then?” Jane suggested and when Esther opened her mouth to politely say she’d rather not—although how she would phrase that, she wasn’t sure—Jane just let out a bellow of laughter and nodded at Izzy to bring the baby forward. “Go on, then. You’ll be needing some practice, won’t you?”


  Esther froze. “Practice…”

  “Well, you’ll be having the bairns soon enough, won’t you?” Jane said as she settled herself at the end of the table with her own mug of tea.

  “Mum,” Izzy said with an embarrassed laugh, “don’t be so nosy.”

  “Nosy? Eh?” Jane looked startled and a bit offended. “I’m just being friendly like. Esther and I go back, don’t we, love? Ten years, isn’t it now, that you’ve been working for Natural England?”

  “Eleven,” Esther replied with a small smile. Then Izzy tipped the baby into her arms like a barrow full of dirt and she jolted forward, anxious to keep the tiny person safe. Because it was a person, this little bundle in her arms, which was such an amazing thing. Esther adjusted her hold on the baby, making sure she was supporting her head.

  She hadn’t held many babies in her life but she knew that much at least. Before the miscarriage, she’d read at least half of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, a book that had alarmed more than comforted her. There had been so much she needed to know, so many things that could go wrong. Although, in the end, it had turned out she hadn’t needed to know much at all.

  “You’ve got the hang of it now,” Jane said approvingly. “A natural, you are.”

  Esther let out a dry little laugh. A natural she was not. Not by a million, zillion miles.

  “She’s lovely,” she told Izzy, who was watching her in concern, sensing, clearly, that something wasn’t quite right. It had to be obvious. “Really lovely.” She jiggled the sleeping baby a little, studying the faint blond eyebrows and lashes, the perfect, rosy skin, the full, round cheeks and pouty lips. Then she held the baby out to be taken, and Izzy scooped her up, a professional after just three weeks.

  Would she have been like that, confident and laidback with this tiny person entrusted to her care? Esther had no idea. Part of the problem had been that she hadn’t been able to imagine herself pregnant or as a mother, not really. She couldn’t picture herself with a big, proud baby bump, or holding a mewling infant to her breast. Not at all.