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‘KISS ME IT’S CHRISTMAS’ – LEONA LEWIS (FEAT. NE-YO)
‘A woman, eh?’ Verity said. ‘Should be easier to solve. Tell me more.’
‘Not necessarily.’
She settled the cushion behind her back more comfortably. ‘Oh, I’ve missed this. My two are heading for marriage and boringly happy. Sorry.’ She grimaced. ‘Not terribly tactful.’
‘I was married. Until quite recently. I suppose it’s not something you approve of? Divorce?’
Verity gave him a keen look. ‘I want people to be happy and lead good lives. However it comes about and whoever they’re with. I’m a vicar but I’m a vicar in a modern, messy world. I take a pragmatic approach to relationships.’ She wiggled against the cushion. ‘WhatamI sitting on?’ Reaching behind her she brought out a small black Bible. Staring at it, she said, ‘Now, how on earth did that get there?’
‘Don’t tell me, it’s called Bjorn.’
Verity narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Betsey if you don’t mind. And she’s my favourite copy.’ She waggled it at him. ‘It’s a good book but the devil did it in the end.’ Putting it on the table behind her, she gave him a mischievous look. ‘Look, I know it’s early, but do you fancy a drop of something in the coffee? I mean, itisChristmas.’ Without waiting for an answer, she got up again and hunted through a larder cupboard at the other end of the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of whisky with a flourish. ‘Looky-here. A present from lovely Mr Snead.’ She returned to the Aga and poured a measure into each of their mugs. ‘He’s a nice man. Has a super allotment. Grows all his own fruit and veg. His tomatoes actually taste of tomato. Rumour has it he has a gin still in his shed, but sadly I’ve never been the recipient of a bottle of that.’ She eyed the Famous Grouse. ‘Maybe this is better in coffee though?’
Jago laughed, took a gulp of whisky-flavoured coffee and spluttered; it was strong. Verity topped it up with another generous measure. She was an extraordinary woman, he decided. Warm, funny, ever so slightly eccentric and good. Yes, that was it. She was a good woman. Without being preachy or judgemental, she radiated joy and goodness. He swallowed another mouthful of coffee, feeling the whisky make his head fuzzy.
All the movement had disturbed Ivy who leaped to her feet and began to prowl around the kitchen.
‘Think she might need to go out,’ Jago said meaningfully.
Verity cottoned on. ‘Ah. Half a sec.’ She rummaged around on the messy table and unearthed an enormous brass key. Holding it up, she said, ‘Isn’t he a thing of beauty? They don’t make things like him anymore. He’s called Benny,’ she added.
‘Of course.’ This time Jago didn’t bother to hide his smile.
‘This way.’ Verity led them back to the narrow passageway but in the opposite direction this time. Opening a door, she ushered them out into a courtyard which had steps leading up to a lawn. On either side the bare branches of dog wood bushes dripped with a brooding wetness, but Jago hardly noticed. He followed Ivy up onto the lawn and stopped dead. The back garden of the vicarage faced the sea, with the beach far below. Lullbury Bay opened up in front of him, with the sweep of Charmouth and the ginger biscuit-coloured cliffs to his left. To his right the sea stretched silver grey, beyond the curling harbour wall, and blending into a low sky which sank into the water. The rain had passed over now and clearer light had come in with the tide. A watery pale sun filtered through the clouds and gleamed a wide passage on the flat sea. Gulls wheeled and mewed against the watery light. Ivy scratched about, finding the perfect spot on the lawn, but Jago ignored her. He was entranced by the view. It was calm, beautiful and utterly soothing. He sucked in a deep, cleansing breath and absorbed pure ozone.
‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ Verity murmured at his side. ‘Such a gift. Sometimes, if I’m having trouble finding God to have a good old natter to and I can’t find Him in church, I come here. This view always helps me believe again. It’s such a privilege to have it.’
Jago knew he needed to capture it. Taking his phone out of his back pocket, he asked, ‘Do you mind?’
‘Of course not. I’ll leave you for a minute. Come and find me when you’re ready.’
Jago didn’t know if it was the unaccustomed whisky drinking so early in the day, or the lightness in his heart after his talk with Verity, but the view filled him with a joyful serenity. He’d lost his father, and nothing would ever bring him back. No man would ever take his place, but he was beginning, just beginning, to find acceptance in the fact and take joy in the blessing he’d had his wonderful father for thirty-four years. The grief was still there but it wasn’t as raw and angry as it had been. He’d never stop grieving for his father, but it was no longer wrenching at his gut and wrecking his head.
A woman strode along the beach below wearing a red-and-white Santa hat. A dachshund in a jaunty matching coat trotted alongside, its stubby legs moving at surprising speed. Maybe it was Holly’s mother, Merryn’s new schoolfriend. The sight made him smile. He felt himself thaw a little, his insides unclench. He couldn’t stop Christmas happening. It was a great tidal wave of tinsel and tedious pop music which overwhelmed everyone and everything. And maybe he wouldn’t be able to truly love it this year, but he’d accept it was happening. Honor’s words at the German Market came back to him. Maybe she was right. It was all about bringing in the light against the darkness in the world. He glanced back at the vicarage. Perhaps Verity was onto something, and it was about an innocent baby. Or perhaps it was to do with family coming together, celebrating with good food, enjoying giving presents, watching the excitement as children opened theirs. Whatever it meant, he promised himself he’d make it the best he could for his mother and Merryn. From the depths of the building behind him, he heard a phone ring. It brought him back, and to the fact he was cold standing out here without his coat.
Ivy, having done what she needed to, was now on high alert staring at the woman on the beach and the dachshund. She stood, tail straight, nose quivering. Jago whistled to her before she began barking and they returned to the kitchen and the warmth of the Aga.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Verity said, putting down an old-fashioned phone. ‘Your coffee’s on the warming plate.’
Jago picked up his mug and stood with his back to the stove, leaning against its comfort.
‘See. Told you Agnetha was good for that.’ Verity sighed. ‘I suppose at some point I’ll have to move out of here and leave her but this old Victorian wreck of a place and especially this kitchen is such a joy. It’s a blessing to be in the heart of the parish. People know right where to find me. Just been on the phone to Nora from Dolphin View, that’s the nursing home up on the hill.’ She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Not due there until tea-time though so I’ve still got time. We got distracted. What woman and what problem?’
Jago stayed leaning against the Aga, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. He’d got chilled through standing outside soaking up the view, but it had been worth it. He knew he would have to capture the essence of it in glass. Perhaps a large stained-glass panel in gull-grey and shimmering silver? Or something smaller and jewel-like. He forced himself back to Verity’s question. ‘It’s Honor.’
‘Honor Martin, our delightful teacher at St Winifred’s Primary?’
Jago could see her mulling over the thought.
‘But that’s perfect,’ she exclaimed. ‘I think you’d be perfect together. She’s single, or as far as I know. She split up with her boyfriend some years back, I believe. He was in Italy and didn’t appear to want to return to the UK. Mind you,’ she shrugged, ‘living in Florence, you can see his point. And I believe Honor didn’t want to move abroad. She’s a bit of a fixture in our little town, is Honor.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t see what the problem is.’
He sat back down, staring into his mug. He wasn’t sure he wanted any more coffee so put the mug back on the warming plate on the Aga. ‘I was married to Rose for three years. We lived together for a while before.’ Glancing up he saw Verity was listening intently. ‘We decided to get married on a whim.’ He winced. ‘We took ourselves off somewhere hot, got married on a beach. It was romantic, impulsive. I upset Mum and Dad as they couldn’t get organised in time to get out there and I’ll always regret that. We were young and didn’t really think about anyone else, we rushed into it. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Looking back, I wonder if I wanted what my parents had. Don’t get me wrong, they argued just like any other couple, and I always suspected Mum never truly settled in London, but they were the happiest married couple I’d ever come across. Truly happy. Supportive, happy to compromise, kind to one another and they never lost the ability to laugh together. Maybe it was why I was so keen to run into marriage with Rose. I wanted to replicate my parents’ happiness for myself. But, instead of waiting for the right one, I married the first one.
‘And it was good at first. We had an amazing extended honeymoon travelling around Thailand and Cambodia, but then came home to the grey reality. I think both of us thought we were in it for life, and we were devastated when we realised it wasn’t working out. We lived two very different lives; Rose had to go away and train people and I was off at craft and art fairs. We ended up not seeing enough of one another. Rose met someone.’ He bit his lip. ‘And the worst of it all was knowing part of me was happy for her. The problem being lockdown happened and we were stuck with one another in a dying relationship, trying to work, trying to stay friends but knowing all the time we’d be best apart. She’s living with Mo now and they’re happy. We tried really hard to remain friends and had a civilised divorce. I think the one success of our sad, doomed, short marriage was we’ve managed that.’ He laughed shortly. ‘I’m even invited to their wedding. I’ll go and I’ll drink to their health and mean it. Rose is a wonderful person, she just wasn’t the right, wonderful person for me.’
‘Do you know, it sounds to me as if you’ve been incredibly grown up in an awful situation.’
