Chapter 22
GOLDENWYCH, PRESENT DAY
‘This is the last one,’ said Lee, hefting the box onto the top of the pile in the corner of Caitlin’s spare bedroom. ‘Although, there was no need for you and your sisters to move everything. I told you I didn’t mind buying it with things in situ.’
‘Dad insisted,’ said Caitlin, surveying the room.
It was of generous proportions and held a double bed, small armchair and dressing table, a wardrobe and chest of drawers, with a door leading to an en-suite bathroom.
French doors opened out to a small patio with a path leading into the main garden.
Caitlin loved the room and had considered using it herself when she had first moved in, but the master bedroom on the first floor had better views out over the fields surrounding Goldenwych, including glimpses of the stone circle.
The pale yellow walls were adorned with a number of prints: one was of the stone circle which had been painted by her mother, another was a detail of the carvings on the stones and the final was a charcoal sketch of the green slate monoliths known as The Three Sisters.
The other two images Caitlin had bought at craft fairs and had been painted by local artists.
When the sun set at night, the room glowed with golden light and Caitlin always felt there was a sense of peace and calm here which felt different from the remainder of the house.
‘He threatened to throw everything into a skip if we didn’t move it,’ Caitlin continued. ‘The last few boxes are from the wardrobe in the spare room – they’re more of Mum’s notebooks, I couldn’t risk him disposing of them.’
‘It’s a bit harsh though,’ said Lee.
‘True, but he was right, it’s way past time for us to sort out our old bedrooms. I think we were all reluctant because it felt like destroying the final link with Mum and our life there as a family.’
‘And how are you coping?’ Lee asked with a hint of concern in his voice.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It was time and, now it’s all here, I can go through the boxes at my own pace and either sell stuff, donate it to charity, dump it or find a home for it in my cottage.’
‘Don’t you mean at the vicarage?’ said Lee.
‘I won’t be selling this place,’ she replied. ‘Even though Stan keeps suggesting I should and make a huge donation to the church.’
‘But it’s your home,’ said Lee in disgust.
‘Exactly, but Stan doesn’t seem to think that’s important,’ she said.
‘He claims vicars aren’t expected to own property because “God will provide”.
But the thought of having nowhere to call my own scares me.
The cottage is in my name, which makes it my decision to do as I choose.
My plan is to rent it out when I move into the vicarage after the wedding. ’
Caitlin felt the usual overwhelming sense of claustrophobia as she thought about the changes that would follow her marriage to Stan.
Lee adjusted one of the piles of boxes, straightening the edges so they aligned.
‘What?’ she said, looking over at him.
‘What do you mean, “what?”’
‘We know each other too well, Lee, you always neaten things up when you’re struggling to say something. Is it to do with my wedding?’
Lee sighed and sat down on the bed, holding her gaze.
‘Tell me to mind my own business but is everything all right with you and Stan?’
‘Why would you ask?’ she said in surprise but her heart quickened. She thought she had kept her changing feelings for Stan hidden. Wedding nerves, she kept telling herself. They’ll disappear when we’re married.
‘I didn’t mean to pry,’ he said, ‘but, as you said, we know each other inside out and, as you can recognise my tells, yours are very clear to me.’
‘My tells?’
‘Yes, and whenever Stan or the wedding is mentioned, you clench your teeth. You’ve done it since we were children and it always means you’re bottling up your true emotions.’
Caitlin stared into Lee’s familiar face, the gentle blue eyes, and felt a lump rise in her throat wondering whether to spill her woes.
A single tear slid down her cheek and she yearned for the relief of being able to share her fears.
Once, she would have confided in her mother or her sisters, but after Miranda’s death and the rift between the sisters, she felt there was no one.
Sindy was her best friend, but, somehow, involving her felt wrong.
Stan was the parish priest, a well-known and well-liked figure in the community, to discuss her doubts about him as a husband felt strangely disloyal.
As a man of God, he should be above suspicion and gossip. And yet…
‘Oh, Woody,’ she said, sinking onto the bed beside him, ‘I don’t know what to do. Whenever I think about the wedding, it feels as though I’m about to step off a cliff.’
‘Moon, no,’ said Lee. ‘How long have you been feeling this way?’
‘A while,’ she admitted.
‘Have you spoken to Stan about it?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘During the past four months, I’ve hardly seen him and on the few occasions when I have, he’s dismissive if I want to discuss the wedding.
It sounds so lame, but he’s become very argumentative recently and when we are together, it’s a relief if we don’t bicker, so my nerve fails me whenever I consider discussing my feelings. ’
‘You can tell me,’ said Lee.
‘Stan hates gossip,’ she murmured.
‘Discussing your feelings because you’re unhappy isn’t gossiping,’ said Lee and Caitlin was surprised at the cold edge in his voice.
‘If it helps, I promise not to mention it to Stan or gossip about him no matter the provocation, even if there’s a lull in conversation during flower arranging in the church. ’
Caitlin was unable to halt her snort of laughter at Lee’s comment.
Stan was unusually militant concerning the flowers in the church and would prowl the aisles as his ‘ladies’ arranged the weekly displays.
The majority of the flowers were supplied by Caitlin’s friend, Martha, who ran the village florist. She and her mother also made herbal remedies and Lee joked they were witches.
Caitlin was aware their bouquets often incorporated flowers with distinct symbolism and hidden meanings.
Lee suggested they were deliberately casting spells.
Caitlin had decided never to mention her and Lee’s amusement about his floral obsession to Stan.
‘Stan is most particular about who is allowed to fiddle with his blooms,’ she said, trying to hide behind humour to avoid the seriousness of the conversation. ‘He’d never let you join the flower arranging rota anyway, he wouldn’t be able to stand the competition from another good-looking man.’
Caitlin felt a faint blush stain her cheeks as she realised what she had said, while Lee looked flustered.
‘Thank you for the compliment,’ he said, ‘but my dashing good looks aside, tell me about Stan. You met when he used to come into the café after his morning run, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and, at first, he was funny, kind and he also held the allure of new blood.’
Lee rolled his eyes. It was an old joke between them all, the three King sisters and the two Glossop brothers.
When they were teenagers, Edward had often compared the dating opportunities in the village to being ‘similar to those after an apocalypse, but without the excitement of rebuilding the human race’.
‘Do you blame me accepting his invitation for a drink when the other options were boys I’ve known since we were in junior school? Carter Jenkins and his amazing collection of worms or Abel Lester with his ferret obsession?’
‘You forgot Parsley Hickson who asked you to marry him and move to the moon when you were four,’ said Lee, trying not to laugh. ‘We went to school with some very interesting people.’
‘A diplomatic choice of words,’ she said.
‘I understand why you were attracted to Stan,’ said Lee, his voice serious again. ‘When I first met him, I thought he was charming, funny and, most importantly, he hung on your every word. Our dads were always singing his praises.’
Caitlin leaned into Lee and he put his arm around her.
‘In the past few months, Stan has begun talking about his future.’
‘Which is a good thing, surely?’
‘You misunderstand, Woody – his future, not our future.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said Lee.
‘Stan is very ambitious,’ she continued.
‘He views himself as a radical high-flyer within the Church and believes he has the temperament and skill to work his way up through the ranks to bishop or even archbishop. The trouble is, whenever he delivers one of his monologues about his meteoric rise, he never asks my opinion. He assumes I’ll willingly follow him to whichever parish he’s allotted without a backward glance.
In other words, my life is no longer mine.
He might be the vicar, but as his wife, I’d have to be involved too and do as the Church decrees. ’
‘The trouble is, he was a vicar when you met him,’ said Lee. ‘This was always a possibility.’
‘Actually, it wasn’t,’ she replied. ‘It was one of the first things I discussed with him when we realised our relationship was becoming serious. He promised me any decisions about moving parish would involve both our needs. I explained about the café and he said he’d never force me to choose between him and the Church or my family and my home. ’
‘It sounds as though he’s changed his mind.’
‘Yes, it does,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I was na?ve to believe him. His job involves moving around, I should have been more mentally prepared for change.’
‘Moon, he loves you,’ said Lee. ‘Talk to him, maybe he hasn’t realised he’s riding roughshod over you.’
‘It’s possible.’
Caitlin closed her eyes and breathed in Lee’s familiar scent.
For the first time in weeks, she felt her shoulders relaxing and unconsciously she began to stroke his arm where hers overlapped with his.
In return, he gently played with her hair.
A shiver ran up her spine and an involuntary desire to lift her head to kiss Lee overwhelmed her.