Page 81 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
The singing started up again and Ivy threw herself into it, louder than before.
‘Right,’ said Ivy firmly, checking her watch as the pub started to empty. ‘Carol service in ten minutes. We’re all walking there and back together.’
They finished their drinks quickly, huddling close as they stepped outside.
‘Have fun,’ said Fred.
‘Aren’t you joining us?’ asked Trish.
‘Not this year. Something I need to finish,’ he said and walked off, purpose in his stride.
The impromptu choir’s voices echoed down the street: ‘Sleepin heavenly peace ...’
Ivy felt Helen’s arm link through hers on one side, while Trish hobbled along on her other side. Behind them, the pub’s windows spilled light onto the pavement. Ahead, the path sloped upwards towards the church, its steeple silhouetted against the dark sky, the bells echoing through the chilly night air inviting them to the service.
‘Heaven help anyone who tries to whistle at us now,’ Helen said, and despite everything, Ivy smiled.
The church rose solid and still against the winter evening, its old stone walls catching the light from lanterns lining the path to the arched wooden doors.
Inside, the high-beamed ceiling, draped in evergreen garlands, reflected the glow of the candles. People shuffled into already packed pews, the scent of mulled wine and beer clinging to their coats. The three friends found seats near the back. Ivy sat at the aisle end of the pew and folded her hands in her lap.
Feet stamped, the congregation rose, and around them voices lifted in the first carol of the evening – ‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel’ – a hymn of longing and hope. Ivy swallowed against the lump forming in her throat.
She closed her eyes and mouthed a silent prayer for both Fred and Omar, a plea wrapped in a wisp of regret. Ivy sang carol after carol, the words springing out of her with energy. She sat to listen to a reading. The heavy wooden door groaned open. Cold air swept through the church, making the candle flames dance. Ivy’s eyes flicked up. A tall figure stood in the doorway, spotlit by the moon. Her lungs locked tight. Omar.
He wore a dark jacket, and a smart pair of trousers, not the tattered pair he’d been wearing when he lived in her shed. It was the first time Ivy had seen him so formally attired. His fingers drummed restlessly against his thighs, eyes darting, scanning the faces that turned his way. His jaw clenched, a musclestarted twitching at his temple. He swallowed, then squared his shoulders with deliberate purpose.
He was beautiful, standing tall in the church’s glow, his hands now steady as he formed them into fists at his sides, as if physically grasping the resolve that had eluded him for so long. Ivy noticed the way he no longer averted his gaze when meeting others, and the newfound steadiness in his step. Tears pricked at her eyes. Each measured breath he took seemed to fortify him, erasing the broken man she had known and revealing someone stronger. He walked down the aisle, his steps sure, his gaze searching until it found hers. Ivy’s heart ached with the love she felt for him – not romantic, not possessive, but deep, like a mother watching her lost son return home. She barely realized she was crying until Omar reached her pew. She shuffled down, and wordlessly he slid in beside her.
The bells in the tower struck the hour, their deep chimes vibrating through the stone walls. A miracle – at least to Ivy, who had been so sure she had lost him forever.
She swallowed hard as the choir began the final hymn – ‘Silent Night’. Omar’s voice, soft but unwavering, joined hers, and she smiled through her tears.
As the carol concert finished, Victor stood in front of the pulpit. He cleared his throat, lifted his hands and prepared to bless the congregation. But as he spoke, the words caught somewhere between nerves and the echoing silence. ‘May the peace of God, which ... uh, passes all ... em ... understanding ... uh, guard your hearts and your ... your ... minds,’ he stumbled, glancing down at his notes, then back at the expectant faces.
He hesitated, before adding with a sheepish smile, ‘And keep you safe from, well ... any unexpected carol surprises.’
The odd little stumble only made his blessing feel even more genuine.
A ripple of laughter spread through the congregation.
Victor took a breath and tried again.
‘May you be blessed with joy, love and, of course, plenty of mince pies.’
The congregation rose, gathering stray gloves and hats. Omar turned to Ivy.
‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was soft, almost lostin the scrape of shoes on stoneand murmurs of departing churchgoers. ‘You were right. I wasn’t running from them. I was running from myself.’
She wanted to hold him, to shake him, to demand he never scare her like that again, but instead she gripped his hand and watched his eyes as he spoke. ‘I got lonely being all by myself after weeks with you, Fred, Helen, Trish, and so I opened your Christmas present early.’
‘And did you find solace in those verses?’ Ivy asked, thinking of the book she had given him. A copy of Nicholson’s translation of Rumi verses.
‘I did.’ His voice softened as he quoted,
Every phantasy is devouring another phantasy ...
... Hark, flee from the troop of huge devourers towards Him who hath said, ‘We are thy protector.’
