‘It must be two years ago now… that’s when you left home, right?’
Emma ran to her bedroom sink. Her body went into spasm and red pasta sauce from dinner splattered across the white basin like blood on ice.
Ned? No, please, universe, she thought, please let this be a mistake and he’s still alive; please don’t let it have been me. I hit a fox. Or a sheep. Not a sweet, much-loved son.
Memories flashed into her mind. Leaving the hotel. Blood on her dress. Somehow managing to drive out of the city centre. The winding road as she approached Healdbury. She’d been looking at friends’ photos on Instagram – her phone on the passenger seat – and singing at the top of her voice to an old One Direction hit on the radio. Suddenly her body was thrown forward. The car had hit something and skidded. She’d struggled to keep control of the wheel and screamed. Screams turned to manic laughter as eventually the car slowed…
Rachel hurried over and rubbed her back. ‘You’re shaking,’ she said, and ran the cold tap. Emma scooped up mouthfuls. Rachel passed her a tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
‘It must be such a shock,’ said Rachel, and gave her a hug.
Emma pulled away. She didn’t deserve kindness.
‘I… I wonder where exactly it happened,’ she said, without meeting Rachel’s eye. Another wave of nausea rose at the back of her throat, and fear gripped her, like the terror of waking up after blackout and wondering what she’d done. She collapsed onto the bed.
Just as she’d thought she was leaving the nightmare of living on the streets, of losing Joe, of miscarrying Josephine, another black hole of despair had appeared and she was falling in head first.
‘Just past the Christmas tree farm, on the outskirts. I remember driving past it on the way back. Apparently Ned loved his paper round because most of it served isolated customers, away from the village, and he didn’t have to carry as many newspapers as his friends. The police think he left his bike outside the farm because the driveway was so icy. He delivered the paper on foot, and when he walked back to his bike…’
‘Was anyone caught for it?’
Rachel shrugged. ‘Dunno. Didn’t like to ask. I don’t think so, though, not when I was told about it.’
Emma nodded slowly, but inside, her mind raced. Within minutes she’d pleaded a headache and seen an understanding Rachel out of her room, declining her friend’s offer to hunt out an ice pack. All she could hear was the words the Christmas tree farm. That was where she’d hit something that morning.
She drew on the tools she’d learned about to control her negative thinking and took a deep breath. Mustn’t catastrophise. Mustn’t tell myself I’m a bad person. She’d seen hit-and-runs in the movies. If she’d knocked a person over, they’d have been tossed into the air. There was no way she wouldn’t have known about that.
Not even if you were drunk and tired and more bothered about your friends’ social media than how you were driving? asked a small voice in her head.
Chapter 15
‘Have you heard this, Bligh?’ said Andrea as he came over from the greenhouse carrying a basket of cucumbers. He was preparing some vegetable boxes for delivery. The internet orders were providing a modest but steady income. ‘Emma has invited some rough sleepers to visit Foxglove Farm and they’re arriving in a couple of hours.’
Andrea stood in the sunshine just in front of the barn, hands dusted with soil. Emma and Gail were sitting outside – Gail on the old rocking chair, and Emma on one of two deckchairs; she always put an extra one out in the hope that Andrea or Bligh might join them. Nearby, an upturned crate served as a table for their mugs. Dash lay next to them on the ground next to a small children’s trampoline. Emma had found it discarded by the roadside and had spent the afternoon mending the leg. It would be perfect for the goats to jump on. She’d also created interesting feeders for the rabbits using toilet paper tubes and hay. Gail had been able to help.
‘I did mean to ask.’ Emma had struggled to find the right moment. Andrea had been snappy all day. The boiler had broken. The plumber had done a temporary fix but said they’d need a new one soon. That meant finding a large sum of money they didn’t have. Plus she had found a load of empty beer cans behind the weeping willow. She’d half-heartedly accused Emma before conceding it was probably local teenagers.
Gail had been quiet all afternoon – she wasn’t sleeping well at the moment. This had allowed Emma to spend most of the day fixated on the memory of Polly and Alan from last night. The way they’d comforted Ted’s grandchildren and calmed them down, then offered the whole family free lodgings until they got themselves sorted out.
She couldn’t put off the inevitable for much longer. She’d hardly slept herself last night and woken up in a sweat having relived that crazy car journey. Mentally she’d listed all the things she might have robbed that boy of – university, marriage, maybe kids, a great career. Tales of prison life that she’d heard at AA kept her tossing and turning as well.
But if there was one thing she’d learnt from the months of treatment, it was to listen to the voice of conscience in her head. If she didn’t keep that happy, sooner or later she’d start drinking again, and that hell was worse than any prison sentence.
‘I’m sorry, Andrea,’ she said. ‘I know it’s short notice, but I’m really worried about this girl, Tilly… she’s a runaway. Someone should do something, but I’m not sure what. I bet she’ll really love feeding the animals.’
‘What about Mum? She’ll only get confused.’ Andrea folded her arms. ‘I won’t see her hurt.’
‘Nor would I,’ said Emma.
‘I’ve only got your word for that, and frankly that’s not worth much.’
Emma couldn’t suppress a sigh.
‘What?’ snapped Andrea. ‘You think I’m being harsh? Well I was the one who had to listen to her sobbing night after night after you left, blaming herself for your departure, telling herself she’d failed as a mother.’
A lump formed in Emma’s throat. Andrea would rarely commit to a proper conversation, so her frustrations would burst out suddenly as if they’d come from a piñata that only her younger sister’s presence could rupture.
‘And the farm can’t afford to have anything stolen,’ said Bligh. ‘Although I guess they did help save Ted. The Badger Inn was full of talk about how brave they were when I dropped in at lunchtime.’
‘They’ll stay outside the farmhouse,’ said Emma. ‘Stig and Rita are all right.’
‘Stig?’ Andrea rolled her eyes and sighed. A weary expression crossed her face. ‘I want them gone by nine o’clock.’
‘Thanks, I really appreciate it. Could I use the kitchen to make sandwiches? And I promised Tilly those strawberry and white chocolate cupcakes – you remember, the ones we loved?’ Emma lifted the recipe book off the upturned crate and stood up. ‘Your illustrations were brilliant.’
‘You can have the kitchen, but tidy up afterwards and keep an eye on Mum. Use the cheese, not the ham – the price has just gone up, and with a new boiler to think about…’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘This is the last time you can use our bread and other ingredients that aren’t surplus though, Emma. Money’s tighter than ever.’ She about-turned and headed towards the shed behind the barn.
Emma swallowed any reply and Bligh gave her a curious look. She told Gail about the cupcakes, and arms linked, they went indoors. Bligh picked up his basket and followed them. He set the cucumbers down on the table and put the kettle on.
‘I could murder a cup of tea. Gail? Emma?’
Emma nodded. ‘Thanks for your support,’ she said, getting flour out of the cupboard.
‘I’m beginning to see signs of change. Like just now – you took Andrea’s comment on the chin.’
A warm feeling radiated through her chest. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m not a forgiving man, but Dad was, and in honour of his memory I’m trying to see things for how they are now. Although I’ll never forget that Christmas and wh
at you did to him,’ he said, voice thick.
‘I know, and I’m so sorry.’ It sounded like such an empty word. ‘And I’m grateful you didn’t report me to the police.’
‘You always took my loyalty for granted,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘Don’t make the same mistake again.’
A chill replaced the warm glow as they fell into silence. Gail helped Emma beat the cake batter. They spooned it into paper cases, splashing it down the sides.
‘You’re a clever girl,’ said Gail when the cakes went into the oven.
Emma’s spirits lifted as they looked at each other and smiled. She began to chop the strawberries, then filled the washing-up bowl with soapy water and asked Gail to clean the utensils, knowing that she’d have to do them herself again later. Bligh had gone into the dining room to work at the computer.
When the cakes had cooled, she melted white chocolate and let Gail pour it over the tops. Their roles had reversed. She remembered Gail teaching her how to ice. Was this nature’s plan? To have parents teach things to their children because one day they’d need someone to show them the way again? Daily Emma had to remind Gail how to clean her teeth. Brush her hair. Wipe her nose. It took patience to pass on skills that would never improve. There was still so much her mum had to lose.
They pressed cut strawberries into the white topping. Emma hesitated before putting one of the cakes on a plate. She carried it through and tentatively handed it to Bligh.
‘Verdict?’ she asked.
‘Passable,’ he replied, and wiped his lips.
Briefly both their mouths quirked up. For a few seconds it had seemed just like the good times. Andrea came in, took off her boots and headed up to the bathroom. The loo flushed, and when she came back down, Emma offered her a muffin.
‘No thanks,’ she said without looking, and took a tube of mints out of her pocket. She picked up her boots and returned outside.
‘Perhaps she’ll have one later,’ said Bligh, who had come through to the kitchen.
‘Maybe.’ Emma kept her tone bright.
He stared. ‘What pushed you to finally get yourself sorted? You must have known it would be tough coming back.’
Emma put down the tea cloth. ‘I got pregnant.’
There. She’d said it.
‘What?’
‘It was as much of a surprise to me.’
‘But… I don’t understand. I mean… where’s…?’ He leant against the wall.
‘I lost the baby. But the pregnancy had to mean something, right? So I used it to help me focus on becoming a better person.’
‘And you faced that alone?’ His teeth clenched together.
Gail pottered, taking mugs out of the cupboard and putting them back.
‘I managed.’
‘What about the father?’
Emma looked down.
‘You should have got in touch. Despite everything, I’d have helped you.’ He stepped forward and hugged her tight.
How Emma had craved such an embrace during those months in the city – but now she could see that was only because a hug from Bligh usually meant he was about to solve yet another of her problems. She no longer needed that escape from facing up to managing her own life.
She didn’t doubt that Bligh would have been the perfect person to help in such a situation – he’d wanted a family for so long now, and would have stepped in and raised the child as his own. He had so many good qualities, all underpinned by a sense of decency. It was strange. He got that from his mum, who’d been an active member of the community. She’d often taken part in charity events, and had helped out on the farm more than once if Gail, Andrea or Emma fell sick. But then she’d left Bligh’s dad for a younger man and no one in the village understood why – except, years later, Bligh. He’d cleared up Emma’s mess yet again, paying for a shop window she’d smashed in the village, and had muttered something about how he now understood how being in love made people do things they’d never once have been able to imagine.
Dash crawled out from under the table and pricked up his ears.
‘That’s barking. It must be the Duchess. Stig is here,’ said Emma.
The doorbell rang.
‘Could you answer that, Bligh, and I’ll take Mum out to the yard. If you could send Stig around the side of the farmhouse…’
The back door creaked as Emma led Gail outside, Dash charging ahead to meet his friend. Stig appeared with Bligh following him. A white bandage was wrapped around his head and he wore a camouflage T-shirt. Emma had seen him first thing when he’d dropped by the pet shop to pick up his dog. The hospital had given him some clean clothes. Due to the surgical dressing, he couldn’t wear his woolly hat.
‘Where’s Tilly?’ she said.
Stig exhaled. ‘She’s done a runner. I went up to the station. Nothing. She must have been worried that one of us was going to report her.’
Emma’s shoulders sank. ‘And Rita?’
‘I’ve just seen her – she sends her best. The fire last night… it hit her hard. Made her think about her family. She’s going back to the city to pay her parents a visit.’
‘What’s all that barking?’ called a distant voice, and Andrea appeared with a small shovel in her hand. Gail was sitting in her rocking chair, flicking through the curtain sample book.
Emma was just about to introduce Stig when Gail looked up and gasped. She got to her feet. Tears had sprung to her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled.
‘You’re back! You’re back! I’ve missed you so much,’ she said eventually, and made her way forward.
Stig looked at Emma, who turned to Andrea. She shrugged and shook her head.
‘I knew that knock on the door with bad news was wrong.’ Gail wrapped her arms around Stig. ‘No one believed me when I said you were still alive.’ Her face broke into a smile and she looked at the others. ‘Uncle Paul is the strongest swimmer I know. And the best cake-maker. Dad’s going to be so happy he’s home.’
Chapter 16
Andrea bustled forward. ‘I must apologise,’ she said, gently removing Gail’s arms from around Stig. ‘My mother’s a bit…’
Gail glared and hugged Stig again. ‘You’re just jealous because me and Uncle Paul are so close. All those weekends he visited and I learnt how to make Victoria sponge and shortbread.’ She beamed at Stig. ‘Remember that cross-stitch certificate I made you once? Dad helped me spell out the words to say you were the best navy chef ever.’
Andrea reached out again but Stig patted Gail’s arms. ‘And you were the best cookery student,’ he said.
Emma’s throat hurt. Gail looked the happiest she’d been since her return.
‘What a lovely necklace,’ he said, and slowly extricated himself from her embrace.
Gail blushed. ‘Princess Diana gave it to me,’ she whispered. ‘I met her years ago. We were good friends. But don’t tell anyone.’ She jerked her head towards Emma. ‘The woman who talks too much might steal it. I used to have lots of lovely necklaces. Now I can’t find any of them.’
Stig removed her arms, which had once again wrapped around him. ‘I need a shower before anyone gets that close.’
Gail pulled a face. ‘Yes. You do smell a bit. And your nails need a clean. What happened to your head?’
‘How about we chat to Uncle Paul later?’ said Andrea. ‘He must be tired. And it’s time for your tea.’
Gail stared for a moment and then her expression became vacant. ‘Yes. Yes, it’s time for tea.’
Bligh took her into the kitchen.
‘And this was exactly what I wanted to avoid,’ said Andrea, and frowned. ‘New people confuse her. We’re very lucky she didn’t get upset instead.’ She glanced at Stig. ‘But thank you for playing along. It’s the kindest way.’
‘No problem. Me and Emma have seen it all on the streets. Eventually you learn just to roll with it.’
People like Mad Hatter Holly. Or Tony, with his depression. Smelly Stan from under the bridge who couldn’t remember wher
e he grew up, or Big John who swore he was related to Bruno Mars.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I take it her uncle died whilst serving in the Royal Navy?’
‘The Falklands,’ said Andrea. ‘He was on HMS Sheffield.’
‘It got sunk?’ asked Stig.
Both sisters nodded. Gail had talked about her uncle Paul a lot over the years. He’d never got married, nor had kids, and had seen her more as a daughter than a niece.
‘I can see why she made the mistake,’ said Andrea. ‘I’ve seen photos and Uncle Paul had thick brown hair like yours. Plus he loved dogs.’
‘Perhaps I should go.’ Stig bent down to stroke the Duchess. ‘I don’t want to make things worse.’
She paused. ‘No… no, it’s all right. You’re only going to be here a couple of hours. You can have a wash in the barn if you like. Emma can get you a towel. Right. I’d better get Mum’s tea on. There’s lemonade in the fridge,’ she added abruptly and headed back inside before either of them could thank her.
Emma proceeded to give Stig a tour, though her thoughts soon strayed. Bligh had seemed upset about her pregnancy. Was it possible that he still cared? And did Mum’s comment about her stealing the necklace mean that Gail was beginning to make a connection between the woman who talked too much and the old version of her younger daughter?
Stig petted the rabbits and lifted the mended trampoline into the goats’ enclosure. Both he and Emma laughed as the animals jumped on and off it. He helped feed the chickens and marvelled at the tranquillity as they sat under the weeping willow.
‘It’s beautiful here,’ he said as they returned to the barn. They sat in the deckchairs outside, eating cheese and tomato sandwiches.
‘I know, and I never appreciated it before, believing a more glamorous setting would somehow make me a better, more attractive person.’ Emma didn’t realise back then that it was the internal scenery that counted most.
They sat, mesmerised, as the sun sank and tangerine stripes spread across the sky. Andrea had put an exhausted Gail to bed.
‘How about a hot chocolate before you head off?’ Emma asked. ‘It’s quite my favourite drink these days.’
Forgive Me Not Page 14
