The Secret Art of Forgiveness

by Louisa George

  ‘You told her about the engagement? I thought we were going to wait to tell them together.’

  ‘Can I help it that I’m excited, babe? She was asking about our vacation plans and I accidentally mentioned honeymoons. What do you think about fall? October?’

  ‘Honestly? I think that it’s too soon, Brett. I’m so busy here I haven’t had time to think about the wedding.’ That sounded harsh and she hadn’t meant it to. She just needed some space to get her head around the idea of a wedding at all. ‘I mean, it’s crazy looking after him and trying to fix up The Hall and work remotely. Can we… can we talk about it when I get back? I can’t commit to something right now, just to please your mum. It’s only a few days, Brett.’

  There was a pause, during which his shoulders heaved up and down in an irritated sigh. ‘Sure, honey, if that’s what you want. Sure. That’s fine.’

  Judging by the tightness in his jaw – a tic she knew only happened when he was pissed off about something – it wasn’t fine at all. And the thing was, she just didn’t have the emotional energy or headspace to worry about it. Things would be back to normal when she was in New York.

  Or at least, they’d be able to talk properly about it. Maybe between now and then she’d manage to pinpoint exactly what the hell was wrong with her and why she wasn’t jumping up and down to marry him the minute the plane landed. And, why she felt a little relieved that he’d brought it up in this way and she could use it to pick a fight with him. ‘Okay, that will be the very first thing we talk about, I promise – wedding, wedding and nothing but wedding. We can phone your parents on Sunday evening and start to make plans, just don’t ask me to make a commitment to anything right now; my head’s not in the right place.’

  She wanted to tell him about her worries over The Judge, and the financial problems they were facing, and the fact that when Tam was here she didn’t quite look after The Judge the way Em thought she should. She wanted to offload about her concerns. She wanted to tell him about the quirks of the place: the cockerel that woke her up at silly o’clock and the strangeness of her neighbour. But she didn’t. For some reason it all felt too much like hard work and she didn’t think he’d understand. What was it Tom had said? Being all New York and all. So she went with… ‘How’s work? Managing without me?’

  ‘Just. Obviously the rate of winning accounts has dramatically dropped, but we’re coping. The beer launch went really well yesterday… thank you for asking.’

  ‘Shit. Sorry. I clean forgot. It’s just… I feel so disconnected here.’ Her failures were stacking up and up. ‘I’m so glad it went well. Of course, it would, though… you’re brilliant at your job.’

  ‘Gez has been working on the Kids First campaign, and HCH were asking about studio time.’

  ‘I asked Gez to sort that out.’

  ‘Sure. But you haven’t forwarded the meeting notes.’

  ‘Oh? I did, didn’t I? Maybe they didn’t send? I’ll check. No, look, they’re still sitting in my outbox. Damn it. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out straight after this.’ She jotted it down on her to-do list just as a mum approached on the footpath pushing a very wide buggy containing triplet babies.

  Normally Emily wouldn’t have paid any attention but they were just too cute, three little peas in a pod, all dressed in matching little boy-sailor outfits. She had no idea how old they must be but they were definitely at that pre-crawling, but just interesting enough, stage. One was fast asleep, lolled a little to one side, but the other two were staring and smiling.

  She jumped up and dragged the table closer to make space for the pram to get through. ‘There you go. Oh, they are absolutely gorgeous. Lucky you. So cute.’

  ‘Triple the trouble, triple the love,’ the mum answered, as if she’d said it a thousand times before, but still got a thrill from it. ‘Thanks.’

  Once they’d squeezed by Emily sat down again. ‘Sorry, Brett. I had to get out of the way –’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I gathered. It’s all go in Little Duxton.’

  ‘Little Duxbury. And it’s only because I’m outside. They were adorable babies.’

  ‘So you just had to talk to them?’ There was a smile, but it was irritated.

  ‘Everyone’s got time to stop and chat here, it seems. And it feels rude not to. Not like New York where no one looks you in the eye for fear of some kind of actual real communication.’

  ‘You love New York.’ He sounded put out.

  ‘Yes… yes, of course I do. You know I do. It’s just so… rushed, compared to here.’

  The irritation increased a fraction. ‘Your spiritual home, I think you called it when we were in the roof garden, drinking cocktails at sunset, looking across Manhattan. Exciting. Breathtaking.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I adore it. That was a wonderful night.’ Their first real date, discounting the champagne-fuelled tumbling into bed. Their first real organised date, so sophisticated and glamorous. ‘This is just so different. Look at the views.’ She picked up her laptop and spun it round so he could see the rolling fields beyond the village and the thatched cottages by the green. The willow tree that dipped lazily into the stream, the sound of laughter. Birds. Actual birdsong. ‘Isn’t it lovely? And there’s the pub The Judge and I go to. It has great beer and a –’

  ‘Yes,’ he interrupted. ‘Picture-postcard, honey. Very English.’

  ‘I knew you’d like it.’ She was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Maybe we could come here to visit one day? I could show you the sights in person… which would take about three whole minutes. The rest of the day we could spend in the pub.’

  ‘Or bed.’

  ‘Yes… or bed.’ She gave him a coy smile and thought how nice it would be to see him again on Sunday. They would be able to talk properly instead of through a crackly line that threatened to freeze at any given moment and made intimacy very difficult.

  Brett moved a little away from the screen and behind him she could see the stark white walls of his office space. When Baddermans had taken a lease on the building they’d had a senior management meeting during which she’d chosen the paint for that wall. Clean and fresh. She’d chosen the furniture. She’d chosen Brett, too. She looked down at her ring, then back at him.

  This was a brief working holiday. He was her real world. ‘Sorry, you’re right, I am very distracted. It’s hard not to be with so much going on. I’ll be glad to get home on Sunday.’

  ‘Good. Well, okay, I’ll go now then. Can’t think of anything else we need to talk about. At least, not without you breaking off every couple of minutes.’

  It felt so stilted, so unlike them, and she knew it was her fault. ‘Brett… I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re in the middle of a lot of things and you can’t give your full attention to this call. It’s fine, honey. Really, it’s fine. I’m just not used to you being away. But I’ve got to go.’ He gave her a reassuring and not at all irritated smile and she relaxed a little. ‘I love you, Em. Email your flight details, I’ll be at the airport on Sunday.’

  ‘Great. Good. That’s great.’ A lorry rattled by and she jumped at the noise. He was right; she was only managing to give everything half her attention. She needed to focus on one thing at a time, then she’d achieve a whole lot more and not annoy him in the process. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday, then.’

  ‘Looking forward to it.’

  ‘Yes. Me, too.’ And she was.

  Really.

  She was.

  ***

  Greta placed another pot of tea in front of Emily as she sat down. ‘He’s been fine. Look at him – bless, fast asleep.’

  The Judge had found a quiet, comfortable sofa near the children’s play box and dropped off. His head lolled to one side, not unlike the baby in the pushchair beside him – although not nearly as cute. But, Em thought with a sting, almost as helpless at times. What a wicked thing ageing was to reduce a once competent, fierce man to this. ‘I think all the excitement of the doctor’s visit has worn him out. I’m suppos
ed to be taking him for a haircut, but I don’t want to wake him up, so I might as well stay here and finish a couple of things. Is it okay if I buy some more Wi-Fi time? I’ve used up my free allowance.’

  ‘On the house. I only charge for it to stop the teenagers coming in and spending hours in here and not buying anything. It’s business sense, Sean says.’ Greta picked up an empty cup. ‘Ooohh… wow. I love your ring.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Thank you.’ Still reeling from the conversation with Brett, Emily glanced at her ring, then found herself wringing her hands. Stop it. They didn’t usually niggle at each other like that. They always agreed on everything. It was her fault, too; she’d growled at him for being excited about marrying her. What the hell was wrong with her?

  Greta smiled. ‘Engagement ring, is it?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ It felt strange talking about it after she’d shut Brett down, but Emily held her hand out so Greta could have a closer look.

  ‘Oh, it’s gorgeous. Congratulations. Have you planned a date yet?’

  ‘No, not yet. We’ve only been engaged for a few days, to be honest. There’s such a lot to organise, I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  Greta wiped her hands down her stripy apron, clearly a woman who knew about weddings. ‘Well, if I were you, I’d make sure I booked a venue well in advance. We made a snap decision to get married and ended up with a marquee in the garden because nowhere was available.’

  ‘That sounds lovely, though.’

  Greta sighed as if reliving it all over again. ‘It was. Perfect.’

  As was Brett.

  But hand wringing didn’t sit well with wedding excitement. And here was the thing; something was holding Emily back from throwing herself into the whole wedding bubble and sighing happily about it all. Something… a feeling. She couldn’t put her finger on what exactly it was, though.

  But she’d said yes and it was what she wanted. It was definitely what he wanted.

  Although… She barely dared admit it, but she remembered the panic that had sat in the pit of her stomach all through the proposal and afterwards. And it was still there. Was it Brett? Was it marriage per se? Was it the thought of committing herself? Giving up a part of herself to someone else?

  Aaaargh! Was this what they called pre-wedding nerves? Clearly Greta had no regrets about being married to Sean, but had she ever felt like this?

  It wasn’t exactly a question she could ask someone she’d only just connected with after a very long break. ‘Okay, well, I have to catch up on some work.’

  A whoosh of cool air and the ding of the doorbell heralded a new customer while Greta was still chatting, ‘Oh, yes. Sorry, here’s me gabbling on when you’re supposed to be working. Me too, actually. Don’t let me keep y…’ Her face turned crimson. ‘Hello, er… Sally.’

  ‘Hey, Greta! You’ll never guess who’s just asked if I’m going to be at the committee meeting next week – Oh… Surely not…?’ The happy voice turned sour. ‘Emily Forrester? What in hell’s name? Since when…?’

  Ice snaked down Emily’s back. The laughter died in her throat as she caught the eye of the woman who’d just walked in.

  Sally Rigby.

  Her one-time nemesis and the catalyst for her leaving Little Duxbury in the first place.

  Chapter Five

  Dressed sleekly in a floaty, blush-pink silk top, skinny jeans and a sultry frown, Sally stopped short, took a swift breath, then walked up to the counter, which Greta had somehow managed to scoot behind, her face now as red as the ketchup bottles on each table.

  If Emily had thought she could keep a low profile in this village she’d been sorely mistaken. Through a very dry throat she choked out, ‘Hello, Sally.’

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ Sally’s cool green eyes looked Emily up and down. It was a long, hard scrutiny of how she’d measured up after twelve years. Em didn’t think she’d passed the test.

  There was an intense ache in her chest. She wanted to throw her arms around her oldest friend and give her a hug. To tell her she looked nice and ask what she’d been doing for the last decade. To laugh with her about the gossip, to laugh it off, too. To reminisce about the mischief they’d got up to. To hear what she knew about The Judge and his deterioration, and to see if she had any answers.

  Sally had had a lot of answers years ago and a great way of disparaging the ugly side of life.

  This woman was the one person in the whole village who had been her true friend and Emily had betrayed that trust. At least that was what everyone had believed at the time, when Emily had not known how to address the accusations or who to turn to. What could she do now, but clear the air? It was well overdue.

  ‘How are you?’ Her heart was hammering as she tried to find the right words, but for once her slick, well-honed professional pitch voice was lost to her.

  ‘Not that it’s any business of yours, but I’m fabulous.’ Clearly intending the ultimate snub, Sally turned back to Greta. ‘I’ll come back later. When it’s not so… crowded.’

  Emily’s cheeks were burning. Geez, she’d left all this behind, swearing not to give it, or them, another thought. Yet, here she was, mired in her past, staring it right in the face, and she couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened.

  ‘Can we talk? Maybe… outside? Away from…’ Em indicated The Judge, still asleep. ‘He’s sick. Confused…’

  She didn’t want him to see what might pass between them. She didn’t want an audience. And she sure as hell didn’t know what she was going to say. There was a thundering in her head. A rush of white noise. Even after all this time she felt the rank humiliation of what had happened, and the raw, sharp pain of injustice.

  So much for reinventing herself. Here she was, the real her, all the time just under the surface of her shiny New York shell – just a scared teenager wanting to put things right. Wanting her best friend back.

  For a moment Sally just glared. ‘I’m on my way back to work. No talking.’

  Em followed her out of the door anyway. ‘Sally… wait.’

  Once outside, her ex-best friend’s pretty eyes narrowed as she whirled to face her. ‘I don’t even know what to say to you, Emily. What the hell are you doing back here, anyway? Why?’

  All the happier vibes Emily had begun to feel about Little Duxbury were fizzling out. ‘I’m here for The Judge. Just for a few days… But, well, now you’re here I want to apologise, explain –’

  ‘What could you possibly explain about having sex with my fiancé? On my birthday?’ Sally interrupted, her words coming thick and fast, her hand up to halt any further protests from Em. ‘Forgive me for not wanting details, but it’s ancient history and I have better things to think about.’ Her voice was loud and faltering as much as Emily’s, but there was a bluntness to it, a flatness, that told of stewing over what had happened, of digesting it and then stashing away the pain in a tight ball. Betrayed. The trust had been well and truly shattered and Emily had been judged indeed. ‘I thought you were my friend, Emily. No, actually, I thought you were better than that.’

  ‘I am.’ I was then, and I am now. She wanted to shout out the truth. He was a jerk. A coward. A creep. And he lied. To everyone. And you chose to believe him over me. But hell, Sally might have married the jerk after all. ‘Nothing happened between me and Aidan.’

  ‘So I’m wrong, am I? I’m… what? Lying, or something? Making it up? Nice.’ Her face was red and blotchy. ‘He told me what happened.’

  ‘No. No… it wasn’t like that.’ Why was the street so busy today? People were edging past, giving them a wide berth. The woman with the triplets was heading down towards them, but crossed over the road away from the drama. Em shook her head. ‘I have to explain –’

  ‘Don’t bother. I don’t need this – or you.’ With that, Sally turned and walked away, her back straight and dignified. When she reached the hairdresser’s on the corner she pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

  Damn it. Emily’s gut felt ripped apart. She c
ould hardly chase her down the road or shout after her, but he lied!

  And now the Sally stand-off would be the talk of the village. This was not the way she’d wanted this to go. This was not how she wanted to feel, or how she wanted people to feel about her.

  To top off the humiliation, as she turned to go back inside the café, she noticed Jacob Taylor walking towards her. From the look on his face she could tell he’d heard every word.

  Oh, typical. Just perfect timing. That man was too good at turning up just when she didn’t want him to. Now he had an insight into her past that she would have preferred not be made public, and heard about the damage she could wreak just by existing.

  As she passed him he came to a standstill, his face still that impassive mask. ‘Emily?’

  ‘Not right now. Thanks,’ she croaked, and tried, as best she could, to walk away with some last vestige of dignity.

  She ducked back into the café, her heart jittery as she fisted her hands and then shook them out, trying to get rid of the tension crawling through her. Pandora’s Box was cracked wide-open now and she was being forced to face every single one of her demons. She added betrayal to her list of misdemeanours – breaking hearts, stealing, causing wilful damage – naming them all and feeling them keenly like a twisting knife… Guilt, anger, and a whole heap of shame.

  It was like holding a mirror up to herself, and she didn’t like what she saw. In the years since, she’d worked hard to be a better person, even if that was for her own benefit. New York seemed so far away right now. Despite all the confusion about her feelings for Brett, she wished she was back there. It was so much easier.

  But she wasn’t. She was busy trying to catch all the emotions she’d let loose and bundle them back into the box. She looked over at The Judge, sleep etched in his features, a crease across his cheek where he’d been resting it on his arm, and that crazy hair. At least that was something practical she could deal with.