‘And authors? You mentioned authors?’ Tam was tapping her pencil against the table. ‘We don’t have many of those around here. You’re getting very carried away, Emily. Ideas are all very well, but the execution is going to be impossible.’
That wasn’t a word Emily believed in. ‘Look, you’ve got the bones of it organised already. If we all pull together we can do whatever we set out to do. Maybe small-scale this year, just to test the waters, and then upscale it next year?’ She could leave them a blueprint and be available for questions – New York was only an email away.
‘I could ask around about authors.’ It was Jacob. So far he’d been silent throughout the meeting. His eyes darted to Emily. ‘I have some contacts. And I know a couple of bands, too. I did some freelancing for NME years back. If you’re so enthusiastic about this, then we can’t let you down, right?’
Someone on her side. There was a rush of something through her body as she turned to him, and she had a bad feeling it wasn’t just gratitude. She was already knee-deep in complications with Brett and yet, here she was, craving to know more about Jacob Taylor. If only there was a turn-off switch for her hormones.
She tried to show him her thanks with a not-too-friendly smile, just to make sure she wasn’t encouraging him to instil these weird zings in her. ‘That would be brilliant. See? We must all know someone who could be involved, surely? Ask around. The more fabulous and famous, the better.’
Tam’s eyebrows rose. ‘And payment of all these fabulous artistes?’
‘A percentage of the takings, or something?’
One of the women who’d been listening joined in. ‘I’m an accountant, I could draw up a contract or something.’
‘But it’s not about the money, in the end, is it? It’s about the community. About drawing everyone together and celebrating what a wonderful place Little Duxbury is. The Little Duxbury Festival of Culture. What about that? Or just the Little Festival. That’s perfect. Oh, this is going to be brilliant. Imagine the children’s faces when they’re holding up some artwork or musical instrument they’ve made. Imagine the pride in the college kids’ faces when they’ve entertained a whole village of people. The excitement for the local artists; showing their work, and selling it. Plus, the buzz of giving back by teaching.’ She felt like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, rallying the troops to go into battle. All she needed now was a blue streak across her face, and wild, matted hair. She ran her hand over her very mischievous curls. Okay, just the blue streak was required. She stood up and looked at each of them in turn. ‘We’re going to put Little Duxbury on the map. It’s going to be fabulous. Who’s with me?’
Slowly, all of them, except one, put their hands up. Tam stiffened, her hands firmly down. ‘Looks like you’ve got your festival, Emily.’ Red-faced, she grabbed her handbag. ‘And it sounds like you don’t need me. Good luck.’
Then she hurried out of the door.
‘Oh, crap. I’d better go after her.’ Emily went to follow, but was stopped by Greta’s hand.
‘Give her time to cool down. She’s just pissed off because everyone sided with you.’
‘Damn, and blast. I didn’t mean to do that. Now she’s going to hate me even more.’ That was not what they needed. She hadn’t broken through years of thick ice only to have it glaze over again. Plus, there was the teeny tiny issue of when on earth she would find time to organise a festival in among everything else she was doing. She didn’t want to be in charge of it, just stir up enthusiasm.
Greta shrugged. ‘She needs to loosen up and realise not everything has to go her way all the time.’
‘She needs to get drunk.’ Liam gave a short laugh.
‘She needs to get laid,’ Sal joined in.
Sally’s eyes flickered to Liam as she said that. There was a definite unrequited simmering going on. The man was either blind, oblivious or very definitely not interested.
He stood and began collecting the glasses. ‘Are we finished here, then?’
‘No. Hell, no. We’ve only just started. Any more ideas? No? Okay. Right then, action stations! We need to make a list of everything we have to organise; who to contact, who’s going to do the contacting. Deadlines for action –’ Emily noticed Sally’s eyes following Liam as he started towards the bar. Emily called to him, ‘Er, Liam?’
He turned. ‘Yes?’
‘I was wondering whether you’d be in charge of refreshments for the weekend? We need to discuss amounts, what kind to have on offer, and so on. I think a limited selection of different kinds of alcohol works best, obviously soft drinks and maybe approach a coffee cart or two? Actually, organising all that would probably be hard for just one person. Sally? Would you mind helping him?’
Her friend gave her a tiny wink and could barely contain her smile, although she sounded fabulously nonchalant in her reply, ‘I guess not. No, that’s fine.’
‘Great. So, if you two could have a meeting or two, and report back next week? Also, if you could approach the cafes and restaurants in the area and see who could contribute to the cooking demos, that would be brilliant. I’m thinking we could use a marquee on the green, or up at The Hall. Actually, we have an outhouse that would be perfect. And we’ll need extra tables, chairs and seating.’
‘I’m sure Dad’s hired them before, when he was trying to branch into property development and ran a couple of seminars at the office. We can certainly sort that out. No problem.’ Sally mouthed, thank you the moment Liam’s back was turned.
Great. That was one friendship she’d mended. One she’d, hopefully, be instrumental in creating. And one – with Tamara – that she needed to start fixing all over again.
***
Two hours later, Em found herself once again walking the familiar road from the pub back up to The Hall with Jacob. After the noise of the pub, the brain-storming ideas session, and job allocating, it was nice to have an easy silence. There was something about Jacob that meant she didn’t need to fill in the quiet times. He seemed more than happy to be there saying nothing. Just being.
Eventually, as the noise from the pub leavers died away behind them he asked her, ‘So, your road map took a detour?’
‘I suppose it did, yes. I agreed to stay on for four more weeks to help Tamara with The Judge. And here I am organising a festival when I know nothing about it.’ However, she was born to do this. ‘Thank you so much for putting your hand up to help. I don’t suppose you know anyone famous who’d be a draw card? Someone who’d do it on the cheap?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I’m mates with Will Godmann. He might be up for a chat session. We could do it interview-style, if he agrees. That might draw some people in.’
‘Oh, my God. The guy who wrote the book about real-life spies that’s number one at the moment? Been there for months? The whole establishment went mad about it? The secretive hermit? That guy?’
‘Yeah. We go back a long way. He doesn’t tend to do the show and tell stuff very often, but he owes me a favour.’
‘Oh. That would be amazing. Now we just need some bands.’
‘Like you said, try the colleges. If I do manage to find someone famous in the short time we have, they’ll need some support bands. Remember, though, it’s festival season. There are only so many bands to go around. Leave it with me.’
Without thinking she nudged him. ‘You’re amazing. Thank you.’
‘So are you. You took that meeting very well. Everyone’s revved up about it.’ His eyes lingered on hers for a few seconds. There was something unspoken there, between them. Something, like a flame flickering to life, inside her, too.
So, unfortunately, it dawned on Emily that she was revved up about something else entirely. Please no.
‘It’ll be great if we can pull it off.’
‘We will, now we have you on board.’
‘Oh, God, the pressure! Don’t put too much faith in me. To be honest, I could really do without it. But, well – I got carried away.’ Her hand brushed against hi
s as they walked, and for the briefest second his fingers curled into hers. She held her breath, her whole body trembling as he squeezed her hand, and then let it go. It felt as if she was going to explode with a sudden rush of need that made her limbs feel limp like liquid. Stupid, stupid hormones. It was the slightest of body contacts. It was nothing. It was truly nothing. So why was she feeling like a giddy girl?
He cleared his throat, his voice a little hoarse as he spoke. ‘I noticed you haven’t got your ring on.’
‘No.’ Brett. Poor Brett. ‘We had a fight. Our first one.’
‘Oh. That’s not good. What happened? Want to talk about it?’ Was it her imagination, or did his step falter?
Now she was looking for signs, to tell her what? That he liked her? That he wanted her? Because that was the single most ludicrous thought she’d ever had. ‘Absolutely not, Mr Taylor. It doesn’t seem right to talk to you about it.’
‘Because you feel disloyal?’
‘Yes. That, exactly.’ In so many ways. Her head was all over the place. But her body… her body seemed to have a mind of its own when it came to this man. She felt strangely drawn to him. She didn’t even know why. It was so… stupid, to feel like this. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea at all that I tell you my relationship woes and problems. I have to work it all out for myself.’
‘Okay, that’s absolutely fine. Do it by yourself. Seems like you do that a lot.’ He shook his head as if frustrated, but he wasn’t, she could tell.
She almost laughed. But this wasn’t a laughing matter. ‘It’s private. You know.’
‘Indeed I do. I wouldn’t be going round telling all my secrets to some fly-by-night man I’ve only met once, or twice, or three… oh, maybe four times.’ He smiled softly. ‘But, as someone who’s been married before, to someone who’s heart wasn’t wholly in it – can I give you some advice?’
‘I guess. Yes. I haven’t discussed this with anyone and I just don’t know what to do.’
He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Make sure he’s the one, Emily. Because marriage is hard and things can happen that can shake you to the core.’
‘Like what?’ Was he opening up a little? And why did she want him to? Hard enough to deal with her own problems, let alone explore someone else’s.
He breathed out. Not a gentle sigh, more like an evisceration of a memory. ‘Life happens. It’s not all roses, you know, once you get past the aisle and the lovely gown and the special day. You have to know you can survive whatever is thrown at you, together.’
‘I know that. Look at me here. Trying to shoulder everything.’ While my relationship falls apart.
‘Just know that you love him, and can do it for the long haul, whatever happens. If you have any doubts, sort them out now.’ He shrugged and looked a little embarrassed at saying so much about so personal a subject. ‘Sermon over.’
She didn’t know whether she loved Brett enough. That was the problem. Nailed. She leaned against the stone wall at the bottom of her driveway and wondered how it was that she could talk so easily to Jacob about this when she always found talking about her feelings so difficult. ‘That hasn’t made me feel any better, to be honest. I don’t know if I love him enough for that, but I’m worried I’m going to hurt him.’ Or hurt me.
‘Then you have to talk to him.’
‘Believe me, I want to, but it’s too scary.’
‘You have to be able to say things to him, Emily. Anything. Everything. That’s the scary thing about love; you have to open yourself up to be vulnerable. Put your life in their hands for a while and vice versa.’ He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘Geez, says the guy who failed at it. Big time. Which is why I’m never doing it again.’
‘Whoa. You’re not getting married again? Or what? Falling in love?’
‘None of the above.’
‘That’s a big decision.’
His eyes darkened. ‘It’s the best one, trust me.’
And now she only wanted to delve deeper. But he seemed to have closed off a little. So she backed away and tried to analyse only what she knew – her own issues. ‘The thing is, he’s only ever seen me as Miss Successful. Mainly, because that’s the only person I’ve ever allowed him to see. He’s never seen me slip up, or fail, or be horribly drunk. He’s only ever seen one part of me – the part I want him to see, not the messy, hopeful, scared… real person I am, with a dodgy history and a lot of mistakes.’ The truth eventually dawned. ‘I guess he doesn’t really know me, and if he finds out what I’m really like he might not like me.’
‘I doubt that. I really doubt that.’ Jacob’s dark eyes glittered and she wondered… another time, another place, could they have been more than friends?
She sighed. ‘Thing is, I’ve maintained this facade with him for years. But it’s quite exhausting chasing perfect all the time, and I’m not sure I can keep that up for the rest of my life.’
Unlike with Jacob. In a very short time he’d seen her soaked through to the skin halfway up a very wobbly ladder; he’d seen her scared and vulnerable yet high on adrenalin with mascara-stained cheeks and untamed, rain-frizzed hair. He’d seen the core of her – at least, she was telling him things she’d never uttered to a single soul – that meant something, didn’t it? What was it about him that made her keep showing him her true self? The thought made her shudder. Then another realisation dawned and she laughed. ‘Oh, God, I’m just like Tamara, aren’t I? With this facade of perfection.’
‘Trust me, you are nothing like Tamara. Nothing at all.’ This time the smile he gave her seemed to take over his whole body – it was like watching sunshine come out from behind a cloud.
There was something that felt like a miniature explosion in her stomach and she had the strangest urge to kiss him. Right there. Out in the open. To grab him and make out with him like a hormone-addled kid.
And, worse, he knew she did. Because, there was something different about his eyes now. They seemed misted and wider and shining… or something. The air seemed to crackle with a tension she could almost feel. Like she was holding her breath, waiting for something momentous to happen.
She got the feeling that if either one of them took a step forward, then kissing could certainly happen. That they both knew this, and both felt this unbearable tug between them. She also knew that this was very, very bad news.
Because of Brett. Because of her promise to marry him. Because wanting to kiss someone else was a very strong indication that things were not right in New York. Not right at all.
She shook her head, trying to say all of this and none of it to Jacob. ‘I need to go.’
‘Yes.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Yes. Go, Emily. But remember that I’m here if you want me.’
‘Er, sorry?’ She felt her eyes widen and heart jump.
He smiled ruefully. ‘For a chat. Or help with The Judge. Or, well, anything, you know.’
‘Yes. I know.’ For some reason she couldn’t work out, she reached to his arm and he dragged his hands from his pocket and took hold of hers. His hands weren’t soft and smooth like Brett’s, but they weren’t rough either. They were pretty damned perfect. And warm and safe. He ran his thumb over her palm as he pursed his lips. Little jolts danced over her skin and she felt herself tugging closer and closer to him.
Jacob’s eyebrows rose as if he felt it, too. ‘This is…’ When he breathed in he seemed to shudder, controlling his out-breath, but there was a curse, too. ‘You seriously don’t need me to screw up your life. Go home, Emily.’
She let her hand drop and gave him a smile that said she wanted to do whatever it was he’d been contemplating, but she couldn’t. The old Emily and the new Emily merged into one very scared, very nervous thirty-year-old who felt like a teenager all over again. The feelings inside her showing her she was, at least, alive and vibrant, if also very confused. There was a little light in her gut that was buzzing and zinging.
And then, as reality struck, fizzling and dying. Her life
had been so simple in New York. Busy, but simple. But now every which way she turned it was complicated.
* * *
It felt like the Cold War had restarted in her kitchen. Having had little sleep, from mulling over the strange sensations in her body, and what that might mean for Brett and Jacob and herself, Emily wasn’t in the mood for Tam’s slamming of plates and rattling of cutlery just to indicate she was angry.
She so needed to call Brett and talk to him, to explain how she was feeling and see if, by seeing his face and hearing his voice, she’d know what to say and how to feel. But it was the middle of the night in New York so she just had to wait and shelve those emotions until later.
But waiting wasn’t helping with her nerves and shelving wasn’t happening. She felt guilty and confused and that made her short-fused and snappy. ‘Tam, can you stop banging around so we can talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you?’
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ Tam watched Emily stirring the eggs, and sulked.
‘Could have fooled me. But if there’s really nothing to say then please stop banging around the kitchen. You’re giving me a headache.’ The eggs having cooked, Emily dished them onto plates, then lifted the popped-up toast from the toaster. ‘Seems to me that you’re pissed off because of that meeting last night.’
‘I’ve moved on from that. Even though you may not think so, I do believe in democracy. So, if they all voted for you, then that’s how it is. But don’t say I didn’t warn you; it’s going to be a nightmare.’ Tam shrugged. ‘And now you’ve even got that Jacob Taylor on side. I told you to keep him at a distance, but did you listen? No. Why would you? You’re just the same old Emily.’
‘I am not.’ But she knew Tam would blinker herself to anything positive right now. ‘Anyway, what’s wrong with Jacob Taylor? He seems okay to me.’
‘He’s edging his way in here. Always conveniently there when Daddy goes walkabout. Always with an opinion about how we should do this to make him safe, or do that. Clearly everything I do isn’t good enough. Why would he do that if he isn’t trying to weasel his way in?’
The Secret Art of Forgiveness Page 18
