‘I understand.’
‘I don’t think anyone ever can.’
‘I want to try.’
‘Don’t you have a show to run?’ He edged away, pointed to the carousel and the tinny music, the laughing kids and smoky barbeques. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an end to the conversation.
She was dismissed. He needed some space. She needed to breathe, to work out her next move. She just didn’t know where to go. She didn’t seem to fit in anywhere, after all.
***
‘Houston, we have a problem,’ Tom whispered to Emily, as she clapped unenthusiastically along to the band onstage in an effort to get rid of the tension that was still in every pore and cell in her body.
Tell me about it.
She’d left Jacob by the stream and had stumbled back to The Hall, throwing herself back into the thick of organising things, trying to numb her brain and her nerve endings. But it hadn’t worked.
Life with Brett had been so uncomplicated. He’d pandered to her. God knew why; she didn’t deserve it. She could have everything she’d ever wanted with him. Jacob, on the other hand, was a dark danger, raw and fierce. But he made her feel alive. Exposed, but alive. He was a hard man to get to know, but worth it. A glimpse of his humanity had made her want to know more.
She had exactly fourteen and a half hours left, then she was leaving.
She stopped clapping. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Johnny East’s a little… indisposed.’
She pulled him away from the crowd. ‘No. Please tell me no. He’s due on in ten minutes and people keep telling me they’ve come for miles just to see him. Where is he?’
‘With Jacob. Backstage.’
They’d erected a relaxation area for the performers, which incorporated a small bar with a very limited array of drinks for purchase. In one corner slumped Johnny East, he was staring at his patent, Doctor-Marten-clad feet, his round face red and blotchy. Far from the heart throb she remembered, the singer was balding, with a stained, checked shirt pulled taut over a rotund belly. Jacob knelt in front of him with a coffee cup in one hand and water in the other.
‘Problem?’ she asked as she sauntered over, trying not to look too intense. But feeling it anyway. Just as she’d thought she’d seen a chink in that hard shell of his, Jacob had closed right up again. He was a damaged soul, but unfortunately, the fact he wasn’t perfect made him seem even more so.
Jacob looked up and frowned and she wasn’t sure it was at her or the singer. ‘Someone didn’t get the memo about serving him water only.’
As she closed in she caught the singer’s slurred words: ‘I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t go up there and sing.’
Is he even capable of it? ‘Of course you can, Mr East. You can do anything you want, if you put your mind to it. Here…’ Taking the coffee from Jacob, she pushed down the urge to throw it over the maudlin drunk and, instead, squeezed it into his hand. ‘Try this. This will give you a little buzz. Make your head clearer.’
He shook his head, sadly, self-pity etched in every pore. ‘No. It’s too late. I can’t do it. I’m washed-up. Really. I am.’
Then why the hell say yes to a gig? ‘I know you’re scared, Johnny. I know exactly what that feels like – putting yourself under the microscope for everyone to examine. And you worry about what they’re going to think and say, but it’s nothing like what you imagine. People are usually willing to forgive you your flaws.’ She found herself thinking about coming back here and how she’d been so terrified, how she’d put it off for so long. Now she was getting as maudlin as him. ‘But hey, you’re Johnny East. You’re freaking amazing.’
‘Was. Was amazing. Now I’m just… drunk. I can’t even stay off the booze for two weeks.’
She took a deep breath. You will not ruin this for me. You will get on that stage and sing if it’s the last thing you do. Because I will not fail at this, too. ‘Mr East, there are thousands of people out there who love you, who have paid good money to come to hear you sing your amazing songs.’ She crossed her fingers at that, remembering the very annoying ‘The Frogitty Hop’.
‘I can’t… Don’t you get it? I’m done. Through. Might as well be dead.’
Not on my watch. ‘Oh, no, you’re not. Come on.’ Squeezing her hand into his clammy fist she hauled him upright, and with Jacob’s help managed to walk him to the side of the stage. ‘Repeat after me: Take me to the hop, the frogitty hop, take me now and never ever stop…’
‘You actually know his songs?’ Jacob was staring at her incredulously.
‘Sure. My mum used to love him. My mum thought he was the most amazing singer in the world.’ Out of the corner of her eye Emily saw the star leaning a little closer to hear what she was saying. His back was a little straighter and he was smoothing down the wisps of hair on the side of his head. ‘My mum said that he helped her through some hard times with his songs. That Jiving Johnny actually saved her life. Oh, I wish she was here to see him. My poor mum would have given anything to see him sing onstage.’ God forgive her, her mother had never said any of those things, but the next thing she knew, Johnny was strapping on his guitar and stepping out in front of the crowd.
After the first, slightly tuneless, rendition of his number-one hit ‘Serenade Me All Night Long’, he seemed to get into his stride. Watching from the wings, Emily finally plucked up the courage to tackle the huge chasm between her and Jacob. ‘Do you think he’s safe enough to be left up here while we go and talk?’
‘About earlier?’
‘I want to apologise for pushing you into a corner. I shouldn’t have done that.’
His eyes were still suspicious and wary, but there was a little give in them now. They walked to the VIP area, which, thankfully, was empty. Everyone was front of stage dancing and singing to the show finale. But Jacob was far from doing that. He sat down and indicated for her to do the same. ‘It doesn’t do to rake over the past. I don’t want to. Okay? So stop asking.’
‘I thought it might help.’
‘Help who? You or me?’
She thought about it and decided to put herself on the line, for all the good it was going to do her. ‘Me, I guess. I want to know everything about you. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. You… intrigue me.’
‘You think what happened five, ten years ago is important? Why? It’s what we do now that counts, right? Who we are now.’ He wove his fingers into hers and looked deep into her eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have told you to go. That was wrong of me. But I needed to figure some things out.’
What? But she suspected he wasn’t going to say. And she’d already learnt she couldn’t push him. ‘I wish I’d met you years ago. I wish I’d been here years ago.’
‘What? And miss out on your wonderful job?’
She tried to smile, but couldn’t. ‘I screwed up. I lost an important account. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m not VP when I get back tomorrow. I’ll probably get the sack.’
‘Who the hell would sack you? You shine, Emily Forrester, like the brightest star.’ He ran his thumb over hers, turned her hand over and pressed his lips to her palm. His eyes closed and for that one beautiful second she pretended they were living in a different universe, where there really was only sunshine and flowers and festivals, not wicked dementia and broken promises and lost opportunities. No shattered hearts or tears or regret. When he opened his eyes he smiled. ‘Better make the most of today, then? These are the last few moments of your masterpiece. You want to dance? I can see your friends waving to you down there. Look… Greta and Sally are jumping up and down and screaming.’
‘I don’t need asking twice. Come on.’ She grabbed his hand and they worked their way through the crowd of smiling faces until they reached their friends.
Jacob’s hand was still in hers. There was something more going on here that she wasn’t sure she could stop. It was totally foolish to encourage it; hell, she was leaving in the morning. But for now she didn’t want to have that convers
ation. Didn’t want to put back up the guard she’d taken so long to pull down.
She sang along with the rest of the crowd and when the guitar solo started she joined in, finally slipping her hand from Jacob’s, swaying to the beat, pretending to play the guitar, swinging her hair from side to side, as she used to do, to great hilarity.
Greta was doubled up with laughter. ‘Still got the moves, I see.’
There was a screech of feedback, and Emily started to twiddle with the invisible guitar, tuning knob things. ‘Yikes! That was very off-key. I’ll just tune up again.’
Jacob was watching her, his eyes glittering, his mouth kicked up in a grin. ‘You’re tuning an air guitar? Really?’
‘Never let it be said that I would ever play an untuned air guitar.’
‘Of course, who would ever? It’s all in the tuning, right?’ Laughing made his eyes crinkle. They were definitely his best feature. His hand was on her back now. Warm. He leaned towards her. ‘You are completely bonkers, you know that.’
‘Takes one to know one.’
And it felt perfectly natural to turn into his touch. To curl into his arms and kiss him again. She didn’t care that they were surrounded by everyone in the village, didn’t care that this was leading them somewhere out of bounds. All she wanted was to feel his arms around her, to taste him. To wrap herself in this little world of two. Tomorrow was another day. Another life.
Three more songs and Emily was hoarse and hot, but also completely surprised that Johnny East was actually quite good. He seemed to have sobered into his set. ‘This one’s dedicated to Emily’s mum. As a thank you for helping me out earlier. Emily? I’d like you to come join me in this, please.’
‘No way on earth.’
Greta pushed her forward. ‘Here she is. Go, Emily!’
‘No. Way.’ Second time in two days she’d been publicly thanked and she decided right there and then she definitely preferred being out of the limelight these days.
Greta pouted. ‘Ah, come on. He wants you to go up there. It can be your swan song.’
‘That makes it sound like I’m dying, not going back to New York.’ But there was a buzz inside her, a dare, a thrill at the thought of getting up in front of all these people and just being silly. Silly hadn’t been in her life for a long time. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ll be crap.’
‘So? It can be your crap swan song. And then it’ll be my round and I’ll get you a whole bottle of wine to celebrate.’
She’d already had too much, but… what the hell. She didn’t have work in the morning. She was just going back home. To Brett and a whole lot of questions. And answers she was struggling to find.
Hell, this was her last chance. She needed to get lost in this. To grab this one moment, and live it. Because why the heck not? If she made the biggest fool of herself, it didn’t matter; she’d done worse than that years ago and they’d still forgiven her. So she could let her hair down and be… herself one last time.
Whoa. That was a very strange thought. She was herself all the time, right?
Someone began a chant. Emily. Emily. Emily. Then the whole crowd joined in. Clapping in rhythm. Em. I. Ly.
She looked at all their smiling faces, then back at Jacob. ‘Oh, God.’
Tugging her hand, Greta shouted, ‘Listen to them, Emily, you can’t back out now, there’ll be a riot.’
‘I can’t. I just can’t.’ She realised she was sounding just like Jiving Johnny. And it would be fitting to be up there singing along with a song dedicated to her mother. Here, at The Hall.
‘They love you, Emily. Go on.’ She looked around at their faces again; they were calling her name. They wanted to celebrate her – Tilda, Dr Shepherd, Liam, Greta, the pub regulars – her friends. There was a rock in her throat. Her friends. She felt sure, too, that if her mother was looking down on her, despite the myriad mistakes she’d made, she’d be proud of her daughter for what she’d achieved here these last few weeks – facing her ghosts, instead of running away from them.
‘Well, I can’t let my fans down.’ She turned to Jacob and hollered, ‘Wish me luck.’
‘You don’t need luck, Emily Forrester.’ He tugged her back to him and pressed his mouth against hers again. When he pulled away the world was spinning. ‘Off you go. You’ll blow them away.’
‘Ha!’ I doubt that very much. You haven’t heard my singing.’
***
‘I was terrible. Kill me now.’
‘No, honestly, you were fine. Well… let’s just say it wasn’t dreadful.’ Jacob was still laughing. ‘Although, I have to say, you weren’t exactly Lady Gaga either…’
‘I know I was awful. But God, it was fun.’
‘Things might have gone better if you’d allowed Johnny to get a look in with the microphone. Three songs down and it felt as if you were there for a residency.’ He lifted his hand and drew a line across the air as if he could see her name in lights. ‘The Emily Forrester experience.’
‘Like Britney Spears in Las Vegas?’ She was feeling a little discombobulated and wired by the alcohol and the elation of singing to an appreciative, if not a little rowdy, crowd.
He laughed again. ‘Without the cray-cray. Or the moves. Or the great voice, really. But yes, in every other aspect you were just like Britney.’
They walked into The Hall hand in hand, leaving the last of the rubbish collectors to do their jobs; Liam was overseeing that. Tom was chatting to the security guy at the gate. Tam had taken The Judge back hours ago in a huff about the noise keeping her awake all the way down in her cottage. The stage was being dismantled. Most people had gone home.
Inside The Hall an eerie quiet had settled and she waited for it to settle inside her. She should have been calm, relieved it was all over. She wasn’t.
There was a tension spiralling between her and Jacob, since that kiss before she’d gone up on stage; something that said they had unfinished business. But it was a step into the unknown. Her head was whirring with what ifs and whys. So many questions that started with packing her bags in the morning, saying goodbye.
And even so, she could not let go of his hand.
She started to walk up the grand staircase towards her bedroom, wishing it was more than it was. That whatever she and Jacob were about to share could be in a better locale. But she felt that one wrong word would shut down the momentum; she’d lose her nerve or it would send him scurrying.
She felt a tug on her hand and turned to him, her stomach fluttery, her heart beating a wild rhythm.
He was looking at her with a question in his eyes. ‘Emily?’
‘Jacob, I don’t know how to ask you… what to say…’
He kissed the top of her nose. ‘Then say nothing.’
‘Do you want this?’
His arms circled her waist. As he pressed close she could feel how much he wanted it. He kissed her again, this time softly, a caress that whispered over her skin. Then in an instant the atmosphere charged and he was leaning her against the balustrade, his hand on her breast, his breathing fast, his mouth finding that sweet spot behind her ear. He groaned, half laugh, half raw need. ‘What a bloody stupid question.’
* * *
Emily was woken by the shrill ring of her phone. Typical that it had found reception the one time she just wanted to be left alone. Alone with Jacob. Albeit twisted together in her single bed that had been too small for just her when she was ten years old.
She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt happier than last night, lying in his arms after hours of lovemaking. The tenderness of his touch and the intense connection they’d had.
‘Sorry. Urgh.’ She wriggled away from him, but his arm tightened across her belly.
‘Ignore it. Just this once.’
She could feel his hardness against her leg and there was very little that would have prevented her from making love with him again. But… ‘It might be a problem or something. I should… I really… should.’
Blindly rummaging i
n her bag, she found her phone and quickly answered. ‘Hello?’
‘Babe? Hey. Good to hear your voice.’
Brett.
Her eyes closed and nausea hit her as the reality settled. She’d spent the night with Jacob instead of working out her feelings for her fiancé-once-removed. Brett’s last sharp words came back to her and sliced her gut. ‘Hey. How… how are you?’
‘Were you sleeping? Sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I’m awake now.’
His voice cracked with longing. ‘I’m sorry for what I said the other day. I can’t sleep for thinking about you. About us. It’s driving me crazy. You’re coming home today and I just wanted to let you know that nothing has changed for me. I still love you. I can’t wait to see you.’
No. No. No. She imagined him in his huge bed in his pristine apartment. She imagined his lovely scent and his capable hands. And his ever so reasonable understanding of her pre-wedding wobbles. She doubted he’d be reasonable about this if he knew.
Shuffling to the edge of the bed she grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around her, the warm space between her and Jacob yawning into a wide, cool chasm. His fingers stroked her spine and her eyes filled. Jacob was a good man. Someone she could be herself with. Someone who encouraged her to just be Emily. She loved the way he made her feel – like a teenager and yet like a grown-up, like she was the centre of his world. She loved the tingles as he touched her. Loved his kindness and his smile.
But there was Brett, too, and a life a thousand miles away from here. A real life.
Her life. A life she adored. A life she’d worked hard to get. A life where she could do great things. But it wasn’t here.
She cleared her throat and palmed away the tear that had escaped down her cheek. She couldn’t talk to Brett properly while Jacob was here; she needed to do it face to face. To explain everything. To tell him he was a great and gracious man she respected wholeheartedly. But that she definitely couldn’t marry him. That things were irrevocably over.
He kept on talking. ‘I’ll pick you up from the airport and drive you to work. I’ve been talking to Greg, told him if you go, I go –’
The Secret Art of Forgiveness Page 26
