The Secret Art of Forgiveness (15 page)

‘It's hazy. I know I was so bloody angry. So angry.' Sally shook her head, her eyes glistening.

‘I know. And I just looked around at you all and thought, what's the point? No one will believe anything I have to say. No one wants me here. I can't blame them, though. I've done too much, I've wrecked my chances, I'm the girl who cried wolf too many times. So I packed my things and left. I finally took control. It was the best thing I'd done in a very long time.' She hauled in a breath. ‘The worse thing was knowing how much you hated me.'

‘I thought you'd done it to spite me, or something. I was so damned angry with you.'

‘You didn't trust me. You didn't believe me.'

Sally's voice was pained. ‘I know. I was stupid, but blinded by him and his profession of love. When you're that age everyone just wants to be loved, right?'

‘Yes,' Emily had to force the word out through a closed-up throat. Because that was the stark truth of it all: for her whole life, Emily had just wanted to be loved, by her family, her
friends. It hit her then that she shouldn't have been angry with Sally, or The Judge, or even Aidan, to be honest. Building up to that summer, Emily had already built a bonfire of rage – Aidan had just struck the match.

‘Then… well, then nothing was ever the same between me and Aidan. I dumped him. He was quite hard to get rid of, actually. Dad had to intervene.' Sally's mouth twitched into a sad smile. ‘I never thought I'd be saying this, but I'm so sorry. So sorry that happened to you and that no one listened. I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance.'

There was a thick, raw weight now in Emily's throat.
Finally.
Finally, she felt as if she'd been heard. Her words got stuck and they came out wobbly, ‘It's okay.'

‘No. No. It's not.' There was a pretty lemon flowery scarf around Sally's neck and she absentmindedly fingered the strands and looked away. Her cheeks were flushed with emotion and Emily wanted to reach out and give her a hug.

But there was still an acre of space between them. A decade, and miles of hurt. Less, now, but the gap was certainly far from bridged.

‘It was a long time ago.' She'd said what she needed to. One glass, she'd said. She'd had two already, and was probably overstaying her welcome. She put it onto the kitchen counter, unsure as to what to say next. So she went for, ‘Pretty scarf.'

Sal looked down at it. ‘Oh? This? Thanks. Perks of the job; getting to wear some of the things I sell.'

There was so much Emily didn't know about her old friend. And vice versa. ‘What is it you do now?'

‘Hairdresser.' Pride straightened Sally's back. ‘I took over the one in the village a few years ago. There's a beauty therapist in, too, and we sell odds and sods. Like this. And a bit of jewellery, you know… Everything helps.'

‘That explains why you look so bloody amazing.' Emily fingered her wild mop of hair. ‘I should probably get you to try and tame this for me. It got all frizzed from the flight and I didn't bring the right conditioner. Although, to be honest, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.'

There was a flicker of a smile between them. Not enemies any more. Not quite friends, either. Sal looked at Em's hair and frowned. ‘I'm a hairdresser, not a miracle worker, but pop by tomorrow. I'll get my best scissors out.'

‘I might just do that, and bring The Judge down for you to fix my heinous attempt at a short back and sides.' They both knew she probably wouldn't. ‘I should go, leave you to your evening.'

‘Okay.' They walked towards the front door in silence.
Say something. Do something.
Emily didn't know what. She'd built barriers so thick she didn't know how to break them down. But she wanted to. God, she wanted to. ‘Anyway, thanks for hearing me out.'

Sal reached for the door handle, but paused. There were tears in her eyes. ‘I'm sorry about it all. I really am.'

‘Me, too.' Relief rushed through Emily and she tentatively squeezed Sally's hand.

Next thing she knew she was being pulled into a tight hug. ‘I want to hear about what you've been up to for the last zillion years or so. Maybe? Some time? A coffee? Do pop in to the salon. I'd love to do your hair. Honestly.'

‘I'd like that.' Emily stepped out of the hug and wiped her eyes. ‘I would.'

‘Good.' Sally was laughing and crying at the same time, smudging her mascara down her cheeks with trembling fingers. ‘Sorry… sorry. Silly me for crying. I'm getting too bloody emotional these days.' But Emily understood. They'd had a tight friendship for years and that had been blown apart. This felt good.

Laughing a lot more than crying now, Sally choked out, ‘Actually, what are you doing now? I'm supposed to be meeting Greta for a drink. She rang out of the blue and said she wanted a girls' night out for once in her life. You want to join us? I'm sure she won't mind.'

There wasn't a lot else Emily would rather have done than grasp this olive branch, but she had other priorities now. ‘I'd love to, but I can't. I have to get back to The Judge. Tom's babysitt…' That was too harsh. He wasn't a damned baby. He was a fully grown, well-respected and intelligent man with a terrible disease. ‘Tom's Judge-sitting.'

‘They'll be okay for a bit longer, surely?' Sal's fingers brushed over Em's hand. ‘Wait… is that? Oh, my God… You're engaged? Greta never said. I never even noticed. Who? What? When?'

It was so nice to be on a better footing with her oldest friend. ‘Another time, maybe. It's a long story and you have to get to the pub.'

‘Oh, you have got to come now. I want to hear all about your man. Let's have a proper catch-up.'

‘I can't leave The Judge any longer. Really.' She couldn't just leave him because she'd had another offer. No wonder Tamara was so stressed if she couldn't go about her normal life without considering what she had to do to protect him at every given opportunity. ‘No. I'd love to, but I really can't.'

‘Call Tom and see how they're getting on. Do it.'

Emily hesitated. ‘I feel terrible asking him. I can't phone him.'

‘Well, I can.' Sally was tapping on her phone. ‘Tom's a sweetie. He won't mind. Honestly.'

Chapter Seven

The pub wasn't too crowded, so they easily found a table in a quiet corner. Almost as soon as she'd agreed to come, Emily had had second thoughts; she'd made amends with Sally, yes, but there was a long way to go before they could consider themselves mended friends. The last thing she wanted was a long evening with even longer gaps in stilted conversation.

She needn't have worried, though. The two Little Duxbury women were like all her regular New York friends with the same worries and interests. Greta arrived back from the bar with a second round of drinks and sat down on the banquette with a bump. ‘It's so nice to get out of the house, but I don't think I should have much more to drink than this. Getting up with the kids is going to be hard with a sore head.'

Sally smiled. ‘Oh, poor you. I forgot it was a school night.'

‘Honey, with kids, every night is a school night. Plus, no more lie-ins, like, ever. In fact, I can't remember when I had a full night's sleep. Mind you, sometimes I can't even remember my kids' names.'

‘It sounds a bit like having someone with dementia shuffling about the place,' Em joined in. ‘I'm always alert to the slightest noise. Who needs an alarm clock, right?'

‘I wouldn't be without them, though. They're hard work, but with just one look, or a smile, they get you, right here.' Greta tapped her heart, and laughed. ‘Or that could just be indigestion. Actually, we try to take it in turns to get up to them in the night. Sean's so great, he never misses his turn, not like some dads who have selective deafness. Two Saturdays ago he suggested I have a
me
day. I got to half past nine in the morning and I didn't know what to do with myself. I ended up going to find them at Aldi's. I've forgotten the art of being selfish. Who'd have thought?'

‘It sounds like you're a great unit. A great mum, too.' There was a pang, low in Emily's tummy. A quiver of envy at Greta's settled life; the kids, being surrounded by people she'd known all her life. A support network of love, a beautiful place to live. An unswerving, unshakeable knowledge that there were people she could rely on, whatever befell her or her family.

And Emily was carving that out for herself with Brett. It would be the same, the same but different. It was everything she'd worked towards – everything fitted into her blueprint. The guy, the job, surrounding herself with people who supported her – in her work, anyway. She had no doubt they'd be just as supportive if babies came along. She'd created the hub she'd missed out on from the age of eight.

The panic started to fizz along with the low murmur of that feral, instinctive tug in her tummy. Everything had worked out exactly as she'd wanted. But she hadn't planned to feel like
this
. Panicked.

God, she needed another drink.

‘I am so glad I live on my own and I can please myself and lie in whenever I want, and have
me
days every day.' Sally shook her head. ‘How's The Judge doing these days? Really? Poor guy.'

‘Oh, you know, much the same. It's hard to reconcile the man he is now with the man who held people's lives in the balance for all those years.' The man who'd shaped her life to the extent she'd purposefully cut people out of it, had run away, lost friends. And yet, who she'd grown to respect a little these last few days, even with the blips.

‘God, I hope I don't end up like that.' Sal shuddered. ‘Sorry, Em, but it's a terrible way to go. A reasonably working body, and a mind that's forgotten all the amazing things you've done, all the places you've been, the people you've known. The fun you had. It's too sad.'

Em stared into her glass. ‘To be honest, I'm quite glad he hasn't remembered who I am. Makes things a little easier.'

‘He doesn't know who you are?'

‘No. He puts his own spin on it. Every day I'm someone different. Sometimes three people in one day.' She didn't mention the scene in the café, and neither did Greta, thankfully. ‘I imagine he'll be glad when Tamara gets back and he won't have me telling him what to do all the time.'

‘You think Tamara doesn't boss him around? What? Is she having a personality transplant in Paris?' Greta bit her lip. ‘Oops. Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.'

At least it wasn't just Emily who had a hard time with Tamara. She couldn't help smiling. ‘So she hasn't changed much then?'

‘If anything, I'd say she's got worse,' Sally said. ‘She's on the summer fête committee and no one can get a word in. It's all… do it her way or no way.'

Em knew how that could be. ‘I'm so out of touch, I feel terrible. We haven't really talked much over the years. None of us. Or rather, me and them. It's mainly my fault. I should have rung them, checked in every now and then.' It had always been a
me and them
situation, though. It was nothing new.

Greta smiled softly. ‘Hey, we all remember, you know. We know what she can be like and what you went through. I'm sure she could just as easily have contacted you. Anyway, it was probably better to let the dust settle over everything.'

That made Emily feel so much better – although a little disloyal to Tam. Surely she'd mellowed? Surely she couldn't be the same as she was? ‘I don't suppose there's been a man around? Boyfriend?' Fancy having to ask people she hardly knew about her stepsister's love life.

‘There was one guy. Once. Tall, older guy. Looked like a country gent in a tweed jacket and moustache. They used to come in for drinks every now and then, or go hiking – you'd see them in all their outdoor gear and with two huge Great Danes. But he disappeared after a year or so, never to be seen again. We all wondered whether she'd pushed him off some mountain.' Sally laughed and lifted her hand. ‘Seriously, as far as her private life goes, she keeps herself to herself.'

A family trait, one way or another. So, Tamara was just a more intense version of her teenage self, whereas Em had worked hard to recreate a softer, different Emily. Instead of being the tormented teenager, she'd moulded herself into someone she'd wanted to be.
Dress not for the job you have, but for the job you want
… She'd heard that and adapted it to her life. Trouble was, now she didn't know who she really was: the quietly confident, successful, independent woman or the vibrant, fired-up emotional soul she'd been ten years ago.

She liked the new Emily… even if her life did seem to be too good to be true sometimes. Even if it felt as if she was wearing a heavy coat that she occasionally wanted to throw off, and just be wild, just be herself, just for the hell of it.

‘So, this fiancé of yours… What's his name?' Greta was staring at her ring, her eyes lit by excitement and genuine interest.

Emily looked at it and waited to feel excited. She didn't. ‘Brett. Brett Fallon.'

‘Oh, that sounds so exotic. So American.'

Emily laughed. ‘I'll tell him that; he'd think that was very funny.'

‘Any pictures? You must have some?'

‘Sure.' She found her phone and scrolled through the photos, not wanting to think about the weird feelings whirring through her whenever she thought about the wedding. No, not just the wedding, but the marriage. The whole giving of herself to someone else. To Brett. She most certainly didn't want to talk about it.

And she'd clearly had too much wine.

Sal nudged her as her eyes widened. ‘Oh, my God. He's gorgeous… wow.'

‘Yes, he is. He's actually very lovely and I know he'd do anything for me.' And now she felt guilty for even thinking about doubts. But she couldn't ignore them, either.