The Secret Art of Forgiveness (16 page)

‘Hey, are you okay?' It was Sal, giving her a strange look. ‘You've gone a bit sad. Aww, are you missing him? All this talk about him and you'd much rather be there than here.'

‘No. No, I'm fine. Sorry.'

Greta was watching her, too, with a concerned frown. ‘You sure?'

‘Absolutely.' Without further ado she flipped her phone back into her bag and shook her head.
Don't ask. Please, don't ask.

She asked. ‘They all look good on paper, right? Everything okay in fiancé land? Second thoughts? Trouble in paradise?'

‘No. It's nothing. Nothing. We're great.' But she knew it didn't sound convincing. Not wanting to analyse anything any further she deflected. ‘The guy at the bar… the barman, Liam. He keeps looking over. Any reason?'

Sally's eyes nearly popped out of her head as her cheeks flushed. ‘No. No reason.'

Greta giggled. ‘Should I wave?'

‘Don't you bloody dare.' Sal nudged her. ‘Just laugh as if I've told you the most hilarious joke in the world and look at me like I'm the light of your life.'

‘Newsflash: she's interested. We don't know if
he
is…' Greta whispered. ‘He's collecting glasses. Coming over… incoming… incoming…'

This was the best distraction from her own sorry life. Finally, out of the spotlight. ‘Er… should Greta and I disappear for a minute? Leave you here on your own? That way he's more likely to talk, without an audience.'

‘Great idea.' Greta stood. ‘Epic. Bathroom, Emily?'

***

‘Is the coast clear?' Having refreshed her lipstick, Em walked out of the bathroom and sidled up to the bar, all the better to get a good view of the Sally-Liam scenario. They were chatting. Sally was laughing. Liam was leaning closer. ‘I think we should hang here for a minute. My round, yes?'

‘Thanks, I'll have a pint of bitter, please.'

The voice in her ear was not giddy Greta's and it made her stomach knot.

Jacob Taylor. Of course.

‘Oh! You made me jump. You have a very bad habit of doing that.'

Standing off to her right, a half-finished pint in hand, he leant against the corner of the bar. Dressed in an old grey T-shirt and faded jeans, he smiled at her with those dazzling blue eyes. They were definitely his best feature.

And she was an engaged woman.

Plus, he might be trying to scam The Judge out of his last pennies, according to Tamara, anyway. ‘Oh, er… actually, I'm in a round with the girls. It's a little –'

‘Awkward? Yes, don't worry – it was a bad attempt at a joke. I'm in a round with that lot over there, anyway.' He pointed towards a group of men gathered around the darts board. ‘How's the roof? Did you get some quotes?'

‘Yes, thank you. I had someone round this afternoon and Sally's going to send her dad round tomorrow.'

‘Oh, so you contacted the Rigbys, after all?'

‘Yes, in the end.' He had an
I told you so
look on his face. ‘It's a long, sordid story of dastardly deeds. But everything's sorted out now. Bygones are well and truly gone.'

He nodded. ‘Glad to hear it. Not good to have bygones in a place like Little Duxbury.'

‘Or Manhattan. Or anywhere, really. Bygones are not a good thing.' She was rambling. Where was the super-sophisticated Emily when she needed her?

His eyes met hers and there was a little jump in her pulse as he asked, ‘What is it you do there? Manhattan?'

She realised she was swaying slightly. It had been quite a while since she'd drunk this amount of alcohol. ‘I do wonderful things. With wonderful people.'

‘I wouldn't imagine anything less. And this wonderful job is…?'

‘Advertising. Going back on Sunday.'

‘And leaving all this behind? How could you possibly bear to go?'

She laughed. ‘It's been interesting – and challenging – at times, I have to admit. But I have a life you know, I'm not …' She gesticulated around the room. ‘This. This isn't me. I have friends and a life. I have a fiancé.' She held out her hand and showed him the ring her Little Duxbury friends had been going all mushy over. He glanced at it with a disturbing disinterest. ‘Yes, I noticed it the first day I met you. Congratulations. What's he called, this fiancé of yours?'

‘Brett. He works with me.'

One eyebrow rose. ‘Cosy.'

The way he said it made her a little off guard. ‘Are you laughing at me?'

‘Hell, no, Emily. It sounds as if you've got your life all worked out. Well done.'

‘I like to think so. I have the job, the man, the life I always aimed for. I had a plan, you see – a road map – from the age of eighteen, and I stuck to it. And you?'

‘Hmmm, no, I haven't found the man I was aiming for.' He smiled again; it was amazing and yet gentle at the same time. He was a big, serious man with a disarming smile. ‘Or the woman, for that matter. I haven't got life planned out and I don't like maps. Sometimes it's good to throw caution to the wind and explore completely new territory, you know?'

His gaze caught hers and there was that unsettling feeling she'd felt before with him. As if he could read her thoughts, see into her head. It was unnerving and discomfiting. And there was an undercurrent to what he was saying, but she was a little too tipsy to work it out. All she knew was that the thought of throwing everything out and charting new territory was massively anxiety-inducing and thrilling at the same time.

‘Well, I hope you don't get lost without your map.' She saw Greta beckoning to her. ‘Got to go.'

‘Bye, then.' As she nudged past him she got a whiff of his scent. A heady mix of an exotic aftershave and clean man. It wove through her and she felt a very strange sensation flutter in her stomach. She turned away, shaken by the feeling. Quite shaken indeed.

***

There was a warm glow in the centre of her chest as Emily made her way back towards The Hall. It had been a good night, of good things. She felt as if she'd taken a shaky step towards fixing something that had knocked the shine off her life for long enough.

The only thing to challenge the glow was the company she was now keeping.

Jacob Taylor.

Obviously.

The sky was a thick black, glittering with stars. It was cold, but she was rugged up with his jacket, and the chill on her face made her feel alive and fresh. And, she hoped, it would sober her up a bit. Somehow she'd agreed to him escorting her home; they were headed in the same direction, after all – which was the opposite one to Greta and Sally.

Feeling very guilty about being out so late she quickened her pace. ‘I shouldn't have stayed so long. Tom's probably pacing the floor up there. I hope The Judge didn't play up for him.'

‘He knew where you were, and who you were with.' Jacob was being eminently reasonable. ‘If there'd been a problem he'd have rung.'

‘I guess.' Despite his assurances the guilt was still there. She'd been out having a great time while paying someone else to do what she'd come here to do. ‘Is this what it's like, do you think, having kids? The never-ending concern? Having to constantly think about someone else?'

Jacob's eyebrows furrowed. ‘Yes, of course, and a lot more worries besides. It's also great fun, so I've heard, and worth every minute. But you're acting as if you didn't deserve a night off. You've been joined at the hip to Judge Evans since you got here – forgive me for saying, Emily, but that would be enough to drive anyone to drink.'

She laughed. ‘You're forgiven. You know him better than me.'

She wanted to tell him how conflicted she'd been about going out at all. How she'd found herself caught between fixing things from her past and trying to straighten out her present. How angry she'd felt when she realised The Judge had known he was hurting her and hadn't tried to fix it. But why bare her soul to someone she hardly knew, especially when she didn't even bare her soul to her fiancé?

‘How's Judge Evans doing? When he's not pining for you?' There was a halting smile, a gentle tease in Jacob's tone. ‘He hasn't been doing his night-time wanderings recently.'

‘When I got here he was hobbling and bent and confused. But now his back is straighter than ever, and he's smiling. He isn't searching for that damned dead dog all the time. There's something about him that's different and it's not just because we changed his medication, I'm sure of it.' Who knows what more she might have achieved if they hadn't had that shaky past to surmount?

‘I don't want to burst your bubble, Emily, but it probably is just the antibiotics.'

She hoped not, she really did. But maybe he was right; either that or just coincidence. From what she'd researched so far, dementia was unpredictable. The Judge certainly flipped back and forth between
here
and
lost
pretty frequently. ‘Okay, well, maybe it's just because I make sure the door's ultra-double-locked every night.'

‘Regardless, you've made a difference. He'll miss you when you go back to your wonderful job and wonderful city.'

‘Well, who's going to cook him the worst food he's ever eaten? And boss him about and make him do laundry and jobs around the house?' She laughed and there was a sudden strange pain in the centre of her chest. It had only been a few days and yet she felt like she'd
covered decades in emotional years. The threads tying her to Little Duxbury were tugging a little tighter.

The road was narrowing and she had to walk closer to Jacob so as to stay away from the ditch. The memory of being pushed down there flitted across her mind and she thrust it away. That was over and done with; she could finally forget that night and the ramifications that had permeated through her life. Finally, she was letting go of the guilt and the anger and the humiliation. She breathed out slowly then filled her chest with cleansing air.

So many emotions swam through her here in Little Duxbury. Too many. It would be good to get back to New York and be accountable to no one but herself. To just have the simple worries of work. And Brett. And the wedding. Ha! Last week she'd been so concerned about winning an account and it had felt stressful. In truth, she really hadn't known what stress was. How did people juggle so many things and come out sane?

The long grass tickled her bare legs and she wished she'd worn jeans instead of a billowy, light-weight skirt. And that she wasn't also feeling guilty about Brett. That he wasn't here. That she hadn't phoned him for a couple of days. That she was walking along a dark road with another man.

Although it was all very innocent. There was nothing going on, nothing she wanted to happen.

‘Oops, watch out.' Jacob smiled as he steered Emily away from the ditch. ‘You nearly landed in there.'

Never again.

She concentrated on keeping far enough away from the ditch, but also just enough away from him. ‘It's okay, I'm –'

‘Fine?' He turned and looked at her. ‘Is that what you were going to say?'

‘You got me. Yes, it was. But, actually, I think I might be a bit tipsy.'

‘I know. But that's okay, too.' There was something steady about him, something watchful and
here
. Present. He had a sense of assured calm that she'd yearned for pretty much all her life. A sense of knowing his worth, and not having to prove himself.

She also realised that, although she'd made up a dark and fantastical backstory for him, she still had no clue at all about his real life. ‘So how long have you lived here?'

‘Just over four years. I came up to cover a story in Greater Duxbury, but the hotel was full for a wedding. So I drove around a bit and found the pub here did bed and breakfast, stayed there a couple of days. Liked the people, loved the views, enjoyed the community atmosphere. Bought the house. It was just freshly up for sale, so I jumped at the chance.' He stuck both hands into his jeans pockets. ‘It needed completely renovating, but it's just about finished now. A lot of hard graft in my preciously little spare time.'

‘I remember it was always a bit of a blot on the landscape. Worst house on the best street, and all that. I'd love to see what you've done with it.'
No I wouldn't.
Even if it was just to be neighbourly it wouldn't look right to an outside observer.
‘
Shame I won't be able to fit it in before I go home.'

‘No… well, I guess not. You have lots to do before you go.'

‘I certainly do. I'm leaving everything in pretty much the same state as I found it – except cleaner, I suppose – but I'm frustrated I couldn't do more. Poor Tam.' Now there was a sentence she'd never thought she'd say. ‘She'll have to pick it all up again. I hope I've helped a little in getting a few quotes and arranging the day-care visits.'

‘You did your best and that's all anyone can expect. You came here, at least. Brought a bit of colour.'

‘Oh, I don't know about that.'

‘Yes, well I do. Even though we had an unorthodox introduction. It's not every day I get threatened with a wellington boot.' He looked at her for a second and something weird flitted between them. A mutual agreement maybe, that in another life, under other circumstances, they could perhaps have been friends. At least, that was how she felt.

They walked in amiable silence for a few minutes and she felt her head clearing a little. This was fine. It was no different to Gez getting her home in a cab. Which he'd done heaps of times after late work meetings. She asked Jacob, ‘So what was the story?'

Jacob now, not Jacob Taylor, or Mr Taylor. Jacob.

He shrugged. ‘There was a rumour that some jewellery thieves were hiding up here. I came to have a nosey around.'

‘Oooh, exciting. And were there? I can't imagine either of the Duxburys harbouring criminals.'