The Secret Art of Forgiveness (27 page)

She felt a smile flush through her. ‘Yes. Yes, he is. So, should I send him with boxing gloves next time?'

‘I don't think they'll be necessary. You can come down and have a little look around, see how it works, if you like.'

She thought about it and wondered just how involved she should allow herself to get now. Would there be any point familiarising herself with the carers, when, like the doctor said, they'd only have to repeat everything all over again to yet another family member once she'd gone? It didn't matter how badly she wanted to accompany him to the centre; she needed to start taking a step back and allow Tam to take the reins again. She was going back to New York the minute she could do without her. ‘Well, I'm not staying for long. Maybe I could get my sister to come instead?'

Because no matter what else happened, she now had to fight to keep her job as well as her place in this family.

Chapter Thirteen

Having stuck temporary emergency sticky tape over her work accounts, which she'd follow up later with a long Skype with Frankie – who seemed to be the only person at Baddermans not angry with her – she'd thrown herself into busy mode for the meeting tonight. She'd promised a lot at the last meeting and people were expecting great things. And at least it stopped her thinking about Brett and the sadness at the split from creeping back into her bones. That had been the theory, anyway. ‘I've covered heaps of ground; I can't tell you how pleased I am. First, I secured fencing from Rigby's at a hugely discounted price…'

It was strange talking business in the old games room at The Hall, which Emily had turned into Festival HQ with a plan of the village on a huge green board nestling on the large billiard table. ‘Here is my masterpiece… ta-da!'

She walked Jacob to the board and showed him what she'd done, pride shimmying through her as his eyes widened. He was wearing a leather jacket over a navy polo shirt and faded black jeans. His hair was glistening with the soft drizzle he'd walked through to get to The Hall. Close up, she could see tiny jewels of raindrops on his eyelashes. None of which was relevant, but all of which she noticed. And couldn't help staring at. He had amazing eyes that seemed to draw her in, made her off balance, giddy. Breathless, at times. A stupid infatuation that she hoped would dissipate just as quickly as it had grown.

He'd arrived earlier than the others for the committee meeting, which they were now holding here to save having to find a sitter for The Judge. ‘See, I've got replica buildings made out of cardboard, and outhouses to designate catering areas. I've worked out the natural amphitheatre and a craft zone. Here, and here. And the festival walk trailing down towards the village green, here.' She was so relieved she'd finally managed to tick so much off her list.

But Jacob just looked confused and, actually, a little scared by her dynamism. ‘When did you do all this? How? Have you had too much coffee, or are you just on full throttle and you'll eventually slow down as your battery starts to die?'

‘Hush, I'm on a roll, I'm practising on you before the others arrive.' Otherwise known as verbal diarrhoea. She consulted her planner. ‘I've managed to confirm three hundred portaloos and found out where I can get wristbands made, and put in an order for three thousand… although, God knows how I'm going to pay for them. My credit cards are reaching their limits.' She needed to keep talking because she felt as if the pressure valve inside her was going to blow. Of course, everything was made instantly better, and instantly worse, with Jacob's arrival. It was nothing short of dangerous being in the same room as him. Alone. ‘I just hope we start to get a good run on ticket sales. I've spoken to the Head of Music at the local college and have recommendations for sound and lighting, plus four great bands to follow up on. One of them was in the top twenty-five of
Britain's Got
… Jacob? Are you listening?'

‘Of course. I'm all ears. But should I be writing any of this down? Because it's hard to keep up.' He had a gentle smile as he sat on the edge of a very ornate chair in a semicircle of chairs she'd dragged in from the dining room. ‘It's like the war office. When the rest of the committee get here they'll be pretty damned impressed.'

Buoyed by his words she surveyed her work through his eyes. Yes, it was pretty damned fabulous. ‘Thanks. I like to do things properly.'

‘Obviously. Although, some of it may go over some people's heads. We're not used to such organisation and attention to detail in Little Duxbury.' His head dipped down, then he looked at her, his full gaze on hers. There was concern there and more, something she didn't want to admit that was growing between them. She felt a shiver run up and down her spine. His voice lowered. ‘Look, before everyone else gets here, can I ask…? Did you fix things with Brett?'

She rubbed her thumb and forefinger around the spot where her ring had been. There was no way she could put it back on now. ‘No. No, in fact we've decided to call everything off for the time being. So I'm not engaged any more. It's a relief, to be honest. I'm fine about it.' And even so she felt a sting in her throat and the shame of betrayal. ‘Anyway – did you hear anything back from Will Godmann?'

His head gave a sharp shake. ‘I'll tell you in the meeting. Emily, I'm so sorry about your engagement. Really. And don't say you're fine, because I can see you're not.'

There was no hiding her feelings from him then. His hand was on her elbow. Warm and safe. All she wanted to do was crawl into his arms and bawl. To scream about how conflicted and confused she was; how she could work twenty-four hours a day for the next three weeks and still not be on top of work and the festival; how scared she was for The Judge and his future. To blurt everything out to someone – to
Jacob
– just to free up some space inside her head, and her heart. To rant about this weird attraction to him, which was so unexpected and unwanted, and yet bloody well there.

But she didn't, because she wasn't the kind of woman to break things off with one man to walk straight into the arms of another. Or to lean on anyone. Ever. She found her efficient, at-work voice. ‘I really am absolutely okay. I just don't need to talk about it. Can I get you a drink? Something hot? Or a beer? Wine?'

‘Sure. Beer's good. D'you want some help? I could bring some through for when the others get here.' He'd taken his hand from her arm, but remained so close she could breathe in his scent. Something spicy, with a hint of citrus that made her tummy clench.

That was the problem with this whole Jacob thing – it felt instinctive and feral, raw and elemental. It felt as if there was a pull between them so fierce that trying to fight it would be like forcing the world to stop spinning on its axis.

But she had to. For sanity's sake. Not least because she had no business pursuing something when she was trying to sort out her doomed engagement, and there was the simple fact that she had a home and life thousands of miles away from here.

‘No. Thanks. I've made up a tray. I'll just get it. It's all set up.' She popped out of the room, and took a few deep breaths, grateful for the chance not to be near him. Having picked up the tray from the kitchen she ducked back into the games room, calmer, collected. ‘Here we are. I wasn't sure we'd have many left. Dad keeps dipping into my stash.'

‘Dad?' Jacob looked as confused as she felt.

‘Oh. Yes. I'm trying it out to see how it feels. Pretty good, as it happens. But I'm worried that using it in front of him might confuse him even more. Given he keeps forgetting who I am.'

‘How did today go?' Jacob's voice was soft and encouraging. She hadn't noticed before, but he had a lilt of accent she couldn't quite place. Welsh, perhaps? Something musical and lulling.

She flipped a lid off a beer bottle and turned to him. There was a shaft of evening sunlight, coming in from one of the mullioned windows, splitting the room between them. Across the shaft she could see dust motes lazily swimming in all directions.

With Jacob here she felt like one of the dust bunnies, turning every which way and getting nowhere. Her head was pounding, her stomach sore. All day she'd buried her head in the sand of distraction, working through her list lightning-fast, but now she felt as if she was trying to run through mud. Her movements were all a second behind her thoughts. Thickened and lumbering.

‘The day centre, you mean? Oh, it was fine, overall. Apparently, he spent a good part of the morning thinking he was in court and trying to pass down sentences on people, and there was a bit of a stoush between him and another guy, but it was all fine in the end.'

Jacob laughed. ‘Go, Judge Evans. I imagine that's par for the course at that kind of thing if everyone's confused and social niceties have gone out the window.'

‘Yes. But the carers managed to steer him into making a few friends. Not that he remembers any of it. By the time he'd come home, had a nap and then dinner, he'd forgotten he'd even been.'

‘But at least it meant you had some free time.'

It was hot here in the games room; the windows had been painted shut, so there was no fresh air coming in. She took a slurp of the beer, straight from the bottle, hoping it would cool her down a little. ‘Oh, yes. That's how I got all this done for the festival and wrote a presentation for my real job.'

‘Great stuff.' He grinned. ‘You're a machine.'

‘I try my best.' She didn't know what to do with her hands to stop them reaching out to him. She forced them to curl round the beer bottle. This was ridiculous. She'd never felt so flighty and nervous around a man. Ever.

He glanced from the bottle to the tray. ‘Er… do I just help myself?'

‘God. Sorry. Sorry. Here.'
Idiot.
She flipped off another bottle top and handed the beer to him. He took it with one hand and with his other he closed his palm over her fingers.

‘It's okay, Emily. It's only beer. You seem pretty stressed-out. Are you okay?'

‘Yes. Yes. I'm fine. Just busy, you know. I have a lot in my head and I'm trying to keep on top of it.' There was a moment where she kept a tight hold of his hand, where her eyes fluttered from his gaze to his mouth. She could feel the pressure inside her rising still, stretching through her veins, her sinews, clouding her head.

‘Coo-ee? In here?' Sally, Tom and Greta bustled into the room, followed by the rest of the committee and finally a rather flustered-looking Tamara.

Emily jumped apart from Jacob, but not before one last glance back at him. Just for the briefest of moments, as he took a drink of his beer, he smiled – she couldn't tell if it was sad or secret – then he was back to his normal, amiable self, shaking hands with Tom, hugging Greta and Sally and making small talk.

Hoping they hadn't seen anything untoward – because
nothing
untoward had happened – she took their coats and started to show them to their seats. ‘Oh, yes. Come in, please. Sit down.'

Tam surveyed the room, counted the chairs. ‘You'd better get another one. Matilda has decided to join us.'

‘Oh. Good. The more the merrier.'

Tam bristled, ‘You may live to regret saying that.'

‘Oh… sorry, I'm late. Sorry. Sorry.' Matilda swung through the doors, all flowing, hippy dress and muted-pastel scarves. ‘Tam said you'd want feedback from the artists. About the workshops. Yes?'

‘Yes. Brilliant.' It was the first time Emily had seen Tilda since the night they'd returned from Paris. The change in her was remarkable. Gone were the sullen face and hesitant words and in their place was a little more confidence. Clearly separation was good for her. Now maybe she could take a turn on the Judge-sitting roster to free up her sisters. ‘Good to see you, thanks so much for coming.'

After serving drinks and nibbles and allowing a short amount of chatter Em coughed loudly and indicated for everyone to settle.

‘Right.' There was a lot to get through. She handed out agendas. ‘We are at D-Day minus three weeks. Oh… hang on… where's Liam?'

Tom raised his hand. ‘He'll be along later. He's running late. He said to say sorry.'

‘We'll cover refreshments at the end then. Unless, Sal, would you like to let us know where you're up to?'

‘No. I'll wait. We've covered a lot of ground, although there's plenty more to do.' There was a little secret smile there, similar to Jacob's moments ago, and a flush of Sally's cheeks.

‘So, I have fencing, security, wristbands and portaloos covered, which I funded on my credit card. There are a few bands from Cheltenham who are keen to join us. I've drawn up a playing schedule based on comments from the music teacher, worst to best. Duxbury Primary are bringing along their choir, so I thought they could open the event on the green. They've also got heaps of bunting from the Jubilee we can decorate the village with, for free. Everything is up for discussion, though. Jacob?' She noticed there was a wistful hum to her voice so she stamped on it. ‘How did you get on with finding an author or two?'

‘I've left messages and hope to get a response soon. I think my guy's on holiday, or at least away – maybe on retreat. I'll chase it up. See if he's keen to do any workshops. I'm ready to send out a press release about the event once we have something to say. I've got feelers out for some headlining bands, but it's looking slim at the moment. Festival season is upon us.'

‘Could you do a workshop, Mr Taylor?' It was the doctor. ‘I heard you were in Afghanistan. War reporting? Frontline stuff? That would be interesting.'

‘No,' Jacob snapped back. Fleeting. Then he recovered himself, ‘That is, I doubt anyone would be interested.'

‘I would.'
Oops.
She'd also spoken too quickly. Emily's cheeks began to burn. Because, he really didn't look as if he wanted to talk about his experiences. Which, in turn, meant she really wanted to know about them. Had he been greatly affected? Had that counted towards his failed marriage? There were so many unanswered questions. Too many. ‘But no. Not if you don't want to. We could find something else, someone else. Surely. I know it's late notice but there has to be someone free in three weeks' time and willing to talk for a fee. Thanks for asking your guy, by the way.'