Forgive Me Not Read online

  ‘But—’

  ‘Healdbury’s a decent place – a place for families, pensioners, hard-working folk. I’m not doing anything to swell the influx of time-wasters and scroungers.’ His newspaper fanned open as he threw it down. ‘Some of us work damn hard to earn a living and end up paying towards benefits for people like you.’

  Head down, Emma hurried out of the shop.

  ‘Emma?’ Stig looked up.

  She sat down next to him.

  ‘What’s up?’

  She rolled her lips together and didn’t speak for a few moments.

  ‘I want to start a soup run, Stig. With your help. I thought about setting one up in the barn for just a few hours each week, but I looked into it online and there are just too many rules and regulations. Whereas if I provide a mobile service, just turning up on the street with my food in a backpack and perhaps carrying a foldaway picnic table… well, that’s okay. I could make soup, sandwiches and… Not everyone in the village will approve, but…’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Like you’ve said before, sometimes you need to give things more than one shot. So next I’m going to ask at the bakery if they ever have any waste stock. I thought we could do it two evenings a week up at the station, say from seven until nine. What do you say?’

  ‘I think it’s a great idea. I wouldn’t ask the cheesemonger, though.’

  ‘Ted? Large build? London accent?’ She shrugged. ‘Suitably named, I always thought. I used to think of him as a big friendly bear of a man. He always gave me a small slice of my favourite smoked Cheddar when Andrea and I passed his shop. He actually said hello to me the other day. I was almost too surprised to reply.’

  ‘Is that his name? Yes, he’s the one.’ Stig pulled a face. ‘He walked past a couple of days ago talking loudly about setting up a petition to get the rough sleepers moved on.’

  ‘I’m surprised. He’s a charitable sort, playing Santa at primary school and helping out at boy scouts.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t knock on his door for donations. He told his grandson off for giving me ten pence. Told me to clear off. That Healdbury had enough problems. I guess his business is struggling as well. Hard times change people.’

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘So what happened with Phil?’

  ‘I had hoped he’d donate tins of dog food. I guess it might be harder work than I thought to get donations from the villagers. Still…’ Her voice brightened. ‘Foxglove Farm has more than enough spare strawberries and early potatoes. Plus spring onions, tomatoes, peas and cucumbers. Mum’s got a recipe book somewhere, specifically using the fruit and vegetables grown at the farm – she hand-wrote it herself. All that’s left to do is ask Andrea.’

  Stig burst out laughing.

  Emma plucked a daisy growing between cracks in the pavement. ‘I know. Talk about leaving the most important thing until last. I’ve no idea if she’ll agree. Or if any of the villagers will help. No one can forget what I used to be like, and why should they?’

  Although she’d rather Mum had recalled every sordid detail than forgotten to the extent she had.

  ‘I know I’m different now, but they can’t see that yet. I thought coming back would mean a happy end to a challenging year.’ She shook her head. ‘What an idiot.’

  ‘Then perhaps you need to adjust your idea of happiness,’ Stig said, and raised an eyebrow. ‘To most people my life looks pitiful, but I’m no longer under stress. I have the Duchess. I’m answerable to no one but myself.’

  ‘So you’re happy?’

  ‘My life’s bloody hard most of the time – you know that – but if you offered me my old job back tomorrow, I wouldn’t take it. And what exactly is happiness? Having a bit of peace, perhaps that’s a better goal.’ Stig put down his book. ‘My dad has his own painting and decorating business – said he always wanted something better for me. But you know what? He and Mum have a good life. They aren’t in debt. Go on holiday once a year. They live in a terraced house, but the neighbours are like family.’ He shrugged. ‘You’re sober now. Maybe anything else is a bonus. Don’t give up on Healdbury, Emma. I’ve only been here a short while, but can see it’s got heart.’

  ‘Despite Ted and the others who don’t want you here?’

  ‘All the businesses have adverts in their windows for each other’s goods. I got chatting to the baker yesterday. He stopped to give me some change. Apparently everyone’s pulling together to try to survive in the face of the big supermarket that’s taken so much business. He said not to take locals’ hostility personally. Most of it was probably because profits are so low and they’re worried about anything that might make the village look less attractive to people with money in their pockets. Apparently Ted’s whole family is finding it hard to cope. The grandkids are living with him and his wife whilst their widowed computer-consultant dad travels the country doing better-paid contract work. At the moment, his income is the only thing keeping the cheese shop afloat.’

  ‘By the looks of it, Phil’s shop is definitely in trouble too. No wonder he was in a sharp mood.’

  ‘The baker told me Phil is on the brink of bankruptcy – of losing everything. And his wife left him for another man.’

  ‘What? Poor Phil. I can’t believe it. He and Sheila seemed made for each other when I was working for them. I never thought those two would break up.’

  ‘Apparently he’s desperate to find a lodger; he’s been trying for weeks.’ Stig squeezed her arm. ‘It must be tough coming back, but remember, it’s not just about people giving you a second chance – it’s about you giving them one back. Everyone is fighting their own battles. You know that.’

  Emma mulled his words over as she made her way up Broadgrass Hill and back to Foxglove Farm. He was right. She needed to think more about the other person’s situation. She rubbed her elbow as it brushed against a nettle. Seeking forgiveness was harder than she’d ever imagined, and the lack of it stung. But perhaps the real sting came from her realising she’d had a sense of entitlement.

  Her ears felt hot as she looked back over the last few weeks and how she’d arm-wrestled her way back into her family’s life, with little thought for them. How she’d forced her way back into the village without considering the problems her old neighbours might be facing.

  She was still fiddling with the daisy, and gazed now at its bowed head. It could never get its old roots back, but placing it in water might give it a second life. She and her family had cut ties two and a half years ago, but perhaps there was a way of taking the relationships in a new, different direction.

  She gathered pace as an idea took shape. It would involve bracing herself to talk to Phil again – and then to Bligh and Andrea.

  Chapter 11

  Emma sat on the bench in front of the weeping willow tree, Gail next to her. They both wore large sunhats. Gail was flicking through a small fabric sample book. Emma had tried to buy it from the local curtain shop, thinking it might please her seamstress mum, but when they’d heard it was for Gail, they wouldn’t take payment. Andrea had grudgingly said it was a good idea. It made a change from fiddling with chocolate wrappers. Gail loved sweet treats yet clothes hung off her as if she’d gone shopping alone and bought the wrong sizes.

  ‘Emma would like this,’ she said, having stopped at a square of material for children’s curtains patterned with pigs.

  ‘Your daughter? You remember her?’ Emma’s pulse danced.

  ‘She used to beg her sister to paint the pigs. A little devil she was for giving them biscuits.’ A cloud passed across her face.

  ‘And now…?’

  She continued flicking through.

  The not knowing whether Gail knew who she was was hurting less. Seedlings of something – acceptance, perhaps – had sprouted inside her. An understanding that this was how it was. She had to deal with life on its own terms – as it was now, disconnected from the past.

  She glanced at her watch. She’d asked Andrea and Bligh to meet her here during their lunch break.
Ahead of her grazed two sheep, with their new lamb, and some goats. She stood up and walked to the fence. One of the goats ran over. She tickled its head. Straightening up, she squinted in the sunshine. Yesterday she’d positioned several upturned crates and big logs in the field. The goats were agile, and it was as if their hooves were made of Velcro as they mounted and clung to any surface or angle.

  She looked up and saw her sister and Bligh approaching from the distance. When they neared, she gestured for them to sit down next to Gail.

  Andrea glugged water from a plastic bottle and wiped her mouth. ‘What’s so important that I have to give up my break?’

  When they were little, the girls often shared a bottle of water when helping Mum plant or harvest. Some children might have baulked at drinking out of the same container, but the two sisters didn’t worry.

  Emma took off her sunhat, dropped it to the ground and rubbed her sweaty palms down her cotton shorts. ‘I’ve been thinking.’ She looked at Bligh. ‘You were right. I shouldn’t have just turned up without warning. I’ve imposed on you both.’ She looked at Andrea. ‘I know it’s been difficult for you having me around – and in the house during the evening.’

  The bottle squeaked as Andrea squeezed it tight. ‘Just spit it out, Emma. Coming back hasn’t been such an easy ride as you expected. You’ve got bored and now you and your inheritance are heading back to the city.’ She shook her head. ‘How very predictable.’

  Emma sat down in the grass, legs crossed, in front of her sister.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, and looked up. ‘It hasn’t worked out quite as I expected. That’s because, as usual, I’ve only been thinking about things from my point of view. So I’ve got a suggestion to make.’

  Gail got up and started walking around.

  ‘I meant what I said when I came back – I want to help and make amends. But I realise now that expecting to simply slot into your lives like a missing part of a jigsaw… that was unrealistic, because the overall picture has changed. So…’ she cleared her throat, ‘I’ll move out. Give you breathing space. I’ll get here early each day – without needing to come into the farmhouse for breakfast or a shower – and I’ll stay for as long as you need me, looking after Mum, working in the shop, whatever. Aunt Thelma’s money will tide me over for a while.’

  Andrea screwed the lid back onto her water bottle.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Emma.

  ‘Where exactly will you stay?’ A pinch of relief flavoured Andrea’s voice.

  ‘With Phil Brown.’

  ‘At the pet shop?’ asked Bligh incredulously.

  ‘You’re joking?’ said Andrea. ‘He tore a shred off me a couple of weeks ago – blamed me for you coming back, thought I’d tracked you down, said I hadn’t learnt my lesson. He kept going on about his car.’

  ‘We’ve talked. Come to an understanding. He needs money badly and has been looking for a lodger. I need a place to stay. The room is basic, which is why he hasn’t been able to fill it, but compared to a barn… He insisted I pay two months’ rent up front, which is fair enough, and he can ask me to leave at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘Wish I’d been there when you asked him. Well, it’s up to you,’ Andrea said stiffly, and got up. ‘We managed perfectly fine without you, and we can do again.’ She walked straight past Emma and rubbed Gail’s arm. ‘Egg on toast, Mum? And I could do with a cup of tea.’

  ‘There’s just one more thing… How’s it going with the tomatoes?’ asked Emma.

  Andrea look puzzled. ‘Even better than usual. The extra warm weather has meant it’s a bumper harvest this year.’

  ‘Great, because I’ve got a favour to ask.’

  ‘I wondered how long it would take,’ Andrea said, in a tired voice.

  ‘I’ve decided to set up a soup run for the homeless who have been forced into Healdbury. Could I have our spare produce that doesn’t get eaten, frozen or made into jam? I’ve found Mum’s old recipe book full of ideas for using the farm’s fruit and vegetables.’ It had been stuffed at the back of Gail’s wardrobe next to the wooden chest. ‘Remember that cucumber relish she used to make? And the onion soup? She used to swear by putting a tablespoon of peanut butter into it.’

  ‘I’d forgotten that,’ said Andrea, her voice lacking the usual formality for a second. ‘It kind of worked.’

  Emma nodded. ‘And you said there were a load of clothes Mum can’t wear any more because the fasteners are too fiddly. Perhaps I could hand those out as well.’

  Andrea stared.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘What’s the catch?’

  ‘There isn’t one.’ Emma threw her hands in the air. ‘What do I have to do to prove that I’ve changed? Just name it, Andrea. Anything, because I’m running out of ideas here.’

  ‘Don’t you get it? It’s too late. It’s just not in me to trust you again. Give it up, Emma, like we had to give up on you all those months ago.’

  ‘No. No, I can’t do that. I won’t. Not yet,’ said Emma quietly. ‘We can work this out. I’m sure of it. We just need time.’

  Time was one thing she had never valued in the old days. Whatever she’d wanted, she’d wanted now. She had left the farm for the city full of unrealistic dreams, believing they’d be easily achieved.

  Andrea opened her mouth and then sighed. She looked at her watch. ‘I’m not going to argue. My energy is better spent elsewhere. Use the overripe or damaged produce if you must. Just don’t get under my feet.’

  She linked arms with Gail and the two of them headed off to the farmhouse.

  Emma got up and sat next to Bligh. They watched the staggering lamb try to walk straight.

  ‘Phil Brown. Really?’ He shot her a probing stare.

  ‘I feel sorry for him, actually. He’s on the brink of losing everything. In fact I noticed some tubs of paint stacked in the barn. Could I have them for him? His shop’s exterior could do with a makeover.’

  ‘I guess so. I’ll drop them off tonight on my way home after work.’

  ‘Great. I’m packing up my stuff now, so I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Why don’t you wait until this evening? It’s on my way. I can give you a lift.’

  For a second she sensed the old familiarity.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve got to go into the village to talk to Stig about recipes for the soup run – I may as well take my stuff then.’ She stared at him. ‘You know… I remembered that other word I used to call you. It wasn’t very nice, and I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. But you had a point. I was a doormat. I let you trample over me. I smoothed things over with the locals and paid your credit card bills. I didn’t even end things when I heard how you threw yourself at Dean.’

  Bligh was right. He was always clearing up her mess, and the more he did, the angrier she became. In her twisted mind she’d decided his compassion was enabling her behaviour and therefore he was to blame. A proper boyfriend, she’d tell herself, would have dumped her – made her face up to her decline.

  As for Dean, it was as Emma had feared – she’d made a drunken pass at the man her older sister was hoping to marry.

  ‘You were so strong,’ she said.

  ‘Or was I weak? I should have been able to keep you safe, but I failed miserably.’ He sat down again. ‘I hated myself after you left. Hated that I’d let you treat me like that. And I’d re-enact scenarios in my head. I should have refused to buy your drink. Made you face people and apologise yourself. Then maybe you wouldn’t have had to leave; perhaps you’d have finally agreed to go to the doctor. Andrea wouldn’t have been left to cope.’ He bit his lip. ‘At the time I thought I was doing the right thing, but later it felt as if everything was my fault.’

  ‘Bligh. Please. Don’t ever think that. There is only one person to blame and that’s me. Don’t ever change. That’s who you are – helping people, seeing the best in them. I didn’t deserve your loyalty, but other people aren’t me.’

  He st
ood up and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Did you ever truly love me, Emma? Because from where I’m sitting, you just used me. You said I made you feel good. Was that all it ever was? Fixer. Doormat. What about just Bligh? Why did I always have to serve a purpose?’

  His phone went, and he hid the flash of anger and answered it. Emma left to start packing.

  Chapter 12

  Emma was still thinking about Bligh’s question when she headed to Phil’s later that afternoon. Had she really been such a selfish girlfriend? Since coming off the streets, she’d asked herself that over and over again. At times it had consumed her, along with thoughts that she was the worst sister and daughter to boot. However, after treatment, she was able to tame the shame; guilt was more constructive, a sense that she’d done bad things but that didn’t make her a bad person. This was one firm message from therapy that had given her the strength to come back to Foxglove Farm.

  What a relief to start letting go of the self-absorption, as if she’d been wearing blinkers that had been removed to let in a wider view, although she still felt the fear in the pit of the stomach about her last day in Healdbury and her reckless actions. She still couldn’t face dealing with that. But it wouldn’t be long now before she confessed to Polly and Alan and faced the consequences. And then all her plans to help her family would have to come to an end. But until then…

  Feeling hot and sticky from the walk down Broadgrass Hill, with the rucksack on her back, Emma pulled her case up to Phil’s door.

  ‘I’ll be back out in a second,’ she said to Stig, who was staring at a tatty copy of one of the Harry Potter books. It was upside down. ‘I’ve found Mum’s old recipe book. There are some brilliant ideas in it.’

  He gave her a thumbs-up but didn’t make eye contact. His woolly hat was pulled down further than usual, despite the smothering heat.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘I’m not sure how long I can stay around.’

  Emma crouched down. ‘Stig? What’s happened?’