Forgive Me Not

by Samantha Tonge

  She stared blankly at the flipchart and felt so confused. Who was this new open-minded, rational Emma? She felt like a stranger.

  But in that instant, she knew what she had to do. To make Josephine count, she would put all her energy into completing the rehabilitation process, and then as soon as possible go back to Healdbury.

  Chapter 13

  Phil sat at the kitchen table and kicked his feet against its pine legs like a teenager.

  ‘I don’t want pancakes for breakfast. I’ll sort myself out. You’re my lodger, not my mother.’

  Emma winced.

  ‘I’ve made too many,’ she said, and set down a pile in front of him. She sat opposite him and reached for the pot of honey.

  ‘Three weeks here and you think this is your gaff.’

  ‘Nope. If it was, I’d have curtains back up in here by now.

  Phil glanced at the window. ‘Hadn’t really noticed. Guess I could get some,’ he said grudgingly.

  ‘Or blinds…’ Emma shrugged. ‘Might be more practical.’

  They ate in silence.

  ‘On the plus side, the bare window means we’ve got an amazing view of today’s sunrise. What a fabulous pink sky.’ Emma studied his face as he turned to look. Having stuck to soft drinks for a while, he looked like a different person. The dark shadows around his eyes were less pronounced. He’d shaved and got on top of his washing and ironing. Routine had become part of his life again. He’d even embraced her suggestion of using Bligh’s paint to smarten up the shop.

  ‘Have you thought any more about my idea?’ she said, and sipped her tea.

  ‘Even if I thought it was worth it, I haven’t got the means to advertise.’ He turned back and cautiously prodded a pancake as if it were alive.

  ‘Yes you have. I can help with posters and ask local businesses to pin them up. We’re heading past the middle of July now – it’s not long before school breaks up. You could take in hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs and birds while people are away on their holidays. I’d help you look after them.’

  He put down his fork. ‘It won’t work, you know. People – including me – aren’t ever going to be taken in. Why don’t you just drop this bright and breezy front?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘You don’t think people can change?’

  ‘All those years, since I had that one-night stand, Sheila made me think she’d forgiven me and never said a harsh word. But just before she left, the resentment, all the old bitterness I thought had disappeared, poured out. So no. I don’t believe people can change – and memories certainly can’t.’

  ‘But you were the one who had the affair, and you changed.’

  Phil didn’t answer.

  Her mum had forgotten lots. Her memories had altered. Or rather, they’d disappeared and left a confused mind to fill in the gaps. Yesterday she’d asked Bligh if he was her boyfriend and held his hand. Emma was still known simply as the woman who talked too much.

  Emma rolled up a pancake and picked up her tea in the other hand. Her chair scraped as she stood and headed into the garden. She sat on a worn plastic chair, mug by her side. Morning dampness lent the air notes of grass and soil. A speckled thrush landed on the lawn nearby. She tossed small crumbs of batter. Minutes later a blue tit and a sparrow shared the spoils.

  Even Andrea couldn’t help smiling at the idea of Gail and Bligh dating. The sisters had always teased their mum that she had a secret crush. Laughing, she wouldn’t deny it and regularly made him his favourite steamed treacle pudding. That was back in the day, when Bligh’s world revolved around Emma, like a planet that had finally found its sun. And just lately, just occasionally, she’d felt that old pull between them again.

  When she returned inside, Phil had done the washing-up. Ignoring his glance, she put her mug by the sink. He’d got a tape measure out and was holding it up to the window.

  ‘I won’t be back until late,’ she said. ‘I’m at the farm all day. Andrea has agreed to let me prepare the food there for tonight’s soup run.’

  ‘Good. I’m sick of this place smelling of onions.’ He said something else, but she didn’t wait to hear – didn’t want to hear any more of his negative comments.

  * * *

  ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if he was perfect, but you should see the state of the bathroom after he’s had a wash,’ she complained to Stig with attempted cheerfulness as they walked through Healdbury that evening. He’d met her at the top of Broadgrass Hill at a quarter to seven and was helping her carry the rucksacks and an old picnic table she’d found in the barn. Emma had filled flasks with rich tomato soup and made cheese sandwiches with the cucumber relish recipe out of Mum’s recipe book. ‘Phil’s default setting is just plain rude.’

  ‘But he did let you move in,’ said Stig as they passed the Badger Inn. Laughter and chat wafted over from the beer garden out the back.

  She sighed. ‘And I am grateful. Since moving out, things have improved at the farm. Bligh and I actually sat down and drank coffee together this afternoon.’

  Stig steered the Duchess away from a broken bottle smashed on the ground. At that moment, Ted from the cheese shop approached them, pointing to the glass.

  ‘We didn’t have any of that before you rough sleepers moved here.’ He took out his phone and took a photo. ‘Evidence for my next meeting with the local council.’

  ‘Ted… please,’ said Emma. ‘It’s a Coke bottle. Anyone could have dropped it.’

  He jerked his head up towards the station. ‘Quite a crowd there now, waiting for your handouts. The bins are overflowing and the bushes stink of urine. I’ve just been up there to take notes.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘No wonder my migraines have been coming back.’

  ‘Get some lavender oil in. Always used to do the trick for me when I was teaching,’ said Stig.

  ‘Teaching?’

  ‘Stig’s a geography graduate,’ said Emma.

  Ted’s cheeks reddened and he loosened his shirt collar before answering his phone and walking away.

  Stig and Emma called in to the bakery and then approached the station. Rita and young Tilly were waiting. Tilly wore scruffy pink and white jogging bottoms and a stained T-shirt that said Unicorns Suck. The young couple who begged outside the bank were also there, plus an older woman who’d been in Healdbury a week, camping out next to a bin opposite Ted’s shop. Then there were several rough sleepers who hadn’t appeared before, including one with a Labrador.

  They all sat smoking and chatting. It was a warm summer’s evening and Emma was beginning to wonder if she should have made cold fruit smoothies instead of soup.

  This was the fifth soup run they’d done now. Wednesdays and Fridays, they’d decided upon. Seven until nine. Rita smiled as they arrived and helped them off with the rucksacks. Stig set up the table.

  ‘I’m dead grateful,’ she said and tossed her asymmetrical hair, ‘but please tell me it’s not that peanut soup again. Even I’m not quite that desperate.’

  Tilly grinned.

  ‘You’re in luck. We’ve had a glut of tomatoes up at the farm this year,’ said Emma, ‘so it looks like global warming might have saved you.’

  ‘That’s one thing I miss,’ said Stig, passing Tilly a sandwich before helping himself. He opened it, took out the filling and gave the bread to the Duchess. ‘The geography field trips I used to go on. The last one was to Iceland to see the impact of climate change. The kids were really switched on.’

  ‘That must have felt so rewarding.’

  Stig ate the cheese. ‘Our planet’s always fascinated me. It was a toss-up between doing geography or physics at university. One plus of living on the streets – I get to study the night sky for free.’ He set out the cups and poured soup. Emma handed them out.

  ‘It’s clearer around here, away from the city lights,’ said Tilly. ‘Just look at that full moon – and I saw a shooting star last night.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Rita in between mouthfuls. ‘Makes a change from seeing now
t but the city’s amber street glow.’

  ‘Nature – keeps you going, doesn’t it?’ said Stig.

  Emma bent down and ruffled the Duchess’s neck. ‘Me and Joe used to go down to the canal to feed the ducks. It would make me feel human, just for a moment.’

  ‘I used to live in the country – down south,’ said Tilly, and cautiously sipped her soup. ‘The neighbours had sheep and pigs. Me, Dad and Mum were in our element. Mum couldn’t wait to take on chickens rescued from battery farms. Never thought I’d miss the smell of pig shit.’

  ‘How did you end up here?’ said Emma.

  ‘Mum died when I was twelve… she’d only been ill a few months,’ Tilly said in a flat tone. ‘Dad got married again. She persuaded him to sell up and we moved to London. I had to catch the tube to school – hated every minute. Dad and me started arguing all the time.’

  ‘Must have been hard,’ said Emma gently.

  Tilly drained her cup. ‘I ran away in the end. Dad was treating me like a baby – setting curfews, not letting me drink. I bought myself a train ticket to get as far away as possible.’ She pulled a face.

  ‘How old are you?’ asked Stig.

  ‘Isn’t it rude to ask a woman’s age?’ she said, and drained her cup.

  Emma, Rita and Stig exchanged looks. On close examination, behind the grime, this woman looked more like a child – a child with swollen red eyes, bitten nails, and collarbones that protruded like bike handles.

  ‘How long ago was this? Have you contacted your dad?’ asked Rita.

  Tilly didn’t reply.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me this morning, Emma?’ said a deep voice. Footsteps approached, and Emma turned around to see Phil carrying a bowl and a plastic zip bag. He looked at the Duchess and put down the bowl. She went over to it eagerly. The Labrador joined her. Phil opened the bag and dog biscuits tumbled out. The two pets wolfed down the food.

  ‘I told you to pop back tonight to collect these biscuits. They’ve gone out of date.’ He stood up.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Stig. ‘She’s been living off scraps for the last few days.’

  ‘No problem. My stock isn’t exactly flying off the shelves. I used to have a Staffie. She’s a beautiful dog.’ He handed Stig the bag.

  ‘Thanks, Phil,’ said Emma, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘Would you like a cream bun? She picked up the box of spare cakes from the baker’s and lifted the lid.

  He wiped his perspiring forehead with his arm and then took a bun. After demolishing it in three swift bites, he nodded, gave the dogs one last stroke and headed off.

  They sat chatting, and as time passed, moonlight and cigarette ends lit up the dark. Rita shared how she’d escaped an abusive husband. He’d liked everything to be perfect – food tins lined up, shelves dust-free, books sitting in alphabetical order. He’d lost it when she’d finally rebelled by getting her lopsided haircut.

  The young couple from outside the bank had been brought up in care. One of the rough sleepers Emma didn’t know suffered from bipolar. Everyone had their own story that had led to the same outcome. As the summer evening chill descended, Emma emptied the last of the flasks into cups. All the sandwiches and cream cakes had gone.

  She glanced at her watch.

  ‘Half past ten! How’s that happened?’ she exclaimed. A few of the rough sleepers had used the station toilets and were now lying in their sleeping bags under the safety of the CCTV cameras.

  Tilly picked up Gail’s old recipe book that Emma had brought so that Stig could help her choose future meals. On the front, Andrea had written Foxglove Farm Delights in big fancy letters, and drawn a border decorated with images of carrots, eggs and various fruits. Tilly flicked through. It was A4-sized, and stains brought the recipes to life: jam, melted chocolate and cheese sauce.

  ‘This is awesome,’ she said as she carefully turned the pages, which were curling slightly at the corners. ‘It’s like something from medieval times.’

  Emma burst out laughing. ‘Well it’s not quite that old, but I guess most people bookmark favourite recipes on the internet these days. It started off as a scrapbook. Mum would tear recipes out of magazines and stick them in. But then she became more experimental and made up her own. She got me to write them up for her in my best handwriting. Andrea designed the front and got the cover laminated at school.’

  ‘Did your sister do the illustrations inside as well?’ said Stig, peering over Emma’s shoulder.

  Emma nodded. She hadn’t seen Andrea draw or paint since she got back. No surprise, really. Her sister barely had time to eat and drink.

  Tilly pointed to a recipe. ‘Strawberry and white chocolate cupcakes? Yes please!’

  ‘How about you and Rita visit the farm tomorrow with Stig, and if I get time, I’ll make some.’ Emma studied the bags under Tilly’s eyes. Her slight frame. She could be as young as fourteen. ‘It’s at the top of Broadgrass Hill, the other side of the village. Come over at seven. You can see the animals. Have a wash if you like. Grab a bite to eat. Once the shops are closed, and commuting is over, Healdbury gets pretty deserted, so you won’t miss many passers-by.’

  She hadn’t asked Andrea’s permission, but all she could think of was Tilly.

  There were many ways of losing children, she decided. Miscarriage. Alzheimer’s. A falling-out.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Tilly, eyeing her warily. ‘You’re not going to report me to services, are you? Or the police? I’m not going back, and no one can make me.’

  ‘Just think of all that pig shit to smell,’ said Stig.

  Tilly paused, and then her face split into a cheeky grin.

  They cleared up every bit of their own litter and then some more, just so that Ted had no reason to complain. Then Emma, Stig, Rita and some of the others headed back into the village. When they reached the crossroads where you turned right, down to the pet shop, Stig sniffed.

  ‘Do you smell that?’ he said. ‘It reminds me of Bonfire Night.’

  The others nodded and crossed the empty road. They hurried past Phil’s. Thanks to the street light directly outside, they could see thick black smoke swirling inside the cheese shop.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Ted and his wife and the grandkids sleep upstairs,’ said Emma. She dropped her rucksack and delved into her pocket. ‘Crap. I’ve forgotten my phone.’ No point in asking if anyone else had one. ‘I’ll call 999 from the pet shop.’

  ‘Bring a large blanket if you can find one,’ shouted Rita as she and the others ran towards the cheesemonger’s. Stig stopped to tie the Duchess to a lamp post, leaving his belongings by her side. She whined as he rushed off. They reached the entrance door and banged and hollered as loudly as they could.

  When Emma came back out with Phil, one of the upstairs windows was open.

  ‘The hallway’s full of smoke,’ Ted shouted down. ‘Me and Shirley have managed to get into the kids’ bedroom, but now we’re all stuck in here and the smoke’s coming in under the door.’ The pitch of his voice veered from high to low like car tyres skidding out of control. ‘I don’t know what to do. Help us! Please, someone!’ His head disappeared.

  Nearby residents appeared in their nightwear. Children’s screams cut through the summer night. Phil and Emma ran to help. ‘What’s this for?’ said Emma as she handed a blanket to Rita.

  ‘The kids, at least,’ said Rita. ‘We can catch them if we spread this out and hold it in the air.’

  ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ said Emma. ‘What if they jump in the wrong direction or the material tears?’

  ‘Perhaps we can get in and reach them.’ Stig sounded hopeful and pulled hard on the door handle.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, man,’ said Phil. ‘You’ll get yourself killed.’

  But Stig looked at the other rough sleepers and they nodded. One scouted around for something to throw. He found a brick and went up to the shop’s entrance.

  ‘You can’t just—’ Phil’s voice was drowned out by the sound of breaking gla
ss as the brick fell through the front pane. The Duchess barked frantically.

  Stig put his arm through the hole, fiddled for a moment and opened the door. Smoke billowed out. He coughed for a few moments as he stood and listened to the crackle of flames, then pulled his coat collar over his mouth and nose and stepped inside. Phil grabbed his arm, but Stig shook himself free. A couple of the other homeless lowered their heads and followed him in.

  ‘Ted! How are you all doing?’ shouted Emma skywards as the Duchess barked even louder. Phil hurried over to calm the dog down.

  ‘The little ones are having trouble breathing. Is the fire brigade coming yet? I can’t stop the smoke getting in.’ Ted’s voice sounded hoarse. ‘Please, please hurry!’

  Emma looked at Rita. She shook the blanket and a group of them formed a circle and pulled it tight.

  ‘You sure this will work?’ asked Emma, palms sweaty. What if she lost her grip when the kids’ weight hit the material? They might break their backs, get concussion or… She inhaled and breathed out, pushing away pessimistic thoughts.

  ‘There was a fire in a women’s refuge I stayed in once. The fire brigade got stuck in traffic due to an accident. We had no choice. We didn’t think it would work but it turned out fine.’ Rita nodded her head vigorously. ‘We can do this.’

  Emma looked up at Ted again. Wondered if they could wait and see if Stig and the others got through, or the emergency services arrived. But the kids were only small and could easily choke on the smoke.

  ‘Yes. Yes we can. Come on. Ted!’ she shouted. ‘Get the kids to jump. One at a time. It’s okay, trust us. We’ll catch them. It’ll be all right.’

  At that moment, Stig and the other men staggered out of the building, faces blackened, eyes streaming, coughing and retching.

  ‘It’s no good,’ Stig spluttered, a glistening red burn on his forehead. ‘Visibility is practically nil and you just can’t breathe. Everything is too hot to touch.’