He pulled his hand away.
‘The drink just magnified what had already been going on in my head for years. Stopping drinking isn’t enough. I have to work on how and what I think about everything and everyone – including you.’
He stood up. ‘Analyse it as much as you want. The biggest surprise to me is that I think I preferred you drunk.’
Chapter 22
Bligh kept out of Emma’s way for the rest of the day. She cleaned out the pigsty while Gail watched. Andrea didn’t say a word as she ate her lunch and then returned to the shop. For the first time since coming back, Emma couldn’t wait to leave the farm when early evening finally arrived. Birdsong accompanied her as she headed towards the village. She went into the pet shop. Phil was on the phone talking to someone about looking after their gerbils during the summer. She hurried up to her room and threw her rucksack down on the floor. It fell at an awkward angle, and where one side of the top hadn’t fastened properly, an envelope jutted out.
Her pulse raced. Could Andrea have responded already to her letter? She knelt down and quickly undid the buckle and lifted back the top… It was the envelope she’d slipped under her sister’s bedroom door – still unopened.
She got up and sat on the side of her bed. Her phone bleeped, but she ignored it. She lay down and stared at the ceiling. She used to spend hours like this in the squat, watching spiders make homes over nicotine stains.
Eventually she closed her eyes. Took stock of her return to Foxglove Farm. Her fantasy of slotting back into her old life was well and truly over.
Andrea’s words, the way you left, echoed in her mind: her sister believed that the estrangement could not be sorted out. Emma would never forget her return to Foxglove Farm that fateful Christmas Eve; how she’d cleaned the blood off the car and then quietly opened the kitchen door…
She’d stopped dead and stared at Andrea and Bligh, sitting at the pine table, phones in their hands. Mum had been leaning against the kitchen unit.
‘Where have you been?’ she’d said. ‘I hardly slept last night. You’ve done disappearing acts for twenty-four hours before, but two days? And with the car? Bligh told us you weren’t in a fit state to drive. I’ve been worried sick.’
Emma had started rambling about shopping and wandering around the Christmas markets, but before she could finish, Gail had cut in.
‘You always talk too much when confronted about your behaviour. Well, there’s no wriggling out of this one. If you’ve been shopping, where are your bags? I’m not stupid, Emma. Even with my memory the way it is, it’s obvious you’ve been out drinking.’ She’d shaken her head. ‘In any event, Bligh has the proof on… on that…’
Apparently Bligh had set up an Instagram account to keep track of Emma’s antics.
‘I don’t understand. Why can’t we just have a nice Christmas Eve?’ Gail had busied herself with the kettle, which stood next to two jars with Post-it notes on them saying Tea and Coffee.
‘How could you?’ Andrea had whispered. ‘You know she’s not well.’
‘She’s fine. Stop treating her like a baby. Give her a party hat and a slice of Christmas pudding and she’ll soon forget I’ve been out past my bedtime.’ Emma burped.
‘How dare you speak about her in that way? Who are you these days?’
‘Who were those people in that hotel bedroom?’ Bligh said, looking at his phone.
Emma wriggled out of her coat and let it drop to the floor.
‘What the… where did that bloodstain come from?’ Bligh took her elbow and led her into the lounge, where she collapsed onto the sofa.
Andrea had followed them in, and Emma explained that she wasn’t injured. More details had come back to her as she’d driven home. The lecherous old guy in the video was one of her former lecturers from sixth-form college. That was why she’d thought she knew him. He was also a regular at the hotel and had smoothed things over with management before he left. Those young women must have been students. She was half tempted to report him.
Bligh asked who’d paid for the room. Slowly – very slowly – it came out how she’d borrowed his bank cards from his wallet. He pulled receipts out of her bag and looked at the amounts.
‘Christ almighty.’ He’d glanced at Andrea. ‘All in all over two and a half thousand quid.’ His head had snapped back to Emma. ‘This is some kind of joke, right? Unless you’re now doing drugs. How else is it possible to spend that much in two days?’ He’d thrown the bag down on the floor as hard as he could. Explained how he’d saved that money to send his dad over to Germany. His dad had been researching a ground-breaking cure for his type of cancer and had found an expert offering treatment in Munich. He and Bligh had just about raised enough. Bligh was going to book the flight and hotel after Christmas. His dad only had six months left.
Bligh rarely got angry, but now he punched the wall. Emma had tried to approach him, but he’d backed away, shaking his grazed and bleeding knuckles. ‘This is my dad’s life we’re talking about,’ he’d shouted. ‘You’ve taken away his last chance of survival for the sake of a good time. You should be up in court.’
She’d slurred her response. ‘Please, Bligh, I’m sorry, I—’
‘Have you any idea how long it took me to save that money?’ he’d said. ‘Weren’t you curious as to why I sold my motorbike last month and started taking on odd jobs in the village during my spare time? No, of course you weren’t, because you’re incapable of thinking about anyone but yourself. Well, that’s it. No more. You and me are over. I’m done. You’ve cheated on me. Lied. And now this – I can’t take it any more.’
‘But Bligh… listen…’
‘You heard him,’ Andrea had said, the pitch of her voice increasing. ‘Just when I thought your behaviour couldn’t get worse… this is the final straw. We’ve all had enough. As far as I’m concerned, you’re no sister of mine. Get out now, or I’ll call the police.’
Emma had wiped her eyes and become defiant. She’d charged upstairs and stuffed random clothes into a rucksack. Frantically she’d searched her usual hiding places, hoping to find some drink. Eventually she discovered a half-drunk bottle of vodka on top of her wardrobe – and next to it the pub’s charity box. She must have stolen it during a blackout. She didn’t remember. She shoved the charity box into her rucksack and went downstairs, pulling on her coat.
Ego bolstered by the vodka, she’d yanked open the kitchen door and glared at Mum. ‘Andrea’s always been your favourite,’ she’d said bitterly, before stumbling out into the courtyard.
‘And don’t come back,’ Andrea had yelled as she walked unsteadily away…
Emma’s stomach twisted now at the memories. She had stolen Bligh’s money. Stolen the pub’s collection which was for his dad as well. She’d discovered that later when she’d bothered reading a label on the box. Emma had stolen his dad’s last chance of salvation. She got up and rummaged in her bedside drawer. She found her one-year sobriety coin and held it tight in her palm. Thank you, thank you for my new life. The old one was a living hell.
‘Stig is here!’ shouted Phil up the stairs.
Of course. The soup run. Emma had completely forgotten. She hadn’t even made any sandwiches. It had felt like a long Friday, what with making things up with Joe and talking to Andrea and Bligh.
‘I suppose you could prepare some basic food here,’ said Phil gruffly when she came down and explained. She gave some cash to Stig, who charged off to the supermarket and came back with cling film, bread and ham.
‘What’s up?’ he said as they buttered bread. After making them all a cup of tea, Phil had gone back to the shop to answer the phone. The animal boarding idea was really taking off. ‘You seemed in such a good mood at lunchtime when we went to the stream with Joe.’
Emma grimaced. ‘Not much to tell, apart from the fact that Andrea and Bligh both hate me more than ever.’
‘C’mon, I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘You’d better believe it.’
Emma proceeded to tell him about everything that had happened. ‘They just can’t see that I’ve truly changed, Stig. I’ve given them time, but it’s never going to happen. I… I don’t blame them, but it’s so frustrating.’
‘You’ve still only been back a few weeks.’
‘I know. I keep telling myself that. So, I’ve come to some decisions.’
‘Are you leaving?’
Emma hoped not. She’d see when she spoke to the police about Ned.
‘For the moment I’m going to continue living at Phil’s and carry on helping out at the farm and with Mum.’ Her shoulders dipped. ‘But I have to change my goals. Making amends isn’t all about getting forgiveness. I don’t think I fully took that on board before.’
Stig put down his knife and squeezed her arm. ‘I saw a meme on Facebook once, back in the day. It said that wisdom always comes at a price.’
Emma sighed. ‘Very true. This last year I’ve learnt so much about the way the mind works. I’ve also learnt to accept things I can’t change, and this is one of them. Things will never go back to how they were. I have to let go of the past. And I think that’s Bligh’s problem – he can’t. He wants to return to how we were.’
‘You’re right, I think there is this expectation with forgiveness that things will go back to exactly how they used to be. With Olly, the kid from school, I soon realised that that was unrealistic. He was polite and still contributed well to the class. But he never joked around with me any more or asked for my help after lessons.’ Stig looked at the kitchen clock. ‘Come on. Let’s finish up and go do our good deed for the day.’
Emma stared out of the kitchen window. Blue tits hopped around. She would put out the crusts before heading off.
‘Just look at your life now – you’re seeing your family, helping people like me, still not drinking. You’ve got new friends, and you’ve made things up with Joe. I’d say all of that was pretty great, wouldn’t you?’ said Stig gently.
‘You’re right. Compared to where I was last year it’s… excuse my language, but it’s a fucking miracle.’
* * *
Later that night, Emma strolled back to the pet shop with Phil. He’d come up to the station again, this time with some tins of dog food. Almost ten rough sleepers had turned up. The bakery’s spare jam doughnuts had been a big hit. Stig had gone up to the farm. He’d decided Emma was right. He should accept Andrea’s offer of sleeping in the barn for one night.
Emma didn’t feel like chatting and went straight to her room. Her bedside drawer was jutting out. The envelopes from Gail’s chest were visible on the left. She got changed into her pyjamas, cleaned her teeth and made herself comfortable on the bed. Perhaps it was time to look at her mum’s letters.
She sifted through them, looking at the postmark dates, and decided to start with the earliest, sent eighteen years ago. It was the only one that had been opened. For the first time, she noticed that the postmarks and stamps were foreign. The envelopes dated longest ago had been sent to their old address in London. The rest had been forwarded to Foxglove Farm from there.
She was just about to pull out the envelope’s contents when she hesitated. Having Alzheimer’s didn’t mean Gail had relinquished her right to privacy. Yet what if these were simply from a close friend she had lost touch with? Wouldn’t they want to know if she was ill?
‘I’ll just look at one,’ she told herself, knowing that thoughts of Andrea and Bligh would, in any event, keep her from sleep. She pulled out a card. A note fell onto the bed sheets.
Chapter 23
Emma picked up the note.
Gail,
Once again, I’m so sorry. I miss you and the girls but understand why we can no longer live together.
I have no right to ask, but I’d be so very grateful if you would show this card to little Emma when she is old enough to read.
Sorry again. I hope one day you can forgive me.
Jean-Claude
Emma sat bolt upright and studied the postmarks again. The colours of the room spun as if she were living in the centre of a kaleidoscope. The printed postmark writing on the front of the envelopes was in French. Why hadn’t she noticed?
Her father had sent this.
But how was that possible? Mum never kept secrets from Emma. Emma never kept secrets from Mum. It was a pact Gail had made with both of her daughters.
Had it meant nothing?
She picked up the card. A large number 1 decorated the front. She opened it up.
Dear Emma,
Happy first birthday.
I think of you often.
Papa
But he’d dumped her, not cared, abandoned her a matter of months after she was born…
With shaking hands she picked up an envelope dated a few years later. This time there was no note to Gail.
My darling Emma,
So now you are seven. I hope you are behaving well for your mother. I’m sure you are – you were always a content baby. From the short time we were together, I remember you didn’t ask for much. Just a funny face would make you laugh. A big bottle of milk meant you slept through the night.
The unusual colour of your eyes, green speckled with chocolate brown, is etched in my memory. That and your button nose come from my grandmother.
Happy birthday.
Papa
Feeling sick, Emma opened the one from her thirteenth year.
Dearest Emma,
Enjoy teenagehood. It might be scary at times, but your mum will give you good advice, of that I am sure.
I don’t know if she is giving you these cards. If she is, I just want you to know I still think of you every morning when I get up. I have not forgotten you. Never will.
If she’s isn’t, I hope some day you get to read this. Don’t blame her. I used to be a difficult person to live with.
Happy birthday.
Papa
Emma stared at her bed sheets. All this time, she’d thought she’d meant nothing to him. All that time, before treatment, she’d never felt good enough.
How could Gail not have not passed on these letters? How could she have let Emma believe her father had thrown her away like a dirty tissue? That there must have been something wrong with her? That she wasn’t as worthy of fatherly love as Andrea or other children?
And yet… poor Mum. Things must have been so bad for him to leave. What had he done? And these were just words – he’d never actually bothered to come and visit his daughter.
She pushed the envelopes away. Gail had provided more than enough love. She didn’t need a long-distance father.
And yet… if Gail had given Emma these cards years ago, she might have felt better about herself and been in a good job now, or married with kids.
She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and tried to take control of her indignant thoughts. Yet they continued to buzz through her mind as if it housed a disturbed bees’ nest. All the questions friends had asked her at primary school about her absent dad – with this contact at least she could have talked about him living in France and sending her cards.
An intensely hot sensation gushed into her chest and her face screwed up as she skipped ahead to the last card. Inside this one was a letter – addressed to Emma and Gail.
Emma – I feel I should explain why I left and why I have never come back to England. When I knew your mother, I had a lot of… anger problems. I wasn’t a well man. My own childhood had been difficult. My father treated me and my siblings badly. Yet that is no excuse for the way I treated Gail. If things didn’t go my way, I am ashamed to say I coped by using my fists. I feel you need to know this so that you understand why your mother sent me away. I hit her, you see, and… I even hit Andrea once. On that occasion Gail said if I didn’t move out of your lives immediately, she would call the police.
I was a coward – instead of taking my punishment; instead of getting help and trying to work things out, I took the first plane to Paris. But I never got over losing you, Emma. Not see
ing you grow up eventually pushed me to get help.
Gail – I loved you. You deserved better. I hope you are happy now.
After treatment I met a kind woman – Michelle – and we have a son. He knows about you, Emma. Like me, one day he hopes you will get in touch.
As always, I have put my address above, but no pressure. The most important thing is that you do what is best for yourself.
Happy eighteenth. I have no doubt that, growing up under Gail’s care, you have matured into a wonderful woman.
Good luck with your life.
And never forget, the past doesn’t have to define the future.
Papa/Jean-Claude
A solitary tear rolled down Emma’s cheek and she sat in silence with her thoughts. Before long, plump globules of bitterness streamed down her face. She threw away the note. It landed on the floor. Eighteen envelopes. That was all she had to show for a father.
As for what he’d done… She’d always known her mum was strong, but this… Her fists curled. And how could he have hit Andrea?
She went downstairs and made a hot chocolate but ended up pouring it down the sink. She switched on the TV but couldn’t concentrate on anything. She threw on her anorak and headed outside.
It felt strange not to see Stig and the Duchess asleep on the pavement. She breathed in the cool night air, took it down into her lungs, but it didn’t extinguish the anger that had flooded her chest. Anger at Jean-Claude and, even though she tried to fight it, anger rising again at Gail for hiding his contact. She slumped to the ground.
Forgive Me Not Page 20