Forgive Me Not

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘He just panicked and drove away as quickly as he could,’ said Andrea. ‘Come to think of it, the police did find a dead deer nearby.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s what you hit,’ said Bligh.

  ‘So it wasn’t me?’ Emma gulped and covered her eyes with her hands. The sense of relief was almost too much. Her knees buckled.

  Suddenly Gail was at her side, patting Emma’s shoulder. ‘You really do talk too much.’

  Emma gave her mum the tightest hug, burrowing her face in Gail’s shoulder.

  ‘There, there…’ said Gail, stroking her hair as if her daughter were Dash. ‘How about some fish and chips?’

  Chapter 29

  Due to the soup run, Stig was now a dab hand in the kitchen and helped Emma prepare the food for the barbecue. For once, the bank holiday delivered the sunniest weather. Mrs Beatty had stopped crossing the road when they met, and gave Emma a discount on some pretty paper napkins and plates. Bill the butcher even gave her some discarded cuts to be cut up for the rough sleepers’ dogs. In return, she gave them both some surplus fruit from the farm. All the village businesses had continued to help each other out. Emma could sense a common bond strengthening at the prospect of their first Sunday market in the autumn.

  She had insisted on paying for the barbecue and reckoned Aunt Thelma would have approved. She’d been looking into veterinary nurse courses and it had helped that Phil had reduced her rent. She was going to help him with a business proposition he had for Andrea, to build proper animal kennels on part of the farm’s unused land and run them. He was coming round tomorrow night with his plan. And eventually the international arts festival would be over and the rough sleepers would migrate back to the city. Her soup runs would be redundant. Perhaps then she could look for a part-time job to juggle alongside everything else.

  At the back of Gail’s recipe book the wad of blank pages continued to rapidly diminish. Instead of Andrea illustrating, Emma took a photo of every finished dish, printed it off and stuck it in. The barbecue provided the perfect opportunity to be creative, and she veered slightly from Gail’s menu. She made a large raspberry tart with lemon drizzle over the top, as well as the chocolate one and the mocha muffins. Stig put his mind to making the cheese and caramelised onion quiche. Gail carried out the safe tasks like washing tomatoes. She also enjoyed folding the paper napkins several times over.

  Stig set up a couple of trestle tables in front of the barn, and found as many chairs as he could – Andrea had invited a couple of extra friends, such as the chemist, who was very informative explaining Gail’s various tablets. Stig lit the coals and set out the meat. Soon smoke wafted into the air.

  Emma looked at her watch. Quarter to three. Joe had already arrived, and after a catch-up had headed over to Stig to help with the grilling. The remaining guests would be here any minute. They were lucky with the weather, which offered that perfect combination of blue skies and a pleasant breeze.

  The first car to pull up belonged to Bligh. They hadn’t seen him for a week. He’d announced he needed a break. In his absence, Stig had been a godsend. He’d helped with the heavy manual tasks and lightened the evening atmosphere with his tales about travel. He would sometimes read to Gail in front of the barn. He and Emma had picked up a load of animal stories he thought suitable from the charity shop. They were never sure if she took them in, but the steady sound of his voice seemed to calm her before bed.

  ‘Looks good,’ Bligh said to Emma as he walked past the trestle tables. Dash ran around barking, the Duchess trying to keep up. ‘How have things been?’

  ‘Fine. Stig’s got stuck in with the harvesting and has learnt how to make jam.’

  ‘Great, because I’ve come back with some fresh ideas on how we can expand our range of online products, so it might mean that for the foreseeable future I’ll be working at the computer. Perhaps you, Andrea and I could have a meeting in the next day or two. We can discuss the plans you had about introducing seasonal ranges for Easter and Christmas, and widening the sweet range, such as making fruit biscuits. I think you may be onto something there.’ His voice sounded business-like.

  He jerked his head and they moved away from everyone else.

  ‘I’ve thought about things, and firstly, I want to apologise for that time I said I preferred you drunk. I wasn’t myself. You coming back… it’s taken a bit of getting used to.’

  ‘You don’t need to—’

  ‘Please. Let me finish. I feel you should know… the so-called cancer specialist in Germany – it turned out to be a scam. We found out after Dad passed away. So even if we’d got him over there, in the end it wouldn’t have made any difference.’

  Emma put a hand to her throat. So she hadn’t been involved in anyone’s death.

  ‘I probably should have told you sooner,’ he said in a strained voice, ‘but you still took away his hope, and mine, during those last days.’

  He gave her a hard stare before heading inside to take a look at the new boiler that had been fitted while he was away.

  ‘Are the guests arriving soon?’ asked Gail, who was standing nearby fiddling with a chocolate wrapper.

  ‘Yes. Any minute now,’ said Emma. Her voice wavered. She pulled a tissue out of her trouser pocket and dabbed her eyes.

  Gail tilted her head and studied Emma’s face. ‘You’re a good girl – even with all that talking.’

  Their eyes locked. Emma took her mum’s hand, blinked away tears and lightly squeezed.

  Andrea came outside. ‘Did you remember to make ice cubes?’ she asked sharply. ‘I’ll bring the lemonade out in a minute.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Emma. ‘Three trayfuls. Hopefully that will be enough.’

  Andrea nodded. ‘Mum’s got a slight sniffle. Polly wants me to go to the cinema with her tonight, but I’m not sure.’

  ‘Go, Andrea. You said yourself it’s months since you last saw a film. If anything happens, I’ll text you immediately. I can stay here as late as you want, and I was going to get that ironing done anyway.’

  ‘I’ll decide later,’ Andrea said. Her jaw set in a determined line.

  Ted arrived with his wife and grandkids, who immediately headed off to pet the rabbits. Polly and Alan were next. Alan marched straight past, but Polly stopped.

  ‘Your sister told me you were pregnant but…’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘Losing a child – it gets marginally easier as time passes,’ she said curtly.

  Emma’s eyelids pricked. ‘Thanks, Polly, I—’

  But the landlady had already walked away.

  Phil arrived. He said hello and then headed over to see how the meat was doing. These days he looked ten years younger. He’d even started cycling and cooking again – last night, he’d made the two of them a stir-fry. He’d laughed when Emma said he should try online dating, but later that evening she found him absorbed with his laptop screen.

  Her attention turned to Joe. She thought back to her neediness in the squat. The times she’d told passers-by to eff off. How she’d gone days without washing and ended the night by throwing up. She remembered the desperate Emma sobbing in front of assessment officer Ben.

  That person seemed so alien to her now. She recalled a young Bligh’s insistence that life on earth was directed by aliens on the moon. If so, the master of her journey must have changed hands, and she’d be forever grateful.

  She ran a hand through her hair and walked out of sight, around the corner of the farmhouse. Some people could accept apologies, others couldn’t. She had chased forgiveness so hard, but perhaps in the end it didn’t really matter. The important things were kindness and trying to be a better person. She considered the guests connected to Foxglove Farm – orphaned Bligh, depressed Stig, divorced Phil, grieving Polly and Alan – and decided the place really had turned out to be a haven for waifs and strays. The old Gail would have been proud.

  She passed the front door, where she’d stood cautiously knocking a couple of months earlier. The tall
sunflower was in glorious bloom now. She went to the kissing gate, rested on the fence and gazed at the rows of pink foxgloves, recalling how they’d seemed to trumpet their welcome.

  Stig appeared, carrying two slices of quiche. ‘I’ve left Phil and Joe in charge. They’re politely disagreeing over the best grilling technique.’

  Emma turned around.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m good. Just taking a moment out. Things haven’t quite worked out as I planned.’

  ‘What, coming back?’ He handed her a slice.

  ‘I’ve made a little headway with Bligh, but he and Andrea are still so angry, and even worse, in part they’re blaming themselves. I just want a bit of peace for them. They deserve that. I’d hoped me trying to make amends would heal the rift, for their sake as much as mine.’ She sat down on the grass. Stig joined her. ‘Perhaps Andrea was right. I said that everything was my fault, so she snarkily – and I don’t blame her – suggested I concentrate on forgiving myself.’

  Stig wiped his mouth. ‘Thanks for mentioning me to your sister. It’s been great living in the barn and making myself useful. But more than that, I feel a small sense of… belonging. I get on well with your mum and I’ve got a lot in common with Andrea. She’s a great person.’

  Emma pretended not to notice his blush. ‘Belonging means everything, doesn’t it? I’ve got a life now and wonder why I was always so hell bent on finding the bright lights and leaving Healdbury. It’s the small, simple, everyday things that matter. It’s about doing the right thing and being there for people, isn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t really Healdbury you were trying to get away from. Perhaps it was yourself.’

  Lately Emma had been thinking the same thing.

  He took another bite and gazed around. ‘It’s so picturesque here,’ he said in between chewing.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘So quintessentially English. The flowers are amazing. So much insect and plant life. It would be a brilliant location for a field trip.’

  ‘There’s nothing quite like the sea of forget-me-nots in the spring.’

  Basking in the luxurious sun, they both stretched out their legs. What a contrast to the days they’d spend hunched on Manchester’s streets.

  ‘That reminds me of an English lesson I had to supervise once,’ said Stig. ‘The kids were studying a fable about a young woman whose husband had to head off to sea. She pressed some forget-me-nots in a book and told him to take them on his journey so that he never forgot her.’

  ‘That’s sweet.’

  ‘Yes, but the trouble was, while he was away, she got led astray by single friends and forgot who she really was. She danced every night, stayed out drinking and had liaisons with several men. When her husband came back home, he’d remained loyal.’ He looked at Emma. ‘What messed things up was that he’d remembered her but she hadn’t remembered herself. Perhaps it’s the same for forgiveness.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maybe Andrea unintentionally had a point. You can ask people to forgive you, but it means nothing if you don’t forgive yourself. If you can live with what you’ve done, perhaps it will take the pressure off seeking that peace from another person.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe what matters most is the respect you get back from yourself. The rest is a bonus.’

  Then perhaps self-forgiveness was also the answer for Andrea and Bligh, seeing as they thought they deserved some of the blame. Hopefully, with Emma sticking around, healthy and productive, they would begin to think more kindly of themselves.

  Perhaps they couldn’t forgive right now because the hurt had damaged their own self-image.

  Bligh saw himself as her protector. Andrea considered herself a guardian big sister. They both felt they’d failed in those roles, as Emma’s life took a downwards spiral. They needed to let go of the responsibilities they thought they carried. Only then would they realise they’d done nothing wrong. Only then was there a chance that the family could go forwards together.

  It was a bit like Emma’s discovery of those cards. She’d always seen herself as someone whose life would have been better with two parents; letting go of that idea made it easier to forgive her mum.

  ‘Roll up, folks, these pork chops are ready!’ Phil’s words travelled across from the yard, accompanied by barking from the Duchess and Dash, and mouth-watering smells.

  Emma stood up and stared down at Stig. She held out her hand. ‘Come on. We’re neglecting the guests, and Phil and Joe might have come to blows.’ She pulled him to his feet.

  Like with Mum’s recipe book, it was time to move forwards now – in the same way, but differently.

  They stood opposite each other. Stig didn’t wear his bobble hat any more. Emma brushed a small fly off his face. He squeezed her hand before letting go. Leaving quiche crumbs behind for industrious ants, they hurried back to the barbecue and joined the hubbub of chat.

  Chapter 30

  Up in her bedroom, Andrea ignored Phil’s voice announcing that the meat was done. She was enjoying a few moments’ peace before she was missed. Her right arm reached outwards. Sight was not required to curl her fingers around the blue bottle she knew was there. She topped up her mug, took a large mouthful and felt a whoosh from the warming liquid.

  Truth be told, since her operation a year ago, Mum had completely lost her taste for her favourite tipple. Andrea, however, had kept up the ritual, pretending that Gail still enjoyed her nightcap. She’d sip the sherry as she sat at the foot of Gail’s bed and watched her fall asleep. One glass had become two, then four. Discreet mouthfuls during the afternoon made the day more manageable. She’d hide the empties under her bed and when Bligh wasn’t around take them straight to the recycling plant. In view of Emma’s past, she didn’t want him jumping to the ridiculous conclusion that anyone else at the farm had a problem.

  There was so much to deal with, and she just needed a little lift so that she didn’t think about her ex-boyfriend Dean, the finances of the farm, the early loss of her dad, her mum, the places she hadn’t been.

  But most of the blame lay with her sister. Her nose wrinkled and she thanked the universe that she was nothing like Emma. Sherry was a civilised drink. Andrea drank in a civilised manner. Plus no one knew about her habit, which proved she had it under control. She deserved this one treat.

  She stood up and stashed the bottle behind her dressing table mirror. Then she took out her mints, slipped one into her mouth and went back downstairs to wash up her mug before joining everyone else.

  Acknowledgements

  Dear readers, I so appreciate you following my journey into Women’s Fiction. I have loved creating this story and hope you enjoy reading it. You are the people I write for – the words flow from my heart to yours. Thank you so much.

  Massive thanks to my talented and caring agent Clare Wallace, at Darley Anderson. Thanks for your incredible help as I’ve faced the challenge of writing for a new genre. Your belief in me has meant a lot - despite the pages of revisions! Thanks for never being phased – if you have been, you’ve hidden it well.

  Huge gratitude also to Tanera Simons at Darley Anderson. Your efficacy and understanding have made challenges I’ve faced that much easier.

  Thanks to Mary Moody – on a personal level and for answering many research questions. I have a huge amount of respect for what you do and wish you all the very best for the future.

  Thanks also to Karen Whitehead from Mosaic Services, Stockport. I’m grateful for the time and knowledge you’ve given me and am full of admiration for how you and your colleagues change young peoples’ lives.

  I have to mention Mark Holder from Acorn Recovery Projects. Mark, you know what a central role you’ve played in my own personal journey into recovery. I’ll be eternally thankful for that. Tough love personified, I wish you every success with your continued career.

  Thanks to Tracy Griffiths for your friendship and sharing your story. You are a huge inspi
ration to me.

  Ruth Yates, you’ve been brilliant - a real rock and such a role model.

  Gratitude also to another Karen. You made such a difference when it counted.

  To the person I got to know during treatment who is homeless and suffering from drug addiction, thanks for sharing your experience of using and rough sleeping. Your cheerful smile, your banter and kind nature always inspire me.

  Thanks to blogger Rachel Gilbey and her super efficiency in organising blog tours. You’re a lovely person, so professional and a real cheerleader of books.

  I’m also immensely grateful to all the bloggers who support my stories. I have so much respect for the amount of work you put in – and time. It’s so heartening to witness your passion for the industry and I love connecting with you on Facebook and Twitter. You are the best!

  Four university friends, four devastating secrets.

  A truly powerful and unforgettable story of love, friendship, and real life, If I Fall is perfect for readers of Alice Peterson, Amanda Prowse and Lianne Moriarty.

  ‘You won’t be able to stop reading’ Heat Magazine

  Find out more…

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by Canelo

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited

  57 Shepherds Lane

  Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © Samantha Tonge, 2018

  The moral right of Samantha Tonge to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788632201