Page 14 of Forgive Me Not
He continued to spurn their closeness over the next few days. They hardly talked and instead communicated using a series of grunts and body language. It was like being in a bad marriage, just without the rings. Gold ones, that is, thought Emma one morning, as Joe lay in his sleeping bag blowing out rings made from smoke. She wished she could catch them. One could hang around her neck. Another on her wrist. Sometimes she missed wearing jewellery. She pictured yesterday’s busy Mancunians in Market Street – the fashionable clothes, the pencilled eyebrows…
It made her feel a little less isolated to recall moments of kindness, like the young executive in a hurry who disappeared into a coffee shop and came back out to hand her a croissant and a cappuccino. Or the middle-aged postal worker who always stopped her bike to say hello and push fifty pence into her hand.
Emma tried not to dwell on those who’d do anything not to make eye contact. Legs would hurry past as if she were a concrete statue. She didn’t blame them. Perhaps some felt uncomfortable. Maybe a few found it easier to believe that rough sleepers were scammers and no-good benefit cheats.
She stared across Joe and out of the dirty window. Reluctantly the sun climbed into the Manchester cloud. The early rush-hour traffic rumbled. A siren sounded in the background. Emma hadn’t slept much.
Joe looked at her. Looked away. Stubbed out his cigarette. Sat up and packed his burgundy rucksack. Glanced back.
‘It’s for the best.’ His voice broke. ‘After the other night… you understand why I can’t be around you now?’
No. Not really.
‘Where will you go?’
‘I’m going to try my luck down south again. My life north of Watford…’ he gave a wry smile, ‘obviously hasn’t worked out. It’s what I need. Starting afresh.’
‘You serious? Are you thinking of getting treatment?’
He broke eye contact.
‘Why not do that here? You had a permanent address for more than six months, didn’t you?’
He nodded.
‘So you’re considered local. You qualify. If you feel ready to quit…’
‘I do. You and me… what happened… it’s given me that push. But I can stop on my own,’ he said hurriedly.
Everyone thought that. It was known as denial.
‘What about us leaving England? The fruit-picking?’ she said. ‘If we could just save a bit of money…’
‘We’ve as much chance of flying to the moon.’ Joe chewed the skin on the side of his forefinger. ‘You’ll be okay, right?’
‘Sure,’ she said in a bright voice. ‘You know me. The street cat with nine lives.’
‘Eight. Mad Hatter Holly almost took you with her when you pulled her back from jumping off that bridge.’
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
‘I’ll miss you,’ Emma whispered. ‘Please don’t leave. And I liked the other night. I’m so sorry you didn’t. I thought we were getting close. You and me, we go together, don’t we?’
Joe didn’t reply.
He couldn’t leave. Not like her father had when she was little. With Joe, she’d finally begun to feel as somehow she fitted in.
They stood up. Joe rolled his sleeping bag and tucked it under his arm. Awkwardly he darted forward and gave her the quickest of hugs. ‘I… I’ve got you a goodbye present.’ His hand disappeared into the bottom of his rucksack.
Emma stared at the boyish face that so often tried to look tough. From the moment they’d met, she’d felt the urge to protect him, despite the street cockiness. Finally he pulled out a packet. Cheeks red, mouth curved upwards for the first time in days, he handed her a large box of…
‘Tampons?’ A smile spread tentatively across Emma’s face.
‘I had to get something that I wouldn’t be tempted to keep for myself. And… well, they ain’t cheap.’
‘Too right,’ said Emma. She took the box. A lump rose in her throat. ‘It’s quite the nicest present anyone’s ever bought me.’
Joe’s eyes glistened. ‘It’s been good, hasn’t it? Us? You know – circumstances apart?’
