Page 20 of Forgive Me Not
Had they really heard someone mutter a response? They hurried past tall reeds and around to the back of the weeping willow. Andrea gasped as they saw Gail standing by a row of bushes bearing green berries, some of which had started to turn black. They hurried over.
‘You had us worried,’ said Andrea, voice trembling. ‘Don’t ever do that again.’
Their mum’s expression didn’t alter and Emma went to her other side, a wave of relief almost sweeping her off her feet.
Gail tried to spit something out. It was small. Black. Emma opened her mum’s curled fingers and stared at five berries.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Andrea.
‘Blueberries,’ muttered Gail.
Emma went over to the bush and studied the leaves as a rain shower fell. A shiver rippled across her back. ‘Shit! Did you know these are deadly nightshade?’
‘What? No. I mean… I haven’t been down here for ages.’ Andrea’s hand flew to her throat. ‘Are you sure?’
‘They grew down by the railway bridge where I sometimes slept. One guy ate them on purpose; heard they could make you hallucinate.’ He’d almost died. Stig had dug up the plants so that no one else could give them a shot. That had been later in the summer, but this hot weather must have brought on some of the berries early.
‘What do we do?’ asked Andrea. ‘Will she be all right? Should we give her milk to drink, or salty water to make her sick, or—’
‘We need to keep calm,’ said Emma quietly. ‘Otherwise she might get upset.’ Pulse racing, she stood in front of Gail. ‘Her pupils aren’t dilated. I don’t think she’s hallucinating.’
‘That’s a good sign, right?’
‘I think so,’ said Emma, but her voice wavered. As quickly as possible, she took out her phone and rang for an ambulance. It arrived within fifteen minutes, and by that time the sisters had led Gail around to the front of the barn and rung the police to say she’d been found.
Andrea insisted on going alone to the hospital with Gail. Wringing her hands, Emma stood in the yard watching the ambulance drive away. What if Mum took a turn for the worse? Emma wouldn’t be there to comfort her or Andrea.
She turned and walked past Bligh, who raised his eyebrows. Before she did anything else, she had to dig up those deadly nightshade bushes.
13 months before going back
Emma yawned and rubbed her eyes as she sat outside the bank, along from Primark and Piccadilly Gardens. It was almost lunchtime, and specks of rain trickled down her cheeks as if saying sorry for ruining the late May bank holiday weekend. It was a good spot. She’d scoped it out for a couple of days and the regular rough sleeper seemed to have moved on. Just metres from the tram stop, she’d often pick up change from busy commuters, who darted into Costa Coffee before hammering on to the office.
People-watching, she listened to the diverse Manchester beat. Hurried high heels. The whistle of trams. The talented – and untalented – buskers further down Market Street. Students chatting as they headed to the Northern Quarter for a non-branded latte and cake. Mums pushing creaky buggies laden with brown paper Primark bags defenceless against the rain. Pub drinkers striding with a determination driven by the imminent opening time.
A young woman tossed a handful of coins into her cup as she walked past. Emma gazed at her glossy salon hair, the perfect foundation, those manicured nails. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about her own appearance.
A burp rose up her throat followed by a shot of acid. She took a glug of water. The nausea she usually felt had been particularly bad this last week. Last night’s choice of drink had even been non-alcoholic.
Her throat buckled. She leant to her left and almost vomited the pizza slice she’d found boxed in a bin for breakfast. Her eyes watered and she hid her head under the sleeping bag and thought of her predicament. This was the worst thing about not drinking to oblivion – you had to confront your feelings. Because of that, she couldn’t contemplate life without her crutch – yet recently she couldn’t face the rest of her life with it.
How did you solve that particular conundrum?
Charity workers had tried to help, but Emma knew any offers of assistance would be useless until she hit her rock bottom; until the fear of changing felt smaller than the fear of staying the same.
Yet how much worse did it need to get?
Beth had reached rock bottom a fortnight ago. Her young son had been hit by a car and ended up in intensive care. She’d turned up at the hospital but they refused to let her visit as she wasn’t officially the next of kin. Finally broken, she’d registered with addiction services. Emma had shoplifted a Twix as a goodbye present.
Someone tripped over her leg and she pulled the sleeping bag away and jumped up to see a white-haired woman staggering.
‘You okay?’ she said, and took the pensioner’s arm.
‘Yes, thank you, dear. I’m as blind as a bat without my glasses these days.’
The posh tone reminded her of Great-Aunt Thelma, who loved visiting Foxglove Farm. Despite her advancing years, she’d muck in by weeding or collecting eggs, and she made the best apple crumble. Emma and Andrea would fight over the last portion. Emma screwed her eyes tight, determined not to think about Healdbury. Yet lately it was becoming increasingly difficult. She wasn’t sure why.
She glanced over to the right and Piccadilly Gardens. The tops of the fountains danced. Their distant babbling reminded her of the village stream. How she and Bligh used to play there, catching tadpoles and feeding moorhens. They’d hit it off straight away as kids, sharing adventures good and bad. Like when they’d run a mile for charity, or got sick by bingeing on Easter chocolate. Bligh was a popular boy at school and Emma had eventually worked out why. He’d share his sweets as much as his time and never said no if someone needed help with their maths or learning how to shoot goals.
