Page 3 of Forgive Me Not
‘But it wasn’t supposed to get like this for—’
‘How would you know?’ Andrea asked, in a voice that sounded as if it were walking a tightrope. ‘You never came to any of the appointments. It was me sitting with Mum when they told her the news.’
‘I should have been there for her – for you. I know it must have been tough.’
‘Tough? No, uncooked meat is tough. Over-kneaded dough. Chewing gum that’s gone hard. But holding Mum’s hand through the last few years as she’s lost her bearings around the village… the farm… the house? As she’s forgotten the names for places, objects and… loved ones? I’ve had to witness her distress as day by day she’s felt less useful, and panicked by familiar surroundings that now seem brand new.’ Andrea shook her head. ‘Tough? Try heartbreaking. That’s a far more suitable word.’
‘But what happened? Why has it progressed so quickly?’ With fresh eyes, Emma glanced at the watercolour.
Forget. Me. Not. How could her mum not know who she was?
Her fists curled. It was so unfair. All the years… no, thedecadesof productive life Mum had been robbed of.
Andrea leant forward and rubbed her forehead. ‘About a year ago she was rushed into hospital with appendicitis. They removed the appendix in time but she was never the same afterwards. It was as if the general anaesthetic had thrown her forward several years, into the illness. They had to move her to a private ward to recover, because she kept seeing things that weren’t there during the night and waking the other patients.’
‘Oh Andrea. That must have been hard on you.’
‘Mum was my main concern,’ she said in a voice with no tone, like a song that only existed as written notes.
‘I wish I’d been here to support you both.’
‘I’m glad you weren’t.’
Emma flinched. ‘How have you managed?’
‘Just fine.’
‘Please. Tell me the truth.’
Andrea’s shoulders bobbed up and down. ‘Bligh, of course.’
So he was still here.
‘And Polly…’
The fifty-year-old landlady from the Badger Inn, married to Alan. Despite the age difference, Polly and Andrea were firm friends. They used to chat for hours in low voices, like Andrea and Emma used to before things got bad. The pair had a mutual love of Stilton and often shopped at the cheese shop in the village. Polly would invite Andrea over to the pub for a tasting evening in front of a DVD. When she visited the farm, Andrea allowed herself to relax, gossiping, joking and eating too much home-baked shortbread.
‘Polly’s gran had dementia and she used to look after her. She insists on sitting with Mum most Saturday afternoons, which is a godsend, what with that being the busiest day for the shop. She’s also given me tips on how to keep Mum occupied. The hospital does its best, but…’ Andrea sighed. ‘Mum’s still sleeping at night, which helps. But I caught her drinking undiluted squash last week, and I’ve had to stop her using the cooker and iron.’
Emma had tried to drink concentrated cordial once when she was little. Just in time, Andrea had spotted her mistake and patiently shown her how to dilute it.
‘Polly’s also great at doing an emergency shop if I just haven’t had the time.’
What about Dean, Andrea’s boyfriend? Didn’t he help? Emma sat in a daze. She couldn’t take it all in.
‘You seem nice,’ said Gail, and leant across to pat Emma’s hand. Her eyes crinkled into a smile before she looked vacant again.
‘Andrea? I’ll be off now,’ a deep voice boomed from the kitchen. Heavy footsteps sounded from behind Emma, then stopped abruptly.
Emma lifted her chin, jumped to her feet and turned around.
Chapter 3
Emma watched as Bligh ran a hand across his beard and blinked rapidly. White T-shirt. Blue jeans. His handyman uniform hadn’t altered one bit. The air surrounding him still carried a hint of aftershave. With his Popeye arms and determined jawline, true to his namesake he looked like a mariner who could conquer the waves.
‘This is a surprise, Emma,’ he muttered.
He used to call her Emmie.
