Page 51 of Forgive Me Not
‘Have you thought any more about getting in touch?’
Rachel rested her head against Emma’s shoulder. ‘Yes. Well, you’ve heard me in class. I can see now that things were difficult for her. She just did the best she could. But she’s not a letter person. Doesn’t even read books. So I’m going to ring her when I’ve completed the whole programme.’
‘Do you think Tess is right? That making amends won’t necessarily bring forgiveness, and we have to accept that?’
She felt Rachel’s head nod. ‘Yup. We’re having weeks of expert help to deal with our feelings, whereas the people we say sorry to might still be full of anger towards us and not know how to deal with that.’
But Emma hadn’t drunk for almost six months now. Surely she’d find forgiveness when Andrea, Bligh and Mum knew how much she’d changed?
‘Your mum won’t recognise you,’ she said. ‘How much weight have you lost?’
Rachel sat up and smiled. ‘No idea, but it’s a good thing we were allowed out for an afternoon’s shopping today. My old trousers were practically falling off.’
They’d visited the local charity shops. It felt exciting to care about their appearance again. Rachel had helped Emma choose a new coat. Emma managed not to spend too much time looking at baby clothes that might have suited Josephine.
Rachel reached for her work booklet while Emma got off the bed and settled at her small desk. Andrea’s letter was waiting there, almost daring her to post it. She opened it up and read through every word. Then again. And once more. Finally she folded it and slid it into an envelope. She sealed it, stuck on a stamp and then kissed the front. Rachel caught her eye and winked.
Dear Andrea,
Hi. I hope you and Mum are well – and that you have a good Christmas.
I’m writing to let you know that I’ve got into treatment.
What I’m really writing to say, though, is that I’m so sorry. For everything. All the trouble I caused. The money you had to spend to bail me out. The names I called you. The lying. The stealing. Me and my problems taking up so much of your time.
You had every right to be angry. Looking back, I’m surprised you put up with me for so long. We’re sisters, but that doesn’t entitle me to your unconditional love. I took you for granted.
We were close as children, weren’t we? Like the time we both got tattoos. Mum went mad. We couldn’t stop laughing, which made her even angrier when she found out they were fake. Plus now and then we’d speak in our GCSE French so that she couldn’t understand. Sometimes we were proper little devils.
I remember how we wanted to call our new home Forget-Me-Not Farm. Mum said it sounded silly. We thought it was cute.
You’d help me with school projects and I taught you how to use contouring kits, even though I was only fifteen and you were almost twenty. We used to walk around arm in arm. When did that stop? I reckoned you gave the best hugs. You thought me funny even without telling jokes. I liked that.
I’ll never forget that cake we made Mum for her birthday – the one that was supposed to look like the farm. My marzipan pink pigs looked more like thumbs. Your marshmallow sheep fell off at the last minute.
You and me, Andrea, we’ve always been so different and yet that never seemed to matter. I love marmalade. You hate it. My music taste is eclectic. You only like big band and jazz. Your feet are a generous size seven, mine a diminutive four. Growing fruit and vegetables interests you. I prefer animals.
That person… the drunk… it was me but it wasn’t. I was ill.
At the same time, that’s no excuse – I take responsibility for my actions and I intend to apologise to everyone in the village.
I know it’s asking a lot, but I’d like to visit. Will you just think about it? I’d be so grateful so that I could explain; try to make up for the past. My address and phone number are on the back of the envelope.
Please give my love to Mum.
Emma X
5 months before going back
Emma sat in the Quaker meeting room. Every time the door opened, she looked up hoping it would be Rachel. Now that treatment was over, she missed a daily dose of her friend’s humour. Rachel had temporarily gone back to work. Emma was in recovery services. They chatted on WhatsApp and met up when they could. A weekly definite was this evening’s AA meeting.
She took off her hat and scarf and chatted briefly to her friend Bev. From across the room, Old Len gave a thumbs-up and Emma half-heartedly gave one back. She tried to remember what Len had said to her at her first meeting:It doesn’t get better, but you do.In other words, life still happened – bereavement, fallings-out, divorce, illness – but AA seemed to give people a coping mechanism.
She would never forget her first ever meeting. It had taken place shortly after her detox. She’d stood outside the church door and wondered if she’d be sick, swearing inwardly at Dave from Listening EAR who’d pushed her to attend. Just the words Alcoholics Anonymous had brought to mind an image of men in dirty raincoats who slept on park benches. The irony wasn’t lost on her that it wasn’t so long since she’d been one of those rough sleepers.
She’d entered the room to a most unexpected tableau. Polished shoes. Clean clothes. Shaved faces. Bright eyes. All accompanied by friendly chat and the clink of mugs. Men had congregated on the far side, women nearby. They all exchanged hugs and passed around chocolate biscuits.
A woman called Julie had offered her a brew. ‘Well done for getting here on your own. Someone had to bring me my first time.’ She’d jerked her head to a nearby member. ‘Bev, this is Emma. She’s new too. Now, sit yourself down. My advice today is to just listen. Don’t look for the differences in people’s stories – just see if you can relate to their feelings.’
