Page 64 of Forgive Me Not
It was fate, she decided. To celebrate that landmark, she’d take the next step forward. Nothing was going to make her slip back into old behaviours. When this last sick note ran out, it would be time to return to Foxglove Farm.
Chapter 21
After her talk – or was it an argument? – with Andrea, Emma headed back to the pet shop. She changed the hamsters’ water, then took one out and stroked it for a few moments. Only two were left. Phil had actually sold three over the last couple of weeks. After replenishing their food bowl, she made herself a cup of tea and took it up to her room. Her bedside drawer was open, and as she went to shut it, she noticed an envelope stuffed underneath some socks. She took it out. It was the letter she’d sent to Andrea. The one her sister had returned without opening.
She reread it a few times. It had to be worth a last shot. The old Emma would have given up and sought refuge in a bottle. But things had changed.Shehad changed. She opened the drawer below and fished out a notebook and pen. She and Andrea didn’t seem to be able to have a conversation. Her last hope was the written word. Her chest ached. Andrea felt so bad about the pregnancy. Emma hadn’t wanted that.
She started to write, occasionally referring back to the original letter. Finally it was ready.
Dear Andrea,
I know you didn’t open the last one, but I really hope you read this. I know I’ve used up a million second chances. But hopefully by now you’ve seen that I’m sober. I miss you, Andrea. I want to help around the farm. I want to shoulder my share of the responsibilities that I dumped on you.
I am so sorry. For everything. All the trouble I caused. The money you had to spend, to bail me out of trouble. The names I called you. The lying. The stealing. Me and my problems taking up so much of your time. That thing with Dean…
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, and I think – I know – I took you and Mum, Bligh, my home at Foxglove Farm for granted.
In the last letter, I wrote about how we were close and I lingered on happy memories from the past, but this time I’m focused on the now, on going forward. And I can still see what a wonderful person you are.
You’d have made a brilliant aunt. I know that. My big sister would have set a great example. I couldn’t tell you about the pregnancy at the time: we weren’t in touch and I was trying to stop drinking, trying to stop myself from ever hurting you or anyone else I loved again. But I wished I could have spoken to you. I still wonder if Josephine (that’s what I called the baby) would have had your size sevens or my size fours. She’d have been very lucky to have you in her life. I reckon she would have loved Foxglove Farm.
That person – the drunk – it was me and it wasn’t. I was ill.
At the same time, that’s no excuse. I take responsibility for my actions and I am trying to make amends to people in the village.
Please, Andrea, please don’t ever blame yourself for what’s happened. I’ve so much respect for the way you’ve coped – you’ve held everything together. Mum couldn’t have managed without you.
Again, I’m really, really sorry and will do whatever it takes to make things up to you both.
Just tell me what I can do.
With love,
Emma X
She slipped the piece of notepaper into an envelope, sealed it and wished it luck. Then she grabbed her rucksack. Clouds had come in, and for the first time in days, a shower threatened, so she packed her waterproof jacket and umbrella. She’d go back to Foxglove Farm and give Andrea the envelope, and then she needed to speak to Bligh.
All the way up Broadgrass Hill she thought about him, not noticing the spits of rain. How he’d marched around to the Badger Inn this morning and told Joe to get lost. He’d had no right to do that, yet part of her could harldy believe that he was still trying to protect her despite everything.
When she arrived at the farm, Gail was in the shop with Andrea. Dash barked his welcome and ran over. Emma knelt down and ruffled his neck. His fur was as wet as her hair.
Rather than hand the letter over and risk immediate rejection, she went into the farmhouse and up to Andrea’s bedroom. She took the letter out of her dripping rucksack and stared at it for a few moments. Then she bent down and slipped it under the closed door.
Back downstairs, she heard a tap running in the kitchen. She walked through the lounge and around the corner to see Bligh washing his hands. He wore a short-sleeved checked T-shirt and tight navy jeans. He looked striking with his mariner’s beard. He’d make a great partner for somebody – somebody else.
He glanced at her, then jerked his head towards a drawer. ‘Could you pass me a tea towel – the other one is wet.’
She placed her rucksack on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Bligh… can we have a chat?’
He emptied the washing-up bowl and dried his hands. ‘I’ve come in for lunch anyway.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’ve got a while before the gas man calls.’
‘Gas man?’
‘The boiler’s playing up again. I don’t think it will be too long before we need that new one. Would you like a coffee?’
She shook her head, and drops of water flicked onto her cheeks. She took the tea towel and headed into the lounge, drying her hair. A few moments later, Bligh joined her. They both sat on the sofa. He put his drink on the coffee table. She stared at the watercolour of forget-me-nots and told Bligh that he shouldn’t have visited Joe that morning. He turned red and asked if they were a couple.
‘No. Joe’s gay.’
