Page 66 of Forgive Me Not
She’d only seen him cry once before, and that was when his dad was diagnosed with cancer. Poor, caring Bligh. How he must miss having his father to look after.
‘Part of me did wonder if you and I would make up, but there’s been Joe… the baby… My life’s moved on in all sorts of ways since I left. We could never get back together. I can look after myself now. I want to. I need to, to stay well.’ She needed to carry on being independent. She needed that self-respect. ‘You know that quote Gail always used to laugh about, to do with Eric Morecambe playing the piano? How he was playing all the right notes but just not in the right order? Finally I’ve got things in order and found my priorities. But Bligh… you’re still reading the old, muddled sheet music.’
He pulled his hand away.
‘The drink just magnified what had already been going on in my head for years. Stopping drinking isn’t enough. I have to work on how and what I think about everything and everyone – including you.’
He stood up. ‘Analyse it as much as you want. The biggest surprise to me is that I think I preferred you drunk.’
Chapter 22
Bligh kept out of Emma’s way for the rest of the day. She cleaned out the pigsty while Gail watched. Andrea didn’t say a word as she ate her lunch and then returned to the shop. For the first time since coming back, Emma couldn’t wait to leave the farm when early evening finally arrived. Birdsong accompanied her as she headed towards the village. She went into the pet shop. Phil was on the phone talking to someone about looking after their gerbils during the summer. She hurried up to her room and threw her rucksack down on the floor. It fell at an awkward angle, and where one side of the top hadn’t fastened properly, an envelope jutted out.
Her pulse raced. Could Andrea have responded already to her letter? She knelt down and quickly undid the buckle and lifted back the top… It was the envelope she’d slipped under her sister’s bedroom door – still unopened.
She got up and sat on the side of her bed. Her phone bleeped, but she ignored it. She lay down and stared at the ceiling. She used to spend hours like this in the squat, watching spiders make homes over nicotine stains.
Eventually she closed her eyes. Took stock of her return to Foxglove Farm. Her fantasy of slotting back into her old life was well and truly over.
Andrea’s words,the way you left, echoed in her mind: her sister believed that the estrangement could not be sorted out. Emma would never forget her return to Foxglove Farm that fateful Christmas Eve; how she’d cleaned the blood off the car and then quietly opened the kitchen door…
She’d stopped dead and stared at Andrea and Bligh, sitting at the pine table, phones in their hands. Mum had been leaning against the kitchen unit.
‘Where have you been?’ she’d said. ‘I hardly slept last night. You’ve done disappearing acts for twenty-four hours before, but two days? And with the car? Bligh told us you weren’t in a fit state to drive. I’ve been worried sick.’
Emma had started rambling about shopping and wandering around the Christmas markets, but before she could finish, Gail had cut in.
‘You always talk too much when confronted about your behaviour. Well, there’s no wriggling out of this one. If you’ve been shopping, where are your bags? I’m not stupid, Emma. Even with my memory the way it is, it’s obvious you’ve been out drinking.’ She’d shaken her head. ‘In any event, Bligh has the proof on… on that…’
Apparently Bligh had set up an Instagram account to keep track of Emma’s antics.
‘I don’t understand. Why can’t we just have a nice Christmas Eve?’ Gail had busied herself with the kettle, which stood next to two jars with Post-it notes on them sayingTeaandCoffee.
‘How could you?’ Andrea had whispered. ‘You know she’s not well.’
‘She’s fine. Stop treating her like a baby. Give her a party hat and a slice of Christmas pudding and she’ll soon forget I’ve been out past my bedtime.’ Emma burped.
‘How dare you speak about her in that way? Who are you these days?’
‘Who were those people in that hotel bedroom?’ Bligh said, looking at his phone.
Emma wriggled out of her coat and let it drop to the floor.
‘What the… where did that bloodstain come from?’ Bligh took her elbow and led her into the lounge, where she collapsed onto the sofa.
Andrea had followed them in, and Emma explained that she wasn’t injured. More details had come back to her as she’d driven home. The lecherous old guy in the video was one of her former lecturers from sixth-form college. That was why she’d thought she knew him. He was also a regular at the hotel and had smoothed things over with management before he left. Those young women must have been students. She was half tempted to report him.
Bligh asked who’d paid for the room. Slowly – very slowly – it came out how she’dborrowedhis bank cards from his wallet. He pulled receipts out of her bag and looked at the amounts.
‘Christ almighty.’ He’d glanced at Andrea. ‘All in all over two and a half thousand quid.’ His head had snapped back to Emma. ‘This is some kind of joke, right? Unless you’re now doing drugs. How else is it possible to spend that much in two days?’ He’d thrown the bag down on the floor as hard as he could. Explained how he’d saved that money to send his dad over to Germany. His dad had been researching a ground-breaking cure for his type of cancer and had found an expert offering treatment in Munich. He and Bligh had just about raised enough. Bligh was going to book the flight and hotel after Christmas. His dad only had six months left.
Bligh rarely got angry, but now he punched the wall. Emma had tried to approach him, but he’d backed away, shaking his grazed and bleeding knuckles. ‘This is my dad’s life we’re talking about,’ he’d shouted. ‘You’ve taken away his last chance of survival for the sake of a good time. You should be up in court.’
She’d slurred her response. ‘Please, Bligh, I’m sorry, I—’
‘Have you any idea how long it took me to save that money?’ he’d said. ‘Weren’t you curious as to why I sold my motorbike last month and started taking on odd jobs in the village during my spare time? No, of course you weren’t, because you’re incapable of thinking about anyone but yourself. Well, that’s it. No more. You and me are over. I’m done. You’ve cheated on me. Lied. And now this – I can’t take it any more.’
‘But Bligh… listen…’
