Page 7 of Forgive Me Not
Beth rolled her eyes. ‘You can’t leave your head behind and that’s the whole problem with leaving. It doesn’t achieve anything.’
Emma shrugged.
Beth pushed her tray away and her hands hugged the steaming cup of coffee. ‘So where you sleeping when he isn’t around?’
‘Not alone in that building. I go out, move around, keep to the street lights and CCTV cameras, walking, hoping no one will try to steal my stuff. I’ll snatch a kip during the day if I can, somewhere busy.’ Emma sighed. ‘I don’t need to tell you what it’s like. I kept with Marta for a couple of nights last week – until her fella came back.’
‘The one who beat her up?’ Beth snorted. ‘There’s no helping some people.’
They looked at each other. Gave wry smiles.
‘Well, if your boy does leave, stick with me if you like,’ she said. ‘I’ve found a decent place under a railway bridge. We haven’t been moved on yet, and we pull together when strange faces turn up.’
Emma stopped eating for a second. ‘Cheers, Beth. That’d be good.’ Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. But it might. Joe was a special person. Everyone’s friend. Sometimes she wondered why he’d stuck with her this long.
‘Shower’s vacant. Just ask for a towel,’ hollered one of the kitchen workers.
‘Guess I’d better have one,’ said Beth. ‘Get meself a bit of dignity. Yesterday a little lad told me I smelt like his dad’s compost heap.’ The brassy edge left her face for a second. ‘He was right. And I could do with some new clothes – jeans, underwear…’
‘My missus always wore nice undies. Loved Marks and Spencer, she did,’ said Tony, and stared at his tea.
‘Bet you liked them an’ all,’ said Beth with a grin.
‘She looked right classy whatever she wore.’ He looked up. ‘My missus would make a bin liner look like the Duchess of Cambridge’s latest clobber.’
‘Show us your photo again,’ said Emma gently.
Like a young lad sharing football cards, he eagerly zipped open the inner pocket of his rucksack. He held firmly onto the photo as he showed it to them.
‘Took it myself,’ he said, ‘a couple of years ago on her sixtieth birthday.’
It was creased down the middle, with a stain on the right. Both flaws conveyed his post-mortem love. His life had fallen apart after she died. Emma gazed at the woman looking back at her. The slight tilt of the head that hinted she was shy. The smile that said:I can’t say cheese for much longer. The eyes that promised:but for you, I’ll try.
‘She’s beautiful,’ said Emma.
‘How did you manage to hookher?’ said Stig, giving Tony’s shoulder a playful push.
‘Often asked myself the same question,’ he said, and sat just a little bit taller.
‘Wotcha got there, Tone?’ asked a phlegm-filled Mancunian accent. A young man with tattooed fingers, in a torn anorak, snatched the photo away. ‘Ooh, bet she was a right goer in her day.’
‘Give that back,’ shouted Tony, and lunged at the thief. They fell to the ground. The tattooed man laughed. They fought on the floor, Tony’s arms flailing as if he were drowning, despite his large build. The scuffle continued until Stig managed to drag Tony away just before Emma got stuck in.
Staff threw out all three men, not sure who had started the fight. Desperately Tony knocked at the window and pointed to the ground.
Emma looked to Beth for help, but she’d disappeared into the shower. She dropped to her knees. Looked under the table. Scoured the floor.
Finally she found the photo, almost torn in half, just by the front door. Tony hovered by the entrance, gazing skywards as it started to snow – small flakes at first that rapidly morphed into featherweight sugar cubes. With a shaking hand, he took the snap from Emma. Stared at it for a few seconds. Put it back in his pocket. Emma leant forward. Smoothed down his wild hair.
She went back into the dining room and sat, elbows on the table, head in her hands. Bing Crosby’s voice floated across the room, inspiring images of blazing fires, excited children, and gifts wrapped under a spruce. Would she and Joe ever share a Christmas like that? Shehadto stop him leaving.Hadto make him see that they were perfect for each other.
‘Shower’s free again, chickie,’ said Beth as she sat down beside her, rubbing her hair vigorously with a towel. It would have caught fire if it was kindling.
‘Not today. See ya later.’ Emma left and headed to the nearest newsagent. She needed something stronger than coffee to help her formulate a plan.
Chapter 4
Emma opened her eyes and stretched out on the barn floor. Dash nudged her nose. Of course, she was at Foxglove Farm. Her watch said half past five. The sun did its best to raise her mood. She’d spent a restless night listening to owls and feeling the familiar ache in her bones from sleeping on a hard floor.
