Page 70 of Forgive Me Not
‘You know Mum needs the stimulation of conversation.’
‘I’m just tired,’ said Emma. ‘She seems happy enough.’
Andrea raised a disapproving eyebrow and disappeared.
Why not find something I’m doing right, for a change? thought Emma. Her insides twisted as she wondered if her sister had replaced the sherry under the sink. It wouldn’t hurt to look. It didn’t mean anything. Cautiously she opened the cupboard as if expecting a jack-in-the-box to spring out.
‘Lost something?’ said Bligh. He stood in the doorway, arms folded.
‘Just looking for a new washing-up sponge,’ Emma replied. Mentally she told him to fuck right off. Perhaps he heard, because he headed straight back into the dining room.
Come on, Emma. Get a grip. Andrea and Bligh’s voices could be heard talking urgently. The wordsrelapseandsherrywafted through to the kitchen.
Let them think the worst, she thought, and pulled off her apron. ‘I can’t do this today,’ she called. ‘I need some fresh air. You’ll have to look after Mum.’
Without waiting for a reply, she hurried out of the back door. Dash barked as she appeared in the yard. She and the dog crossed to the greenhouse and Emma shut the door behind them. Dash lay on the ground and she sat cross-legged next to him. The beefy aroma of overripe tomatoes filled the air. Emma bowed her head. Took a deep breath. Did what she hadn’t had to do for months and sat through the cravings. She tuned herself into the present and focused on the sounds around her. The squawk of a crow. Dash’s snuffly nose. The distant rumble of the motorway. A sheep’s baa. The hard ground felt familiar. She wondered who had claimed her patch outside Primark.
She stroked Dash’s back and looked up as the door opened. Andrea came in and actually made eye contact. She sat down opposite. Emma felt as if they were children again.
‘What’s going on?’ she said.
‘Just a bad day. Sorry about before.’
‘Are you drinking again?’
‘No.’
Andrea pursed her lips. ‘I knew this new version of you wouldn’t last.’
It took all of Emma’s strength not to snap.
‘I’ve just had a shock, that’s all.’
‘Has Mum upset you? You’ve hardly spoken to her this morning. I know it’s hard, but she is ill. We have to make allowances.’
Emma clenched her teeth.
‘You’ve looked after her for a few weeks – imagine the patience I’ve needed for a couple of years. But she’s our mother. She changed our nappies, listened to our problems and tended to our physical and emotional wounds for years. The least we can do is keep her happy until… until a more intensive kind of care is required.’ Andrea sighed and got up to leave, but Emma pulled her back down.
‘Did you know? About those envelopes in Mum’s chest?’
‘What?’
‘I was going to ask you before opening them, but… they were from my father. Every birthday for eighteen years he sent me a card. Mum never passed them on. How could she deny me that contact?’
‘Your dad?’ Andrea frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I found a bunch of cards hidden in Mum’s chest. In them he explains everything – the reason he left, the violence. Did you know? Did you? Why wasn’t I told?’
Andrea’s face flushed and without thinking her hand brushed her top lip.
‘That scar…’ Emma stared at it. ‘Did he do that?’
Her hand dropped. ‘Look, it was all a long time ago, there’s no point in—’
Emma gasped.
‘We never wanted to tell you – figured it was bad enough him leaving without you knowing the sordid details.’ Andrea picked up a squashed tomato and brushed a finger over a patch of intact red skin. ‘He slapped me across the face. His ring cut my mouth.’
