Page 73 of Forgive Me Not
‘What were we just saying? No one is to blame for their addiction but themselves. Your self-esteem has been okay these last few months, yes?’
‘Better than for a long time.’
‘Right, but when you found out about these cards, be honest, was your first instinct to use?’
‘I… I have had thoughts about drinking.’
‘Even though those cards were effectively good news – that your fatherdidcare about you?’
Emma swallowed as she faced the truth that she’d ignored lately and that had been drilled into them during treatment – people like her were wired to use, whatever happened, good or bad.
‘That devious inner voice will search for any reason to get you to pick up.’ Rachel drained her cup. ‘That’s why we can never afford to be off our guard. And we can’t mind-read… Who’s to say that either of our lives would have been better with our fathers in them?’
Emma nodded. As a child, one reason she’d loved baking was because the cakes made her feel good inside after an argument with a friend or a tough exam at school. Or they seemed like the perfect way to celebrate after a good essay grade or a successful livestock birth. Even back then she was associating a substance with feelings. Whereas now – oh, she still loved baking, but in moderation and along with healthier coping mechanisms like talking to friends and meditation.
Andrea was right. Really, Emma had enjoyed a pretty idyllic childhood. She just couldn’t see it at the time.
The conversation moved on to easier subjects, such as the weather and the books they were reading. Rachel mentioned how her mum had recently explained that all those years ago she hadn’t simply given her daughter’s goldfish away. Apparently it had died, but she hadn’t wanted Rachel to be upset so had buried it in the local park and then pretended it had gone to a good home. Emma’s shoulders relaxed. For the first time in days, the frantic buzz in her mind eased. Letting go of resentments, not thinking the worst of people, seeing things from their point of view – it was like a magic panacea.
When she came out of the café, she hugged Rachel goodbye. ‘Thanks for helping me talk it through.’
‘You’re doing great,’ said Rachel. ‘Just keep on going, one day at a time. Forget about the what ifs… there’s no point. And thanks again for helping me too.’
Emma stood for a moment, alone in a warm summer shower, and looked up to the sky. Drops of water landed on her cheeks. She closed her eyes and smiled, feeling lighter than she had in days, grateful for a friend to nudge her back onto the right track.
Thankful for rehab. For a roof over her head. For food. A purpose.
For a mother who’d always done her utmost to keep her safe.
The restlessness inside her dissipated and she went back inside the café to buy cherry scones for Stig, Bligh, Andrea and Mum.
On the way back to catch the train, she passed Primark. Outside, on her old patch, a young man sat behind a Starbucks cup. Emma stopped to put in change. He was called Abdul. His cheeks looked concave and spotty, just like Joe’s used to. She told him she’d been where he was. Words slurring, he told her he had come out of care a year ago. Couldn’t get a job. Emma bought him a sandwich and a latte and placed them on the ground next to him as his eyes closed. Then she delved into her bag, found a tissue and scribbled her case worker’s number on it. Before walking up the street to Piccadilly station, she tucked it into his anorak pocket.
Back at Phil’s, she wrote Andrea a different kind of letter. It was time to start accepting the new status quo and realising that relationships could not be rekindled exactly as they had been before – that some types of pain were not for healing.
This time she didn’t put her letter in an envelope. That way it had to be read.
Dear Andrea,
I just wanted to say, if it’s okay with you, that I’m keeping with what I said and will be sticking around for a while. I’ll stay at Phil’s. He’s agreed to reduce the rent if I help him with a new venture. I will carry on with the soup run. But primarily I’m here to support you with Mum and help out on the farm. I’ll do my best to work everything else around that – if you’ll allow it, despite the pregnancy shock. I’m sorry you’re upset.
I’ll stop pressing for some sort of reconciliation. I think I understand now why you can’t forget everything that has happened. So this is now about us all moving forward, if we can – on your terms.
Attached is a cheque for the boiler. Please take it, if not for you, then for Mum. Winter will be here before you know it and she’ll need to keep warm. It’s the least I can do.
I’ve got some ideas for the online shop, if you and Bligh are interested.
I understand why Gail never told me about my dad. It still hurts, the years I missed out on with him, but I love and respect Mum for protecting us. She did what she thought was best. I can see that.
See you tomorrow.
With love,
Emma X
PS You’ve always been the best sister and daughter.
As Saturday evening drew in, Emma hurried up Broadgrass Hill to the farm. She left the letter in the bag of scones in the kitchen. She grabbed some strawberry leaves for the rabbits and scratched the goats’ chins. She surveyed the farm, full of gratitude for the life she was leading now. Under the gaze of Andrea and Polly, she gave Gail a quick hug before walking back down to the village.
