Page 74 of Forgive Me Not
Chapter 26
A few weeks later, and Emma’s comfortable routine had been restored. Comfortable, that was, despite Bligh’s frostiness and Andrea’s continuing distance. But that was okay. Emma handed over a cheque for the boiler. It wasn’t questioned, so her sister must have read the letter.
Day by day the tender affection she felt for her mum strengthened. She no longer felt anger, just a sense of sadness for what Gail must have endured. Yes, she would always believe that her mum had been wrong. Emma had a right to know that her father hadn’t completely abandoned her. But what helped her deal with her sense of indignation was accepting that Gail’s intentions had come from the heart. Emma didn’t need the explanation she’d now never get from her mother. Every one of her youngest daughter’s birthdays must have been so hard for her.
The rooms of AA were full of previously abused partners. Emma knew how difficult it was to prise oneself out of those situations. Gail had succeeded. Emma’s sense of affection for her held hands with admiration. Part of Emma’s problem in the past had been that she always believed that life could be better elsewhere. A yearning for status and validation had led her away from the things and people that really mattered. Rachel was right - who was to say that getting to know her father would have made her feel whole?
Crops ripened. Their respective pickles and jams stocked the shop. A chill descended into the evenings. Emma swore autumn started in the second half of August now. And with the hint of a change of season, Andrea suggested that Stig and the Duchess move permanently into the barn. She provided him with towels, bedding for an old mattress, Gail’s unused alarm clock and a stack of her own favourite novels. Bligh gave him clothes he no longer wore and shared toiletries if he saw a two-for-one offer. Dash slept in the barn too, his new canine friend now owning a slice of the affection he had once felt only for humans.
Emma wondered if her sister realised what a support she’d been to Stig. She never asked questions about his past or future. Her matter-of-fact manner meant there was no embarrassment about money. Stig was more transparent and made it clear how he felt without actually saying it. If he and Andrea shared a joke, the humour would prop up his face for hours. When he sensed she was tired, he always said the same thing, in a jokey tone – ‘One lump or two?’ – knowing that the reply was neither. Then, after handing her a mug of tea, he’d insist on taking over her task. And she let him. Independent Andrea never did that. Perhaps that was her only tell.
Gail had started to obsess about the summer barbecues she’d once loved. Emma could picture them now. Her mum had become expert at making vegetable burgers, using chickpeas and peppers, with mozzarella running through the middle. She’d provided meat for her daughters and their friends, but it had to be free range, and in her recipe book she listed various marinades. She’d thrown together bowls of colourful salad made with their own fresh produce.
It was strange. As the weeks passed, Emma no longer remembered just the bad times. Like the barbecue when she’d had too much Pimm’s and knocked into a trestle table. A large trifle had fallen to the floor, jelly, custard and cream splattering across the concrete, laced with fragments of glass. Mum had been so embarrassed.
Instead her memory’s go-to was now happier times, like the year a young Emma and Bligh had been allowed to stay up late and barbecue marshmallows in the dark. They’d snuck around to the bench in front of the weeping willow and contemplated life and its meaning. Bligh insisted aliens lived on the moon and ran life on earth using powerful remote controls. Whereas Emma reckoned its inhabitants were dead spirits and that she would prove this when she and Bligh ended up there one day. Either way, both wanted to visit and swore they’d become astronauts.
Emma suggested they hold a barbecue to see if it spiked her mum’s interest. It could take place during the bank holiday weekend right at the end of August.
‘Fine, but I’ve no time to spare,’ Andrea said. ‘If you’re prepared to sort out the food, go ahead – as long as the guest list is short.’ She gave Emma a sideways glance. ‘And don’t include some dramatic invite to your father. For a start, it wouldn’t be fair on Mum.’
‘You honestly think I’d do that?’
Andrea’s cheeks tinged pink but still she persevered. ‘Are you going to contact him?’
‘I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind,’ Emma replied. ‘But no. Not at the moment. I’m still getting my head around finding those envelopes. This whole thing… it’s huge. Actually, I’m not sure I ever will get in touch. A few cards don’t compare to everything Mum’s done. And I believe you’re right – Mum wanted me to find them when… when she was gone. I’ll respect that wish and shelve any decisions about contact until the future. It’s not about me at the moment. It’s about Mum. Her wishes. Her health. Her happiness.’
Andrea stared as if briefly recognising a person from the distant past that she used to know.
After breakfast one morning, Emma sat down with her mum outside the barn. Gail got tired in the afternoons, so it was better to discuss the arrangements before lunch. As she rocked to and fro in her chair, fiddling with the sewing-themed necklace, she was quite definite about who the guests should be. She swore she’d never liked the vet, even though she knew him well and they used to often meet for a drink. But she insisted on inviting a one-time acquaintance, Joe, otherwise known asthe man who can head-butt.
The guest list, dictated specifically by Gail, comprised:
Andrea
Bligh
Polly and Alan and thingamabob
The woman who talks too much
Pet shop Phil
The man who smells (Stig) (she no longer thought of him as Uncle Paul)
The cheese man and his grandkids
The man who can head-butt
The barbecue would take place on the bank holiday Monday afternoon. The villagers had wanted to hold the inaugural Sunday market the day before, but it was taking longer than anyone had anticipated to get the agreement of the council and trading licenses sorted. Still, the local papers had already featured the story and the delay had given people time to really think through their products.
As for food, Emma took ideas from her mum’s old recipe book. Gail flicked through it, smiling now and again. Emma took her cue from the pictures her mum stared at most and concentrated on keeping things simple.
Chicken breasts with tikka masala marinade
Pork chops with rosemary and garlic
Cheese and caramelised onion quiche
