Page 8 of Forgive Me Not
‘If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from the past year, Dash, there’s no point tying myself up in knots over something I can’t change,’ she said, sitting up and staring into his loyal eyes. Despite that, however, she still wished she could stay. She ran her hand across his forehead and behind his ears, and he tilted his head so that she could scratch the right spot. Then she meditated for several minutes, focusing on the morning countryside sounds that slid through the window crack. Once again, routine, routine, routine.
In front of the sink, she turned on the taps. The water ran cold. She pulled a small towel out of her rucksack and stood in her underwear. She washed her face and armpits, running a thumb across the smooth skin. When she was twelve, it had been Andrea, not busy Mum, who’d taught her to shave, declaring that hair removal cream was messy and smelt like Dash after he’d broken wind.
She examined her nails, glad to see that the pale polish wasn’t chipped. She thought back to her group therapy and the transformation she and her new friends had undergone. Some had lost weight and got fit. Others had gained much-needed pounds. They’d got new hairstyles, too. Hers was bobbed now, and a light natural brown.
She pulled on shorts and a baggy T-shirt and packed her belongings before heading outside. With relish she breathed in the smell of manure and damp grass. Images came to mind of her and Bligh underneath the weeping willow. They’d been to an eighteenth birthday party in the village. It was shortly after he’d asked her out, and they were getting used to being more than friends. Sparks? As time passed Emma wondered just how many of those bubbly feelings for him had come out of a bottle. When she’d left, she had mostly missed his practical side – how he’d find her lost purse or put her to bed after a night out. Bligh was used to people needing looking after, like his dad. He was used to people hurting him, like his mum.
It made her question if she’d ever truly loved him, or whether she’d just taken him for granted because he tolerated what other people wouldn’t.
Yet they had enjoyed many fun, carefree times before Emma lost control of her life, cycling along country lanes, Emma sitting on his handlebars. Never the academic, Bligh had worked for his handyman dad as soon as he could leave school. Sometimes she’d meet him after work and they’d take a picnic into the cornfields that Gail would pack. As a thank you, Emma always did the ironing when she got back. Her mum made the best cheese and home-made cucumber relish sandwiches, and would wrap up two slices of cake. Bligh’s contribution was a bottle of cider. They’d lie on their fronts enjoying the feast and see who could spot a mouse first. As Bligh’s parents argued more and more, he’d take refuge in Emma. She’d stroke his soft hair and hold him so tightly.
Now she made her way over to the animal enclosures and collected up the food and water bowls – though not before giving the rabbits a stroke and smiling as she pushed away goats keen to chew her T-shirt. She was determined to make the most of these precious hours back at the farm and do whatever she could to help, however small. She headed back to the barn and gave the bowls a thorough wash. The animal feed still sat in the large shed next to the pond. After checking that all the animals were enjoying breakfast, she examined the fences. Some needed reinforcing with concrete around the bottom of the posts. She relished working like this – every small achievement.
She caught the eye of a young postman about to walk back down the drive. He gave a cheery wave. It felt good to wave back. Bligh’s car appeared, driving past him, and parked up.
‘Emma?’
She looked at her watch. Seven o’clock. She headed over to Bligh. ‘How come you’re here so early?’
‘Why are you here at all?’ He gazed at the animals eating.
‘I didn’t have enough money for a hotel, so I slept on the barn floor. The first trains will be up and running now. Don’t worry… I’ll just get my bags.’ She went into the barn to fetch her belongings, wishing these glorious hours back home didn’t have to end. Bligh followed. So did Dash.
A haystack rustled as she dropped down onto it to tighten a shoelace. An ant marched across the ground by her feet. It carried a slice of leaf one hundred times its own size. Emma used to take it for granted that other people were strong like that; assumed that her behaviour never affected them as deeply as it hurt her inside.
Bligh stared at the top of her left leg.
She looked down at the pink scar. ‘I got stabbed by a friend.’
‘What kind of a friend does that?’ he asked in an incredulous voice.
A friend like Mad Hatter Holly, who was just about to jump off a bridge. She was holding a knife in case anyone tried to ruin her plans. After Emma yanked her back from the edge, they’d fallen to the ground, and in frustration, Holly had stabbed her thigh.
‘And how on earth could you sleep on the floor?’
‘Best not to ask,’ she replied, forcing a bright tone.
‘So Andrea and I deserve no explanation? You turn up expecting to just slot back in?’ He shook his head. ‘This is no different to when you used to stay out all hours and refuse to tell me where you’d been.’
Her stomach clenched. ‘Look… when I left, I found a place to stay. Almost got a job. But… things didn’t work out. I ran out of money.’
‘You had no problem spending it then.’ He shook his head. ‘Christ, how could you live with yourself after what you’d done?’
She avoided his eye. ‘I looked over my shoulder for days and felt sick whenever I heard a police siren.’ She wanted to say she’d felt bad during the days immediately afterwards, but at the time, she had just blotted out the whole sordid episode: the used condoms scattered across that hotel room’s plush carpet along with empty bottles of champagne… the reckless car journey back to the farm, when she’d skidded badly outside the Christmas tree farm… ‘Eventually I lost my bedsit.’
‘What did you do?’
Emma swallowed. ‘I was homeless for just over a year.’
‘Forever the drama queen.’ Andrea appeared in the doorway of the barn. ‘Don’t forget how my sister used to exaggerate at every opportunity, Bligh.’
Emma caught her eye.
‘Just go,’ said Andrea.
Emma stood up and lifted her rucksack, briefly squeezing her eyes as she bent over. Who could blame them? Getting better had sharpened her memory.
The three of them went out into the sunshine.
