Page 81 of Forgive Me Not
‘Your sister told me you were pregnant but…’
Emma nodded.
‘Losing a child – it gets marginally easier as time passes,’ she said curtly.
Emma’s eyelids pricked. ‘Thanks, Polly, I—’
But the landlady had already walked away.
Phil arrived. He said hello and then headed over to see how the meat was doing. These days he looked ten years younger. He’d even started cycling and cooking again – last night, he’d made the two of them a stir-fry. He’d laughed when Emma said he should try online dating, but later that evening she found him absorbed with his laptop screen.
Her attention turned to Joe. She thought back to her neediness in the squat. The times she’d told passers-by to eff off. How she’d gone days without washing and ended the night by throwing up. She remembered the desperate Emma sobbing in front of assessment officer Ben.
That person seemed so alien to her now. She recalled a young Bligh’s insistence that life on earth was directed by aliens on the moon. If so, the master of her journey must have changed hands, and she’d be forever grateful.
She ran a hand through her hair and walked out of sight, around the corner of the farmhouse. Some people could accept apologies, others couldn’t. She had chased forgiveness so hard, but perhaps in the end it didn’t really matter. The important things were kindness and trying to be a better person. She considered the guests connected to Foxglove Farm – orphaned Bligh, depressed Stig, divorced Phil, grieving Polly and Alan – and decided the place really had turned out to be a haven for waifs and strays. The old Gail would have been proud.
She passed the front door, where she’d stood cautiously knocking a couple of months earlier. The tall sunflower was in glorious bloom now. She went to the kissing gate, rested on the fence and gazed at the rows of pink foxgloves, recalling how they’d seemed to trumpet their welcome.
Stig appeared, carrying two slices of quiche. ‘I’ve left Phil and Joe in charge. They’re politely disagreeing over the best grilling technique.’
Emma turned around.
‘You all right?’
‘Yes, I’m good. Just taking a moment out. Things haven’t quite worked out as I planned.’
‘What, coming back?’ He handed her a slice.
‘I’ve made a little headway with Bligh, but he and Andrea are still so angry, and even worse, in part they’re blaming themselves. I just want a bit of peace for them. They deserve that. I’d hoped me trying to make amends would heal the rift, for their sake as much as mine.’ She sat down on the grass. Stig joined her. ‘Perhaps Andrea was right. I said that everything was my fault, so she snarkily – and I don’t blame her – suggested I concentrate on forgiving myself.’
Stig wiped his mouth. ‘Thanks for mentioning me to your sister. It’s been great living in the barn and making myself useful. But more than that, I feel a small sense of… belonging. I get on well with your mum and I’ve got a lot in common with Andrea. She’s a great person.’
Emma pretended not to notice his blush. ‘Belonging means everything, doesn’t it? I’ve got a life now and wonder why I was always so hell bent on finding the bright lights and leaving Healdbury. It’s the small, simple, everyday things that matter. It’s about doing the right thing and being there for people, isn’t it?’
‘Perhaps it wasn’t really Healdbury you were trying to get away from. Perhaps it was yourself.’
Lately Emma had been thinking the same thing.
He took another bite and gazed around. ‘It’s so picturesque here,’ he said in between chewing.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘So quintessentially English. The flowers are amazing. So much insect and plant life. It would be a brilliant location for a field trip.’
‘There’s nothing quite like the sea of forget-me-nots in the spring.’
Basking in the luxurious sun, they both stretched out their legs. What a contrast to the days they’d spend hunched on Manchester’s streets.
‘That reminds me of an English lesson I had to supervise once,’ said Stig. ‘The kids were studying a fable about a young woman whose husband had to head off to sea. She pressed some forget-me-nots in a book and told him to take them on his journey so that he never forgot her.’
‘That’s sweet.’
‘Yes, but the trouble was, while he was away, she got led astray by single friends and forgot who she really was. She danced every night, stayed out drinking and had liaisons with several men. When her husband came back home, he’d remained loyal.’ He looked at Emma. ‘What messed things up was that he’d remembered her but she hadn’t remembered herself. Perhaps it’s the same for forgiveness.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maybe Andrea unintentionally had a point. You can ask people to forgive you, but it means nothing if you don’t forgive yourself. If you can live with what you’ve done, perhaps it will take the pressure off seeking that peace from another person.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe what matters most is the respect you get back from yourself. The rest is a bonus.’
