The Secret Art of Forgiveness Page 24

  Before she could stop him, The Judge was standing in the middle of the semicircle, smiling beatifically.

  With no trousers on.

  His tatty old jacket barely reached the tops of his thighs. Shirt tails hung loose. Two spindly, veiny legs protruded from a pair of very old and very baggy underpants.

  Tam sat like stone, her face a contorted mire of embarrassment, her cheeks a dark purple. And her eyes spitting fire at Emily. I told you so.

  So many times. And on so many levels.

  You didn’t listen. You don’t know. You don’t know how hard this is.

  So, this is your problem. Fix it, she said with just her stare. Fix it all, now.

  But Emily couldn’t. She couldn’t make it better. She couldn’t make any of this right. Nobody could. The Judge’s illness was a lost cause.

  Mixed in with the embarrassment, Emily felt desperately protective of the old man who had no idea he was now the focus of unwanted attention. That people had seen him at his worst. Her heart was squeezing out of shape for who he had become.

  She smiled as if none of this mattered to her, as if her head weren’t pounding. ‘Hello, there, Judge. Nice of you to join us, but I think you’ve forgotten something. Come with me.’

  ‘Yes…Talking of exposure…’ Tom laughed as if it didn’t matter to him either, and it really probably didn’t. He took his jacket from the back of his chair, and wrapped it around The Judge’s waist as Emily took him by the arm.

  ‘Meeting adjourned,’ she called. ‘Give me a minute to sort this…’

  As they walked The Judge upstairs her phone buzzed again. Greg wanted to talk. Apparently. That didn’t bode well.

  Ticket sales were poor.

  Her stepfather had appeared half naked in front of people who used to respect and admire him, and it was all her fault.

  Tamara hated her.

  Her colleague was on the verge of losing his job.

  She was on the verge of losing hers… Emily closed her eyes for a minute and thought of the email trails on her computer. Emails she just hadn’t had enough time to deal with properly. She still had so much to do for the Kids First campaign. They were relying on her to do her best. She knew she could do so much for that charity if she had the chance.

  Her phone buzzed again. Gez this time.

  Her heart began to thump in a strange, haphazard way that made her ribs hurt.

  As she helped The Judge pull on a pair of trousers, fastening his belt and tucking in his shirt, she felt the stirrings of an out-of-control panic low in her gut, spreading quickly through her body, hitting her square in the chest. Stopping her breath.

  This was just too much, even for her.

  ***

  Emily was directing the portaloo delivery man in The Hall gardens when the phone rang. ‘Hi, Brett. This is a… surprise.’

  ‘Hey, Emily. This a good time?’ She hadn’t heard from him for days, having avoided calling him. A coward’s way, she knew, but she hadn’t wanted to give him hope or to confuse herself further. One kiss with Jacob didn’t mean a commitment. Five years with Brett was a lot to leave behind.

  She watched as the eighth portaloo was shuffled into space, narrowly missing the lavender she’d been so carefully cultivating with The Judge. Gesticulating to Jacob to take over the directions while she talked, she moved out of his earshot, guilt squirming in her stomach. Two men.

  One messed-up head.

  Aargh. None of this was Brett’s fault. She put a smile in her voice. ‘Sure. Of course. I have a couple of minutes.’

  ‘How’s it going? All ready for tomorrow?’

  The festival started in less than twenty-four hours and that wasn’t enough time. Nowhere near. ‘I don’t think we’ll ever be ready, to be honest. But we’re just going with it.’

  ‘Ticket sales?’

  ‘I daren’t look. But that’s not why you phoned, right?’ She gazed out over the lawns towards the lake and remembered the kiss, the way Jacob made her feel. Acknowledged the confusion churning inside her. Quickly turned away again. Brett had made her feel like that once, too, hadn’t he?

  ‘So…’ Brett cleared his throat. A sure sign he was going to say something difficult. But he tried for casual with his slow American drawl. ‘How’d you feel about me flying over to see you today? Spending time at the festival? Seeing your masterpiece in action?’

  ‘Today? Today?’ In contrast to his, her voice was far from slow. It was loaded with anxiety. But why? She should be delighted he’d thought of this. Of her. After their last conversation she’d thought he’d never want to speak to her again. If they were going to split, they’d still need to be friends, to get along. She didn’t want to just write off five years. But really, how could she give him the attention he deserved when she had so much to do? ‘I mean… that’s certainly… um… an idea…’

  ‘Greg emailed me a flight ticket last night and told me to get my sorry ass over there and bring you back.’ He paused. There was a space where she heard her uncertainty in an uneasy echo. Then irritation muscled its way in. ‘I was going to surprise you… but hearing your reaction, I’m glad I didn’t.’

  ‘It’s just a little out of the blue, that’s all.’ She quickly recalculated her response. ‘It would be nice, but I’m so busy I can’t promise I’d be able to spend much time with you.’

  ‘Or want to, maybe?’ His patience was wearing thin, and who could blame him?

  ‘Oh, come on, it’s not that.’ But she didn’t sound too convincing, even to herself. ‘Of course I want to see you, Brett.’

  ‘You’re just stringing me along, really, aren’t you?’

  ‘No. No…’

  ‘I just wanted to confirm things, y’know? See if you’d changed your mind.’

  It wasn’t fair to him to be anything other than honest. ‘Brett, nothing has changed. I can’t be engaged to you at the moment. I’m sorry.’

  ‘So, I’ll tell Greg you didn’t want me to come and we’ll just have to wait and see if you bother to turn up in the office next week.’

  What? This was going sour really quickly. ‘Don’t you think I’m going to make it on my own? I have the flight booked for Monday. First thing. I’ll be there.’

  He huffed. ‘To be honest, Emily, you’ve said a lot of things these past few weeks, made a lot of promises and not kept many of them.’

  One thing Emily prided herself on was that she kept her word. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Dealing with work. Being able to juggle things for Baddermans. But Kids First aren’t happy. Not at all. And how about promising to marry me? The minute you leave the country you change your mind.’

  She chose to ignore his statement about their engagement. She’d tried to explain it to him already; she needed to speak to him face to face. ‘I’m working things through with Kids First. They’re making their decision today. I had a long talk with the CEO yesterday and he seemed impressed.’

  ‘And me? Us? Our marriage? Our future?’

  ‘I told you what I think. Now I need some time, Brett.’

  ‘I’m getting old waiting, Emily. You haven’t called. You haven’t shown any interest in anything but your goddamned hall and that goddamned village. And that goddamned man.’

  Jacob? No. No. The Judge. ‘My father?’

  ‘Your… father? You call him that now? What the hell? You do realise you sound ridiculous? He’s the guy you hated. The one you avoided for years. Suddenly he’s number one, right? Everyone else has to take a back seat? Even your fiancé? Or non-fiancé, or whatever the hell I am. The guy hanging on and on like a fool. Until you come to your senses.’

  He thought she was crazy or something? Maybe she was. Sometimes it felt as if all this pressure bearing down on her was pushing her over an edge. ‘So is this what it’s going to be like every time we talk, Brett? You’re going to put pressure on me, make me feel guilty for trying to do the right thing, push me to love you. Is this our future?’

  This time his voice was ho
t with anger. ‘Push you to love me? Is that how it feels? Geez, Emily, I didn’t realise I was such hard work for you.’

  The portaloo man was striding towards her in his wellington boots, stained sweatshirt and baggy, dirty jeans. She was going to have to do something. Say something. She shook her head at him and pointed to her phone. He waved his hands back, pointed to his watch. He needed to go.

  Five minutes. She held up her hand. Five minutes to solve everything.

  For once in her life could she not be distracted? She didn’t want to leave it like this, for this call to end so badly. How would they ever face each other again? ‘Brett. Are you still there?’

  There was a breeze whipping up, thundering into the phone like heavy breathing echoing through his pained silence. He was scolding her, or trying to, by making her wait. ‘I was just about to hang up.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You’re not hard work, you’re great. You really are. Honestly.’ The portaloo man sidled closer and stabbed a grimy finger at his watch again. ‘I’m sorry, Brett. I can’t… I can’t do this right now. I have a man here wanting to be paid –’

  ‘Tell him to wait. You’re good at that.’

  Portaloo man’s eyes fixed on her. He was not going to wait. ‘I would, if I could. Honestly.’

  ‘You would if this was important to you. Clearly, it’s not. You know what? Go to hell, Emily. Your goddamned festival. Your father. Your empty promises. Everything. Don’t bother coming back if this is how it’s going to be. You can all go to hell.’

  The breeze turned cruel as it whipped around her face. The phone was dead. There was a dirty, stubby hand in her peripheral vision. It was blurring, fast.

  How she wished she was in New York with him – she could fix this there. Not here. Her indecision, her attempt to do the right thing had completely written off her relationship with Brett. The panic was now seemingly contagious and spreading to every aspect of her life, everything it touched becoming sullied and broken.

  She needed to phone him back. She needed to pay the man. She needed…

  Jacob was sauntering over, a smile on his face, his body moving sure and steady. For a moment she thought about running to him, resting her head on his chest and talking, talking, talking about everything.

  But she turned away. She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t run from one man’s arms to another’s. Couldn’t spread her affection so thinly, so quickly. It wasn’t fair on anyone that she was pushed right up against the wall, that she didn’t know herself well enough to trust what she was feeling. That she had to second-guess everything, to analyse the path her heart longed to take. Not when it made absolutely no sense at all. And not when there were so many other things crowding her vision, so much to do.

  Jabbing her hand into her jacket pocket she fished out her cheque book and scribbled. Then started to walk down to the lake, to the memories of her mum and happier times, and tried to find some solace in them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brett: Kids First went with VPM

  Greg on the warpath

  Gez out the door

  Emily’s gut contracted into a tight ball as she turned over in bed and read the text again and again into the early hours. So that was that then. She’d lost the account. Lost her fiancé and long-time friend. And was probably on the verge of losing her job.

  On Monday she’d be flying back to an uncertain future. She’d need to make a million apologies, and deservedly so. There’d be no champagne and donuts, no cheers. The balls were starting to drop around her.

  It seemed crazy that only a few weeks ago she’d been blithely happy in her own little world, in a bubble of contentment. It seemed crazy, too, that all of that could crumble because of a single journey to see a sick old man. That her life could be sucked into day centres and leaking roofs and sibling rivalry… that everything she knew could be tipped upside down. That she’d feel so much.

  So goddamned much.

  All she wanted to do was curl up and hide under the duvet. But she had to get up and face the day. There was a huge mountain of expectation waiting for her that she had no idea how to scale. Come rain, wind or sun, it was the Little Festival’s turn to shine, and she along with it. Making it a glowing success.

  Somehow.

  Where the hell was her Braveheart when she needed it?

  Tom was manning her phone, running behind her down the centre of the main street, while Emily ticked things off her list, trying to forget what had happened to her professional life, to Brett, and focus on this instead. Time, minus one hour.

  She glanced up, noting the pretty bunting strung across the road from building to building, and the dark clouds overhead. Please don’t rain. That was all they needed to add to her stress levels.

  ‘Johnny East wants to know if we can provide a rider?’ Tom huffed out.

  And a drunk alcoholic was just perfect for a relaxed summer festival. Not. Why had they chosen him? Because they’d been desperate. ‘We can run to bottled water, but that’s it. Does his management team know he’s asking for things? I’m pretty sure they agreed to do it for free because it was for a good cause and that would make him look good in the press. After his fall from grace he’s got a long way to climb before anyone’s going to want to pay him to play again. What does he want?’

  Tom chatted on the phone, then came back to her, ‘Vodka, apparently. In an Evian bottle.’

  ‘Vodka in a water bottle; oldest trick in the book. Not a chance in hell. Tell him we can run to sparkling water, tops. Can you confirm his arrival time?’

  ‘Six-thirty.’

  ‘That won’t do. I’d really like it if he could get here by four so the sound guys can run through his set.’ And sober him up if he’s been on the booze. ‘Tomorrow, right? Remind him. Not today. He’s closing the whole thing.’

  ‘All done.’ Tom was at her elbow now. ‘He’s Tweeted to his forty thousand or so followers and there was a great response, I’m thinking we might have a rush on door sales.’

  ‘Excellent, that was the plan. So, we need to make sure we have enough people to cover ticketing and to check wristbands down here and up at The Hall. You sure your friends can handle it?’ Tom had commandeered the most reliable and sensible of his college friends to help, and everyone from the committee and their families had roles to play from traffic management to cleaning up afterwards.

  ‘For free entry to our very own festival? You bet. I just wish we’d had time to arrange some glamping. That would have been epic.’

  For the first time that day, Emily laughed, imagining a sea of yurts across her fields and how much more organising that would take. She was already at breaking point. ‘Yes, well, next year we’ll be more organised. This year we’re reliant on locals to be the bulk of our customers. Thank goodness we have enough land for parking – although I’m using the area we’re selling off, so we’ll have to work something else out for next time. But that’s okay; we have a whole year to plan. Rather, you have. I’m just going to swoop in from New York and let myself be impressed by how much you’ve all grown it.’

  There was that ping of sadness. New York. Now she was dreading going home.

  In the distance, the village green was filling up with marquees, children’s rides and horse-boxes. The pavement stretching through the village was a patchwork of trestle tables with local crafts and home-made produce for sale. As well as organising an array of interesting workshops, the art club, under Matilda’s guidance, had painted footprints on the footpath for the walking trail up to The Hall where the finale was going to be held tomorrow. Everyone had contributed. Please let it be a success.

  Greta bustled out of the café. Her hair was pinned up in a sophisticated French pleat and she had fiery red lipstick on her lips. ‘Em! I’m so excited, I can’t tell you. I’ve been going over and over and over my talk and practising with the ingredients. Just call me Delia from now on.’

  ‘Nervous?’ I am. But Emily wasn’t going to admit that out loud. Somehow she’d man
aged to convince them to do this and they’d believed her. Only she knew she was a fluke and a fake and, right now, feeling very flaky, too.

  ‘Nervous and wired.’ Greta pulled Emily into a spontaneous hug. ‘I just wanted to say… Thank you for this.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For getting us all hyped up to do something so… huge. I’m going to be famous – first Little Duxbury, next stop – the world!’

  You don’t know how badly I can stuff things up. The faith in her was a little overwhelming, especially after this morning’s news. But for a brief moment she let herself believe in Greta’s words, to feel part of something, to heat her heart with these smiles. Emily sent up a prayer to anyone who would listen. Please make it work.

  Behind her the café door opened, its bell jangling, and out stepped Jacob, carrying four takeaway coffees in a cardboard holder.

  When he saw Emily his face broke out into a smile that reached deep into her soul. Avoiding him yesterday had been difficult and he’d given her a strange look or two when she’d kept her distance, not wanting to spill all her anxieties over him. ‘Emily, hi. I was just about to come looking for you. Here’s a cappuccino. What else do you need?’

  You. She reeled that thought back in. She was in enough trouble as it was. Instead, she consulted her list. It was long. Very long. ‘First, I’ve got to go back up to The Hall and get The Judge to bring him down for the opening. I’m hoping Tamara’s got over her strop about security this morning. She’s worried the extra people around will upset him. But to be honest, it’s her who puts him on edge, just as I manage to get him on an even keel.’ She felt her heart twinge. ‘You’ll keep an eye on him when I leave, won’t you? Take him out or something?’

  ‘Keep him out of Tamara’s evil clutches?’ Jacob gave a mwahaha laugh that she couldn’t help joining in with. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Thanks. I mean, really, thanks.’

  His smile dropped. ‘Hey, are you okay? You’ve been… different recently.’

  ‘I’m fine. Honestly.’ If she kept telling herself that she would be. ‘I just can’t believe this day has arrived, and that after…’ There’d be no more Little Duxbury. No more Jacob. She would have to face reality. Fight for her job. Fight for everything she’d worked so hard for, for twelve long years.