The Secret Art of Forgiveness Read online

  ‘You’re not going yet. Get through today. Then tomorrow. We can do the goodbye stuff later.’ He gave her a hug, holding her tight. There was a catch in his voice that matched the one in her throat. ‘Let’s focus on each day at a time.’

  If only he knew the half of what she was feeling. ‘Yes. Thanks. There’s a lot going through my head at the moment.’

  ‘I can see. You look knackered.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘And beautiful as ever.’ He tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘You just need a good sleep.’

  ‘I wish. Sleep? What’s that? Hey…’ There was something she didn’t really know how to approach. ‘You don’t have to do the interview tomorrow, you know.’

  His face clouded. ‘I said I would.’

  ‘But I know it might be difficult. You don’t have to… we can just skip that. Move everyone on to the band, or the art stalls… donkey rides…?’

  He gave her a smile that wasn’t quite as reassuring as normal. ‘Seriously, you want to replace me with an ass?’

  ‘Well, if the shoe fits!’ But she could see in his eyes that he wasn’t all about the joke. That there was a hesitancy there. That he was not happy about sharing his life on a public stage.

  He’d offered to do it to help her, to help the festival.

  She put her hand on his arm, not ready for the need surging through her as she touched his skin. ‘Don’t do it. Don’t put yourself in that position.’

  ‘I’m in the programme. It’ll be fine.’

  But she knew deep down he wouldn’t be. She cupped her hand to his cheek and wanted to say so much.

  A screech of feedback from the PA system on the green made her jump, breaking the moment. Jacob caught her, saying, ‘Oh, yes, forgot to say, the choir’s here and all ready to go on your count. Unfortunately, the choirmaster had to cancel – dodgy curry last night, apparently – so he roped in the Year One teacher who has a bit of a clue, but we’re not sure how it’s going to go.’

  ‘The choir is the least of my problems, to be honest. As long as they sing and smile we’ll be fine. Trust me, kids sell anything.’ At his doubtful look she reassured him with a smile, thinking of the Kids First campaign posters. And then her thoughts moved swiftly to the lost account and the lost chances. Her argument with Brett. Poor Gez. How her professional life was tumbling into chaos because she couldn’t manage her family life. How she was forced to make decisions, make choices about huge things she felt massively underqualified for. How she’d been suddenly projected into a very adult world, where before she’d just been playing. How she was talking to a man who had seen more life, experienced more tragedy, than she ever would, and yet he was about to get extremely uncomfortable reliving it for her sake. After all the mistakes she’d made, she didn’t deserve such support.

  ‘Okay, so Tom’s going to do a quick run around and make sure everything’s ready on the green. Liam’s got the PA system going and the first three acts are lined up to play. Up at The Hall we have the college chamber orchestra primed for a four o’clock start and art workshops on the go all afternoon.’

  She turned to head back to The Hall but was stopped by Jacob’s voice, ‘Hey, haven’t you forgotten something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Synchronise watches?’ At her frown he explained, ‘You’ve got this so well run, it’s like a military exercise.’

  ‘It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.’ She smiled, not telling him that her heart was racing like an out-of-control goods train. That she felt the least in control she’d felt for a very long time. That her head was hammering. Her hands shaking. That the success of all this was on her shoulders and she felt that responsibility very keenly indeed.

  ***

  ‘What on earth’s going on?’ The Judge shuffled down the stone steps and surveyed his land. ‘Is there a war on? Gypsies?’

  Looping her arm into his, Emily laughed. ‘No. It’s a festival, like the old country fair, but bigger.’ She didn’t add, this is the fifth time I’ve told you today, because it didn’t matter that he’d forgotten, and anyone would be confused to see a car park just off their front lawn where a car park wasn’t supposed to be. ‘Come on, we’re going to watch the choir open it, then we can have an ice cream and a wander around the stalls.’

  God knew, she really didn’t have time to breathe, never mind wander, but she had to give some of herself to The Judge this weekend, to make sure he was okay. To just wallow in his company for a little while longer.

  She didn’t know when she’d be back. Her heart started to thump.

  One day at a time.

  ‘Wait for me!’ Matilda arrived, breathless, from around the corner. Having moved into the annexe two days ago she wore the cloying scent of paint – although that was nothing unusual for her.

  ‘And where do you think you’re taking him?’ Tam stood at the top of the steps, hands on hips and the usual disgruntlement in her taut lips. ‘It’s not a good idea to take him out.’

  The subtext of which was, he’ll say something or do something that will embarrass us.

  But Emily just glanced back and laughed. ‘We’re going to do some singing, then some eating and hopefully some dancing. You can come with us if you like, or stay here and sulk and miss out on all the fun. It’s up to you.’

  She could see Tam wrestling with her thoughts as she pulled her trademark black cardigan round her chest. Her foot kept dipping to the step below, and then back. Below and back. Should I stay or should I go? Until she threw her arms in the air. ‘Fine! Wait for me.’

  And so it was that, totally unexpectedly, the four of them strolled through the village nodding at people, stopping to chat, then hurrying to catch the opening song. All across the village green people sat in deckchairs or on tartan rugs. Toddlers jumped up and down to the piped PA music, older kids played chase while parents tapped their feet. The dark clouds had dispersed and there was sunshine and a happy vibe.

  ‘Hello. Hello. One, two three.’ Dr Shepherd, in his role as MC, tapped the microphone. The crowd fell silent.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be up there, too?’ Tam pointed to the stage. ‘As chief in command or whatever you’re meant to be.’

  ‘Probably. But everyone knows their jobs now; the festival’s taken on a life of its own. I’ve got my phone.’ She tapped her pocket. ‘For emergencies.’ She would not admit to Tam that she’d spent most of the morning in a blind panic and even now was checking in with people all over the village to make sure things were going smoothly.

  The doctor continued, ‘Welcome to the inaugural Little Festival. We are indebted to the council, the police and the local committee for their support in this venture. And to the local companies who have donated their time and produce, thank you, we are very blessed. In fact, a huge thanks to everyone involved, but a particular mention should go to Emily Forrester, without whom this would never have happened.’

  She felt the blush from the top of her head to her toes, unable to stop the smile taking over her body. Out of the corner of her mouth she whispered to The Judge, ‘They might not be thanking me by the end.’

  But he was clapping, too. Oblivious to what the heck was going on or why they were all smiling at her, but the pride in his eyes meant he knew she’d done something special. And that was enough for her.

  ‘Let the festivities commence!’ the doctor added with a flourish, and the choir drowned out the clapping with a stirring and slightly too-fast rendition of ‘Jerusalem’ and they all joined in, singing at the tops of their voices: Tamara, Tilda, The Judge. And Emily.

  It felt very strange to be in a foursome with her family. It even felt strange to call them that, to feel that. But despite everything, she knew they’d come a long way over the last few weeks.

  The choir wobbled on and ended to rapturous applause. Kids can sell anything, see?

  A band from the talent quest was now playing a rock and roll song from the fifties. Emily watched The Judge tapping his feet as p
eople all around him danced. ‘Hey, Judge, fancy teaching me? Would you like to dance, too?’

  ‘No!’ Tam shouted. ‘Do not do this.’

  Assuming she was concerned he’d suddenly end up in the middle of the field without his trousers again, Emily leaned closer and whispered, ‘I don’t care what he does. If he wants to dance. He’s going to dance.’

  ‘I was actually worried that…’ Tam growled back. ‘You’ll just wear him out.’

  Oh. That snatched the irritation right from Emily’s lungs. Maybe her sister was loosening up a little? Or maybe she’d just leave any mess for Emily to clear up.

  ‘Let’s do it in style.’ Emily took her stepfather’s arm and pulled him from his deckchair.

  He stood and took her hand, wrapping his other arm around her waist. He was stuttery and he stumbled a little, but he managed to guide her in a half-shuffle-half-jive movement.

  ‘Relax.’ He jostled her arm a little and made it go soft and wobbly. ‘That’s right. The man leads. You follow. Did no one ever teach you properly?’

  No.

  ‘You’re not bad.’ She beamed up at him. This was the kind of thing she’d hoped for growing up; a dad who would dance with her. A father who would support her, no matter what. Someone who cared about her, someone who held her tight when she needed it. Her own blood-dad had done this kind of thing and she’d craved it from The Judge while simultaneously pushing him away with her fierce moods and tantrums.

  And he’d reacted by banishing her to her room and then sending her to boarding school. There’d been nothing between them but animosity fuelled by grief for her dead parents and a chasm as wide as the Atlantic Ocean that she’d never thought they could cross.

  But this… The ostrich-egg lump, fierce and sore, stuck in her throat but she swallowed it away, determined to suck every single second out of this day, to live the joy and commit it to memory. Some kind of full-on holiday romance she was having, with this place and these people.

  There was a tight ache in her chest; she was leaving all this behind. Going back to her real life. This time there’d be no begging her to stay from Tamara.

  But then, she wouldn’t be there for him when he woke up or wandered in the night. She wouldn’t be able to curb Tamara’s testy responses. Oh, she’d miss him, so much. Miss these days. Miss the man he was now, and the way they interacted. How they’d become friends in that very wobbly world of his. Plain and simple; she felt it keenly as he wrapped a shaky arm round her waist that she’d fallen hopelessly in love with the confused old bugger. Go figure.

  ‘Whoa. You know your stuff.’ She leaned into him as he twirled her out and then back.

  ‘Be careful!’ Tam demanded. ‘Slow down, or he’ll have a heart attack!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, simmer down, Tam, or I’ll make him do the rumba with you.’

  ‘Don’t you ever dare, Emily Jane.’ Her stepsister’s face was classic horror, but when she realised Em was joking, she actually smiled.

  And Emily laughed and laughed, reconciled to the fact that Tamara would always be just that little bit distant, would probably never totally approve of anything Emily did. But she was going to do it anyway. It was okay not to fit in always, to be just a little bit independent if it meant making other people happy.

  And, if The Judge’s laughter was anything to go by, as he tried to twirl Emily round again – and almost dropped her in the process – he was.

  At least, for now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The dance with The Judge had buoyed her through the rest of yesterday and the disappointment of Kids First.

  Almost.

  She had a lot of making up to do, a lot more hard work and a lot of proving herself all over again. But she could do it. She’d done it before. She’d been doing it all her life.

  But now her focus was on Jacob and his interview. He was sitting on a makeshift stage, looking quite relaxed and even laughing at Dr Shepherd’s questions about the difference between reporting things in the public interest or just for public interest.

  Dressed in a dark, collared shirt and black jeans he looked breathtaking. Would she ever get over the dry mouth and jittery heart whenever she saw him?

  ‘How’s he doing?’ Emily whispered to Sally as she tiptoed to a seat at the back of the audience.

  ‘He’s great. I hadn’t realised he’d been over in Afghanistan for quite a few years. Hush. Hush, we’re getting to the good bits.’

  Dr Shepherd spoke into the microphone. ‘So, being in the midst of such terror must have taken a toll on your… how can I put it… civilian life?’

  He must have known this was coming. Jacob shifted a little in his seat. Those who didn’t know him wouldn’t have noticed the twitch in his jaw, the straightened back, the narrowing of his eyes. His voice lowered and his confidence dimmed a little. In all, he looked like someone who did not want to be there. At all. ‘Things changed for me, yes.’

  ‘Would you like to illuminate?’

  No. No, he wouldn’t. Why had she let this happen? Emily wanted to stand up and drag him off the stage. But that would only embarrass him. So she had to sit, hands shoved under her thighs, dying a little inside as the conversation shifted into dangerous territory.

  ‘It’s hard living away from your… er… loved ones. They live their lives, oblivious to what you’re going through, what you see. And when you come home…’

  There was a pause, and silence, while Dr Shepherd tried to decide how to proceed.

  ‘Would you like to elaborate?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see. Well… the things you’ve seen. They must stay with you?’ Dr Shepherd leaned forward and nodded. Pushing for an answer, something to titillate the audience. The good bit? Emily just wanted it to stop. No one should have their worst moments broadcast for the world to scavenge on, for the sake of raising a quick quid or two.

  Jacob’s features remained fixed but pain flickered across his eyes. She wondered how many times he’d relived those moments and the fallout afterwards. ‘If you’re talking about watching my good friend die in front of me. Then yes… it does tend to have an effect.’

  ‘Terrible, of course. Could you tell us the circumstances?’

  No. She shook her head. Don’t. Don’t say a word.

  Jacob turned his head slightly and she thought, for a minute, that he caught her eye. Silly, of course, in such a large crowd, but she hoped he knew she was there. That she wanted him to leave the stage, and that spilling his guts up there wasn’t necessary.

  ‘It was a….’ Jacob’s voice cracked. He shook his head. Looked at his feet. ‘It was…’

  Silence stretched. Somewhere a baby cried. Murmured voices came from behind her.

  ‘Take your time,’ Dr Shepherd said.

  But Jacob turned back to the doctor and with a cold, unemotional voice said, ‘You know what? No. I’m not going to talk about the way my friend died. Or what that did to me inside. In fact…’ He stood, perfectly calm on the outside, but Emily knew he must have been raging inside. ‘I think time’s up now. Look, the band’s waiting to come on.’

  He didn’t even wait for the doctor’s thanks or the surprised, stuttered applause. He didn’t check the faces of the crowd, the shock, the whispers and frowns. He didn’t seem to care that by not talking he’d probably stoked the gossip machine for the next five years.

  He just walked off the stage.

  Emily watched him go, staunch, slicing through the backstage crowd and disappearing down the hill.

  Sally nudged her. ‘What the heck is that about?’

  ‘I’ve got to go… just don’t talk about it to everyone, okay? Just forget it.’ Then she upped her pace, pushing through the prams and deckchairs, swerving past stalls and little children.

  She caught up with him by a weeping willow tree that dipped lazily into the village stream; a picture of serenity next to a man simmering with pain. He was staring into the water.

  ‘I’m so sorry, J
acob.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  She touched his back. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘You can’t.’ The shake of his head told her to back right off. This was the most shut down she’d seen him.

  ‘I want to help.’

  He whirled round to face her. Eyes blazing. ‘You can’t fix this, Emily. You can’t make a model and say a rallying speech and wish it all away. Everything is not sunshine and flowers and festivals.’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that?’ She did not tell him about her job and her failures and what she’d been through in the last forty-eight hours. Or that this was rapidly becoming one of the worst weekends of her life, but she almost didn’t care, because it was more time spent with him and her family. And that even in the very worst moments, when she didn’t think she could take any more, when she was exhausted and frazzled, when she couldn’t see any way out, when there was so much blurring her thoughts, it was better being here than not being with them at all. But this was about him, not her. ‘Can you at least talk to me?’

  ‘And what? What do you want to know? What they want to know? That I had his blood in my hair? That I carried his broken camera around with me for two weeks because it was all I had of him? That when I visited his wife and gave it to her I had to pick her off the floor where she’d crumpled?’ He shook his head, his body shaking. ‘You want more? That my wife said she didn’t recognise the man I’d become? You want to hear that? That I couldn’t handle it? You want to know my pathetic story?’

  She’d thought she’d felt every emotion over these last few weeks, but no. Nothing had prepared her for this, this intense rage against what he’d been through, this surge of anger and her fierce need to protect him. She took hold of his hand, wanting a physical connection. Something. ‘It’s not pathetic.’

  He was quiet for a while, his breathing controlled again. A long, deep sigh. But his shoulders were still tense, his jaw fixed. ‘I told you there was a lot of fallout.’