The Secret Art of Forgiveness (17 page)

He shook his head. ‘No. It was just a false lead. They were caught in Stow.'

‘Is that the kind of journalism you do, then? Crime? Weeding out the bad boys?'

‘It's not what I started out doing; I worked for a national paper as a junior doing a bit of everything, learning the ropes and worked my way up. Even did a stint as a…' She saw the flash of anger and fear again that she'd seen when she was on the ladder; then it was gone as he resettled. ‘A war reporter.'

He went up in her estimation. Anyone who'd lived through that had to be resilient and strong. And he clearly wasn't a conman trying to scam anyone. He was just a regular guy. ‘That would have been tough.'

‘Yes. Yes, it was.' He was quiet for a moment and looked away. When he looked back he'd resolved whatever it was that had been running through his mind. ‘I guess I like something gritty to get my teeth into. An editor once said I have a nose for sniffing out bullshit. I prefer to think that everyone has a story they'd prefer not to tell.'

‘Or you could do what tabloids do and make stuff up?'

‘A bit against my ethics, but… well… I do have a good imagination.'

She thought about her troubled past and how, wherever she'd been, she'd kept it well out of the conversation. ‘Not everyone wants to go delving into their grimy history. You move on. You want to forget.'

‘I get that.' It sounded as if he understood.

‘What do you want to forget, Jacob?'

‘Too much.' He thought for a moment, then smiled curtly. ‘My ex-wife.'

She was learning quite a bit about him now. ‘Oh. Dear. Bad?'

His eyes widened. ‘Oh, yes. Worse than bad. But I won't bore you with the details.'

‘Oh, do, please.' She pretended to interview him, holding a mock microphone under his chin. ‘So, Jacob Taylor, what exactly happened to make things go so wrong between you and…'

‘Alisha.' He shrugged. ‘Even if I ask you to stop, you won't, will you?'

‘No. Giving you a bit of your own medicine.' They'd stopped at the fork in the road now and it was time to go home. She wobbled sideways, brushing against him. Then swiftly moved away. She didn't want him to think she was trying anything – she really wasn't. There was absolutely no way she'd even consider looking at another man when she was engaged to be married to someone else. That went against everything she believed in. ‘Actually, yes, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be prying. I just can't do it. I don't know how you manage it.'

He smiled. ‘Sometimes you have to get to the truth of things for other people's sakes. But that's all you need to know about that.' He shrugged as if shaking off the memories and she wondered if he ever let that smile slip, if he ever let his guard down enough to let someone in. Truly in, to know the core of him. ‘Do you want me to walk you up to the door?'

‘No, I can manage just fine, thanks. I'll see you. Oh, actually, I probably won't. I'm going back on Sunday morning.'

He blinked, looked as if he was going to say something, then changed his mind. ‘Okay. Well, have a good trip. And a damned good life.'

‘Thanks. I will.'
I hope.
She didn't quite know what to do next so she stuck out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Jacob. And thank you for… everything.'

‘My pleasure. It was good to meet you, too, Emily. You did a great thing coming here. I'll keep an eye on things for you. And I'll keep on returning Judge Evans to The Hall if necessary.'

‘Oh. Yes.' Her heart squeezed. The thought of leaving was really bittersweet. She wanted to get back to her normal, but surprisingly she'd grown used to The Judge. Her new normal wouldn't be the same now; it would be forever tinged with a worry about him. ‘I'll miss him. I'll miss this place. And you know, that's something I never thought I'd ever say.'

‘It grows on you, doesn't it?'

‘It never did before and I don't know why it has now.' She shook off the sadness. ‘When I came here last week I was hell bent on not enjoying myself, but in lots of ways I have. Strange, and sad, too, that I'm seeing the place and the people with newer… wiser… eyes but it's all just a little too late.' She had a home to go to and that was New York. Back to Brett and her job and her lovely life. ‘Anyway, that's my conundrum for the night. I'll stagger off to bed. Thank you again. If you're ever in the Big Apple, make sure you come say hi.'

He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek, his eyes kind and gentle. ‘Who knows what could happen, eh? Be happy, Emily, you deserve it.'

And right then, right there, under a blanket of thick, inky sky alight with glittering stars, the whisper of a kiss on her cheek and a warm feeling in the centre of her heart, she thought she could be.

She just didn't know for how long.

Chapter Eight

‘Judge? Judge, do you want to come out and water the plants with me? It's a lovely afternoon and there are a few things I want to get finished before I go tomorrow.' And, frankly, she needed to breathe in some fresh air.

Friday had gone by in a blur of hangover, which had made her feel, possibly, as muddled as The Judge at times. But actually all of that self-inflicted pain paled into insignificance, because today was her last day. She was heading off in the morning, so was trying to keep these last few hours of just the two of them upbeat and calm. Since his outburst on Wednesday he'd been so sweet and harmless, she was wondering whether she'd imagined it.

He looked up from drying the dishes and smiled, and time seemed to slow a little. Things were never rushed with The Judge; he did everything in his own time and that was just fine. It was a very nice break from city life. ‘Oh? Where are we going?'

‘Just into the garden. I want to finish the weeding in the herb beds. It's almost done, the rosemary's still looking dry and woody and there's a lovely-smelling one I don't know the name of. I've got my trusty book here.' She showed him the gardening book she'd found in his library. A dusty old volume that had beautiful prints of plants, and she'd been able to identify a few more than the basic thyme and chives she'd been using in the morning scrambled eggs. Not quite Alan Titchmarsh, but she was enjoying the fresh air and learning a little about herbs. She was going to wow Brett with some cooking next week.

‘I never for a New York minute thought I'd be interested in gardening, but it's very cool. I like the way the earth feels in my hands and all the different smells… If Brett and I buy a place together…'

If.

Her breath stalled as if all the air had been sucked out, along with her good mood. She looked down at her hands, at the empty space where her engagement ring had been. Not wanting to get it dirty or lose it in the garden she'd taken it off. She could see it now in her mind's eye, in its box on her bedroom sideboard. It felt somehow disloyal to have removed it, but she felt sure Brett would understand.

Recently, she'd found herself hoping Brett would understand about a lot of things: delaying their wedding until she'd got her head around it; coming here to see her friends and family more regularly; taking her ring off. Just… off.

And there was no tell-tale indentation or tan line to show it had ever been there at all.

Now she was gardening and cooking. In such a short space of time she was indeed a changed woman; what would he think of that, too? ‘I'm going to make sure we have a little plot of
land, just something small, to grow things. Even a balcony, or a decked area for pots and herbs…'

The Judge frowned. ‘
Tomorrow.
Where are we going tomorrow? You said –'

‘Oh Judge. I'm sorry, here's me rambling and you're still catching up. The thing is, you're going to stay here.' She linked her arm into his and they ambled outside into the sunshine. Her throat ached a little as she told him she was leaving. This was the third time she'd explained it to him and each time he seemed so upset she really didn't want to live it over and over.

It was harder for her, she realised, than for him, because not only did he forget the details but he quickly forgot the emotions, too. Whereas she was forced to relive them. ‘I'm going back to New York. My week here is up, I'm afraid. But I'll make sure to come back and see you more often.'

‘But I'm used to you. Who's going to cook for me? Who's going to be here?' He looked genuinely concerned, eyes narrowing and his voice a little petulant… no, wobbly. Like a little boy who'd been denied the one thing he'd wanted
for ever
.

‘Tamara and Tilda will be here, of course. Things will get right back to normal again.' Except, she'd insist on someone actually keeping him busy and active. While down at the café one day and in possession of internet she'd read that being alone and isolated and bored made people more prone to dementia – she'd make sure she told Tamara that.

He grimaced. ‘Rotten cooks the pair of them. Soup. Soup. Soup. That's all they do. It's as if they can't do anything else. I like something to get my teeth into.'

‘I'm sure they try their best.' She smiled. ‘I've made you a fair amount of soup, too. It's a good way to get vitamins into you.' And cover up her kitchen failures.

He shook his head and patted her arm. ‘It just won't be the same.'

‘No. No, it won't.' Trying to fight the emotion she squeezed against him and winked. ‘But I will come back, I promise. You can't get rid of me that easily.'

‘Or, I could come with you.'

‘Oh?'
God.
‘Well…' He couldn't. He just couldn't.

It was a casual, throwaway line, but one that could have huge ramifications. Massive. She looked up at his hopeful face and a zillion emotions and thoughts flashed across her mind. Her brain ricocheted from one disaster to another as she imagined him in Manhattan with the rush-rush of traffic chaos, the blaring horns and the street hawkers and panhandlers. Imagined Brett's face if she arrived home with The Judge in tow; how much he'd have to give trying to fit in around the needs of a sick old man. Imagined how different her life would have to be. ‘No. No… you live here in Little Duxbury, you've always lived here, ever since you were born. A big move like that would be far too stressful. It's much better for you to stay here.' And yet there was a hole in her chest at the thought he'd become attached to her, and at even having to make such a choice.

You can't live with me because it would be too difficult. What a bloody, horribly selfish cow.

Life wasn't easy and clean and fair. It was messy and difficult and surprising.

But it was her life and she felt altogether out of her depth again. How did people do this? How did they manage with three generations under one roof? How did they reconcile their own dreams and plans of flying away and being independent with relatives who needed them? How did they live with the guilt of being selfish, or the drain of doing what everyone else wanted and putting their own lives on hold? Sometimes for ever.

She couldn't take him with her. She just couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to any of them.

She was going back to New York. She'd talk things through with Brett. She'd make some kind of a plan that would suit them all.

A plan for what, exactly? What plan could possibly make this better?

Only, they didn't talk like that.
She
didn't talk like that. She didn't put her emotions out there because she wanted him to know she could cope with whatever came her way. She didn't share her feelings because what was the point? It only made her look weak and indecisive.

Oooh, this sharing things in a marriage was going to be so hard.

‘Oh, Judge, you'll be just fine right here. This is what you know. You love it here. Where I live is so noisy and busy and you wouldn't… it wouldn't…we can't…' Hauling in a deep breath she gave The Judge a smile. ‘Come on, then, let's make the most of the time we have left. Let's get our hands dirty.'

She handed him the hose and took a watering can for herself. Even though Sid came from the garden centre in Greater Duxbury once a fortnight to mow the lawns and trim the box hedges into shape, there was still a lot that needed doing to the kitchen garden, almost on a daily basis. ‘You do the lavender and I'll weed round the sage.'

She had absolutely no idea what the lavender needed but it was budding tight purple flowers and there were bees buzzing over it all, so she assumed they were doing the right thing. Of course, it could wither and die or drown in too much water and she wouldn't know. She wouldn't be here to watch the fruits – or otherwise – of their labour. There was a sudden sting in her chest at that thought.

The sun was warming her back as they worked and chatted about plants; he was as useless as she was in terms of knowing what to do, but they bumbled along. The light was soft across the fields, and flowers were starting to blossom in the meadows beyond the garden gate, little bolts of colour flashing through the long grass. There were more bees and white butterflies fluttering from plant to plant. ‘Hey, Judge… come stand here a second, I want to take a photo. I want to remember it just like this.'

‘Of course, dear. What are you doing? Shouldn't you be on the other side of the camera?'

‘It's called a
selfie
. I can take a picture of both of us, and the meadow behind, if I stretch out my arm and get the angle right. It's so pretty and I want to remember us just like this. Here, stand close and smile up at this tiny circle, not the screen. I'll count to three, okay? Ready? … one… two… three!' She clicked and laughed and he squeezed her against him. She leaned her head against his chest and took as much solace from his comfort as she could. ‘You want to see it?'

‘Already? Is it a polaroid?'

‘No, it's a smartphone. Look… you're not really smiling, but it kind of captures your essence.' A little confusion, a lot of frown, a straight back and filled-out, ruddy cheeks. He'd caught a bit of sun, too, making him look healthier than before. She enlarged the image, wincing at the hair. Promising herself she'd ask Sally to fix it as soon as she could.