The Secret Art of Forgiveness (10 page)

‘He took an overdose?' Brett's concerned voice reverberated around the room.

‘No. Hush, please. No, not intentionally. Oh, no he wouldn't do that. He just misjudged the days, I think. The doctor gave him some antibiotics because he has a urine infection. He said that could be making the confusion worse.' Emily glanced up at The Judge who was filling letters into a crossword puzzle. It didn't escape her notice that the letters didn't resemble proper words – but it kept him happy for a few minutes. ‘I've bought a lock from the hardware store and I'm going to fit it onto the cupboard, just so he doesn't make the same mistake again.'

‘Get you with the hammer and nails, babe.'

‘I try my best. You'd be surprised to learn I've mended a few things recently; a leaking tap and some loose floorboards. I've rehung the curtain rail in one of the bedrooms and straightened a wobbly shelf. I'm quite the handywoman these days.'

‘In that case I can't wait to see you on Sunday. Get your hands all over me.' He leaned in closer and she really, really wished there was a way to have this conversation without an audience. ‘God, I miss you.'

‘Yes, I miss… Wait, Judge, not another one. Really?' She laughed as Greta walked by and shook her head. ‘He's ordered another Cornish pasty.'

‘A what?' Brett frowned, and she sensed it wasn't just about the fact she'd changed the subject.

‘Hang on… Sorry, I'll just see if Greta can keep an eye on…? Yes? You can? Thanks. Brett, can you wait a second?' She stood up, took the laptop outside and sat down at an empty table, hoping the Wi-Fi would extend to out there. It did – but the blobs weren't very reassuring.
Signal weak.
‘Sorry, sorry… I'm outside so we might get cut off, but I didn't want everyone in the café to overhear our conversation.'

‘So you thought you'd broadcast across the village square instead?'

‘I'm a regular town crier, hadn't you heard? Hear ye, hear ye…' She chuckled. ‘Brett Fallon wants my hands all over him.' Across the road she could see Tom putting out the pub sign. She waved. And then Dr Shepherd drove by and she waved at him. Then, Jacob Taylor buzzed past on a motorbike – he nodded. She nodded back. What was this? Piccadilly Circus? Now, where was she? ‘Oh… yes… Cornish pasties… they're a pie. A sort of pie, yes. I can't believe you don't know what one is. Wow – you haven't lived. I'd offer to make some when I come back, but I wouldn't wish my cooking on my worst enemy.'

Brett's voice became a little tense. ‘I don't want to waste our precious limited time talking about cooking or pies, Emily, and I know you're not great in the kitchen – it's one of the things I like about you, actually. Although, how you've managed to survive living on your own all these years, I don't know. But we can work on that when we move in together if you really want to learn.' Looking a little contrite, he sighed. ‘Listen, have you had any thoughts about dates for the wedding? Only, I let slip last night to my mom that we were thinking… kinda… of getting married and she went hoopla and demanded to know dates so they could reserve vacation time from work. I was thinking the fall, sometime… October? Too soon?'

Whoa. Too much, to be honest, right now. Too much for her to think about.
Move in together. Get married.
It was all rushing around in her head along with Cornish pasties and leaking roofs and the potential for a more serious drug overdose if she wasn't vigilant. The ramifications of what The Judge had inadvertently done hadn't left her. What if he'd taken more? All of the tablets? She shivered at the thought. Then refocused on Brett.

‘You told her about the engagement? I thought we were going to wait to tell them together.'

‘Can I help it that I'm excited, babe? She was asking about our vacation plans and I accidentally mentioned honeymoons. What do you think about fall? October?'

‘Honestly? I think that it's too soon, Brett. I'm so busy here I haven't had time to think about the wedding.' That sounded harsh and she hadn't meant it to. She just needed some space to get her head around the idea of a wedding at all. ‘I mean, it's crazy looking after him and
trying to fix up The Hall and work remotely. Can we… can we talk about it when I get back? I can't commit to something right now, just to please your mum. It's only a few days, Brett.'

There was a pause, during which his shoulders heaved up and down in an irritated sigh. ‘Sure, honey, if that's what you want. Sure. That's fine.'

Judging by the tightness in his jaw – a tic she knew only happened when he was pissed off about something – it wasn't fine at all. And the thing was, she just didn't have the emotional energy or headspace to worry about it. Things would be back to normal when she was in New York.

Or at least, they'd be able to talk properly about it. Maybe between now and then she'd manage to pinpoint exactly what the hell was wrong with her and why she wasn't jumping up and down to marry him the minute the plane landed. And, why she felt a little relieved that he'd brought it up in this way and she could use it to pick a fight with him. ‘Okay, that will be the very first thing we talk about, I promise – wedding, wedding and nothing but wedding. We can phone your parents on Sunday evening and start to make plans, just don't ask me to make a commitment to anything right now; my head's not in the right place.'

She wanted to tell him about her worries over The Judge, and the financial problems they were facing, and the fact that when Tam was here she didn't quite look after The Judge the way Em thought she should. She wanted to offload about her concerns. She wanted to tell him about the quirks of the place: the cockerel that woke her up at silly o'clock and the strangeness of her neighbour. But she didn't. For some reason it all felt too much like hard work and she didn't think he'd understand. What was it Tom had said? Being all New York and all. So she went with… ‘How's work? Managing without me?'

‘Just. Obviously the rate of winning accounts has dramatically dropped, but we're coping. The beer launch went really well yesterday… thank you for asking.'

‘Shit. Sorry. I clean forgot. It's just… I feel so disconnected here.' Her failures were stacking up and up. ‘I'm so glad it went well. Of course, it would, though… you're brilliant at your job.'

‘Gez has been working on the Kids First campaign, and HCH were asking about studio time.'

‘I asked Gez to sort that out.'

‘Sure. But you haven't forwarded the meeting notes.'

‘Oh? I did, didn't I? Maybe they didn't send? I'll check. No, look, they're still sitting in my outbox. Damn it. Don't worry, I'll sort it out straight after this.' She jotted it down on her to-do list just as a mum approached on the footpath pushing a very wide buggy containing triplet babies.

Normally Emily wouldn't have paid any attention but they were just too cute, three little peas in a pod, all dressed in matching little boy-sailor outfits. She had no idea how old they must be but they were definitely at that pre-crawling, but just interesting enough, stage. One was fast asleep, lolled a little to one side, but the other two were staring and smiling.

She jumped up and dragged the table closer to make space for the pram to get through. ‘There you go. Oh, they are absolutely gorgeous. Lucky you. So cute.'

‘Triple the trouble, triple the love,' the mum answered, as if she'd said it a thousand times before, but still got a thrill from it. ‘Thanks.'

Once they'd squeezed by Emily sat down again. ‘Sorry, Brett. I had to get out of the way –'

‘Yes. Yes, I gathered. It's all go in Little Duxton.'

‘Little Dux
bury
. And it's only because I'm outside. They were adorable babies.'

‘So you just had to talk to them?' There was a smile, but it was irritated.

‘Everyone's got time to stop and chat here, it seems. And it feels rude not to. Not like New York where no one looks you in the eye for fear of some kind of actual real communication.'

‘You love New York.' He sounded put out.

‘Yes… yes, of course I do. You know I do. It's just so… rushed, compared to here.'

The irritation increased a fraction. ‘Your spiritual home, I think you called it when we were in the roof garden, drinking cocktails at sunset, looking across Manhattan. Exciting. Breathtaking.'

‘Oh, yes. Yes, I adore it. That was a wonderful night.' Their first real date, discounting the champagne-fuelled tumbling into bed. Their first real organised date, so sophisticated and glamorous. ‘This is just so different. Look at the views.' She picked up her laptop and spun it round so he could see the rolling fields beyond the village and the thatched cottages by the green. The willow tree that dipped lazily into the stream, the sound of laughter. Birds. Actual birdsong. ‘Isn't it lovely? And there's the pub The Judge and I go to. It has great beer and a –'

‘Yes,' he interrupted. ‘Picture-postcard, honey. Very English.'

‘I knew you'd like it.' She was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Maybe we could come here to visit one day? I could show you the sights in person… which would take about three whole minutes. The rest of the day we could spend in the pub.'

‘Or bed.'

‘Yes… or bed.' She gave him a coy smile and thought how nice it would be to see him again on Sunday. They would be able to talk properly instead of through a crackly line that threatened to freeze at any given moment and made intimacy very difficult.

Brett moved a little away from the screen and behind him she could see the stark white walls of his office space. When Baddermans had taken a lease on the building they'd had a senior management meeting during which she'd chosen the paint for that wall. Clean and fresh. She'd chosen the furniture. She'd chosen Brett, too. She looked down at her ring, then back at him.

This was a brief working holiday. He was her real world. ‘Sorry, you're right, I am very distracted. It's hard not to be with so much going on. I'll be glad to get home on Sunday.'

‘Good. Well, okay, I'll go now then. Can't think of anything else we need to talk about. At least, not without you breaking off every couple of minutes.'

It felt so stilted, so unlike them, and she knew it was her fault. ‘Brett… I'm sorry.'

‘You're in the middle of a lot of things and you can't give your full attention to this call. It's fine, honey. Really, it's fine. I'm just not used to you being away. But I've got to go.' He gave her a reassuring and not at all irritated smile and she relaxed a little. ‘I love you, Em. Email your flight details, I'll be at the airport on Sunday.'

‘Great. Good. That's great.' A lorry rattled by and she jumped at the noise. He was right; she was only managing to give everything half her attention. She needed to focus on one thing at a time, then she'd achieve a whole lot more and not annoy him in the process. ‘I'll see you on Sunday, then.'

‘Looking forward to it.'

‘Yes. Me, too.' And she was.

Really.

She was.

***

Greta placed another pot of tea in front of Emily as she sat down. ‘He's been fine. Look at him – bless, fast asleep.'

The Judge had found a quiet, comfortable sofa near the children's play box and dropped off. His head lolled to one side, not unlike the baby in the pushchair beside him – although not nearly as cute. But, Em thought with a sting, almost as helpless at times. What a wicked thing ageing was to reduce a once competent, fierce man to this. ‘I think all the excitement of the doctor's visit has worn him out. I'm supposed to be taking him for a haircut, but I don't want to wake him up, so I might as well stay here and finish a couple of things. Is it okay if I buy some more Wi-Fi time? I've used up my free allowance.'

‘On the house. I only charge for it to stop the teenagers coming in and spending hours in here and not buying anything. It's business sense, Sean says.' Greta picked up an empty cup. ‘Ooohh… wow. I love your ring.'

‘Oh. Yes. Thank you.' Still reeling from the conversation with Brett, Emily glanced at her ring, then found herself wringing her hands.
Stop it.
They didn't usually niggle at each other like that. They always agreed on everything. It was her fault, too; she'd growled at him for being excited about marrying her. What the hell was wrong with her?

Greta smiled. ‘Engagement ring, is it?'

‘Yes. Yes, it is.' It felt strange talking about it after she'd shut Brett down, but Emily held her hand out so Greta could have a closer look.

‘Oh, it's gorgeous. Congratulations. Have you planned a date yet?'

‘No, not yet. We've only been engaged for a few days, to be honest. There's such a lot to organise, I wouldn't know where to start.'

Greta wiped her hands down her stripy apron, clearly a woman who knew about weddings. ‘Well, if I were you, I'd make sure I booked a venue well in advance. We made a snap decision to get married and ended up with a marquee in the garden because nowhere was available.'

‘That sounds lovely, though.'

Greta sighed as if reliving it all over again. ‘It was. Perfect.'

As was Brett.

But hand wringing didn't sit well with wedding excitement. And here was the thing; something was holding Emily back from throwing herself into the whole wedding bubble and sighing happily about it all. Something… a feeling. She couldn't put her finger on what exactly it was, though.

But she'd said yes and it was what she wanted. It was definitely what he wanted.

Although… She barely dared admit it, but she remembered the panic that had sat in the pit of her stomach all through the proposal and afterwards. And it was still there. Was it Brett? Was it marriage per se? Was it the thought of committing herself? Giving up a part of herself to someone else?