The Secret Art of Forgiveness (14 page)

Suddenly the door flew open and Emily almost fell into the space. Sally blocked the fall, hands on hips, her face like thunder. ‘What the hell do you want?'

You can do this.
‘I bring gifts.' Emily lifted the bag with the wine and chocolates, nailing her courage into a smile, and trying to breathe normally, instead of in silly little gulps that showed how nervous she actually was. Jacob Taylor would have had a field day with her
right now. Forthright? Not anymore. That had upped and fled the moment the station house had come into view. ‘Can we talk?'

‘About what?' Sally glanced at the gifts as if they were poison, and didn't take them.

This wasn't going to be easy. But she'd known that. And owned it. ‘Stuff. Everything. How are you, Sal? How are your parents? How's Anthony?'

Sally stared at her incredulously. ‘What the heck has any of that got to do with you?'

‘I just… I don't know.' There was a pressure building up in Em's chest. What the hell was she doing raking over the past? Trying to make herself feel better? ‘I just want to know that you're okay.'

Sally frowned even more. ‘A bit late for that, don't you think?'

‘I know. But you've got it all wrong. I want…' A zillion things. To fix the friendship, to forge a new one even though she was going back to New York in three days. She wanted to know she'd left here having done her best, having healed something that had broken her for quite a long time all those years ago. The hurt was there again as she looked at her old friend's face, and that instantly made her feel sick with guilt. ‘Could we just talk? About what happened that night. I want you to know the truth. I want to put things right.'

‘I don't have time for this.' Sally went to close the door.

But Emily stuck her foot on the threshold and hoped Sally's anger didn't stretch as far as breaking bones. She tried a different line of conversation. ‘How's your mum? Your dad? How are they?'

‘God, you don't give up, do you?' There was a sullenness and reluctance in Sally's words as she breathed out, long and hard. Her lips pursed. ‘They split up.'

‘Oh, I didn't realise. I'm so sorry.' There was so much to catch up on. So much she didn't know and, actually, suddenly really wanted to. Which was another surprise.

Sally's eyebrows rose. ‘Mum ran off with the carpet salesman. They took early retirement and buggered off to live in Tenerife.'

‘Oh, that's nice.'
God, that sounds so lame. Lame, Emily!

Clearly, Sally thought so, too, judging by her wide eyes. ‘Lovely, is it? She broke Dad's heart. He had to move out of here, said he couldn't live with the memories. He's built a new place in Thoreham.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Well, that must be difficult.'
Babbling again
. ‘And your brother? Anthony, how's he?'

‘What is this? Why the hell do you care about any of us?'

‘I don't know. I don't know, Sal. I thought we could try…' This was so much worse than she'd thought it would be. She felt her voice wavering, pulled it back. Cleared her throat. They were getting nowhere. This was hopeless. She wasn't going to heal anything here. ‘You're right, this is obviously a mistake. You don't want to talk, and I don't blame you. So, I should probably go.'

‘Yes, you should.' Sally started to close the door again and with that Em saw the last vestige of her attempt failing. But there was emotion swimming in her old friend's eyes – emotion that told her there was still hope.

Was there anything worse than failing your girlfriends? Letting them down instead of raising them up. Seeing that belief they have in you fade away. She remembered the way Sally had looked at her that night. The accusing stares of The Judge, Mr Rigby and the doctor; all sitting in judgement when none of them –
none of them
– had any idea what she'd been through.

She'd been unable to defend herself then. It was shocking to admit, but that night had shaped her whole life in one way or another; in the choices she'd made and how much of herself she was prepared to share. It had fuelled her determination to be her own woman, to rely only on herself, but it had also made her wary of opening herself to others. She could see that now. She regretted not being able to stand up for herself; but more, she regretted the way Sally's faith in her had shattered. She raised her voice. ‘I didn't sleep with him, you know.'

A couple walking past with their dog stopped and looked over. Emily raised her hand to them. ‘Nothing to see here.'

Sally glared at her. ‘Are you really going to stand there and air our past in public?'

‘Believe me, I don't want to, but unless you invite me in, then yes… if that's what it takes.' Emily showed the peace offerings in her hand. ‘Or… we could… you know… consume your gifts? They're not poisonous or anything. In fact, very tasty…'

Sally's shoulders dropped a little as she glanced from the gifts to Emily and then to the onlookers. For a few long moments she seemed to wrestle with her thoughts, but eventually she stepped back. ‘Oh, okay. I don't know why I'm doing this, I must be completely mad. Come in.'

It was a bog-standard Victorian station house made out of thick, creamy, Cotswold stone, but instead of the shell of half-finished jobs it used to be, it was now warm and cosy and inviting. The overall decor was a soft, feminine white with splashes of vibrant reds and blues. With the curtains closed and the fire lit there was a soothing orange glow in the lounge – Em hoped it would infuse her with a little calm.

‘You've made a nice job of the place.'

As if seeing the house with fresh eyes Sally smiled, although there was little warmth in there for Emily. ‘Oh… yes. Thanks.'

‘Did you do it yourself?'

‘Does it matter?' Sally looked uncomfortable, as if she was giving herself a hard time for breaking her own code and letting Emily in. But something must have softened because she shrugged and said, ‘Dad kept saying he was going to do this or that but he never did. In the end I got sick of waiting… like Mum, I suppose. So I got one of his lads to come and do it at the weekends. Dad got the hump for a few weeks, but he came round in the end.'

Glad they were able to have some kind of civil conversation, Emily handed the chocolates over, then the wine. ‘Here, open it. Everything is better with wine, don't you think?'

Sally wandered through to the kitchen, beckoning Emily to follow her. Again, in here, there'd been a complete overhaul. Sleek white cabinetry gave on to a polished wooden floor. She lifted glasses from a wall cupboard. ‘One glass. That's all.'

That was all it would take, Emily hoped. To tell the truth.

First, she needed to know where things stood. She hauled in some air, breathed out slowly to steady her nerves. ‘Okay, question – did you marry Aidan O'Leary?'

Sally frowned. ‘God, no. We split up a few months after you left.' Looking away she ran her fingers over the condensation on the wine bottle. ‘I couldn't bear him touching me after what happened between you two –'

‘I didn't sleep with him, okay? He wanted me to. He tried to, very hard, but I fought him off.' She took the glass Sally handed to her and had a sip. Then another, hoping it might help with the courage of getting through this. ‘Will you hear me out? Please?'

With a curt nod her ex-friend didn't indicate that she wanted to say anything, so Emily continued, ‘So, we'd been at the community hall for your party, then hung out a while at the playpark, yes? We dropped you off at home because you had a curfew – even on your birthday – then Aidan said he'd walk me home. I was surprised, I have to admit, and I didn't really care whether I went home or not and certainly wasn't bothered whether Aidan got me there. I just thought he was being nice.' Which, with hindsight, had been her first error. She hadn't had any reason to dislike Aidan, but there was something about him that had creeped her out a little. He was too nice, too friendly, leaned too close, looked too close, touched her at every opportunity.

‘I asked him to make sure you were safe.' Sally shook her head. ‘For all the good that did me.'

Safe?
It could not have been further from safe.

Emily felt as if she were eighteen again with all these long-supressed memories springing up inside her; the weirdness of the evening that had comprised too much alcohol and the remains of a bad mood because of some stupid argument she'd had with The Judge about everything and nothing. A feeling that, whatever she did, she would never fit in the place. The glimmer of a plan to leave Little Duxbury as soon as she'd saved up enough cash. A dream of living in London in a glamorous apartment, with a sophisticated job.

Then, Aidan.

He'd crystallised her decision to leave quicker than any amount of organising or saving up or planning ever would. She'd had to get the hell out of there and quickly.

She leaned against the kitchen counter and controlled her voice as she'd learnt to do. But it was too hard, especially when Sally was staring at her so seriously, and indeed, because the fear of that night was now shimmying through her as if it were happening all over again. ‘We were walking up towards The Hall when he lurched at me, trying to kiss me, saying he'd always fancied me and did I want to hook up. I pushed him off and told him to get lost. Next thing I knew he was dragging me into the ditch and grabbing at my clothes.'

Sally's jaw tightened. ‘Oh, God, really? No. Surely…?'

Emily drew in a breath; this was the first time she'd gone into detail with anyone. She'd tried to push it aside, to forget it, but it had been there, pricking at her soul, ever since. Had she led him on? Had she encouraged him in any way? ‘I kicked him in the balls and he got the message loud and clear that I wasn't interested. He started to shout back at me, called me a list of names. I told him I was going to tell you what a douchebag he was. That he'd tried it on. That he'd been unfaithful to you – at least, he'd been hoping to be.' She remembered the rancid smell of stale beer on his breath and the anger in his eyes as he'd realised she wasn't going to be the easy pickings he'd obviously thought she would be. The fear that wound tight inside her. Because, if she couldn't get rid of him, what the hell would he do next? ‘And then I reminded him, in no uncertain terms, that if you finished with him his job with your dad would blow up in his face. And his whole cosy life would fall apart.'

Sally's finger tapped rapidly against her glass. ‘He came round to my house straight after being with you. He was acting really weird – sort of angry, but ashamed. Said he needed to talk, but then wouldn't say anything lucid. It was garbled and not a lot made sense.'

‘Not surprising. He was drunk. We all were.'

Sally nodded. ‘When I pressed him, he told me you'd come on to him and what a slut you were. That he was sorry… but that you'd led him on and that he'd had too much to drink so couldn't help it. He said you were jealous. Of me and him.'

‘I wasn't. Not at all.' And now to the crux of the issue. Emily made sure to look Sal directly in the eye. ‘Did he say he'd actually slept with me?'

Sally grimaced. ‘I can't remember now. Not in so many words, I don't suppose. I asked him straight out if he'd been unfaithful with you, but… what did he say? It was so long ago… that he was very sorry, but that you'd led him on.'

‘Really? As if I'd do that.' That had been the furthest thing from Emily's mind.

‘I took that to mean he'd had sex with you. I believed that you were so jealous of me finding someone to love that you slept with him just to break it all up.'

‘God no, I wasn't jealous of either of you and I definitely didn't want him. He was a creep and a lech and, worst of all, you thought the sun shone out of his backside.'

‘That does tend to happen when you agree to marry someone.' Sally's eyes widened as her hand fluttered to her throat. ‘God, I was so naive.'

The thought of Brett flickered into Emily's head. She didn't think the sun shone out of him. Yes, he was wonderful, but she was well aware of his faults. Not that there were many – but there were some. No one was perfect, after all. She'd never told him about Aidan, having vowed never to look back, and now she thought about it… why hadn't she told him?

Because she'd wanted him to think the sun shone out of her behind. Because, she didn't want him to think her anything less than perfect.

And now she didn't want to think of Brett and Aidan O'Leary in the same moment. ‘He was a thug and you just couldn't see it. He wrapped it up in that passive aggression – the charm that hid the real beast.' She remembered the way his thick weight had pressed her into the dirt. His hands on her body. The feeling she was trapped and the rising panic. ‘He was so strong, Sally.'

‘Oh, believe me, I know.'

‘Oh?' The way she said it sent a cold chill down Emily's spine. She filled their glasses up and drank again. Two glasses now. ‘Had he ever… Was he rough with you?'

‘Sort of. He always apologised and said it was because I drove him crazy with lust. But yes… he could be… desperate.' As if her brain was adding two and two her hand raised to cover her mouth. ‘Oh, my God, he didn't… he didn't… you know… rape you?'

‘No, I didn't give him the chance. Like I say, I managed to kick him in the groin and he ran off. But can you see, that's why I didn't want you to have anything to do with him? He always made me feel just that little bit uneasy.'

There were so many questions in Sally's eyes. She closed them, as if quietening them down. When she opened them again she looked straight at Emily. ‘What I don't understand is why you didn't say any of this that night.'

‘Because, you wouldn't have listened. You were besotted with him.' Emily downed more wine. She wasn't proud of who she'd been back then, but here she was being forced to face it. She really hadn't been a nice person to know. And yet Sally had tried. No doubt a lot of them had tried, but she'd pushed them away, too. The realisation of that actually physically hurt. ‘You don't remember that night too well, do you? I do. It was just another bad night in a succession of bad nights. That summer had been like a pressure valve reaching boiling point between me and The Judge; whatever I did was wrong. There'd been arguments and tension. I'd done all that stupid stuff you know: getting caught stealing vodka from the corner shop, throwing rocks at the pub window in a drunken stupor, slashing The Judge's tyres for the hell of it. God knows what I was trying to achieve. And I know you tried to stop me over and over again, but I had a self-destruct button that I kept on jabbing. Then, it was like I was finally on trial and everything came to a head.' She shook her head, trying to clear it of the images of that night, but they wouldn't go. ‘My house was a court not a home. Everyone was shouting at me. The doctor found me in the ditch and made it clear he thought I was a tart. The Judge was dealing with that, and the bill from the glazer from the pub, when you pitched up with your father and all your accusations. All hell let loose. Everyone thought I was stupid and hateful. I tried to explain, but no one was listening. You know that.'