The Secret Art of Forgiveness (32 page)

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 managed 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.

‘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 people 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.