Louisa George – The Secret Art of Forgiveness: A feel good romance about coming home and moving on (страница 11)

The Judge raised his hand. ‘Yes, and make it quick, lad. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. And this one’s no help. She’s starving me, I swear it.’

The boy didn’t bother to smother his grin as he looked from The Judge to Emily. ‘This one?’

‘Is called Emily. Pleased to meet you.’ She leaned a little closer. ‘I don’t think he has an inside voice. So apologies in advance. Black coffee for him and a cappuccino for me, please.’

‘Tom. Pot collector and general dogsbody.’ He thrust out thin fingers. ‘And we all know Judge Evans, no need to apologise. His voice is bigger than his bite.’

Unless you’re in any way related to him. ‘Nice to meet you, Tom.’

He let her hand drop and his face brightened. ‘Who are you? A new carer? New… er… wife?’

If there’d been coffee in Emily’s mouth Tom would have been wearing it. ‘I’m his daughter.’ It still felt so strange to say that, but it was easier than giving everyone she met her whole life story.

‘He has another one?’

‘You haven’t heard about me?’ Why would he have? It was old news. Everyone had moved on; the only person who cared about her past was Emily. Clearly. ‘It’s like a reverse Cinderella: the evil youngest one and the gorgeous, harassed and saintly older two.’

‘Evil? No. What? Sister? You’re Tamara and Matilda’s sister? Blimey.’ He whooshed the milk in the frother while the coffee machine made spluttering noises. There was a sudden and delicious smell of coffee in the air. ‘You don’t look much like them.’

She fiddled with a beer mat while Tom made the coffee. It was good to see that not everyone here held a grudge against her. Either he was too young or too innocent to have heard the details of her misdemeanours. Or… maybe she’d blown everything out of all proportion and things hadn’t been as bad as she remembered? He was still looking at her with a bemused expression. ‘Without going into too much boring detail – we’re a stepfamily. My mum married Judge Evans. A long time ago, obviously.’

Placing the cups onto a tray Tom nodded. ‘Yes, steppies – I get it. I’ve got a couple of them myself, plus two half-blood sibs and one full-muggle brother. That’s too many people trying to play happy families in one house, and also why I’m here and not at home – couldn’t wait to get out, to be honest.’ He rang the price up on the till. ‘Four-fifty, please – I’ll let you know the price of the tart later. Liam, my brother, runs this place so, if I’m not at college, I try to doss upstairs in one of the B and B rooms. Which is all too much information. If you don’t mind my saying, Emily, you’re not a bit like the other two.’

‘That is definitely a compliment. Now, I’d better take these over before he dies of starvation – because that can happen, you know, after a double serving of scrambled eggs on toast less than an hour ago. Can you tell me the Wi-Fi password, please?’

‘No problem, it’s here...’ Tom handed over a piece of paper. ‘Here’s the spiel I have to say: no illegal downloads; no large files; no longer than thirty minutes, if possible.’

She took the paper and glanced up at a noticeboard on the wall. ‘Hot yoga classes at the community hall? Zumba? Wow, Little Duxbury is moving slowly into this century. And what’s that? Oh, really? Do you still have that quaint country fair? Do people still come to it?’

‘No, ‘fraid not.’ Tom shrugged. ‘That’s why they’re asking for volunteers for the committee. It’s died a death and they either need to stop it altogether or ramp it up a bit to attract new people.’

She laughed, remembering the sad little home-made chutneys, drop-stitched, crocheted doilies and donkey rides. ‘It was old-fashioned twenty years ago. But it was very popular, must have made a mint for the stall holders.’

‘Not any more. Not a lot of interest in knitted toilet-roll holders these days. Don’t suppose you’re interested in helping out? Jazz it up a bit?’

She laughed. ‘No. Sorry, I’m back in New York at the weekend. Otherwise I’d have loved to help.’

‘Liar.’

She raised her hands. ‘Yes. You got me. Really not my kind of thing.’

‘Don’t suppose it is, being all New York and everything.’ Grinning, he lifted the bar hatch and walked through. ‘Right then, at least I tried. The boss said I had to ask around. Done my bit; now I’ll go get that tart.’

‘Thanks!’ So that was the second person in Little Duxbury who seemed friendly. Two out of three wasn’t bad.

She punched in the password. Held her breath. And…

Wi-Fi! Never had a black triangle in the top corner of her laptop been so damned welcome. ‘Back in the land of the living, Judge. Right here.’

She scrolled to the email she wanted to read first;

<brettfallon@baddermans.com>

Babe,

I hope the Brits are making you welcome. Although, from what you’ve told me about them, that may not be happening. Hang in there, it’s only a week.

Don’t worry about your clients, I’ve asked Martha and Gez to take some on board, so if you could liaise with them that’d be great.

Let me know when we can touch base. Mum and Dad send their love – I still haven’t mentioned anything so it’s all hush hush until we see them. Hopefully that’ll be real soon.

Miss you.

BF x

Miss you, too. Emily pressed her thumb and finger on the bridge of her nose and tried to control the emotions whirring around her. The rock was still on her finger, glinting brightly in the pub wall lights. She ran her fingers over the sharp edges.

Her heart ached at the thought of him, but there had been times she’d been so consumed with her current problems that he hadn’t flickered across her radar.

Was that a bad sign?

Her laptop pinged with more incoming messages, including one from Tam.

<TamaraPForrester4727@hotmail.com>

Emily,

We hear you’ve landed in LD. Thank you for coming at such short notice.

We know everything will come as a shock to you. We’ve been trying to cope but our father is becoming very hard to look after and we’re at our wits’ end. He refuses to allow us to make any decisions with him and he’s determined to stay at The Hall. To be honest, that’s not an option as you will probably know by now. Apart from the fact he’s not safe on his own, the house is falling apart and we just don’t have the money to renovate it. The cost of roof repairs alone is astronomical.

You should know, too, that Daddy’s been the victim of several scams over the last few years. Before we knew he was ill, he had handed out his password to computer scammers. Twice! Next thing, he paid someone upfront to come fix the roof – ridiculous amounts, you wouldn’t believe – but they took the money and never came back. Not surprisingly.

We’ve got control of his accounts now but there isn’t much left in the pot, and the rest of it is tied up in trusts for us when he dies. Unless we have a miracle or win the lottery we’ll have to sell The Hall just to pay for proper care – and it won’t bring much given the state of disrepair it’s in.

So now you know. It’s a terrible state of affairs and we’re totally lost as to what to do.

Daddy gets worse at night, so you need to make sure all the doors are locked or he’ll get out.

Oh, and keep him away from the new neighbour, Jacob Taylor. He seems very shifty and we think he might be hatching some kind of scam. Daddy is a prime target for that kind of thing as we know.

Don’t do anything silly. Please.

Tamara and Tilda

Brilliant. Just brilliant. A weight settled on Emily’s chest, thick and dark and bordering on the panic she’d felt earlier. The neighbour is a scammer. The house is falling down and The Judge is a liability.

Great. Just great.

After ordering a restorative pot of tea, and finding The Judge a pencil for the cryptic crossword, she took a deep breath that wasn’t anywhere near as helpful as she’d hoped… and replied:

What’s his routine? What do I actually need to do for him?

How much are the roof repairs going to be?

Is there really nothing we can do?

Sell some of the land off? We do have a lot and we don’t need it.

Have you actually asked for professional advice either for the roof or for The Judge?

What about a nursing agency?

Couldn’t we get daily help?

A sleepover companion?

Security?

How’s Sylvie?

HELP!

She crossed the last word off. She didn’t need their help, just some answers. Plus, she was starting to rue ever finding the damned Wi-Fi in this village. There was a lot to be said for living in the Dark Ages; blissful ignorance for one.

She asked Tom to pop over and buy a vanilla slice for herself and wondered about Face Timing Brett, but decided to do it when she didn’t have an audience.

Another incoming… a surprisingly quick reply from Tam and Tilda: