Louisa George – The Secret Art of Forgiveness: A feel good romance about coming home and moving on (страница 5)

‘Is she still in Paris? You’re going to Paris to be with her, then? Both of you?’

‘Yes.’ There was a heavy sigh and Em felt it all the way across the Atlantic. ‘We did have a carer booked for him, but she’s fallen and broken her leg and so now we’re stuck. And don’t ask if one of us can stay in Little Duxbury, because we just can’t, okay? Tilda really needs to get away and it looks as if I’m going to have to look after everyone. As usual.’

Emily had clearly missed an awful lot of their lives. She felt a little pang in her chest. ‘I’m sure you’ll do a sterling job. What’s wrong with Tilda?’

‘Nothing that a few days away won’t fix, I’m sure. She just needs some time out from that useless husband of hers. So, as you can see, we have no one else to ask. We need you to come back and do your bit.’ There was another pause. Then a very quiet, and somewhat difficult, ‘Please’.

Emily knew what that single word would have cost Tamara. They’d never wanted her before. They’d definitely never begged her to come home. ‘I don’t know, Tam. It’s been such a long time, I doubt he’d want me there, honestly. Is it high blood pressure? Because, I might even make it worse. You know how it is between us.’

‘Now, now, we need to put all that water under the bridge. We need to pull together.’

She was right, of course; it would be selfish to think otherwise, but a large part of Emily – admittedly, the cowardly part – really didn’t want to go back and confront their past. Not at all. It wasn’t just about how she’d left things with The Judge either… it was pretty much the whole village. She’d probably succeeded in offending all of them at some point, in one way or another. Troubled, her head teacher had labelled her in yet another parent-teacher interview. Disruptive, manipulative…

And yes, she’d been all those things, but mostly she’d just been a sad little girl who missed her parents and their hugs so badly it physically hurt. Moving to New York and reinventing herself had meant she could leave all that hurt behind. But no matter what she did, it was still there in her memories of Little Duxbury and, no doubt, in its memories of her.

But maybe it was being around Brett and his lovely supportive family that made her yearn for something like he had, or maybe it really was just time to try to make things better between them all. She found herself saying, ‘Yes, yes, you’re right, we do need to move on.’

Which would be a whole lot easier said than done.

Tam sighed. ‘Good. Well, I should tell you, he’s changed a lot… not been himself for a while.’

‘So, why didn’t you tell me before now?’

‘It’s been insidious, a bit of memory loss here, an easily explained confusion there. A tendency to repeat himself. Christ, don’t we all? But now we can’t ignore that he’s actually got a real problem. He’s fine physically, you know, he can manage his… self-care – that’s what they call it – if you remind him. But he can’t cook or… anything much.’ Another pause. Then, ‘So you’ll come?’

‘I don’t know…’ But as she said the words, guilt rolled through Emily’s stomach. Even though he’d done as little of his duty towards her as he could, he’d at least not seen her be homeless.

‘When do you leave for Paris?’ She began to mentally pack things for a cooler climate.

‘Sunday.’

‘Sunday? This Sunday? That’s madness. It’s what? Four days away? I can’t just –’

‘You can just, Emily. One week, that’s all we’re asking. One week to help us out. You’ve been doing exactly as you please your whole life.’

Because she’d had no one else.

‘Well, I have a few things I need to sort out. We’re in the middle of some important campaigns…’ It all sounded like feeble excuses, because what kind of person put work before a sick relative? But even so… there were things she needed to put in place before she upped sticks and left the country.

Work, and Brett.

Brett. Her skin prickled at the thought of him kneeling in the restaurant.

His proposal had, for a few minutes, been pushed out of her head by more pressing things. But now, coupled with this call, she felt as if everything she knew was tilting off balance.

The weekend at his parents’ would have to be put on hold. She looked down at the ring, the symbol of their promise, and that little frisson of panic still bubbled away in the bottom of her gut.

Tam interrupted her thoughts. ‘Sunday, then. That’s sorted. Email me your arrival details.’

‘But –’ The line was suddenly as dead as she had believed her family relationships to be.

‘Shit.’

Despite Emily’s bad feeling about this she was already working through the logistics. Even she couldn’t imagine The Judge being ill and left to cope on his own in that rambling mansion.

She threw her phone into her bag and pinched the top of her nose. Took a deep breath and blew it out. Her eyes were on the brink of leaking, but she would not cry about this. It was shock, that was all. A shock about The Judge, and a shock about the proposal.

Emily never cried. Living with The Judge she’d learnt pretty swiftly that crying never achieved anything; it certainly didn’t harness sympathy and was a pretty useless thing to do.

But in a few short hours her life had taken a detour into Crazyville.

She’d said yes. Brett was a good guy, a great guy in fact. Most women would jump at the chance of spending the rest of their lives with him.

Even so, underneath the excitement of what the future held for her, that little panic bubble would not go away. Was it a bad sign that she hadn’t jumped in and told her stepsister about her engagement? That it hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind? That even now there was a small part of her that wanted to keep it to herself until she’d worked things out in her head?

Worked out what exactly?

She didn’t really know. There was just a little niggle that wouldn’t go away.

So maybe, just maybe, some time away from New York would be a good thing. She could fix things with The Judge, and get things back into perspective.

Just maybe going back to Little Duxbury would be a good thing for all concerned.

***

It turned out that fog could do real damage to an airline’s schedule, so Emily was running late… very late indeed.

After landing at Heathrow she tried Tam’s phone but there was just a voice message and a whole lot more static.

Stuart, Tilda’s husband, was no help, either, with his gruff, ‘They left at five.’

‘What? What do you mean? They’ve left already?’ Emily was trying to make herself heard over the tannoy of one of London’s busiest train stations. Although her loud voice was probably more panic-fuelled than forced.

‘They said they couldn’t wait any longer or they’d miss their plane. You’re her sister, right? The runaway one?’

Em sighed. ‘Really? That’s all you know about me?’

‘Well, a few other things, too –’

‘Best not to go there; trust me on this,’ she cut him off, laughing.

She guessed that was what happened when you opted out of family engagements and moved far away; people talked and history was rewritten in whatever form they wanted. It was reinforced by those recounting it and loaded with emotions that instead of lessening, seemed to deepen and grow. Plus, she had crept out of Duxbury Hall in the middle of the night without leaving a note, so what did she expect?

‘But yes, that’s me. Not quite the tearaway I once was, to be honest, so I hope I don’t disappoint anyone. I did hope Tam and Tilda would be able to give me some kind of handover… The Judge’s routine, his medications, that kind of thing.’

‘Sorry, I don’t know anything.’

Me neither.

Work on the positives. ‘Okay, well… how hard can it be, right? Maybe they left me a note. The good news is, I’m at Paddington station. My train’s arriving at Little Duxbury at eight-fifty-nine. Oh, and I’m going to need some help getting to the house with my suitcase.’

‘This house? Oh, no, you can’t… you can’t stay here.’ She could actually feel his anxiety reaching down the phone.

‘Oh, no, don’t worry, really, I’m going straight to The Judge’s. I’ll just need a…’ The station display flashed up the designated platform for her train. ‘Okay, it’s here, I’ve got to run. I’ll Uber when I get there.’

There was a pause, through which she could have sworn she heard the cogs in his brain turning. ‘Er… Uber?’

Now alarm bells were ringing so loudly she had to take notice. There was no welcoming committee. No one to hand over any details. She’d have to get to know The Judge all on her own. No buffer. Just a straight-out family reunion with the man who hadn’t ever wanted her in his family in the first place.

Plus, no Uber? Little Duxbury had obviously not moved out of the eighteen-hundreds. ‘It’s a… Look, never mind. I’ll just get a cab.’ Probably attached to a horse, but she’d take whatever the sleepy village threw at her.

Except…

There was radio silence when she got off the train. The only passenger to do so. Clearly, she was the only person in the entire world wild enough to be going to Little Duxbury on a Sunday night.

She sensed that any minute there’d be tumbleweed blowing down the dark main street, but even the tumbleweed had grown bored of the place and hotfooted out. Sitting on her case she raised her arm in various directions trying to get some reception for her cell phone, but the blobs on the screen weren’t reassuring. No service. Just brilliant.