Forgive Me Not Page 13

  ‘Hurry up, Ted,’ Emma yelled. ‘Get them to jump. Now!’

  ‘Children, don’t be afraid,’ shouted Rita. ‘This is a magic blanket. It’ll feel like the softest trampoline.’

  Sobs travelled through the air. Small, scared faces peered down. Footsteps came running. It was Polly and Alan. They grabbed the blanket too. First a little girl jumped, screaming as she fell. Polly hauled her off and took her away to comfort her. Then her brother landed. Alan took care of him. Sirens finally sounded, and in a flash, a fire engine and an ambulance appeared in the street. Emma wrung her hands as a ladder was raised. Everyone stared up at the window.

  Eventually Ted and his wife climbed to safety. He was wheezing badly. His wife saw him to the ambulance and then hunted out her grandchildren.

  The next couple of hours passed in a blur. Another ambulance turned up and everyone who’d gone into the shop was checked over. The crowds cleared. Eventually the flames were put out. Emma congratulated Rita on her initiative. She hugged the children and promised them they could visit the farm to feed the pigs in a couple of days. Villagers appeared carrying trays of steaming coffee and sandwiches and handed them out to everyone. The teashop’s owner offered Stig a free lunch the next day, and the hairdresser told Rita to call in for a wash and blow dry.

  Ted came over, shaking his head. ‘You could have been killed,’ he said in between coughs. ‘You don’t know us. Why would you help?’

  Stig wiped his eyes. Black streaks still covered his face. He looked years younger without his bobble hat, which hid a thick mop of chestnut hair. ‘Strangers have helped me often enough on the streets. Saved me from a beating. Given me food.’

  ‘You’re a hero – and your friends,’ said Ted’s wife in an unsteady voice, eyes red, hair dishevelled. ‘I’m not sure I’d have been that brave for people I didn’t know, let alone people who’d been trying to drive me out of town.’

  ‘Maybe I am. Maybe not,’ said Stig. He shrugged. ‘I’ve got my physical life to lose, yes, but no wife, no kids, no career…’

  Ted’s eyes glistened. He held out his hand. Tentatively Stig shook it. The cheesemonger then went round to every single person who’d helped and did the same before clambering back into one of the ambulances. To be on the safe side, the paramedics wanted the children checked over at the hospital.

  Phil came across, talking to the Duchess. He handed the lead to Stig and dropped his bags at his feet. Stig got to his knees and spoke gently to his dog, stroking her head and ruffling her ears.

  ‘You’d better come back to the pet shop for a shower,’ said Emma, and looked at Phil. He nodded.

  Stig stood up and wiped his nose on his arm. ‘Nah, I’m okay. The wash basin at the train station will do. I’ll head up there now. Fill Tilly in on all the gossip. Are we still invited over to the farm tomorrow night?’

  ‘Of course.’ She gave him a hug.

  A paramedic from the second ambulance came over. ‘Look, mate – Stig, is it? – can’t I change your mind? We’re getting off now. You really need that burn dressed properly at the hospital. Otherwise it won’t heal properly.’

  ‘Thanks, but no. I’ll just give it a wash. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’ Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘It could get infected.’

  His mouth set in a firm line and he looked down at the Duchess.

  ‘Leave her with me until you get back,’ said Phil gruffly. ‘And your belongings if you like. You can pick them up first thing. The Duchess will be fine – I’ll make sure of that.’

  ‘Hop into the ambulance then, mate,’ said the paramedic.

  Stig hesitated. Then he knelt down again and promised the dog he’d be back. ‘Cheers, Phil,’ he said. ‘But watch out. She turns nasty during a full moon.’

  Phil noticed Stig’s expression and mirrored his smile.

  As Stig accompanied the paramedic back to his luminous vehicle and clambered in, Phil caught Emma’s eye. She was staring at him. ‘What?’ he said.

  On the spur of the moment, she hugged him too.

  9–7 months before going back

  ‘Hands up all of you who blame someone or something else for your addiction,’ said Tess.

  Emma’s hand shot up along with everyone else’s. It was late September. The first day of rehab in Sheffield. No sooner had she been shown to her room than she was called down to join an initial getting-to-know-you session. She sat in a bare white room, not dissimilar to the one where she’d done the Listening EAR sessions back at Stanley House.

  No prodding was required for people to reveal exactly who they accused – their boss, their lover, a neighbour, work, society’s expectations, friends, that teacher in Year 10… Since stopping drinking, Emma had been having doubts about whether Mum, Andrea and Bligh were to blame, but her father was still in the frame. Andrea’s dad had died when her sister was three, but Emma’s had run off. She’d never felt good enough because he chose to leave; never felt as if she fitted. So surely her problems were his fault?

  Tentatively she smiled at the woman next to her, Rachel, who was also from Manchester, dressed in leggings and a baggy denim shirt. Rachel winked back, and discreetly offered a boiled sweet before slipping one into her own mouth. She was chatty, and before the session started had already found out where Emma grew up and introduced her to everyone else.

  Tess said, ‘The truth is, there’s only one answer and it applies to you all.’

  Emma sat upright on the hard chair.

  ‘There is only one person or thing to blame – yourself.’

  Rachel swore. Everyone else sat wide-eyed in silence.

  ‘Thousands of people around the world have your challenges but they don’t use because of them.’ Tess explained how other people dealt with their feelings. Perhaps they talked them out. Meditated. Went swimming. Read a good book. Whereas everyone in that room used substances to change the way they felt and to escape.

  An uncomfortable sensation washed over Emma as rain pitter-pattered against the windows. She thought about Mum. What she’d been through, widowed then abandoned. She hardly ever complained. And then there was Bligh, whose mother had run off and who’d then had to suffer the worry over his dad… the way he’d coped was to carry on being hard-working and reliable.

  Whereas Emma…

  Rachel took a while longer to grasp what Tess had said. It came out that she used to drink to try and fit in, and unreservedly blamed her mum for what made her stand out – the ginger hair the other children would laugh at, the unhealthy food that made her pile on weight. The next evening, over dinner, she and Emma swapped stories from their school days. Emma realised how lucky she’d been, with the farm, the support of Andrea and Bligh, and her mum’s home-cooked meals.

  ‘I grew up in a tower block,’ said Rachel, putting down her knife and fork. ‘We lived off takeaways and frozen food. Mum often left me on my own overnight to work her second job in a care home.’

  ‘That must have been frightening,’ said Emma.

  ‘I never felt alone thanks to the noise from our neighbours. Their arguments and slammed doors were kind of comforting. Most nights I watched box sets. I could win Mastermind if my specialist subject was The Vampire Diaries.’ Rachel shrugged. ‘The ironic thing is, my dad would have stayed around and helped. But Mum knew he didn’t love her. She got pregnant after a one-night stand. Apparently he offered to do the decent thing – even bought a cheap engagement ring from the market. They were just kids. But Mum’s a proud woman. She told him to do one and never let her parents find out who the dad was.’

  ‘My dad couldn’t get away quick enough. Have you ever thought about tracking yours down?’

  ‘Yeah, but Mum… she’s never even told me his surname. She’s as tough as anything, you know – how she sticks up for herself with the housing people and at work – but if I mention my dad, this look comes over her face like… like a kid who’s been blocked on social media by their mates. My gran talked to me about it once, a
couple of weeks before she died – said Mum got called a slag at school when she showed and had to leave. Gran said mentioning the pregnancy just brought back too many painful memories and I should leave the subject alone.’ Rachel shrugged. ‘But what about me? It’s painful knowing nothing about my dad.’ She looked at her watch and groaned. ‘I can’t be doing with this bed at ten o’clock malarkey. They’re having a laugh. It’s like freshers’ week in reverse.’

  ‘You went to university? I didn’t get the grades.’

  ‘Yeah. Mum was ever so proud, bragged to all her friends, yet told me I was an embarrassment when I just scraped a third in the final year, due to my partying. She seemed more bothered about what her mates thought than my health.’

  ‘Does she know you’re here?’

  Rachel drank some water and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I haven’t rung her for over a year. I could be dead for all she cares.’

  ‘Scary, isn’t it? Doing the Twelve Steps. Just number one seems hard.’

  ‘I already love Tess – but don’t tell her that,’ said Rachel, and dimples popped into her full cheeks. ‘She’s bossy. Calls us out for our behaviours. Tells it like it is. I need that. She’s the first person whose opinion I’ve taken notice of for a long time.’

  Rachel had made the mistake of saying she just wanted a normal life.

  ‘You can scrub that word for starters,’ Tess had said. ‘It doesn’t exist. Whereas ordinary – there’s nothing wrong with that, and it’s the opposite of what addiction makes you desire.’

  She was right. A few drinks inside Emma and she thought she was the big I am. She wanted status, and if she couldn’t be the village vet, she’d been determined to find it another way. But perhaps the simple things really were more important. These days she relished a pretty autumn leaf, a refreshing cup of tea – or making new friends like Rachel.

  There was nothing wrong with being ordinary. Emma was just beginning to realise that.

  ‘There’s so much truth in everything she says. I mean, Step One is all about accepting you have no control over drink. It’s funny how I never saw this in the past.’ She shook her head.

  ‘Did you ever try to stop?’ asked Rachel, and patted her generous stomach. ‘For me, it’s the same with food. No willpower. I’ve tried replacement meals, starving…’

  ‘Yeah, I tried alternating soft drinks with shots, having spritzers or mocktails. I tried buying mini bottles of wine instead of normal-sized ones, and only drinking after seven p.m. or at weekends.’

  ‘Me too. I was so desperate towards the end. I remember one night I woke up frantic. There was nothing in the house and the shop near me was shut, so I drank mouthwash.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘Honestly, all the detours I’d make before and after work, trying to find a different supermarket or wine merchant. I was so embarrassed going into my usual stores, convinced the cashiers knew I had a problem. In fact I’d often buy a birthday card at the same time so they thought the wine was for someone else. Wasn’t it creepy what Tess said? So obvious.’

  Emma raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You know…’ Rachel cleared her throat. ‘If you have to try so hard to control something, really it is controlling you.’

  Emma nodded. She liked Rachel, with her caring ways once you cut through the banter. She’d been the first to grab the tissue box today in the group, to hand to a man who’d started crying. Rachel admitted that she talked so much to cover her nervousness. In spite of the illness that had drawn them together, she managed to laugh at life – and laugh at herself.

  With just one hour to go before bed, Emma suggested they look through their work booklets once more before the next day. This had become something of an evening routine. They’d take it in turns to meet in each other’s bedroom. Rachel always had a stash of biscuits and Emma soft drinks.

  On one such evening several weeks later, in November, Emma heard the expected knock at her door. A smiling Rachel came in. Her clothes hung more loosely and her mottled complexion had cleared. Today they’d been working Step Four.

  ‘Which is utter hell!’ Rachel had declared.

  It dealt with character defects in depth.

  ‘Resentments is the big one, folks,’ Tess had said that morning. ‘Addicts replay and replay them in their minds, obsessing, until they take over. To get well, you need to admit your own role in the situation and wipe the slate clean. Let’s think of some small examples to start with. We’ve just had Bonfire Night – does that remind you of anything relevant?’

  Emma’s memory involved Joe. They’d shoplifted some sparklers and written each other’s names in the night air. She’d drawn a love heart. He’d got sulky. Consequently Emma felt a huge resentment.

  ‘It was because of my… my low self-esteem,’ she admitted to everyone now. ‘And maybe a little pride. And fear – the fear of being alone. I couldn’t accept that he didn’t feel the same way about me.’

  Low self-esteem. Pride. Fear. Thoughtlessness. Selfishness. The list went on. Emma was seeing herself with fresh eyes. It made for uncomfortable viewing.

  ‘Hellooo. Anyone in?’ said Rachel, and playfully tapped Emma’s head.

  Emma grinned. ‘Sorry.’

  Rachel headed to the bed and sat on it cross-legged. Emma joined her. They both opened their booklets.

  ‘These inventories we have to draw up – of everyone we’ve ever resented in our whole life. It’s not easy.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘I know. For me, it’s everything from friends and family who told me to stop drinking to complete strangers who’ve made nasty comments about my weight.’

  ‘I can’t believe the rubbish I’ve held onto for so many years. Villagers in Healdbury who—’

  ‘Healdbury? So that’s where Foxglove Farm is? Nice place.’ Rachel shuffled into a more comfortable position and offered Emma one of the granola cookies from her bag. She was choosing healthier options these days and had stopped buying fizzy drinks.

  ‘You’ve been there?’

  ‘About a year ago. The village worked as the halfway point for meeting a new client. Most customers were happy to discuss web design over the phone, but some liked to meet up to show me material that would help me understand the whole concept. This client was a self-employed potter and brought in a range of his kitchenware. I thought a pub would be nicer than motorway services.’ Rachel smiled. ‘I always remember places by their food. This pub did amazing fish and chips.’

  ‘So it had nothing to do with being able to drink?’

  Gently Rachel pushed Emma’s shoulder.

  ‘Do you miss your job?’

  ‘No. It paid well – that’s why I did it, and the only reason I took computer studies at university – but now…’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘I’m thinking about doing that training course Tess mentioned, at the end of treatment. I want a job that does more for me than just line my pockets, and helping people through the Twelve-Step Programme should do it.’

  ‘Rachel, that’s brilliant! This time next year you could be working alongside her.’

  ‘Maybe – and without the temptation of boozy lunches. Sitting down most of the day didn’t help my eating either. It’ll be a complete change of lifestyle but I finally feel as if I’m discovering the real me. I always thought it was that chunky little girl who sat in watching telly every night, stuffing her face, but looking back, that person was just a result of circumstance.’

  ‘Which pub did you visit in Healdbury?’

  ‘Now what was it called…? The Badger Inn.’

  ‘You’ve got a good memory.’

  ‘Not usually, but it’s a difficult place to forget – great food aside.’

  ‘Why? All those badger ornaments?’ Emma wiped crumbs from her lips.

  ‘No. Because of the landlords… what were they called? Polly and…’

  ‘Alan.’ Emma stopped chewing for a moment. ‘I lost count of the times they barred me. That’s one couple I know for sure won’t be pleased to see me return to He
aldbury.’ Heat flooded her face as she recalled the week before that last Christmas. Out of all the embarrassing things she’d done in the pub, this was the worst. She’d stolen the charity box from the bar. It was for a local cause – Emma didn’t know what, and at the time she didn’t care. She must have taken it in blackout, because she didn’t realise until she found it hidden, days later. It was extremely heavy, so most of the regulars must have chipped in. Polly and Alan always said that a sense of community was everything, and would never forgive her for stealing from the village.

  ‘It’s so sad about their son,’ Rachel said.

  ‘What, Ned? He must be nearly eighteen now. What’s happened? Is he okay?’

  ‘No… no, he isn’t, Emma. I’m sorry… He died in an accident.’

  ‘What, Ned? Surely not.’ Emma shook her head. ‘That’s so terrible. He was a kind lad. He saw me crying in the street once and offered me a stick of chewing gum. I can’t believe it. Are you sure? He was so young.’

  Rachel rubbed Emma’s arm. ‘I’m afraid he got knocked off his bike doing his paper round. It was a hit-and-run.’

  Emma put her half-eaten biscuit on the bedside table. ‘Poor Ned. Poor Polly and Alan. They had fertility treatment to have him, you know. He was their only child.’ She shook her head again. ‘It just doesn’t seem possible. They were always so proud of him.’

  ‘I know, it’s just so tragic, and to make matters worse, it happened early one Christmas Eve.’

  Emma’s body gave an involuntary shudder, and coldness crept across her back like a winter chill, settling into her chest.

  No. That was a stupid thought. She’d been drunk, the roads were icy and she’d been using her phone at the wheel that last day she drove back to Healdbury after leaving the hotel in Manchester, so she hadn’t actually seen the animal she’d hit, but if it had been a boy on a bike, she’d have definitely known. No question. People didn’t kill other people without having some idea.

  ‘Which Christmas Eve was that?’ she asked weakly.