‘I can meet him tomorrow, if I shuffle some appointments around.’
‘Won’t that look unprofessional? Go. It’s fine.’
‘Sure?’ He spoke to his client then put his phone back into his pocket. ‘Not exactly the way I’d been planning to celebrate our engagement. I’m sorry, babe. It’ll be a late one; you know what he’s like. Branding, bonding and, of course, lots of beer. I could come round after… no. No, second thoughts I probably shouldn’t. I don’t know what state I’ll be in.’
‘Look, it’s not a problem. But you’re right, it’s probably best if you stay at yours. I have an early start tomorrow.’ There was a brief flutter of relief in her chest coupled with a strange feeling in the pit of Emily’s stomach. The sand of her life was shifting. Space to think things through was probably a good call.
He had a sheepish grin as he squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted tonight to be special.’
‘It is. This…’ she looked down at the glittering ring. ‘This is very special. Go! Go out and drink beer.’ She blew him a kiss then finished the rest of her wine. ‘See you tomorrow. Hope your head won’t be too sore.’
‘Love you,’ he called as he strode towards the door. The words were a balm to her heart.
How did love feel?
Did it feel like a nice warm glow, a comfortable pair of slippers, that post-bubbles bliss?
Was it lazy, Sunday-morning sex? Because they were very good at that. Very good indeed.
Was it the ease with which she let him go, knowing he’d be back tomorrow?
She finished the rest of her glass, picked up her bag and promised herself not to analyse anything too deeply.
Of course she loved him; how could she not?
***
Feeling a bit tipsy and ever-so-slightly anti-climactic, Emily made her way to the subway, texting Frankie before she went down the steps and out of cell phone range: Apricot it is. Frou-frou obligatory. Sorry, not sorry!!!
Then she ran down into the dry thick air and jumped on a train almost immediately, finding a seat. Miracle! And finally let out a long, slow breath.
What a day.
What a very strange week indeed; it was as if a zillion stars were all colliding to make things happen for her. After such a bumpy start to her life things were finally settling. She was settling down.
Well, wow. That was not what she’d been expecting when she woke up this morning.
The ride home took no time and she emerged from the subway blinking into the last throes of daylight. Some sort of rap music came from one of the basements giving a sultry buzz to her commute, then the mellow pitch of a saxophone running up and down scales came from across the street, mingling with laughter from children in the play park. In the weak spring sunshine people were starting to shed layers and with them the heavy weight of a long winter.
Fifty yards from her apartment her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her bag, grinning. Frankie no doubt, with a clever come back.
Withheld number. Oh. Not Frankie. ‘Hello?’
‘Emily? Is that you? Is that Emily Forrester?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
Clipped English vowels worried their way into Emily’s tummy. ‘It’s Tamara.’
Well, today was just full of surprises. The giddy, champagne-fuelled, bride-to-be buzz fizzled out. Because, like the dreaded phone call in the middle of the night, any rare call from her stepsister usually meant bad news. Emily’s poor heart, which had already taken quite a battering today, bumped a little. ‘Oh, hi, Tam, what’s up? Is everything all right?’
‘Not really, I’m afraid, Emily.’
‘Oh. Why? What’s happened?’ Watching the last dying rays of sunshine dip behind trees, she tried and failed to control the tightening sensation in her stomach. She’d reached her apartment now, nodded to Freddie, the doorman, and started the climb to her first-floor apartment. Her words echoed off the plaster walls as she tried to walk and talk and breathe. ‘What’s happened?’
‘This call is expensive, so I’m going to just cut to the chase here. You need to come home.’
‘What? Why?’ Home? She hadn’t called it that for a very long time, and even when she’d lived there it hadn’t felt much like a home should.
There was that long-distance static delay and echo that made it sound as if Tam was considering everything very deeply and then speaking down a hollow pipe. ‘It’s Daddy.’
‘The Judge? What’s wrong?’ Em’s heart jittered. She couldn’t walk and talk and now fret, too, so she sat down on the concrete step outside her front door and leaned back against the cool grey wall, her body refamiliarising itself with all the strange emotions she had whenever she spoke to one of her extended family; frustration, anger, sadness…
‘He’s sick, Emily. We need you. Here.’
‘Umm…’ Go back to England? After all these years? After what happened?
As always, when thinking about The Judge she felt ripped in two. How many times had she tried to please him? How hard had she worked for a glimmer of a smile her way? When she’d needed a dad he’d been so busy being one to his other girls that he’d had nothing left when he looked at her. And yet, even now, after all these years, she felt the same hopeless need to please him. Yet she knew it was pointless, because when he’d married her mother he’d just wanted a wife, not another daughter, too.
She didn’t want to say the words, is he dying? ‘How bad?’
There was that weird pause where she could hear her own words echoed back to her. A crackle. ‘Bad enough that we’ve sat down and discussed it and decided to call you.’ More pause. Static that screeched like the white noise in her head at the thought of going back, at the thought of a zillion stars all converging right now, today, for this. ‘Can you hear me, Emily? Are you still there? Emily…? You have to come back to Little Duxbury.’
Tam’s voice started to rise a little hysterically. ‘Daddy’s… well… how to put it? He’s gone downhill over the last few months.’
Emily had never called him Daddy. Mainly because he wasn’t hers, no matter how many times her mum had told her to ‘call him Dad, Emily Jane. He’d like that.’ She’d had a perfectly good father, who just happened to have died – and she certainly hadn’t been in the market to replace him any time soon. Or at all, really. She’d just wanted his car accident to have been a huge mistake and for him to come back to her. She’d missed him so much. Still did.
And, sad fact of the matter was, The Judge hadn’t seemed to care about anything Emily thought or needed anyway. And yet, even so, there was a clutch in her chest. He was the only parent, no matter how spurious the connection, that she had left. She hadn’t seen him for years, but the thought of him being gone filled her with surprising dread. ‘So, how bad?’
‘Up and down, to be honest. He has good days and… not so good days.’
Her heart was thumping now. ‘Is he dying? Oh, Tam… is he dying?’
Her stepsister tutted. ‘You always were overly dramatic, Emily Jane. No, he’s not dying. He’s chronically ill.’
‘Oh, good, thank goodness…’ Then she realised that must sound pretty shallow. ‘Not for the chronic illness, obviously, but for the fact he’s not at death’s door.’ And great, now she was babbling again – funny, her stepsisters had always