The Secret Art of Forgiveness by Louisa George Page B

married and ended up with a marquee in the garden because nowhere was available.’
    â€˜That sounds lovely, though.’
    Greta sighed as if reliving it all over again. ‘It was. Perfect.’
    As was Brett.
    But hand wringing didn’t sit well with wedding excitement. And here was the thing; something was holding Emily back from throwing herself into the whole wedding bubble and sighing happily about it all. Something… a feeling. She couldn’t put her finger on what exactly it was, though.
    But she’d said yes and it was what she wanted. It was definitely what he wanted.
    Although… She barely dared admit it, but she remembered the panic that had sat in the pit of her stomach all through the proposal and afterwards. And it was still there. Was it Brett? Was it marriage per se? Was it the thought of committing herself? Giving up a part of herself to someone else?
    Aaaargh! Was this what they called pre-wedding nerves? Clearly Greta had no regrets about being married to Sean, but had she ever felt like this?
    It wasn’t exactly a question she could ask someone she’d only just connected with after a very long break. ‘Okay, well, I have to catch up on some work.’
    A whoosh of cool air and the ding of the doorbell heralded a new customer while Greta was still chatting, ‘Oh, yes. Sorry, here’s me gabbling on when you’re supposed to be working. Me too, actually. Don’t let me keep y…’ Her face turned crimson. ‘Hello, er… Sally.’
    â€˜Hey, Greta! You’ll never guess who’s just asked if I’m going to be at the committee meeting next week – Oh… Surely not…?’ The happy voice turned sour. ‘Emily Forrester? What in hell’s name? Since when…?’
    Ice snaked down Emily’s back. The laughter died in her throat as she caught the eye of the woman who’d just walked in.
    Sally Rigby.
    Her one-time nemesis and the catalyst for her leaving Little Duxbury in the first place.

Chapter Five
    Dressed sleekly in a floaty, blush-pink silk top, skinny jeans and a sultry frown, Sally stopped short, took a swift breath, then walked up to the counter, which Greta had somehow managed to scoot behind, her face now as red as the ketchup bottles on each table.
    If Emily had thought she could keep a low profile in this village she’d been sorely mistaken. Through a very dry throat she choked out, ‘Hello, Sally.’
    â€˜Hello? Hello? ’ Sally’s cool green eyes looked Emily up and down. It was a long, hard scrutiny of how she’d measured up after twelve years. Em didn’t think she’d passed the test.
    There was an intense ache in her chest. She wanted to throw her arms around her oldest friend and give her a hug. To tell her she looked nice and ask what she’d been doing for the last decade. To laugh with her about the gossip, to laugh it off, too. To reminisce about the mischief they’d got up to. To hear what she knew about The Judge and his deterioration, and to see if she had any answers.
    Sally had had a lot of answers years ago and a great way of disparaging the ugly side of life.
    This woman was the one person in the whole village who had been her true friend and Emily had betrayed that trust. At least that was what everyone had believed at the time, when Emily had not known how to address the accusations or who to turn to. What could she do now, but clear the air? It was well overdue.
    â€˜How are you?’ Her heart was hammering as she tried to find the right words, but for once her slick, well-honed professional pitch voice was lost to her.
    â€˜Not that it’s any business of yours, but I’m fabulous.’ Clearly intending the ultimate snub, Sally turned back to Greta. ‘I’ll come back later. When it’s not so… crowded.’
    Emily’s cheeks were burning. Geez, she’d left all this behind, swearing not to give it, or