by Mandy Baggot
‘Eleven minutes! Right, well that gives me just enough time for a cigarillo. Bad habit I know, but when you’ve got to seventy-eight there’s really nothing left to be good for,’ Kathleen Dobbs said. She let out a cackle of naughtiness and shuffled off towards the exit.
‘Good old gal,’ Chris said, laughing as he put his glass to his mouth.
‘I’m just going to the ladies’,’ Emma said. She needed to get some air.
‘Are you alright, Em? If you’re still thinking about this morning then…’
‘No, it isn’t. I’m not. I’m fine, honestly. I just need the loo. I won’t be long,’ Emma said. She smiled in what she hoped was a comforting way.
She needed a minute. She had to get out of the room, the same room that Guy was in, and think about this. He was in her orbit for the first time in years. It was the absolutely worst thing that could ever have happened.
*
Guy had done a double take when he saw her. It couldn’t be. Emma Barron, the only woman he had truly loved, was here, at this moment, on this night. So many years had gone by, years in which he’d tried to turn his life around. Years of mourning something he would never get back. And here she was, looking not a day older than he remembered. Those eyes. Those chestnut-coloured eyes that had wept so many tears because of him and haunted his dreams since.
His heart was beating a rhythm he barely recognised. He wet his lips as he tried to gather his thoughts, still not believing that she was here
He had considered trying to find her many times but there was always something that stopped him. Pride was a factor. Then there was shame. What he’d done to her so soon after she’d lost her mother. What she thought he had done to her. Grief played a part too. He’d hidden away for almost six months after what had happened to Luc. And then, later, when the tears and heartache had subsided a little, he’d thrown himself into work. He’d trained hard and he had made himself into one of the most talented footballers in the world. But now it wasn’t just about the game. He was in demand for so much more. There were modelling assignments and clothes endorsements, television interviews and promotional events. But he wanted it that way. Keeping busy stopped him from thinking.
He was afraid. Afraid to find her, to reawaken sleeping feelings and let himself be taken back to the time they had shared. He’d tried to put her to the back of his mind, knowing that if he’d found her, if she let him back into her life, he wouldn’t want to ever leave it again.
And now here she was. Merde! He didn’t know where she was in her life. He didn’t know her situation. Perhaps she had moved on. Of course she had moved on. So had he… with Madeleine.
She was stood with a man tonight. A man who looked older than her. A man in a cheap suit. He did not want to believe she was involved with this man. Not when his own heart was telling him his moment had finally come.
*
Emma stepped out onto the decking and walked up to the wooden railings. There was the view of the lazy river Ally had told everyone about. The air was not the cooling balm that she had been hoping for. The warm humidity enveloped her.
Of all the people Ally could have got to open the fitness centre, why was it him? It was too weird to be a coincidence, wasn’t it? But Ally didn’t know. Ally didn’t have a clue. Why would she? A guy called Guy that had never been mentioned after Emma returned from France. Even if she had accidentally mentioned him, Ally couldn’t remember the names of her own boyfriends let alone any of Emma’s.
‘Emma?’
The sound of his voice sent a shockwave right through her. She couldn’t respond or turn around. She was rooted to the spot, scared into a statue. She closed her eyes and held her breath. Perhaps if she were lucky she would melt with the heat, dissolve into a pool of yellowness right before his eyes like the witch in The Wizard of Oz.
‘Emma? Is it you?’ the voice said again.
She was biting her teeth together so hard her jaw was aching. She couldn’t look into his face and see those eyes. She just couldn’t. No, she would just stand still and look like she was nonchalantly gazing at the view.
A hand lightly touched her arm and then he was next to her, looking at her. Guy Duval, right in front of her. His dark hair framed his face. His green eyes gazed at her. His body was so close to hers.
‘Emma,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He leaned forward and kissed her first on one cheek and then the other before she had a chance to move.
‘I… don’t know you,’ Emma said, her cheeks flaming.
Who was she trying to kid? This was ridiculous. Her heart was pumping like an engine and she felt sick. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know who he was. Time had gone by but… you didn’t erase people you’d been intimate with as easily as that. Especially someone you had planned a future with.
‘It is me, Emma. Guy, Guy Duval. I know I look a little different? The clothes maybe?’ Guy suggested, holding out one side of his beautifully tailored jacket.
She was trying to conjure up the contemptuous feelings she had for him all those years ago when he’d destroyed her. But all she could feel was excitement. She was thrilled that he was in front of her, looking more gorgeous than she had remembered. There was no more pretending to be done. He knew it was her. The game was up and it was time to deal with the reality of him being here.
‘We fell in love,’ Guy whispered.
As he said the words, every muscle in her being tightened. They were on a newly constructed deck, overlooking a fake river surrounded by local dignitaries quaffing Cristal, but she had been transported back to a French Riviera campsite and he was the eighteen-year-old heartthrob she’d stripped of his clothes. How could she pretend not to know him? Eight years wasn’t a long time, and when you’ve bared your soul to someone, you never forget. You cling on to every memory you’ve ever made with them.
‘Emma! Here you are! Ah, Guy, I see you’ve met my best friend, Emma,’ Ally said, appearing at Emma’s side and linking her arm through hers.
‘Well…’ Guy started, his eyes not leaving Emma’s.
‘Isn’t he fabulous? He was so patient with the crowds today. There wasn’t one person without a photo and an autograph,’ Ally continued.
Emma nodded, gritting her teeth and trying to look anywhere but Guy’s face. She could feel him looking at her. Those intense green eyes that reminded her of the deep, bottomless Mediterranean. The full lips so beautifully shaped as if they were just waiting to be kissed.
She fell off one of her shoes and grabbed Ally for support.
‘Sorry! Not the champagne, the shoes. I don’t wear high shoes very often,’ she said quickly, trying to smooth over her embarrassment.
‘Emma’s a teacher. Always been a bookworm and now she has a whole class of students to listen to her prattle on about Shakespeare and—’ Ally said.
‘Chaucer,’ Guy interrupted, his eyes locking with Emma’s.
‘Oh yes, I’d almost forgotten about him! What a total bore! In fact, his work was boredom… on skis,’ Ally finished.
Emma swallowed and started to find her fingernails intensely interesting.
From inside the function room a gong was struck and people began to meander back towards the building.
‘Right, I’d better get back in and help seat the less capable. You two are on table two,’ Ally said.
‘On the same table? Oh no, Chris and I are quite happy to sit somewhere at the back… not with the special guests,’ Emma said in a strangulated voice. She grabbed hold of Ally’s arm before she could leave.
‘Emma! You get to look at him all evening. What’s not to like?’ Ally asked. She looked at Guy and gave him a coy little wave.
Emma’s shoulders slumped as she watched Ally trot away to schmooze with local councillors and the MP.
‘You teach? That is amazing. It is just what you wanted to do,’ Guy said, sidling up by her.
‘Yes, it was. You remember?’ Emma asked, looking up at him.
‘Of
course. I remember everything.’
*
He took her hands in his and brought both of them to his mouth, touching his lips to her skin. As they made contact a spark crackled in the place his heart had vacated long ago.
Chapter Six
August 2005
It was Yazz and the Plastic Population playing, one of her favourites. Circa 1988 but still cool. And what was an Eighties disco without Yazz? Sometimes she and Ally had put white swimming caps over their heads and with a hairbrush microphone, their jeans well below their belly buttons, they’d belted out ‘The Only Way is Up’ until Ally’s mum banged on the ceiling with her Vileda super mop.
She was holding a copy of The Canterbury Tales in front of her face but she wasn’t reading it. She was watching the primal mating dance going on on the dance floor.
Tasha and Melody were the A-list girls of La Baume. They wore tiny white skirts, baggy vests that fell off their shoulders exposing brightly coloured bras, and wedged heels. They were from London and that sounded the height of cool to the local boys. Wiltshire never really attracted the same amount of attention until you let it drop you lived within spitting distance of Stonehenge. Then she was on a par with Tasha, Melody and London. Or would be if she had wedged heels and a red bra.
They were gyrating now and pulling their elbows into their bodies every time Yazz crooned the word ‘up’. And everyone was watching. The cute boy who hired out the clubs for crazy golf. The lifeguard with the tattoos who had winked at her again today. Several men over forty who should know better… and Guy. He seemed to be transfixed. His eyes were focused on the dance floor. His gaze on Tasha and her slim, tanned legs. On Melody and her ample bust.
‘Why don’t you go and dance, love? It’s one of the songs you like, isn’t it?’ Mike asked, putting down his guidebook and turning to her.
‘Not really. I mean it’s alright, but…’ Emma trailed off. There was no point explaining to her dad that dancing next to these two was akin to a Japanese kamikaze mission. She knew she’d be a laughing stock. When you were feeling fragile because your mother died, it didn’t do to line yourself up for ridicule.
‘I thought we’d go to Nice tomorrow. What do you think?’ Mike asked. He took a sip of his pint.
‘I thought you wanted to enter the darts competition?’ Emma replied, putting her book on the table.
‘Well, love, it’s your holiday too. And I know how hard you’ve been working. You don’t want to hang around the bar all day watching me lord it on the dartboard. I thought we could have a browse round the designer shops. We could have lunch there. In one of the posh places like you see on the telly,’ Mike suggested.
Nice would be nice. She knew her dad was on a tight budget but they’d hardly left the campsite since they arrived. It would be nice to explore a bit, discover parts of the real France, the scenery, the shops, the saucisson.
Emma nodded in enthusiasm and took a sip of Orangina as Yazz came to an end.
What was next on the playlist? Emma grabbed her book and put it up to her face as Roxette’s ‘It Must Have Been Love’ began to filter out of the speakers.
Slow music would clear the dance floor. She knew the drill. Tasha and Melody and the other cool girls would slink to the edge of the room and lean seductively against the wall. They would chew the ends of their hair and look disinterested. Then very slowly, one by one, they would pair off with their male counterparts.
She smelt him before she saw him. That mix of sandalwood and perspiration, a trace of lemon and freshly baked baguettes. For a second she let her eyes flick over the top of the book and there he was, standing in front of her.
‘Would you like to dance?’
He looked hopeful. He looked like he really wanted to dance, not like the desperate, can’t-really-be-arsed-but-I-might-get-to-grope-you kind of look she was used to from the boys at home. His hands were coupled together and he was twisting his forefingers.
‘No thank you. I mean… non, merci. I don’t really dance,’ Emma replied quickly.
‘Yes you do! She loves dancing! Go on, love, don’t you mind me. You go and dance,’ Mike urged.
Guy was looking at her. She felt like Tasha and Melody and the whole room were looking at her. She had no choice. She just wished she didn’t fancy him quite so much. She could tell what sort of guy he was, a love-them-and-leave-them type, and she didn’t want that. She wanted to be special, not one in a line of summer romances.
He stretched out a tanned hand to her and her dad nudged her in the ribs and snatched The Canterbury Tales out of her hands.
She took Guy’s hand and let him lead her to the dance floor. She almost heard Tasha’s chin hit the floor.
She felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing. The square, educated girl, inexperienced in all things cool. And Guy was her Johnny Castle. The hippest boy at the campsite, the one person every girl wanted to lock lips with.
He put both of his arms around her waist and she followed his lead. He was hot and his skin was damp and dewy, but it was his eyes she couldn’t stop looking at. They were mesmerising, hypnotic, soul-seeing.
There they were, dancing chest to chest in the middle of the floor, only three other couples on the peripheral. And Emma could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but the heat from him. And there was that look in his eyes.
He took one of her hands from behind his back, placed it on his chest and covered it with his own. He lowered his face towards hers and Emma’s breath caught in her throat.
‘Will you teach me the Chaucer?’ he whispered.
‘I don’t know, I…’ Emma replied, trying to ignore how pleasurable his breath was in her ear.
‘You say you are not sure you like him. I think you enjoy him and… I would like to know what it is you enjoy,’ Guy continued.
‘He talks funny,’ Emma said.
‘So do I,’ Guy answered, looking at her.
She could feel his heart beating under the thin cotton of his white short-sleeved shirt and she swallowed. She couldn’t take her eyes from him. The line of stubble on his top lip and along his jaw. His long straight nose, slightly too large for his face. The dark hair falling over his eyes. She swallowed and nodded her head.
‘You will teach me?’ he asked, his expression animated.
‘We can teach each other,’ Emma responded, a tentative edge to her voice.
‘You want to learn French?’ Guy inquired.
‘No,’ Emma answered, her brown eyes challenging him for a response.
‘It’s non,’ Guy whispered in reply.
Chapter Seven
Present Day
He was sat opposite her. He would get to look at her beauty for the entire meal. Now he had seen her again, he never wanted to take his eyes from hers. His hands were trembling, his whole body was aching. He felt how he used to feel when he thought that love and happy-ever-afters were possible. She knew a little about his past; she was the only woman who knew anything about that black time. She had been the light. She was the hope he’d clung on to until he’d had to leave it all behind. She had never given him a chance to explain. But then, he hadn’t really deserved one. Would he have told her the truth if she had given him the opportunity? And there she was with another man. A man he already disliked, just because he was seated next to her.
He clenched the anger down and reached for the jug of water.
*
She was opposite him. Opposite was OK, opposite meant not next to. Their knees wouldn’t accidentally brush and their elbows wouldn’t connect when they ate. The only downside was that she had to look at him all night.
Chris was next to her and, after his two pints, was halfway down a bottle of red wine. But that was nothing compared to the whole bottle of white Councillor Martin had necked before the starter had come out. There was no way he was going to be remotely interested in discussing extra provision for the school when he seemed hell bent on sampling all that Pinot Grigio had to offer.
‘So Guy, how
are you finding things here in England? Bit different from La France, I bet! The weather for one. I mean today’s been a scorcher but tomorrow it’ll probably piss down,’ Chris said, refilling his glass.
Emma cringed. Chris had no idea how to behave in different social situations. She used to be proud. Her boyfriend was who he was, no airs, no graces. He could be at an audience with the Queen and he’d probably ask her if she thought David Cameron was a fuckwit… and expect a reply. But now it wasn’t endearing. Now it was embarrassing.
‘I like the rain. It is fresh,’ Guy said.
Fresh rain. Yes, that conjured up plenty of images. None of them clean. His eyes kept locking with hers like they were a compass, always swinging back to find north. It was giving her heartburn, or perhaps that was down to the prawn cocktail.
‘I guess it’s still the novelty factor for you. When you’ve had years of back-to-back sun, drizzles and downpours must certainly be different. You’ll get sick of it though when it happens every bloody day,’ Chris continued, slurping at his wine and prodding at a cucumber wedge on his plate.
‘I like England. It has character,’ Guy replied, putting a hand to his hair and pushing it back from his face.
‘ How long are you here for, Guy? Signed up to a long and lucrative contract, I hope!’ Councillor Martin said. He wiped his sweaty brow with a napkin.
‘Two years for the moment. We will see.’
Two years! Two years playing for a team only eighty or so miles up the road. It was too close for too long. France may only be a tunnel trip away but it was still another country, another lifetime.
‘We should take Dominic to the football more, Em. He’d love it,’ Chris remarked.
‘Mmm,’ Emma replied, poking some prawn cocktail into her mouth as quick as she could.
‘Dominic?’ Guy asked, looking up from his meal. His tone showed slightly too much interest.
