That First French Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  Her dad had missed the whole event. His mobile phone had rung when the large woman staying three caravans along from them had been beckoned to the stage. He’d gone out to the lobby. Emma knew it was Marilyn. Who else would be calling him when he was on holiday? How could he think it was OK to be involved with another woman now? How involved with her had he been when her mother was still alive? She took a sip of her Orangina and picked up her book. It was Dracula by Bram Stoker. Another cheery read. At least this book wasn’t written in old English.

  ‘Vampires?’

  Emma looked up and smiled, seeing Guy stood at her table. He was dressed up. He wore black trousers and a pale pink shirt that highlighted the darkness of his hair.

  ‘Is that the same word in French? Vampire?’

  ‘Oui,’ he replied, sitting down.

  ‘You can’t stay here. My dad’s here. He’s gone to make a phone call and…’ Emma started. She didn’t want her dad seeing Guy. Although Mike had seen them dancing together the night they first kissed, she didn’t want him to know she was involved with a boy. He would make a stupid comment about it. He would probably think, if she had a boyfriend, that it was OK for him to be moving on. It wasn’t OK. And Guy was hers. She didn’t want to share the knowledge of him with anyone.

  ‘Will you have dinner with me?’ he asked her, leaning forward across the table.

  ‘Dinner? Tomorrow? Like another picnic?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Non. Tonight. Dinner. I know a place,’ he whispered.

  Her heart soared. A proper dinner. At a restaurant. Not barbequed sausages, lukewarm beans and a bread roll like her dad had been serving up all week. Her lips were moistening just thinking about it.

  ‘You can come?’ Guy asked her.

  ‘I… I don’t know. I want to, but…’ She looked out into the lobby and watched Mike on the phone. He was smiling. A wide grin crossed his mouth and then he let out a laugh that creased his entire face. He looked nothing short of joyful. It was wrong.

  ‘At nine? Meet me at the back entrée,’ Guy told her.

  She looked up at him. His hair fell over his eyes and he smiled.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she answered.

  Looking to check no one could see, he moved his hand across the table and touched her fingers with his. A spark of electricity left her stunned and sent a current running through her. It reached places that she hadn’t known she could feel, inactive until now.

  ‘À bientôt.’ He left, made his way across the dance floor to the bar area.

  A warm glow was filling her up, rising through her body as she watched him. And then it froze. She saw Tasha and Melody approach him. Tasha touched his arm. Her long, false-looking nails – painted red – were lying on his skin.

  Emma swallowed, tried to get rid of the angry feeling that had invaded. It was spoiling the glow, putting out the fire. Tasha laughed. She threw her head back so her wavy blonde hair bounced about and took a step closer to Guy.

  Emma dug her fingers into the tabletop. She hated those girls. They were so confident and uncaring and Tasha was touching her boyfriend. Well, they had had three dates, that made it official in her world. What else could she call him if not a boyfriend?

  ‘Alright, love? Oh what’s this? A magician? Smashing,’ Mike said, settling back down in his seat.

  She didn’t reply. She was too busy watching Tasha’s every move. She was still holding Guy and now her fingers were moving up and down his arm as they spoke. What were they saying? He’d told her he hated the girls. He thought they were superficial and pathetic. So why was he talking to them?

  ‘Do you want another drink?’ Mike asked.

  Why was he letting Tasha hold his arm? Why wasn’t he brushing her off? She wished she could stop looking but she was transfixed. Like someone watching a horror movie. She didn’t want to see what was going on but she had to.

  ‘You alright, love?’

  Mike had leaned across her line of vision. She moved in her seat to watch Guy remove Tasha’s arm and wave his hand in goodbye.

  ‘Emma?’ Mike tried again.

  ‘Sorry, Dad. What did you say?’ She held onto her glass and tried to will the heat from her cheeks.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Mike asked.

  ‘Yes. Just trying to get a better view, that’s all,’ she lied, turning her attention to the stage.

  ‘Another drink?’ Mike offered again.

  ‘Oh no thanks, Dad. Actually, Sally’s asked me to go to her caravan. She’s got a load of snacks and some board games we’re going to play,’ Emma told him.

  ‘Is she not here for the show?’

  ‘No, she’s having a late dinner with her parents. She said I could go round about nine… if it was alright with you.’

  ‘What’s the number of her caravan?’

  ‘Er… I’m not sure… but it’s the one right opposite the bicycle hire. I know how to get there,’ Emma insisted.

  ‘Don’t you want to see the rest of the show?’

  ‘Nothing could top the snake on the loose.’

  ‘There was a snake?!’

  ‘You missed it.’

  She nearly said you missed it because you were talking to your new girlfriend but decided that wasn’t the way to get him to agree to let her go and see her imaginary friend.

  ‘Alright then, love but no later than eleven,’ Mike agreed.

  A thrill rode over her. Then she noticed Tasha and Melody were looking her way. They were doing that thing some of the bitches at her school did. Looking over, whispering to each other and then laughing hysterically.

  ‘Could I have some money?’ Emma asked her dad.

  ‘Well… what for, love?’

  ‘I just want to get some snacks too. I can’t expect to eat everything Sally’s bought and not bring anything. I thought I might take some fizzy orange too. The shop’s still open,’ Emma stated, checking her watch.

  ‘Alright… here’s five Euros. Will that be enough? Just trying to be a bit careful with the funds,’ Mike said, handing the note to her.

  ‘That’s fine, Dad. I’d better go now if I want to catch the shop. I’ll see you later.’ She picked her book up from the table and stood up.

  ‘No later than eleven,’ he reaffirmed.

  She smiled and made her way out of the clubhouse. What sort of wine could she get with five Euros?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Present Day

  She’d lied to Chris. Not a white lie, like pretending that she liked a new shirt that he’d bought when really it was hideous, but a big, fat, blatant lie. She’d told him she needed to spend the evening marking homework. She knew Dominic would probably tell him she’d gone out when they saw each other next, but she had a plan for that. Ally would have a relationship crisis and need a shoulder to cry on. That would make two lies. Once she had started there was no stopping. When you’d spent most of your life hiding the truth it was second nature to lie, whether you wanted it to be or not.

  ‘Thanks for coming over, Dad.’

  She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and shuddered. She’d made too much effort. She was wearing foundation, eye-shadow, eye-liner, blusher and lipstick. She hadn’t made that much effort for the fitness centre opening. She was wearing an apricot sleeveless blouse she hadn’t worn in years and a black layered skirt she last wore to the school prizegiving.

  ‘You look nice, love. Where did you say you were going?’ Mike asked, looking up from the TV magazine.

  She hadn’t said. She would have to tell another lie.

  ‘To see Ally. She’s on the verge of a break-up from her latest boyfriend. He’s a pilot, works long hours and…’ Same lie. Did that count as a third?

  ‘He’s spending too long with one of the air hostesses,’ Dominic added.

  ‘Dom!’ Emma exclaimed.

  ‘You said!’

  ‘I know but you weren’t supposed to be listening.’

  ‘How’s the internet dating going, Grand
ad?’ Dominic piped up.

  ‘Dominic Barron!’

  ‘It’s going alright, Dom. Not too bad at all. I’ve got another date with Velma next week and a dinner with a new lady I’ve been instant messaging with,’ Mike replied.

  ‘What’s her name?’ Dominic inquired.

  ‘Rosemary.’

  ‘Bleurgh!’

  ‘Dom, you’re being very rude. I’m glad you don’t want Bourbons before bed,’ Emma scolded.

  ‘Oh, Mum!’

  ‘She sounds very nice in her messages and we both like the Rolling Stones,’ Mike informed them.

  ‘She sounds lovely, Dad,’ Emma said.

  She was looking in the mirror and tweaking her hair. What was she doing tweaking her hair? What was she doing going to this restaurant to meet Guy. She’d said all she needed to say to him. Why was she torturing herself? It wasn’t going to help. It could possibly make things worse.

  ‘I bumped into Marilyn the other day,’ Mike stated.

  ‘Marilyn. Who’s that?’ Dominic chipped in.

  Emma felt her hackles rise at the mention of her name. It brought back so many memories. She’d hated Marilyn. She’d been jealous and grief-stricken when they got together. She’d needed her dad’s undivided attention and she’d made sure she’d got it. She’d driven the two of them apart.

  ‘She’s an old friend,’ Mike elaborated for Dominic’s benefit.

  ‘An old girlfriend?’ Dominic asked, giggling.

  ‘I should go,’ Emma said, looking at her watch. She didn’t want Mike to say any more. It was enough that he’d seen her again. She didn’t want to hear whatever came next.

  ‘She asked after you, love. Asked all about Dominic too. I told her you were practically running the school,’ Mike said, smiling.

  The light was there again. His eyes were practically dancing. She knew he’d cared about Marilyn but back then it was too soon. She’d wanted him to mourn. He should have wanted to mourn.

  ‘Someone told the Head about Copacabana. I think I’m going to have my work cut out with the costumes,’ Emma said, picking up her handbag.

  ‘Well, Marilyn is a dressmaker. You remember the little suit she made Dominic?’

  Shit. She’d forgotten that. She needed to go before she said anything else that would stir up memories. Seeing any more animation on her dad’s face would open the floodgates to the guilt.

  ‘What suit?’ Dominic asked.

  ‘It was white bloomers, a little shirt and a matching jacket. You wore it to your christening,’ Mike told him.

  ‘Urgh! Gross!’

  She had a final look in the mirror and gave the front of her hair another flick.

  ‘I’d better go then. Bye, Dom,’ she planted a kiss on the top of the boy’s head. ‘I’ll see you a bit later. Be good.’ She opened the door to the hallway.

  ‘Were you saying that to Dom or me?’ Mike said, grinning.

  She smiled at them both and then closed her eyes, shutting the door.

  *

  The worst thing was he didn’t even know if she was coming. He’d arrived early and asked the manager for their most private table. Here in the UK the press were crazy, even more so than in France. At the moment attention was focused on Jason Simpson and his injury. It helped that he had yet to play his first game for Finnerham. Once that happened he would be back in the media spotlight.

  He’d been given the menu and without looking at the wine list he’d ordered a bottle of French Merlot. The first glass had slipped down without him even realising it. He checked his watch again. It was just after half past seven. She was late. Or not coming.

  He picked up the fork and twirled it around his fingers. His hands were shaking. He didn’t know what he was going to say to her, if she came. He needed to find out the truth about Dominic. Here, together, away from the noise, he would be able to tell if what she was saying was true. He took a sip from his glass of water and topped up his wine. No matter what she told him, he could handle it better than if she didn’t turn up at all.

  He beckoned the waiter and picked up the small vase on the table.

  ‘Excuse me. Do you have any yellow flowers?’

  *

  She’d splashed out on a taxi. She’d splashed out on a taxi and hidden the fact from her dad and Dominic by driving her car down the street and calling one from the end of the road. She couldn’t drive to the restaurant. Her hands were trembling and she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. Now, having paid the cab driver she was stood opposite Café Rouge wondering if she really wanted to go in. A drop of water on her bare arm told her it was starting to rain. Judging by the black clouds converging in the darkening sky above her, a thunderstorm was imminent. They needed rain. It had been too warm for too long and the ground was parched. As if sensing the drought she swallowed, urging moisture into her mouth. What was she doing? Why was she here? Whatever she said to him was only going to make things worse one way or another. There was no chance that this meeting was going to improve anything. She was going to tell him lies. He was going to try and wriggle out of how things were left between them eight years ago. She knew what she had seen. She still felt the betrayal. Yes, she’d been seventeen; young, inexperienced in love but… she’d believed in him. She’d believed in them. Fool.

  The sporadic drops of rain started to become persistent and she needed to make a decision. Despite who she knew was waiting for her, Café Rouge did look inviting with its red and gold signage and cream drapes in the window. The interior promised sanctuary from the storm, a warm glow permeating through the glass doors.

  She was starting to get wet from the rain. A couple ran past her, covering their heads with a handbag and a newspaper. She couldn’t stand here forever. She stepped off the kerb and looked both ways.

  Chapter Twenty

  August 2005

  She was a bit early. She’d thought the shop on the campsite would question her age when she tried to buy the wine but the cashier hadn’t even blinked. Now she was sat on the low wall at the back exit of the complex waiting for Guy.

  She could hear the host and applause coming from the clubhouse but it sounded far away. Here, almost out of the holiday park, it felt like a different France. Guy had shown her the forest, the river, the beach, the fields, all so idyllic, so peaceful. She didn’t know how she would cope with going home. Wiltshire had its beauty, it was green and rural, but it wasn’t France. Being here was healing her. She could feel it. He was healing her. He listened. He paid attention to her. He made her feel special.

  ‘Psst!’

  The noise startled her and she looked around to see where it was coming from. He emerged then, from behind a palm, smiling.

  ‘You scared me,’ Emma said, laughing as she stood up.

  ‘Sorry.’ He met her in the middle of the path, taking hold of her hands. Before she knew what was happening his mouth was on hers. His lips tasted of citrus and sun cream. She cupped his head with her hands, pulling him in closer, opening her mouth wider. She wanted to get as close as she could. She pressed her chest against his, felt the rise in rhythm of his heart. He broke away, out of breath, eyes wide, exploring hers.

  ‘I… want to do that… de tous les jours,’ he told her.

  ‘Every day,’ she answered.

  ‘Every day,’ he repeated.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  He was holding her hand and leading her through the woods. It was getting dark now, the brown bag with the wine in was getting heavier and she could barely see where her feet were going. Had she known he had a moonlit ramble on the itinerary she might have worn trainers. No, she wouldn’t. Ally said trainers were for PE only… or shopping. The strappy sandals made her feet look slimmer and they were picking up a tan. Having slim, brown feet to show off was worth a few bramble scratches on her calves.

  ‘We are here,’ he announced. He drew back a large piece of foliage and Emma gasped.

  In front of her was the most spectacular table sett
ing she had ever seen. Not even something from a romantic movie could have compared to what was in front of her.

  Just a few metres ahead was a table laid with a pale linen cloth, set for dinner for two. There was a lone candle in a glass holder in the middle of the table and a small vase of yellow flowers perfected it. In the trees above were white fairy lights, creating an almost magical glow. She put her palms to her cheeks and took a breath.

  ‘Guy…’ she started.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, watching her expression.

  ‘I… I… it’s beautiful. C’est beau,’ she said, turning to him.

  ‘Tu es belle.’

  He toyed with her fingers as he held her hand, smoothing the skin on each one and bonding them together.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered. There were tears brimming up in her eyes but she didn’t want to let them fall. This was by far the most wonderful thing anyone had ever done for her. And it was for her. All for her. Because he cared.

  ‘Say you will eat with me. I have pâté, then… how you say… poulet.’

  ‘Chicken.’

  ‘Oui and salade. Then we have mousse au chocolat,’ Guy finished.

  ‘I can’t believe you went to all this trouble for me.’

  She was overwhelmed. This boy she had thought to be nothing more than a holiday romance was spending his time with her. Spending his money on her. Money he’d already told her he didn’t have much of.

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Um, trouble… difficulté. No, not that. Um… dérangement. I think that’s right.’

  ‘Pas de problème. Please, we eat?’ Guy asked, leading the way.

  Her stomach contracted at just the thought of anything other than camp stove cooked fare. On the table for the first course was delicious looking bread and an individual terrine of the most fragrant pâté. Guy pulled out a wicker chair for her and she sat down.