by Mandy Baggot
In his eyes she saw the boy she loved, the man she adored and his love for her. Whatever had happened in the past, they were here in the present, now, together in every way.
‘Mon Dieu… oh mon Dieu… Emma…’
His breathing rapid, his body tensed as he pushed himself into her. As he hit her G-spot again, her toes curled and she lost it.
‘Guy! Oh God, Guy!’
‘I’m coming… I’m coming… Emma…’
She felt his release, so tense at first and then spasms rolling over and over, in time with hers. Her mind was doing cartwheels, every inch alive and touched with pinpricks of sensation.
*
Guy groaned and clenched his teeth, every ounce of energy flooding from him into her. It was like he was a surfer riding the biggest wave of his life and being carried to the shore from twenty miles out. A heart-stopping, adrenaline-fuelled thrill ride filled with utter beauty and sensitivity.
He knew he was crying but he was not ashamed. She had just given him eight years back.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, reaching up and stroking her hand down his cheek.
‘OK?’ he asked. ‘I am the happiest, luckiest man in the world.’
He lay across her, not wanting to end their connection, drawing her into his arms until they both lay on their side.
‘I love you, Emma,’ he told her, pressing his lips to her forehead.
‘I love you too.’
‘Je t’aime.’
‘Je t’aime.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
She lay there, content in his arms, sated, fulfilled and relaxed for the first time in so long. She didn’t know how long she’d been there. She didn’t know how long she’d been there. She checked her watch. Horrified by what it showed she sat up, dragging back the covers.
‘I have to go.’ She got out of bed, looking to Guy.
‘I know,’ he responded. He caught her arm before she could move away.
‘Dad and Marilyn have Dominic,’ she said in explanation.
‘I know,’ he said again, his fingertips circling her elbow.
‘Sorry.’
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For having to leave like this. It feels wrong,’ she admitted.
‘You have Dominic. We will be a family. That is how this works.’ He was smiling at her.
She turned back to the bed, leaned across to him, pressing her lips to his.
‘We will be together next weekend and after that…’ He paused.
‘I need to speak to Dominic. It’s too soon to think about…’
‘I was not thinking. I was wishing and hoping, for the first time knowing it will come true.’ He kissed her back, lingering, his hand in her hair. She relinquished his hold.
‘Where will you live? For now, I mean,’ she asked, pulling on her jeans and picking up her bra.
‘I will find something. Somewhere to rent maybe,’ he replied.
She nodded.
‘Perhaps close to you and Dominic?’ he suggested.
‘I would like that.’ She picked up her blouse, discovering the broken buttons.
‘Oh…’
‘In the case. There is a T-shirt or something,’ he offered, pointing.
A mobile phone began to ring. She knew it wasn’t hers.
It was his. He rolled over to look at the nightstand and the phone vibrating on it. Keith.
‘Who is it? Is it Madeleine? Oh God, it is, isn’t it? It’s too soon and I shouldn’t be here,’ Emma said as she got a T-shirt out of Guy’s battered case.
‘Non. No. It is not Madeleine. It is no one.’
No one he wanted in his life. Someone who should never have been in his life. He needed to do something about it, but what? Keith was not the sort of person to negotiate with.
The phone stopped vibrating and he watched her put his T-shirt over her head, then slip her trainers back on.
‘This is not too soon. It has been too long.’ He got out of bed, grabbing up a hotel robe and fastening it around himself.
‘I know, but I feel for Chris and for Madeleine.
‘We were not right for them. We are right for each other.’
He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into him. He felt her sink into him, mould herself against his frame and he closed his eyes, savouring how it felt to hold her.
‘I have to go,’ she reminded, letting him go and taking another glance at her watch.
‘I will call you,’ he said, holding onto one hand as she moved toward the door.
She came back to him, found his lips and gave him one more kiss.
‘I love you,’ she whispered.
‘J’taime.’
Smiling at him she opened the door, then closed it behind her.
As the door shut, his mobile phone vibrated anew. He would turn it off. He wouldn’t allow Keith to ruin this night. The night he’d finally felt the love he thought he’d lost.
The red circle indicated a new voicemail message. His hand hovered over the power button but curiosity got the better of him.
‘You have one new message. New messages,’ the robotic voice began.
Keith’s voice came next.
‘I still have the photos.’
His heart hit the floor.
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘Did he cry?’
‘What?’
‘Chris. Did he cry?’
‘No. Why are you asking that?’
‘He looked like a crier. I don’t mean that in a nasty way. He just looked the type, that’s all.’
Emma looked at Ally, shaking her head.
‘Are you trying to make me feel worse than I already do?’ she asked.
‘Not at all. If it wasn’t right then it wasn’t right. I know I banged on about marriage and a good man but that’s because I was jealous. I mean you’re marriage material, aren’t you? Always have been. Me, I’m wining, dining and shagging material… six months tops. No rings. No matching clothes or jointly-owned pets, not even a couple’s gym membership,’ Ally said, flopping down onto Emma’s bed and almost upending the suitcase she was trying to pack.
‘Chris and I never had any of those.’
‘You had a goldfish.’
‘We won it at the fair and come on, it lasted two weeks!’
‘Two weeks still counts. I’ve called relationships that last two weeks long-term before now.’
‘How are things with Jonty? You haven’t said.’
‘Alright. We’re creeping towards five and a half months and he’s got an overnight in Chicago with the beverage bimbo,’ Ally informed.
‘Have you actually asked him about her?’
‘No! Of course not! How insecure would that make me seem? I’d look like a possessive hag – on skis.’
‘But at least you wouldn’t be worrying about it all the time,’ Emma suggested.
‘Like you, you mean. All sorted and loved up and about to go away to France for the weekend,’ Ally teased.
She folded another T-shirt and added it to the small case she was packing.
‘Are you sure you’re OK having Dom after school? Dad’s signed up to some mechanics course at the college until six on Fridays,’ Emma said.
‘I wouldn’t have said I could have him if I couldn’t. I’ve left Milo and Shane in charge. God knows what state the place will be in when I get back but I can’t be hawk-eyed with them all the time, can I? What time does Dom get out of school again?’
‘Ally! It’s ten past three! You won’t forget, will you? He’s expecting you,’ Emma exclaimed, an edge of panic to her voice.
‘Of course I won’t forget. So, how did you get out of school? Or is it a teacher training thingy-me?’
‘We have to be there for those.’
‘So?’
‘I’ve called in sick.’
‘Emma Barron! You lied!’
‘Yes and I don’t feel good about it.’
She never called in sick, even when she was sick. But
that was one of the reasons why she’d done it. This weekend was important. She and Guy both needed some time to process what had happened, what was going to happen. And after the last couple of weeks she was due a break. Catching some autumn sun in France was just what was required.
‘What happens if they find out? Is it lines and detention?’ Ally teased.
‘Worse than that. I might have to supervise the canteen for a week,’ she responded, smiling.
‘It’s good to see you smile. You haven’t smiled like that in a long time,’ Ally remarked.
‘Haven’t I?’
‘No. Mind you, if I was going to spend a weekend in France with someone hot and French I’d be wearing a grin from here to Nova Scotia. What time’s your train?’
‘Half ten. I’m meeting Guy at St Pancras,’ she informed.
‘Underneath the clock? Wearing a red rose in your lapel?’
‘Will you stop?’
*
He’d had to give in. Despite everything his heart was telling him, he knew he had to face this. If he didn’t deal with it now it would come back to bite him. Starting things anew with Emma was everything he’d ever wanted. He wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that. Madeleine had phoned earlier. At first she was full of tears and pleading, but when he made it clear he would not be returning or changing his mind the attitude completely changed. She’d called him several hurtful names in French and told him she was selling her story to one of the national magazines.
He’d arrived early at the coffee shop. He didn’t like the place. It was all chrome, glass and mocha, choco, skinny, triple lattes. It was overpriced and clinical. He was on his second espresso when he saw Keith enter.
Dressed in a pale grey suit, a lemon-coloured shirt beneath, he looked like the flamboyant entrepreneur he was. He stood out, but not as someone to be feared. He looked approachable, professional, someone without a care in the world.
Guy’s chest tightened and he turned his gaze away. He still let him do this to him. Why? Why did this man still have power over him? He tightened his hold on the small coffee cup as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Keith approach the table.
‘Another coffee?’ the man asked, seating himself opposite.
‘No,’ Guy refused, not raising his eyes.
‘You’re not going to make this difficult, are you, Guy? It doesn’t have to be,’ Keith said, lowering his voice.
‘Just say what you have to say.’ Guy raised his head, meeting his eyes.
‘I’ve missed you,’ Keith whispered. He reached across the table. Guy retracted his hands onto his lap.
‘Do not say that,’ he hissed in response.
‘We could have had something special.’
‘Stop it.’
‘It’s true. No denying it.’
A smile spread across Keith’s mouth and he wet his lips with his tongue. ‘It’s fate, isn’t it? Us meeting up again like this.’
‘I want the photos,’ Guy demanded.
‘I want you. Always have.’
‘No.’ Guy shook his head.
‘As delightful as all this defiance is and no matter how gorgeous you look when you’re all brooding like that… we both know I’m going to get what I want,’ Keith crowed.
Guy shook his head again, feeling his skin pimple into goose bumps.
‘I hear you’re off to France this weekend. Big match tomorrow.’
‘I will not do what you want me to do. David set me up.’ Guy could feel the bile rise from his stomach, into his throat as he forced the words out.
Keith let out a roar of laughter and banged his hand on the table as if Guy had told the funniest joke.
‘You were paid handsomely. Very handsomely. I didn’t hear any complaints about that.’ The grin disappeared from Keith’s face, his eyes narrowed and he leaned across the table, aggression radiating from him.
‘If you don’t do as I say I’m going to blow the whistle. No matter how you perform for France this weekend, if you don’t cooperate here, the only thing the press will be talking about is what you did for a job when you were eighteen,’ Keith hissed.
Guy winced, even though he knew it had been coming.
‘So, all we need to arrange is a time and place. Which should be a lot easier now you’ve left that whiny Madeleine. Lingerie designs aren’t bad but listening to her… well, I’d rather sleep with my wife!’ He took a breath, reapplied his smile.
‘I was thinking weekly. There have been others, Guy, I won’t deny it, but…’ He toyed with his tie, cleared his throat. ‘Well, you never forget your first love, do you?’
He could taste the vomit in his mouth. His stomach lurching and pushing the sickness up his throat with every second that passed. He tried to focus. He couldn’t let him do this to him again. He was older. He was wiser. He was stronger. What he’d got himself into back then had been born out of desperation to survive. He’d needed an escape from the poverty, a chance for him and Luc to become something they would never be in Fréjus.
‘No.’ The voice, despite his terror and nausea, sounded convincing and firm.
Keith nodded, tapping his fingers on the table in rhythm. Guy held himself upright, kept his eyes fixed ahead, waiting for the backlash to his refusal. He needed to pre-empt it.
‘You have done well in your industry. I looked you up. You are still very rich, richer than ever now perhaps? Part of the jet set here in the UK and on many foundations. Two children’s charities…’ Guy began.
‘I can see where this is going. Don’t waste your breath,’ Keith interjected.
‘I think business would suffer. Clients would find someone else, friends would disappear and I cannot see foundations wanting to have anything to do with you when they find out what sort of “hobbies” you practise.’
‘You were not a child,’ Keith hissed viciously.
‘I was not the only one,’ Guy snapped back. ‘How about I tell my story? Everything.’
‘I know you, Guy. You haven’t got the balls.’
‘You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all. I am not eighteen anymore.’ His hands were shaking as all the hatred for this man came spilling from his mouth. He knew he had raised his voice, drawn attention to their table but he didn’t stop.
‘If you do not leave me alone I will make sure you are ruined. I will go to the press and the police. I will tell them everything I know. I will make sure they investigate your business and everything else you have connections with. You must be a man with many contacts. Contacts with secrets. Contacts with secrets they want to keep secret… just like you,’ Guy continued. He reached for his cup and put it to his mouth, only to find it was empty. He returned it to the saucer and wiped at his mouth with a napkin. Despite his firm tone, on the inside he was barely holding it together. This had to work.
‘Who d’you think would come off worst?’ Keith’s voice was steady and controlled, the volume measured. ‘You could kiss goodbye to your football career. That’d be a shame, now you’ve reached such dizzy heights. I can almost see the headlines now. “Footballer’s Dirty Past”, “Sordid Soccer Scandal”. They’d not let you near the youth foundation. You’d be tainted. Don’t think for a minute you’d get the world’s sympathy. They might paint you as a victim at first but it wouldn’t last,’ Keith lowered his voice. ‘And what happens then? With no career, no chance of a job in sport or anything media related, not even able to walk down the street without the name-calling and comments.’
Guy shifted in his seat, the reality of what Keith was saying sinking in. Was he prepared to go to the police? Tell the world what he’d been part of eight years ago? It had been out of dire need. People would see that wouldn’t they?
‘I’ll give you the weekend but that’s it. Come Monday I want a phone call. I’ll arrange a nice room, a suite somewhere… champagne,’ Keith said, wetting his lips with his tongue.
What could he say? He knew what he should say, but no words were forthcoming. He was trapped a
nd Keith knew it. No matter what he did he was screwed.
‘À bientôt,’ Keith said, rising from his chair.
Guy didn’t look up or respond. He could hear nothing but the pounding in his head. He was trapped, just like he had been in France.
Chapter Forty-Nine
September 2005
Those bitches had soaked her! She’d only just dried out from the afternoon of rain and now she was sodden all over again.
It was supposed to be a team game. Filling up an empty two-litre Coke bottle, with its top cut off and stabbed with small holes, making the water rise to retrieve a plastic lemon. Instead Melody and Tasha had taken turns throwing water at her. She’d only managed to get them to stop when she’d clouted Melody in the shoulder with her bucket. She’d left her dad chortling alongside a ruddy-faced father of four from the Wirral and now she was attempting to wring out her hair before she met up with Guy.
She wished Ally was here. Ally was the type of person who carried sample-sized hair rescue and recovery packs in her bag. She squeezed the water out of each section, watching it pool on the floor. She’d need to get changed, her T-shirt was wet through and there were grubby marks on her denim shorts from the rusty bucket she’d been carrying. That was the very last time she entered any lame games. They always seemed to end in her humiliation. Still, it was only a few more days and then everything would change.
‘Tais-toi!’
The woman’s voice was shrill and laced with venom. The ferocity and close proximity of it had Emma backing up behind the canvas of the tent. Peeking out, she saw a woman coming along the path getting closer with every tentative wobble on what looked like very high shoes. She was dressed in tight black trousers and a garish red and gold blouse. Her black hair was tousled and piled up on her head. It was almost thirty degrees and the outfit was far more disco than daywear. It was only as she drew closer and she focused on the pram the woman was pushing that she realised who it was. Guy’s mother. Luc’s mother. She had only seen her from a distance but now she was just a few metres away, dressed and made-up like a prostitute, directing bitter angry words at a baby. A small, innocent baby.
