Emma's Story

by Georgia Hill

  Millie fished out a tissue. Laughing, she snorted into it. ‘You would have,’ she muttered.

  ‘What girl? What did you say? Speak up. How many times have I told you?’

  ‘I said, good for you.’ When she’d got herself under control, she added, ‘What does Arthur think?’

  For the first time Biddy looked crestfallen. ‘Well, he’s not completely happy. Said I might bring the council into disrepute seeing as he’s a councillor. Promised him I’d write under a what-you-call-it. A sausage-nim.’

  ‘A what?’ Joel asked, looking mystified.

  ‘You know, another name. A pen name.’

  ‘Oh, a pseudonym.’ There was more laughter.

  Emma couldn’t resist. ‘And what name are you going to be writing under?’

  Biddy puffed herself up. She took in a deep breath and said, proudly, ‘Gertie Gussett.’

  Chapter 14

  Joel eventually got the class back under control after Biddy’s announcement and, apart from her interruptions every few minutes, the evening passed uneventfully. After coffee the class resumed and they began another discussion on Hamlet.

  ‘Do you know, this play is full of nothing but sayings,’ Biddy was heard to mutter as they opened their playscripts. ‘I don’t think this Shakespeare bloke had an original thought in his head.’

  She kept Joel talking after the class had finished. Millie and Emma helped Amy tidy up the coffee things and then Millie took pity on Joel and prised Biddy away, claiming she needed ask about her apple Charlotte recipe. Amy took a tray of cups through to the main café and Emma found herself alone with Joel.

  ‘Shall we go outside?’ he suggested. ‘I have the beginnings of a headache.’

  Emma smiled at him in sympathy. ‘Biddy can do that to you.’

  ‘I think if she’d called me Joe one more time, I might not have been responsible for my actions.’

  ‘That’s a Biddy test. To see if you’d rise to the bait.’

  ‘And here’s me thinking it would be you who would get me into trouble.’ He gave her a long, speculative look. ‘Tell you what, I could really do with a cold drink.’ He nodded to the Old Harbour. ‘Looks a good spot. Care to join me?’

  Emma considered what lay in store for her at home. Mum fretting over the ironing, Dad staring glassy-eyed at the television which would be on full volume and, worse, Stevie had cousin Roland round. They’d be holed up in his stinking pit of a room glued to The Grand Tour and yelling at one another. A drink in the beer garden of the Old Harbour sounded perfect.

  While Joel fetched the drinks, Emma sat at the table and stared over the harbour. It had long since gone dark but it was still warm and the reflection of the lights on the harbour buildings danced in the water. People had begun to retire their yachts for the winter and the area next to the harbour was filling up, the halyards sounding a soft metallic clink in the breeze. As it was midweek and the season was coming to an end, she was alone out here. It was peaceful. It had been a busy day at work and home was always chaotic. She took in a deep, cleansing breath and smelled the sea, with its pungent odour of briny seaweed. Ollie’s kind, loyal face loomed into her guilty imagination and she wondered just what she was doing.

  ‘I forgot to ask what you’d like, so you have chilled white wine.’ Joel sat next to her, very close. Too close. ‘If it’s not what you drink, I can take it back. I’m a little out of touch with what young people drink nowadays. All the students in the union bar drink vodka or endless alcopops.’ He shuddered. ‘Let me know if the wine is good. Not often you get a decent glass in places like this.’

  Emma unpicked what he’d said. She was so used to Ollie automatically knowing what she drank she hadn’t thought to tell Joel. He thought she was young. She supposed she was, in comparison to him. She hazarded a guess he was around forty. Maybe older.

  He reached into the pocket of his linen jacket and brought out a red packet. ‘Do you smoke?’ When she said no, he added, ‘Wise girl,’ and lit a long brown cigarette. He concentrated on smoking for a minute, taking in deep lungfuls. ‘It’s beautiful here, isn’t it? I can see why you’ve never wanted to leave. What incentive would you have?’ Flicking ash to the side, he picked up his own glass of wine. ‘Not too bad,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘And, have you always lived here, my Emma Tizzard?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Dad comes from here. And his parents. And theirs. The closest we Tizzards get to exotic is my Auntie Tessa who’s from Birmingham.’

  Joel laughed and pointed his cigarette at her. ‘And that can be very exotic.’

  Emma didn’t know what he meant but suspected it wasn’t a compliment. She sipped her wine, feeling it burn as it went down.

  ‘Have you researched your very delightful and unusual surname?’

  Emma shook her head. The thought had never occurred to her. Boys were common babies in the Tizzard family so the name was scattered around a lot. It had never seemed unusual to her.

  ‘Origins in Tissier.’

  Joel leaned closer and Emma smelled the smoke on his breath. She wondered what it would be like to kiss a smoker. Ollie was a bit of a health freak; he’d never dream of smoking.

  ‘Old French,’ Joel continued, looking pleased with himself. ‘I had a spare second so I looked it up. Your ancestors were weavers, Emma. Tissier in old French means weaver. Mayhap you came across with the Huguenot protestants?’ He reached a hand around the back of her, his fingers resting lightly on the nape of her neck. ‘Did you flee your country to escape religious persecution, sweet Emma?’ He sighed. ‘So romantic. Or are you sturdy Devon stock, my Hardy heroine?’

  ‘I thought Thomas Hardy wrote about Dorset,’ Emma said, slightly desperately. She wasn’t sure how to take him tonight. The encouraging, enthusiastic tutor had disappeared. This was all getting a bit sleazy and she ought to tell him to get his hands off her. But there was something hypnotic about him. About his honied voice. About drowning in his dark eyes.

  He shifted and reached for his wine. ‘So he did.’ His voice closed. ‘Wessex, if we’re being pedantic.’

  He obviously didn’t like being corrected. Emma turned away and drank her own wine. Part of her wished it was cider as she was thirsty.

  ‘Em!’ It was Ollie. ‘Percy said you were out here.’

  Emma stood up, feeling guilt seep out of every pore. ‘Ollie. Hi.’ She introduced him to Joel. The men greeted one another, Ollie, his normal cheerful self and Joel rather more guarded. ‘Better go,’ he said and drained his glass. ‘Good talking to you, Emma. See you next session.’ And he was gone into the night.

  Ollie took his place. ‘That your tutor? Seems nice. Apart from the smoking.’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘What are you drinking?’ Ollie peered over in the gloom. ‘You on the wine tonight, Em?’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘Want another?’

  She put her arm through his and leaned against him, desperately seeking his comforting presence. She loved him, she really did. So why was she having these thoughts about Joel? She wasn’t even sure she liked him. She’d never been more confused.

  Ollie, on the other hand, sounded anything but confused. ‘Got some news, Em,’ he said ebulliently. ‘Got a surprise. A nice one.’

  Chapter 15

  Emma twirled in a circle taking in the luxurious hotel room. ‘We can’t afford this, Ollie! We ought to be saving.’

  He laughed and came to her, taking her hands in his. ‘I thought you deserved a treat. You’ve been working hard and Her Highness or whatever you call her has been giving you grief and I know things aren’t always easy at home. Besides, we haven’t seen anything of each other, the last couple of weeks.’

  ‘But here, at the Henville? It must cost a fortune.’

  ‘It’s only a night’s B & B and dinner this evening. You can have it as an early birthday present, if it makes you feel better. And, ’cos it’s only down the road, what we saved in petrol, we can spend on cocktails. There’s a pool and sauna too, althou
gh I couldn’t run to any treatments in the spa.’

  ‘Oh, Ollie! Have I told you how much I love you?’

  ‘Actually, no, not lately.’

  She flung her arms around him. ‘I love you, Oliver Lacey.’ They kissed and then kissed some more. Breaking away, Emma eyed him. ‘Before we go for a swim, maybe we could do some other exercise?’

  Ollie pulled her tight. ‘Deffo,’ he said and edged her to the sumptuous four-poster bed.

  ‘This has been mega.’ At the bar several hours later, Emma lifted her Porn Star Martini and clinked it against Ollie’s pint. ‘Thank you.’ She drank, the alcohol flushing her features. ‘And that is delicious.’ She set the glass down, eyeing it with pleasure.

  ‘Well, don’t give me too much credit for it. Millie said there’d been a last-minute cancellation and she got Jed to agree a deal with his brother.’

  ‘Is that the bloke who owns it? That tall blond guy we saw in the foyer?’

  ‘Alex? Yes. Used to be a banker in the city, or so Millie said. Then he bought this place and has been doing it up.’

  Emma looked around, wide-eyed, at their expensive, glossy surroundings. The mixologist, in white shirt and an ornate blue waistcoat, was making another customer something delicious and wickedly alcoholic. He stood behind a deep red mahogany bar which was set against vast mullioned windows. Glass shelves ran across them, set with blue and gold-rimmed glasses which glistened in the subtle light. Nothing as common as optics for the Henville Hotel. Instead, free-standing bottles stood, in regimental rows, on a stone windowsill. The room, itself, was decorated in shades of blue and cream with subtle touches of gold. It was just blingy enough to make it look special. Against the discreet chatter from guests and quiet chinking of glass, a pianist played show tunes in the corner.

  ‘It’s lush, Ollie,’ Emma breathed and then spotted something. Squinting to see better, she realized she was right. ‘Ollie, that’s one of Uncle Ken’s paintings on the wall!’

  The maitre d’ glided up to them and overheard. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Mr Henville likes to showcase the works of local artists and considers Mr Tizzard one of the finest,’ he said in a strong French accent. ‘And you are his niece?’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘Enchanté. We must take extra special care of you this evening and make sure everything is parfait. And now, are you both ready? Your table awaits.’

  Emma and Ollie sat in an alcove, slightly hidden away but perfect for people-watching. As he slid a snowy napkin onto her lap, the maitre d’ whispered, ‘This is the table where we seat, how do you say, our very special guests. Enjoy!’

  The food arrived in a sequence of beautifully presented dishes.

  ‘I can’t believe they do fish fingers in a joint like this,’ Ollie said in delight, as he stared down at his starter.

  Emma grinned. ‘They don’t look like the fish fingers I dish up.’

  ‘And, while I love yours, they don’t taste like them either.’ Ollie offered her a morsel on the end of his fork.

  ‘They’re so good.’ She closed her eyes in ecstasy. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever eaten food this good. Try some of my langoustine – the garlic butter is amazing.’

  ‘Better have some of that, then.’ Ollie gave her a broad wink. ‘Might be kissing, later.’

  ‘Certainly hope so. That’s if you haven’t worn yourself out with the swim and the sauna and all the other exercise we’ve done today.’

  Ollie picked up his wine glass. ‘Not a chance.’ They clinked glasses and said cheers. Then Emma leaned forward and said, slightly horrified, ‘All a bit grown-up, this, isn’t it?’

  Chapter 16

  It began to unravel after the twenty-eight day aged steaks and before the pudding. Ollie, never the most hardened drinker, had had too much wine on top of his pints. It made him garrulous. He began to expound, in onerous detail, about the correct order in which to pack kit for the lifeboat. Emma sat, fidgeting with the stem of her wine glass, and wondered just when he’d got so boring. It was a world away from Joel’s sophisticated conversations and she hated herself for letting the thought invade her brain.

  ‘Let’s go up, shall we?’ she suggested, interrupting him mid-flow.

  ‘You don’t want another cocktail?’ Ollie looked hurt. ‘Or coffee in the bar? Make the most of where we are. Doubt if we’ll be able to afford to come back any time soon.’

  Emma shook her head. ‘I am a bit tired, after all.’

  When they got back to their bedroom, someone had turned down the bedcovers and placed two chocolates on the pillow.

  ‘You stay there and eat those,’ Ollie said, swaying slightly. ‘I’ve got another surprise for you.’ He held up a wavering finger. ‘Won’t be a tic. Do. Not. Move.’

  Emma slipped off her heels and settled back, putting the unwanted chocolates on the bedside table. She was feeling full and certainly didn’t have room for them. In fact, she thought, sliding down on the Egyptian cotton, her eyes closing, all she wanted to do was sleep. She must have drifted off because she woke up with a jolt to find Ollie standing over her.

  ‘Ta-dah,’ he cried. ‘I’m Ross Poldark and I’ve come to claim my bride. No, Demelza, do not be coy. I shall be gentle. That is …’ He swaggered and then swayed a little. ‘Until my passion overtakes me and then, alas, I can make no such promise!’

  Emma sat up with a jolt. ‘Ollie, what do you think you’re doing?’ She stared at him. He wore white riding breeches, knee-high boots, a loose, frilled shirt which she vaguely recognized as one belonging to his mother and a red waistcoat. In his hand he held what she was pretty sure was Stevie’s plastic pirate sword.

  ‘I’m Ross Poldark!’ he repeated, hiccoughed, and stumbled over the edge of the rug.

  ‘You’ve said that.’ Emma pushed herself further up against the headboard. ‘But why?’

  ‘You love Ross Poldark. You’re always going on about him.’ He sank onto the bed. ‘Thought you’d get a kick out of it. Ross Poldark coming to ravish you.’

  ‘Will you please stop saying Ross Poldark.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Ollie was beginning to see he’d miscalculated. ‘Thought it might be a bit of fun. We don’t have much fun nowadays. Doesn’t seem to be going as well as expected.’

  Emma began to giggle. She couldn’t help herself. It was all so naff. In his amateur dressing-up costume he looked nothing like the Ross Poldark of her dreams. In fact, she realized, she hadn’t day-dreamed about Ross ever since meeting Joel. ‘I think I’m a bit over Poldark,’ she blurted out and, too late, saw the humiliation on his face.

  ‘Well that’s great, isn’t it? I go to all this trouble only to be told Ross Poldark is no longer the hottie. It wasn’t all that long ago you dragged me off to Cornwall for a day out. I thought it was because you wanted to be with me but it turned out all you wanted to do was use me to get to your beloved film locations. And now you’re telling me that’s all finished.’

  ‘Keep your voice down, Ollie, you’re shouting.’

  He lurched off the bed and squinted down at her. ‘You always take me for granted, Emma. You have done for years. As long as we’ve been going out.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Emma swung her legs off the bed. ‘I’ll get you some water. You’ve had too much to drink. You’re not used to it.’

  ‘I haven’t had enough to drink, you mean. You do. You do take me for granted.’ He flung an arm in the direction of the door. ‘Back down there, in the restaurant. I saw you! You were bored rigid.’ He jabbed a thumb into his chest. ‘I’m doing something important, Em. I’m saving lives.’

  ‘You’re a rookie trainee. You’ve only been out on practice shouts. I don’t think you’ve saved a life yet, just done a load of training, which I never hear the end of.’

  He subsided on to the bed. ‘So you are bored with me.’ He shook his head loosely. ‘I knew it.’

  ‘I’m not bored with you, Ollie.’ Emma sat next to him and handed over a glass of water. ‘It’s just that we’re
leading different lives at the moment. I am proud of you, babe, honest. It’s just that we’re into different things now.’

  ‘So what gets you going now then, Emma? English fucking Literature?’

  It was so unlike Ollie to swear that Emma flinched. ‘You’re drunk. Go and take all this stuff off and go to bed.’

  ‘Nah. I’m not drunk enough. I’ve seen how your eyes light up when you mention this bloke … Joel? Is that his name? I saw you on the bench with him. You go on about bloody Chaucer and Shakespeare and you call me boring?’

  ‘That’s the whole point. I don’t find Chaucer and Shakespeare boring, but I can’t stand listening to you bang on about capsize training any more.’ Now Emma was shouting.

  ‘Then maybe we’re not meant to be together. We’ve split up before, maybe it was a mistake to get back together.’

  ‘Maybe it was!’

  They stared at one another, horrified by what they’d said but realizing it was too late to retract.

  ‘Let’s go to sleep, Ollie,’ Emma said, wearily. ‘We can talk about this in the morning.’

  Ollie shook his head. ‘No. It’s over. It’s finished. For good this time. I’ve had enough of being taken for a mug.’ He hiccoughed and stumbled to the bathroom.

  They lay, rigidly apart, in the luxurious king-sized bed. Emma stared glassily at the canopy above. The space in the bed only seemed to echo the huge gulf that had built up between them.

  Chapter 17

  Emma hadn’t seen much point in staying for breakfast; she couldn’t face food and Ollie was too hungover to eat. They drove the short distance back to her family home in silence. Ollie dropped her off with a curt nod and she batted off the questions from her mother and Stevie by saying she had to do her reading for the evening class.

  Taking a coffee up to the bedroom she’d had since childhood, she stared out at the trees dripping with rain. Sundays were always faintly depressing. Her mother, as it was the only day of the week when the family were guaranteed to be together, always insisted on a full Sunday roast. She started cooking it early in the morning and the house stank of cabbage and roasting meat for hours. As they were all used to eating the main meal in the evening, no one was really hungry at one. Her father was dragged from his greenhouse and Stevie made it plain he’d rather be in bed or on his iPad. They ate in a morose silence, her mother passively furious that she’d gone to the trouble of cooking when no one appreciated it. Her poor mother. They didn’t do nearly enough to show their thanks. Emma made herself a promise to pop into The Floral Box and get her some flowers.