by Mandy Baggot
‘ 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.
‘So, Councillor Martin-’ Emma said quickly, changing the subject “-sorry, Geoffrey, you know what I’m going to ask, so let’s get it out of the way. Is there any chance St Joseph’s could get some more funding? The drama classes desperately need new books and costumes for performances. The parents have donated generously but there’s only so much they can give and only so many times we can ask them without it getting embarrassing.’
‘There are procedures to apply for extra funding I’m afraid. You have to apply, in writing. There’s a form,’ Geoffrey Martin said, sticking his finger in the remaining sauce on his plate and wiping it up.
‘I know. I’ve applied. Actually I’ve applied twice this year already and no one responds to my phone calls,’ Emma answered.
She was sick of being given the run around by Geoffrey Martin’s secretary. She didn’t need an abacus to count how many messages she’d left for the councillor to call her.
‘You tell him, Em,’ Chris encouraged, refilling his wine glass.
‘Well, I expect matters are in hand,’ Geoffrey mumbled into his napkin.
‘Maybe I could make a donation, to the school,’ Guy spoke up.
‘Oh no, Mr. Duval, you don’t need to do that. That wasn’t what I was trying to do, I was just…well the council should have provision,’ Emma replied, her cheeks reddening.
‘Not so hasty, Em! Who cares where the money comes from? You said you’re in danger of having to perform West Side Story again this year! Believe me there’s only so much ‘la, la, la, la America’ I can take. Hummed it for over a week,’ Chris informed.
‘How much would be OK? Twenty five thousand? Thirty?’ Guy inquired.
He looked like he was going to reach for his wallet.
‘Good God, son! They must be paying you a small fortune at that football club,’ Geoffrey remarked. Others at the table sucked in their breath.
‘No, really, you don’t have to do that,’ Emma said. Her heart was hammering against her rib cage.
‘Maybe I want to,’ Guy replied. He kept his eyes on hers.
‘Christ, Em! Take the guy’s money! If you don’t take it for the school he’ll just spend it on women and wine. Isn’t that right, Guy?’ Chris said. His fork clattered onto his plate.
‘I would like to help. Perhaps we could talk, make arrangements,’ Guy said, still only looking at her.
This was killing her. Just having him in the same room was killing her. She hated him. But why did she have to remind herself of that? He hurt her. But the sound of his voice and those green eyes were playing havoc with her insides. Her stomach was telling her she should vomit, while her heart was telling her if she didn’t get a grip on herself it was going to bounce right out of her chest and land on Councillor Martin’s plate.
‘Isn’t that wonderful news? No more West Side Story. Perhaps something lavish this year? I’ve always been fond of a bit of Copacabana myself,’ Geoffrey said, wine spilling down his chin.
‘Now you’re talking! Feathers, fruit, skimpy sequined costumes for the ladies. I could invite some of the lads from the rank!’ Chris said.
He sounded more enthusiastic now than when he’d got tickets for an ACDC tribute band.
Emma wasn’t listening to either of them. She was looking across the linen tablecloth at Guy and he was gazing back at her. She couldn’t see the person who’d hurt her anymore. All she could see was the boy she’d fallen so in love with.
Her starter was whipped away barely touched and now in its place sat a large slice of beef wellington. She could hear Chris’ lips smacking together as he devoured it like a bear feasting on a lone camper. To the other side of her, Geoffrey Martin was raucously blowing at his nose and then wiping the same napkin over his gravy-stained lips.
‘Lovely grub, isn’t it?’ Chris said. He nudged Emma with his elbow.
‘Yes, lovely,’ she answered, turning the corners of her mouth up in an unauthentic smile.
‘You two are married?’ Guy questioned.
Emma stabbed at her main course, hit a pea and it rolled off the plate onto Geoffrey’s lap. He didn’t notice. It seemed he was trying to attract the attention of a waiter because the wine had run out.
‘Almost. Aren’t we, Em?’ Chris answered. As if to emphasis his point, he draped an arm around her shoulders and very nearly pulled her off the chair in his attempt at a boa constrictor style hug.
‘Almost? You are…how you say … engaged?’ Guy inquired further.
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
Emma looked at Chris and he looked back at her. She wanted the gong to sound to announce the end of this nightmare scenario. Chris laughed and squeezed her in even closer to him, her face right up against the damp polyester of the cheap material under his armpit.
‘I’m working on it. I keep asking. Emma keeps not answering. I think she’s worried my idea of a morning suit might be something Jack Sparrow might wear,’ Chris said, still chuckling to himself.
‘Jack Sparrow?’ Guy asked, a puzzled look on his face.
‘Pirates of the Caribbean, my lad,’ Geoffrey filled in.
‘Ah, Johnny Depp,’ Guy answered, nodding.
Emma couldn’t help but notice he had picked up the salt cellar and was squeezing it tight in his hand. She looked away again when his eyes connected with hers.
‘I’m really impressed with the facilities here aren’t you, Geoffrey?’ Emma interjected. She had to change the subject. She couldn’t be doing this. She couldn’t be talking with Chris about not being engaged. Not with Guy sat opposite her, nothing separating them but a pillar candle, three empty bottles of wine and some gerberas in a vase.
‘Oh top class, yes. Just what the area needs for our youngsters. The school will benefit I’m sure. I believe Ultra Leisure is contemplating free swimming lessons,’ Geoffrey told the table.
‘I am teaching the children tomorrow. Football skills all day,’ Guy said. He took a sip of his wine.
‘Really? How much is that?’ Chris asked.
‘Oh, it is free. It is a promotional event for the opening.’
‘Christ, Em, get Dominic signed up. He would love it. Free skills from a pro. You can’t beat that,’ Chris said. He nudged her again.
If the elbowing continued all night she would end up with bruised ribs and a week wearing Deep Heat.
‘We’ll see,’ she answered like Chris was one of her school children.
‘We’ll see?! It’s a fantastic opportunity to learn from a real master. This guy plays for his country, Em, not to mention now playing for my favourite team, the Whites,’ Chris continued.
‘How old is Dominic?’ Guy asked.
Emma dropped her eyes to her lap and waited for Chris to answer. She knew he wouldn’t disappoint.
‘He’s just turned eight. He’s Emma’s son. Loves football doesn’t he, Em?’ Chris said, his right elbow connecting with her side again.
Emma raised her head and met Guy’s gaze with a nod. She knew what he was thinking and now she felt sick.
He gritted his teeth together and put the napkin to his face to hide his mouth. Her son was eight. He could do the calculation. He was finding it hard to breathe. Emma had had a baby, a son- his son. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. She had just told him he was a father without havi
ng to say a single word.
Chapter Eight
She’d excused herself as soon as there was opportunity. Every time he’d tried to get her to look at him she had either turned away from him or to that man, her boyfriend. He couldn’t keep making polite conversation with him and the councillor. All that was running through his head was the thought he had a child. An eight year old child he’d known nothing about. He was ecstatic and furious at the same time. The one thing he was certain of was they had to talk.
‘Mosquitoes,’ Kathleen Dobbs announced, stubbing out her cigarillo into one of the ashtrays on the table.
‘Sorry?’ Emma answered, waving the smoke away from her face and clutching a little tighter to her wine glass.
‘I’ve been far, far afield and despite what people say there’s nothing as irritating as a British mosquito. They’re silent, they’re sneaky and they think nothing of sucking up your food before they attack,’ she continued, her eyes weaving from side to side as if trying to single insects out.
‘Have you been bitten? I think I have some antiseptic cream in my bag,’ Emma said, unfastening the zip and rummaging.
‘Oh no, dear, I have repellent. Just commenting on their devious ways. The Mayor over there, he’s been itching for a good five minutes,’ Kathleen remarked.
‘It’s humid,’ Emma said, peering over her shoulder and hoping not to see Guy.
She had left him and Chris at the table having an in-depth discussion about television replays for penalty decisions. She’d been glad to get out of the air-conditioned room because, muggy or not, the outside atmosphere was decidedly cooler.
‘Are you alright, dear?’ Kathleen asked her, scrutinising her instead of the flying insects.
‘Me? Oh yes! Of course! It’s been a lovely evening and the food was wonderful,’ Emma began, tears pricking her eyes. The explosion of excitement she had attempted in her voice was far from convincing.
‘I hear you’re thinking of staging Copacabana at the school. Believe it or not I was once a Lola,’ Kathleen informed. Her eyes twinkled.
‘Well, nothing’s decided quite yet,’ Emma began. She swallowed in a bid to stop the tears from escaping.
‘If you need any help with costumes I would be only too happy to … ’ Kathleen began.
There he was! Guy. He was coming towards her from across the decking. He had a glass of red wine in each hand. She closed her eyes and clamped down on her tongue to try and prevent her taste buds recollecting Camembert and a soft Merlot.
‘Those damn insects! I swear they’re getting immune to DEET! I’m seeking cover. Don’t stay out too long, dear, not if you value your skin,’ Kathleen said, hurrying to the doors.
She felt like she was waiting for her turn at the gallows. He was steps away, moving towards her and there was nowhere to run. Her only escape route would involve a James Bond-esque vault from the railings into the lazy river. Even she knew that was ridiculous.
‘I have some wine,’ Guy said, holding a glass out to her.
‘Is it Merlot?’ she asked on auto-pilot.
It was like going back in time. She felt seventeen again.
‘You remember,’ Guy said. The smile that crossed his lips was one of almost relief.
‘Of course I remember!’ Emma shrieked ‘You made me think I was special. Then you humiliated me!’
That voice wasn’t hers. It was almost like a battle cry. A noise from deep within her, full of anger and despair.
Guy closed his eyes and very slowly shook his head.
‘I remember every word you said to me. I remember every line you fed me and every touch and kiss that meant nothing to you. I remember it all! I wish Jason Simpson hadn’t pulled whatever ligament he’s pulled, then you wouldn’t be here in his place!’ Emma continued.
‘You didn’t let me explain,’ Guy said.
His voice was soft and he gently took hold of her arm, guiding her away from the groups of people mingling.
‘I don’t care now! I’m older and wiser and I know how the world works. I was stupid and too young to know better. I don’t want to remember what a fool I was. I don’t want to remember the things I told you and the things we did together. I trusted you, I stupidly believed what you said, believed in us and you were… you were just playing games!’ Emma carried on.
She drank the whole glass of red wine in one gulp and slammed it down on the wooden railings.
‘I tried to find you’ Guy began. ‘I spoke to your father, I searched the entire campsite.’
‘You had sex with that cow Tasha,’ Emma hissed.
‘It was not like that,’ Guy replied.
‘Didn’t you hear me? I don’t care anymore!’
‘Then why do you shout?’
That was a good question. A very good question. She was seventeen then, she was twenty five now. She was yelling at her first boyfriend who was also eight years older. She sounded unhinged. She sounded like she’d probably sounded back then. Immature.
‘We should have dinner,’ Guy suggested, taking a sip of his wine but still observing her intently.
‘We’ve just had dinner!’
‘I meant alone … to talk,’ Guy replied.
‘There’s nothing to talk about! You’re eight years too late!’ Emma blasted. She couldn’t control the anger. It was bubbling away in her gut, a mix of all her confused feeling now being expelled from her mouth.
‘What about Dominic?’ Guy stated, his eyes meeting hers.
‘Ah! Here you are! Finally got served. They’ve got a bit of a rush on what with it being freebies. Ally’s jumped behind the bar. It’s all hands on deck,’ Chris said, joining them. He sounded like a jovial Santa. It was completely inappropriate.
‘We should go soon. We don’t want to impose on Dad too much,’ Emma said. Her cheeks were infused with colour and she tried to mask the bitterness in her voice.
‘Christ, Em it’s barely past ten! I’m sure he wasn’t expecting us back this early,’ Chris said. He gave a snort of amusement.
‘I’m not feeling very well,’ Emma responded. She held her bag to her stomach and dropped her eyes to the floor.
‘Shall I get you a glass of water? Is that red wine you’ve had? You know red wine doesn’t agree with you,’ Chris said. He shook his head and rolled his eyes.
‘No, don’t go. I’m fine, just the humidity I expect,’ Emma replied, clutching at the sleeve of Chris’ nylon jacket.
‘I must go and speak with Jerome from Ultra Leisure. It was nice to meet you both, excuse me,’ Guy said, backing away from them.
‘Hang on, mate! Before you go…what time for the coaching session tomorrow? Dom is going to go nuts when we tell him,’ Chris said.
‘Nine thirty. Registration and then we start with simple techniques and ball skills,’ Guy replied. He looked to Emma.
‘Brilliant! Cheers!’ Chris said, waving his glass in the air in appreciation.
Emma watched Guy’s every step. His expensive suit, the way he moved. She would know him anywhere, just from his gait. She had watched him so often back then, at first from a distance and then up close. It was if he was permanently etched on her brain. All those years dwelling on what he’d done had done nothing to destroy the feelings she had for him. She hated it.
‘Dom’s going to be made up about doing football skills with someone from Finnerham United you know,’ Chris said, swigging from his pint and spilling some on his tie.
‘Can you take him tomorrow then? I thought you were working,’ Emma remarked.
‘I am, but you haven’t got anything planned, have you? You’ll only have to drop him off and pick him up. Guy isn’t going to expect you to join in,’ Chris said. He laughed.
She nodded and smiled feebly. Even a five minute drop off was going to be five minutes too much.
He sat in his car, his fist in his mouth, his heart breaking. He had a son. He was eight years old and tomorrow he was going to see him. All those years apart with no contact she had been rais
ing his child. How could this have happened? Had he hurt her that much? She didn’t even have the whole of the story. She only knew what she saw…what she thought she saw. If she’d really loved him she should have waited for an explanation. An explanation she should have known would have come. He had been in a dire situation. A dire, disgusting, situation he still had nightmares about. What had happened that day had cost him Emma.
He wiped at his eyes with his fingers and thought about Luc. He would have been an uncle.
Chapter Nine
August 2005
‘Dad, would you mind if we didn’t go to Nice today?’ Emma asked.
It was almost ten. She had helped him cook blackened scrambled eggs on the camping stove and now she was watching him collate the plates and burnt saucepan to take to the washing up area.
‘Oh, love, I thought we had it all planned. You, me, yacht-gazing, boutique-shopping and baguette-munching,’ Mike said. He looked over at her as he gathered up the utensils.
‘I know but I want you to enter the darts competition. You missed the one last week and there isn’t one the next. You should enter,’ Emma told him.
She had been planning this speech since last night when Guy had kissed her.
After their smooch to Roxette, she had left the dance floor lightheaded, her heart fit to explode. She had sought refuge in the toilets to get her breath back. Guy, the campsite pin-up, the boy everyone wanted to get close to had danced with her. That was one in the eye for Tasha and Melody. They’d been green enough to rival The Incredible Hulk.
When she’d emerged, lip-glossed and breathing more stably, he’d been stood in the shadows, waiting for her.
‘There’ll be other darts competitions. There’s the big one at the social club when we get home,’ Mike told her.
She hadn’t expected so much resistance. Her dad loved darts. It was the only hobby he kept up through her mum’s illness. He’d escaped the awfulness of it by visiting the social club for a couple of hours on a Friday night while Emma sat with her mum. At least that was where he said he was.
