by Mandy Baggot
‘So, did Chris enjoy the party?’ Ally asked.
She could almost taste brie in her mouth. The scent of the memory engulfed her mind.
‘Emma…’
‘I never told you about the boy I met in France? You know, when I went there, after my mum died,’ Emma stated, turning away from the view and facing her friend.
‘That was years ago.’
‘He was special.’
‘He can’t have been that special or you would have told me about him.’
‘I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to make a voodoo doll of him.’
‘I did make a lot of voodoo doll men didn’t I?’
‘It was Guy,’ Emma said.
‘What was Guy?’
‘The guy was Guy. Guy Duval,’ Emma explained.
Ally was mid-swig and the hot coffee seemed to catch in her throat. She coughed.
‘What are you telling me here? That you and that gorgeous Gallic hunk were once intimately acquainted?!’
‘Yes…eight years ago,’ Emma stated.
‘Oh my good God! You and … that!’ Ally exclaimed, taking another long look at Guy who was dividing the children into teams.
‘He wants to talk and I don’t want to talk and he keeps cornering me and I don’t know what to say to him,’ Emma admitted.
‘Well, what does he want to talk about?’
‘Dominic I think. And I’m terrified because he’s in there with him now…and that’s all Chris’ fault,’ Emma continued.
‘God alive! Is he Dominic’s father?!’ Ally questioned.
‘No! No, of course not.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘I think he thinks he is.’
‘Then just set him straight.’
‘I still have feelings for him,’ Emma admitted. She hadn’t thought about saying that. Her sensible side should have prevented her from saying that. But it was true. Without thinking too hard about it, just in the raw, most base sense, he made her feel how she’d felt when she was seventeen. It was like falling in love for the first time all over again.
‘I think you’d better tell me everything … on skis.’
Chapter Eleven
August 2005
‘We could swim…now we have caught fish,’ Guy said.
She was feeling lightheaded from the wine and full from the baguettes and cheese. She smiled, feeling content, warm and deeply satisfied for the first time in a long time. She lay back on the grass bank and stretched her arms behind her, flexing out her fingers, reaching out into the air. She almost felt free. Then suddenly her fingers recoiled as they made contact with something cold and wet.
She screamed and leapt up, wiping her hand on her dress. It was the fish Guy had caught and partially wrapped in the paper bag that had originally housed the bread.
He laughed at her, his green eyes alight with amusement. Then he began to peel off his t-shirt. The sight of his tight, brown body, the sun reflecting off the slight sheen made her insides unfurl.
‘You swim?’ Guy asked again.
‘Do I swim? Or do I want to swim now?’ Emma asked in soft tones.
‘Swim now. Take off clothes,’ Guy said, his fingers unfastening the button at the top of his cut-off jeans.
‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ Emma said.
‘Why not?’
‘I…’
Why not? Why couldn’t she? No one was around, just her and him. She didn’t have to be the person she was back at home. She could be anyone she wanted to be. This was her chance to escape her life for a moment. Here there was no house still tainted by death, no grief counsellors explaining all the stages she had to work through…and there was no Marilyn.
As the name came to mind she was struck by a feeling of rebellion. She stood up on her feet and hurriedly lifted her sundress. She knew he was watching and she liked it. She pulled the cotton fabric up and over her head leaving herself in a white underwire bra and high-legged cotton briefs.
He appraised her, from the ends of her toes to the top of her head, nothing escaping his gaze. And then he pulled down his shorts and threw them into the bank. They landed on top of Emma’s dress.
She unfastened the back of her bra and let it fall down off her shoulders. She removed it from her arms, then stood before him, her breasts bare, her heart beating hard in her chest. She had never been semi-naked in front of a boy before and it was terrifying. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what she wanted to do. It was frightening and exhilarating all at the same time.
‘Come, we swim,’ Guy said, holding his hand out for her.
Dressed in just her knickers, she took his hand and let him lead her into the water. Despite the heat of the day the water chilled her toes and she held her breath as he made her step forward, deeper, until she was past up to her knees and the water was on its way to being waist height.
‘It’s so cold! Gosh, it’s cold!’ Emma exclaimed, hopping from one leg to another and trying not to shiver.
‘The cold is good. It is … how you say … apisant,’ Guy said, still holding her hand.
‘I don’t know what that means,’ Emma said.
‘It makes you feel very good,’ he responded, turning back towards her.
‘Fish don’t bite, do they?’ Emma asked, trying to lighten the mood as he moved closer.
‘Non.’
He stood opposite her, so close she could feel his breath on her face. It smelt of red wine, cheese and fresh bread. He put his hands on her shoulders and slowly, inch by inch, he moved them down her arms, his thumbs brushing past her breasts.
Her stomach fell down to her feet and she felt a bubbling sensation rising up inside her. She stepped forward and put her hand onto his chest. Taking a deep breath inward her fingers caressed the curve of every accentuated muscle in his lean torso.
He took her hand from his body and held it tight in his, stopping her exploration.
‘Have … have I done something wrong?’ she asked, her voice trembling with nervousness.
‘Non,’ he replied, shaking his head.
‘Then … ’
‘We swim now,’ he said, splashing her with water.
She let out a scream and hurried to splash him back as he raced away up the river.
‘Hey! Wait! Slow down!’ Emma called as she tried to run through the water. The muscles in her thighs tightened with every movement. She watched Guy dive into the water, completely disappear from view and then, yards ahead, bob up. She took a long breath, knowing she had to submerge herself and swim to be in with any chance of catching him. She braced herself for the cold and dived into the river.
Despite the warmth of the day the water was harsh and it felt like a thousand ice cubes had been thrown at her with force. She drew her arms back and forth in a front crawl, determined not to look silly. She was a reasonable swimmer and she wanted to prove herself his equal. She couldn’t be worrying about the cold or the weed or the fact that fish might nibble her toes. This was her first date with a boy she really liked and she needed it to go well.
Then, all of a sudden, something was dragging her to the left. What was it? Guy? A river creature? Something else? Her arms were flailing, not aiding her movement at all and no matter how furiously she kicked with her legs she was being pulled left … and down. She panicked. She couldn’t keep afloat. Her legs were being taken from under her, her whole body being dragged beneath the surface. She was fighting hard against the current but it was relentless. She was losing her strength. Her arms were like blocks of lead, her legs like useless strands of spaghetti, stringy and weak. The water seeped into her mouth as she struggled to take in air, trying to stay on top of the water but sinking and losing out to the force of nature.
Just as she thought she was going to lose her life in France, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton pants, she felt a pair of strong hands grip her abdomen. Her face was forced skywards and back up into the sunlight.
She gasped a mouthful of air
and realised then how close she’d been to succumbing to the current. Her chest was heaving, trying to re-establish a comfortable breathing pattern. She dipped back down into the water and realised she wasn’t quite safe yet. She kicked for the bank, summoning up every last ounce of energy she possessed.
Guy bobbed up from beneath her gripping her again and pulling her to the riverside.
Finally, they reached the bank, were able to stand up in the water. Emma shivered as her skin pimpled with cold and the fright she’d just had. Without hesitation Guy pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her body, tightening his frame to hers to warm her.
‘Je suis désolé … I am sorry. I did not ask that you swim well. The river … it is … how you say … dangereux,’ Guy said, rubbing his hands up and down her back.
‘I thought it was a very big fish … un très gros poisson,’ Emma responded. Her chattering lips let out a small laugh. She’d been scared. Actually she’d been terrified, but it hadn’t been his fault. And the sensation he was giving her now, his skin flush against hers, was more than worth a partial drowning.
He prised her away from him and she raised her head to meet his eyes.
‘I do not want to hurt you, Emma,’ he whispered.
‘You won’t,’ she replied.
Chapter Twelve
Present Day
‘So, let me get this straight. He definitely isn’t Dominic’s father.’
Ally had sat with her mouth hanging open since Emma started talking. It had started out being parted perhaps only an inch, then it had widened with every sentence until it was full-on agape.
‘I said so, didn’t I?’ Emma snapped, taking a sip of her drink. It was cold.
‘I know you said so, but you’ve just described this teenage boy, who’s now all grown up and hotness personified, as the love of your life and yet I’m supposed to believe someone else is Dominic’s father,’ Ally exclaimed at great volume.
‘Keep your voice down, Ally, please,’ Emma begged. She looked toward the group of mothers nearest to them, worried they were listening.
‘You know he’s taken, don’t you? A French supermodel no less,’ Ally continued.
Yes, she knew. She’d seen the coral dress and the Botoxed face and Guy’s arm around striking Madeleine Courtier.
‘Yes I know and I don’t care. I’m not pursuing him. I’m with Chris,’ she answered.
She couldn’t have made the statement sound any more forced. It was like a recorded message.
‘So what do you want? What’s the real problem here because I’m not seeing it,’ Ally remarked in a tone slightly below jackhammer.
Emma looked out over the sports hall as Guy began to demonstrate weaving the ball between cones. Her whole body contracted from looking at him, just like it had all those years ago. The feelings of resentment and fury were fast being diluted by the rush of passion that zipped through her every time she saw him.
‘Who is Dominic’s father? Are you actually going to tell me at all? Because it isn’t like I’ve spent the last eight years asking, is it?’ Ally said, snorting air.
Ah, there it was - that question. She’d never answered before. She’d always changed the subject, closed her eyes and pretended not to hear. But having told Ally about Guy, she had to give her friend something. There was no way she would let it go until she had some information.
‘I have no idea,’ Emma answered. She’d accompanied the statement with a shrug.
‘What?’
‘I don’t know who his father is. You remember what I was like when my mum died. Dad took me off to France to stop me drinking the contents of his wine collection. I slept with three boys in the space of a week before we left … at least I think it was three. I can’t really remember.’
‘What? No. No, you didn’t. You couldn’t have. I went with you to every party. I was the one who lost my virginity first…to Freddie Green, at Tamara Davies’ sixteenth birthday,’ Ally said. Her mouth opened wider and her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
‘Sorry, I think I might have beaten you to it. Not with Freddie though. I never really fancied Freddie. But then he might have been one of them. I had had a lot of cider,’ Emma said. She took another sip of her cold coffee.
‘I don’t believe you. You would have told me if you’d done it before me. We told each other everything. We still tell each other everything, don’t we?’ Ally asked.
Poor Ally looked wounded. She didn’t want to lie, but Dominic came first. Just like he always had.
‘I would have remembered three boys within a week and Em, that isn’t you. It might have been me back then, well, maybe not three, but two possibly,’ Ally continued.
‘It was a bad time, I did a lot of stupid things,’ Emma replied.
The list of inappropriate things she’d done after her mother’s death was vast, but she didn’t consider all of them stupid. Some had even been well thought out. Not all had been successful and she had to live with those consequences.
‘So, Guy thinks he was your first and you … ’ Ally started.
‘Had done it at least three times before we met,’ Emma admitted with a nod.
‘Well, you just need to shatter his illusions. Tell him he isn’t the father and move on. Has Chris proposed lately? Once a month now, isn’t it?’ Ally asked. She launched her empty cardboard cup into the bin.
‘Yesterday,’ Emma answered. She looked through the glass at Dominic. He was dribbling with speed and accuracy.
‘No! What, after my free bar last night? God, did he end up on the shots?’ Ally asked.
‘It wasn’t last night, it was earlier…in the morning…it doesn’t matter,’ Emma responded with a sigh.
Ally was listening but she wasn’t hearing her. That was just the way she was. Ally was her best friend, her sounding board, the only person she had to talk to/at. But things were black and white in Ally’s world. If you didn’t like something you changed it. Ally didn’t dwell on things. She made decisions and stuck to them. Emma thought too much. She’d always been guilty of thinking too much.
‘So, what was he like? I mean, did he have the body on him he’s got now?’ Ally asked, a glint in her eye.
‘Chris?’
‘No, not Chris. Chris’ body in that nylon suit is not something I want to have wet dreams about…no offence or anything.’
‘Guy?’
‘Yes of course Guy.’
‘What do you think?’ Emma answered, a smile opening her mouth.
The boy had talent, already he could see that. It was so hard for him to concentrate on anyone else in the class when his son was stood in front of him. When he’d addressed the group, introduced himself and outlined what he was hoping to achieve in their session, the boy had looked up at him, his eyes wide with excitement and enthusiasm. He’d wanted to stop. He’d wanted to dismiss the other children and concentrate on his son. His boy. Watching him now he still couldn’t believe it. All these years, all the years of burying himself in the game, fighting his way to the top, being the best, staying the best, and, without his knowledge, he had someone to do it all for.
‘Shall I turn again, Guy?’ Dominic called.
Guy smiled at him and ruffled his mop of hair with his hand.
‘Oui, go again,’ he responded.
Chapter Thirteen
She heard the scream through the glass. She didn’t need to look to know it was Dominic but she still did, hoping her ears were deceiving her. The visual only gave her confirmation. Without uttering a word to Ally, she leapt from her seat and fled the room.
Her heart was pulsating hard, throbbing a beat in her chest and her neck simultaneously. Her maternal instinct kicked in, concern for Dominic flooding every sense. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs she was practically hyperventilating. She burst through the door to the hall, uncaring about anything other than getting to her child.
Guy was on his knees next to Dominic’s prostrate form, holding the boy’s leg with
one hand and ruffling his hair with the other.
‘What happened?’
The phrase came out of her mouth sharp and accusing.
‘He is OK…just a twist,’ Guy told her.
‘And how could you possibly know that? Are you a doctor?’ Emma yelled, taking hold of Dominic’s hand.
‘No, but…’ Guy started.
‘Where does it hurt, Dom?’
‘It’s OK, Mum. It’s not too bad now,’ Dominic answered. He gingerly bent his knee upwards. Emma caught the grimace and heard the creak.
‘You’re going to the hospital,’ she said.
‘I’m sure if I get some ice then…’ Guy began.
‘Oh, you’re sure, are you? Well, I think I’d quite like the opinion of a medical professional, not an amateur football coach,’ Emma blasted.
‘Mum! It wasn’t Guy’s fault. I just turned too quickly and…’
‘Is everything alright? Come on, kiddies, it’s rude to stare. Here, take some of the balls and kick and run or whatever,’ Ally suggested, arriving in the room.
‘We’re going to the hospital,’ Emma repeated, urging Dominic up from the floor.
‘What’s he done? Nothing broken is there? I could really do without a law suit in my first week,’ Ally said, looking down at Dominic.
‘Come on, Dom,’ Emma urged, trying to help him up.
‘Oww!’ Dominic let out a screech of agony.
‘Oh goodness. Shall I call an ambulance?’ Ally reacted.
‘No. Just leave him alone. Let me get him out of here and to a doctor,’ Emma shrieked.
‘Let me take him,’ Guy said.
‘No. I can do it,’ Emma said. She tried to lift Dominic up but he was a dead weight and far too heavy for her.
‘Emma, please. I can carry him to your car,’ Guy told her.
‘I don’t need your help,’ she insisted through gritted teeth. In an attempt to make a stand she lifted Dominic skyward, only to have him cry out in pain again. Some of the other children whimpered.
