by Mandy Baggot
‘I’m not very hungry. I had one of those huge macaroni cheese things at the school canteen,’ she lied.
‘Sit down, Em,’ Chris urged.
She didn’t want to sit down. She wanted to stand up and do something, anything to make this feeling leave her. Now she wasn’t only worried about what she had to say, she was also concerned about what Chris wanted to talk about.
‘Please,’ he urged.
She had no choice. She sunk back down into the chair, setting her eyes on the meal rather than him.
‘I know why you’ve been down lately.’
No. He couldn’t know. He just couldn’t. His statement was enough to make her raise her head and look at him.
‘You’ve been a bit out of sorts since the beginning of August. Since the anniversary of your mum dying,’ Chris spoke.
Her throat tightened and she felt that familiar lurch inside. Thoughts and memories still triggered that surge of loss so easily.
‘I just want you to know…I understand. You can talk to me about it. You know I was ten when I lost my dad. I’ve been there and I still miss him. There’s times - birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries - when it still feels fresh,’ he continued.
Why was he doing this? Why was he doing this now? She almost wished he’d propose. This was worse. He was feeling sorry for her, showing empathy, bearing his soul, talking about his dad. She didn’t deserve his compassion. She didn’t deserve anything.
‘I…’ she started.
‘You don’t have to say anything, Em. I just want you to know I’m here. I’m here and there’s no pressure,’ he said. He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his.
She was despicable. He was a wonderful, wonderful man and she was so lucky to have him. What was she doing pretending she could go back to being a teenager with Guy? It was impulsive, impossible, irresponsible love. There was no place for that in her life. Her life was with Chris. It should be with Chris. He was stable. Dominic needed stability.
‘No pressure?’ she queried, wiping a lone tear from her cheek.
‘Yeah, I mean the proposing thing. I knew the other day, when I said it; you weren’t going to say yes. But that’s OK. I want you to know that’s OK,’ he carried on. He was rubbing her fingers, just like Guy had, but the feeling couldn’t have been more different. It was comforting. She felt content. But that was all she felt. Nothing stirred within her. There was no passion, no rise in body temperature or blood pressure, just the sensation that he cared for her. Was that enough? Could that be enough? It should be, shouldn’t it?
‘It isn’t OK though, is it?’ she mumbled, half to him, half to herself.
‘Hey, I know I’m punching above my weight with you. I mean look at you! Beautiful and clever and me, well…I’m nothing special,’ he said. He shrugged.
‘You are special,’ Emma jumped in.
‘What I am is lucky. Lucky to have you and Dom and I’ll take that. Marriage or no marriage, I’ll take it,’ he told her, squeezing her hand.
She couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say. He was a special person. He was funny, hard-working, honest, caring and fantastic with Dominic. The list went on and on. But what the list didn’t cover was heat, passion, that intense connection on every level. She had never had that with Chris. Chris was the favourite little black dress you could always rely on. Guy was the bright red expensive frock you could only just fasten up but when you did, it made you feel alive.
She nodded. That was all she could do. Now wasn’t the time. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t know if she really should do it. There was so much at stake. Chris had been a constant; Guy had been back a few days. You couldn’t make any decision based on that.
‘Did you mention treacle sponge?’ Chris asked, letting go of her hand and picking his knife and fork back up.
‘Yes.’ She stood up, glad the atmosphere was broken.
‘Dom’s going to be buzzing in the morning by the way,’ Chris remarked, before Emma moved to the kitchen.
She looked at him, waiting for an explanation.
‘Put tickets to Finnerham’s next game under his pillow. Mate of my boss only has a box there! Me, you and Dom in executive seats, food, drink - the lot - next Saturday.’
Guy’s team. Watching Guy’s team. Watching Guy - with Chris and Dominic. She couldn’t think of anything worse.
‘Oh, well, I don’t know whether I’ll be able to come. We’re going to need some extra rehearsal time for Copacabana and I was thinking of getting the students in on Saturdays,’ she said as fast as she could.
‘Come on, Em! It’s free food and drink and sitting in the warm if you want. I know you’re not a football fan but there’ll be other wives there…well, partners…you know, girlfriends you can talk to. Dom would want you to come,’ Chris urged.
Yes, when Dominic saw the tickets, Chris was going to move even further up to hero status and nothing else would be talked about for the rest of the week. She couldn’t get out of it. Not even the school production was going to cut it when Chris had obviously pulled strings to get the opportunity.
‘I’ll work something out. Maybe we can start the week after,’ she said. She smiled at him, then turned away.
‘Magic! I can’t wait to see that Guy Duval in action. If they’ve really paid all that money for him like it said in the papers, I’m expecting him to score at least once,’ Chris commented.
She left the room and closed the door. Resting her body against the back of it she closed her eyes. What was she going to do?
Chapter Thirty-Two
She had fidgeted in the car the whole way to London. Fingers in her hair, powder compact open, re-touching her make-up and straightening her clothes. He’d never seen her like that before. It was usual for her to take care of her appearance, but this was different. She was jittery, with what seemed like a mixture of nerves and excitement. Now, as they prepared to leave the car, she was toying with her hands, wringing them together.
‘Madeleine,’ Guy said, taking one of her hands.
‘Don’t touch me, Guy, I’ve just straightened my jewellery,’ she gasped, snatching back her hand.
The driver opened the back door and Madeleine was out, surging up from the back seat like a breaking wave hitting its crest.
Guy let out a breath and smoothed his hair back. He didn’t want to be here. All this pomp and circumstance over fashion labels. He might have the means to afford whatever he wanted but he was happiest in his oldest jeans and a worn, faded t-shirt.
He stepped out of the car, joining Madeleine in front of a small number of photographers. She was turning to them, showing off a dress she was wearing that he definitely hadn’t seen before.
‘Guy, this way!’
‘Guy, are you looking forward to the match on Saturday?’
‘Guy, any truth in the rumour you’ve been approached by Calvin Klein?’
Madeleine turned to him, an infuriated look on her face.
‘Why do they always ask so much about you? I’ve been in three motion pictures,’ she stated.
Not to be outdone, she coiled her arms around his neck and pouted a kiss towards his cheek.
Chris hadn’t stopped talking about the upcoming match. Although they were supposed to be catching up on past episodes of The Glades he couldn’t stop interrupting with information about match days and talk of how thrilled Dominic would be.
She couldn’t concentrate on the TV either. Her brain was working overtime, everything converging together, in one massive problem she didn’t know how to start sorting out.
‘I’ll wash up,’ Chris said. He bounded up from the sofa and flicked off the television.
‘No. You don’t have to do that.’ She leapt up after him.
‘Don’t be daft. You made the dinner, I’m washing up,’ he insisted. He started to run the water to fill the bowl.
‘Don’t Chris, please. I want to do it,’ Emma begged.
He turned the tap off and looked at her.
‘You want to wash up?’ he queried.
He didn’t understand. She just wanted to be alone. Alone with the million thoughts she needed to unscramble.
‘I…well to be honest I have marking to do and…’ she started.
‘Ah, I see. You want me to go,’ Chris guessed.
‘No. I mean, yes. But…’ she began. No matter how she wrapped it up it sounded mean. But she was mean. Everything she was doing lately was mean.
‘It’s alright, Em. I know you’re busy and I’ve got an early start in the morning anyway,’ Chris said, picking his coat up from the back of the chair.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound…I just…’ What was she trying to say? She hated this. Everything was off-kilter and it was unsettling. She didn’t want it to be like this.
‘What are you apologising for? I’ve come here, I’ve had my favourite dinner and wine and on a week night! I’m a lucky man,’ Chris said, grinning.
She tried to grin back but the expression didn’t really work like it should.
‘Listen, give me a call tomorrow. Let me know what Dom says about the tickets,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I will.’
‘Right, well I’ll be off.’ He put his arms around her and she held on. Good, solid, salt of the earth, Chris. She closed her eyes and tried to make the world still.
‘Night,’ he said, kissing her on the lips.
‘Night.’
They’d been sat in the second row to the right of the catwalk. Madeleine had been miffed to begin with. She’d wanted to be the centre of attention, recognised by someone, anyone. But she’d been appeased when she realised Victoria Beckham was positioned just four places away.
‘She has her own fashion label you know,’ Madeleine whispered. Victoria Beckham was causing quite a stir in the after-party. Everyone wanted to chat to her, including Madeleine.
‘She’s already done knickers,’ Gabriella announced, guzzling down an oyster.
Guy wondered why Daniel wasn’t here. What excuse had he used to escape this?
‘Guy, please get us some more champagne,’ Madeleine ordered.
‘Yes. I won’t be able to pitch anything with a dry throat. Are you nervous? I haven’t been able to eat a thing all day,’ Gabriella stated, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her ribs.
Guy headed towards one of the waiters, circling the room with champagne flutes on trays. He needed an opportunity to duck out and call Emma. He wanted to hear her voice, needed to know there was a new future waiting for him, waiting for them both.
‘It is you! I knew it! Well, look at you!’
The woman’s voice addressing him had him turning around. Facing him was a tall, slim woman, mid-twenties, wearing a midnight blue, full-length gown. Her blonde hair was twirled up into a chignon.
She laughed. ‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’
‘I’m sorry. Have we met before?’ he asked, unsure.
‘We certainly have. Although it didn’t last as long as I’d hoped. You were the campsite hottie. Summers in La Baume just haven’t been the same since you left.’
Guy looked at the woman, trying to think back. It took him less than ten seconds to realise who it was.
‘Tasha,’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s right! See, you do remember me! I’ve changed a bit I suppose. Better clothes and I know what I’m doing with my make-up these days.’ She laughed.
He smiled.
‘So, look at you! Gorgeous as ever and at the top of your game. I hate football but the players who make it into the glossies always tend to catch my eye,’ Tasha continued.
Although she was dressed in something obviously expensive, all he could see was the teenage girl from the clubhouse discos wearing mini-skirts and neon. That vision brought back the memories he was so ashamed of.
‘So, were you invited here because you model? I haven’t stalked you or anything but I did see that billboard. You could hardly miss it. It was right outside Waterloo. I told people I knew you but I don’t think they believed me,’ Tasha continued.
‘Non. My girlfriend, Madeleine, she was invited. She has a meeting with a lingerie manufacturer,’ he informed, taking a sip from one of the drinks he was holding.
‘Ooo that’s exciting. Which one?’
‘I…I don’t remember the name.’
‘Was it Soft Touch?’
‘I don’t…’
‘Because that’s my father’s company. You remember my father, don’t you? Always drank too much and laughed too loudly,’ Tasha continued.
The glasses fell from Guy’s hands.
Chapter Thirty-Three
She wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do but she had to do it. The box was heavy and covered in dust, despite having been underneath a child’s car seat she no longer used and at least fifty CDs she never listened to.
This was everything that meant anything to her from her past. The box was all about her life before Dominic. She knew most of what was in there, knew the items would spark emotion, but she had to open it. She had to put herself back there to try and resolve what was happening now.
She placed the container on the table and braced herself. There was a reason it had been in a cupboard under the stairs for so long. It was full of the person she used to be. There were items in it that held little meaning to anyone else but they all told a story. Her story.
She took off the lid and put it to one side. There on top was a patterned blanket. Just disturbing it slightly brought a scent to Emma’s nose. It was her mother’s. It was something Emma had made at school out of squares of knitting sewn together. That had been the blanket of choice to wrap around her mother’s frame when she was ill.
Lifting it out carefully, she brought it to her face. Inhaling, she pressed the material to her cheeks, flattening her nose against the wool. It was still there, the very essence of her mum. Clean cotton with notes of hardback books and soap. She was drawn right back to the time she’d had to say goodbye. The tears were brimming but she wasn’t going to let them fall. That wasn’t what this task was about. This exercise wasn’t about falling apart it was about putting things back together.
She put the blanket on top of the table and looked back into the box. She dipped her hand in and pulled out a stuffed toy. This time she let the tears fall.
It was so worn and threadbare it was almost impossible to tell what animal it was supposed to be. Dominic hadn’t gone anywhere without it when he was small. One of its eyes was loose and the line of stitching that represented its mouth was coming apart. She’d never known what it was called. She wasn’t sure it had a name. She just knew it had been loved.
She put it on the blanket and reached in for something else. She brought out a small black velvet box and this time her hand shook. Why had she kept it? Why had it found its way into this collection of precious treasures?
She chewed her lip, strengthened her resolve and snapped open the lid. There it was. It looked just the same as the picture she had in her head. Why would it have changed? She’d worn it for just a few hours and then it had been consigned to the box for all time. With an unsteady hand, she loosened the ring from the cushioned surround and took it out.
The light caught the almond-shaped sapphire as she held it between her fingers, remembering the moment she’d received it. It had held so much hope, so much love and so many dreams. Why had it gone wrong? Why hadn’t their bond been enough for him? Or was it more than that? Were they both just too young to say yes for a lifetime?
The sound of smashing glass had brought gasps and attention to him. Champagne had licked Tasha’s ankles and shards had scattered across the wood floor. In his state of shock he’d grabbed the arm of the nearest wine waiter and indicated the mess before fleeing. Now, hunched over the sink in the gents, he was still struggling to get his breathing under control.
He ran some water, wetting his hands under the tap. He flicked it up with his fingers, ran them through his hair. He was swe
ating and his hands were trembling. It was his worst nightmare. That man was here.
He studied his reflection in the mirror and all he saw was the person he’d been back then. Young, weak, trapped. That essence hadn’t left him. It haunted him. He was tainted by what had happened, forever dragged back there in mind if not in body. He couldn’t move on. Even now, after eight years.
The door to the toilets opened and he tried to pull himself together. Sucking in a breath he straightened his expression, pulled his shoulders back and turned the tap on again.
‘Hello, Guy.’
Hearing his voice sent him into a panic. He turned off the tap and reached across for the paper towels, not daring to look his way, let alone greet him. He wasn’t here. It was his imagination. He couldn’t be here in the present. He belonged in the past.
‘How are you? Long time no see,’ the voice continued.
Guy put the used paper towel into the bin and raised his head.
‘I’m sorry. Have we met before?’
His voice hadn’t come out convincing at all. It had sounded faint and uncontrolled.
Tasha’s father, Keith Crone, let out a raucous laugh, holding his sides for effect. He looked no different. Dyed blond hair, thick black designer glasses and his rotund form squeezed into a fashion that made him look like a cross between Humpty Dumpty and Elton John.
Bile was rising in Guy’s throat as the man continued to laugh. He needed to get out of here.
Keith stopped laughing, took off his glasses and studied Guy. His scrutiny made him turn away.
‘You’ve turned into quite the young man, haven’t you?’ Keith remarked.
‘Where have we met before? If you just remind me then…’
He didn’t know how to handle this. He wanted to wipe his memory of everything and perhaps he could. Maybe if he just didn’t acknowledge it, it would disappear.
‘You need reminding do you? I’m disappointed by that,’ he responded, putting his glasses back on his face.
He didn’t know what to say so he just stood there, stock still, waiting for something to happen. Silence descended and all he could hear was Keith’s breathing.
