by Mandy Baggot
‘It’s about the past?’ she whispered.
He managed a nod and picked up the bottle of water.
‘We agreed not to talk about it. We said a fresh start.’
Her heart was pumping now. Fear and adrenaline were driving through her, urging her body to work faster and harder.
‘I know, but I don’t want this affecting the present and…it could,’ Guy spoke softly.
‘No.’ She shook her head.
‘Emma…’
‘Guy! Are you alright?’ Dominic had bounded up to the table and launched himself into a chair opposite them.
‘Hey, Dominic. It is nice to see you again,’ Guy responded.
Tears were stinging her eyes, her breathing rapid but she had to pretend everything was OK.
‘I might be joining the youth team,’ he announced proudly.
‘Wow. That is amazing. You will do very well. You are a good player,’ Guy encouraged.
‘Here we are. One glass of red wine. Well, hello, Guy. How are you? We were all a bit worried when that full-back clobbered you,’ Chris said, joining the group.
‘Hello, Chris. I am OK. It was more important to score the goal,’ Guy responded.
‘It was awesome,’ Dominic enthused.
‘Well, I’m sure you have lots of people to talk to and interviews maybe…Match of the Day?’ Emma suggested to Guy.
‘I have spoken to Match of the Day, just now,’ Guy responded.
‘Wow! Did you? Are you going to be on tonight?’ Dominic wanted to know.
‘Of course he is! He’s the hero of the hour,’ Chris reminded.
She couldn’t take this anymore. All elements of her life sat around a coffee table in a function room of a football stadium. She stood up, picking up her bag and looking to the door.
‘Em?’ Chris queried.
‘I just need to get some fresh air. I’ve got a headache coming on,’ she stuttered.
‘We’ll come with you,’ Chris said, urging Dominic to finish his Coke.
‘No. No, it’s fine. I’ll just be a minute. You talk to Guy,’ she said, looking to Guy.
He saw the despair in her eyes. What was he doing? What were they both doing treading this dangerous path? They’d promised to make it right but it seemed to be impossible. He knew he didn’t deserve her but he wanted her. He had never wanted anyone else.
‘Does your head still hurt?’ Dominic asked, breaking Guy’s concentration.
‘A little. I have small lump here,’ Guy said, putting his hand to the back of his head.
‘Do you?! Gross!’
‘D’you want a drink, Guy?’ Chris offered.
‘No. But thank you,’ he responded. He gave Chris a smile.
Knowing that Chris was a good man and how well he had looked after Emma and Dominic made this all even worse.
Ally’s phone went to voicemail again. Emma suspected she would be either somewhere with Jonty, rekindling their relationship, or up to her eyes in registering children for swimming lessons which started next week. Either way Ally wasn’t answering. Not that she would be able to help. Ally already didn’t approve of the situation and who could blame her? Emma had made her tell lies to cover her infidelity and that couldn’t carry on. That wasn’t who she was anymore. She was better than that.
The executive box was empty now and as she looked out from the balcony, over the stud-marked pitch, she sucked in the tranquillity. Thousands of fans had screamed and shouted not more than an hour ago, filling the stadium with a cacophony of sound. Now there were half a dozen grounds men on the turf and just quiet.
She sensed and smelt him before he made it up to her. She turned around and faced him before he could open his mouth to speak.
‘I don’t want this anymore. It isn’t good. Whatever we have it’s hurting people. It’s hurting me,’ she blurted out.
He said nothing, just moved towards her, his form blocking out the sun.
‘No one knows anything yet and if we stop this now there’s nothing to know,’ she continued.
Her heart had stepped up a gear and was pounding in her chest and up into her ears. He wasn’t listening. Just coming closer. And the nearer he got the more she shook.
He stopped only when he got alongside her, leaning on the balcony rail next to her, his eyes not leaving hers.
Involuntarily a noise escaped her lips and it rocked her. It was something between a sigh and a yelp, frightened yet excited, longing.
‘I do not deserve you, Emma. But I cannot let go,’ he whispered.
She gazed at him, taking in every inch of his face, the grass green eyes, the olive complexion, the hint of stubble on his face, his full, lush lips. She couldn’t fight this feeling. It was forcing her to act. This deep-rooted need she had, this connection she couldn’t deny was overtaking all sense about rights and wrongs.
She only moved a centimetre but they both knew what it meant. Restraint had been overridden; passion and desperation were taking over. She drew his face to hers and their mouths met. Hungry, wet - fusing together as if time needed to be made up.
‘I cannot let you go. I will not,’ Guy said, kissing her lips, holding her tight.
‘I know…I know,’ she responded, tears spilling from her eyes.
‘I want to hold you so much. To never let go,’ he whispered. His hands traced the line of her shoulders as the kisses continued.
‘I’ll come to France,’ she said. She kissed his cheek, took his hands in hers.
‘What?’
‘I’ll come with you to France next weekend. I’ll tell Chris and I’ll come,’ she stated again.
He looked at her, an expression she couldn’t quite read on his face. Perhaps he had changed his mind. Maybe he’d decided they shouldn’t.
‘Formidable!’ he exclaimed. He picked her up and spun her around in his arms. She laughed out loud, a surge of euphoria spiralling through her as he put her back down on the ground and pressed his lips to hers again.
‘A new start,’ he said.
‘A new start,’ she echoed.
The door of the balcony closed shut.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
August 2005
‘Where’s the baby?’
‘With his mother. Where’s your lapdog?’
‘Where’s your books?’
‘Where’s your dad?’
‘With my mum. At least I have one of those.’
Tasha’s last remark cut deep and before she could control the rage, Emma lashed out. She hit Tasha around the head with the supermarket carrier bag she was holding. It contained a carton of wine and some brie and Tasha fell to the floor in a heap.
‘What happen? What did you do?’ Guy asked, suddenly appearing at her side.
‘That bitch made a nasty comment about my mum,’ Emma stated.
Tasha was crying. Loud, babyish crying that sounded ridiculous. She was glad she had hurt her. She wished she’d bought a bottle of wine rather than a carton.
‘Emma…is she blessé?’ Guy asked, bending down to look at the girl.
‘If blessé means blessed then no she definitely isn’t!’ She was shaking and she folded her arms in disgust as Guy inspected the crying Tasha as if she were something worthwhile. He took hold of her arm, almost gently and helped her to her feet.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked Tasha.
‘I can’t believe you’re fawning over her! She’s a complete cow!’ Emma blasted.
‘She hit me with the bag,’ Tasha answered. She looked only at Guy and sniffed, blinking damp eyelashes.
‘I’ll hit you with it again if you don’t stop faking it. If I really wanted to hurt you I wouldn’t have stopped!’ Emma hissed.
‘I think you should…dire pardon,’ Guy said.
‘What?! You want me to apologise?! No way! She made a comment about my mum. My dead mum!’ Emma shouted.
Why was he being so nice to Tasha? He said he didn’t like her and Melody and now he was acting as if Tasha was important…more i
mportant than her. He was taking Tasha’s side when he should be defending her.
‘Emma…’
‘No. I’m not apologising. Frankly, she deserved more than I gave her. Here! You can take the wine and cheese. You enjoy them…on your own!’
She launched the bag at Guy and marched in the opposite direction. She had gone four or five steps before the tears started to fall. How could Tasha have been so cruel? Bitchy banter was one thing but making a remark about her mother was below the belt. And Guy was protecting her. Why didn’t he see her point of view? Well, he could eat the wine and cheese with Tasha if he wanted because she didn’t care what he did. She had lied to her dad again to be able to see him and now he had ruined it.
By the time she’d left the campsite her chest was heaving with emotion. Why was this happening? She was leaving soon. She didn’t want to leave like this. She didn’t want it to be just a holiday romance. She loved him. He loved her. Or so she thought. They could write to one another, send emails…it was only a few months until the half-term break. She could persuade her dad to come back to La Baume.
Before she knew it she was at the barn. She didn’t know why she had walked there but it was away from the campsite and it was as good a place as any to cry.
She sat down on a hay bale and curled her legs up underneath her. What was she going to do when she got home? Despite drowning in all the books Mr. Devlin had recommended and more, she wasn’t convinced the exams were going to go as well as they should next year. Her work and concentration had slipped. She’d let them slip because she’d needed to concentrate on her mum. Spending moments with her had been the most important thing in her life and she didn’t regret that decision one bit. But would that decision cost her the life that she so badly wanted?
She looked out of the barn door at the scenery before her. Golden banks of corn, set against greener fields and the spire of a distant church. It was beautiful, it was peaceful, perhaps that’s what she needed to focus on. Being at peace with how things were. Shouldering the situation she’d been placed in.
‘You are here…I knew.’
He was standing at the small side door of the barn, his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
He’d come to find her. He wasn’t with Tasha. But she should be angry with him. He hadn’t supported her when she’d needed him too.
‘We should go. We don’t want to be…en retard,’ Guy continued.
‘Late? Late for what?’ she asked. She tried to disguise the interest in her voice.
‘For fun,’ he responded, a smile on his lips.
The joy in his face was infectious and she couldn’t help but mimic his expression. But then she stopped, remembered she was cross.
‘Why were you so nice to Tasha? She said something really hurtful.’
Guy threw his head back and let out a tut.
‘She is…elle est agaçante! But…her father…’
‘The man I met today?’
‘Oui. He is…he go to the hotel I work at. He knows the boss,’ Guy explained.
Now she felt a bit stupid. She knew money was difficult for him. He wouldn’t want his job in danger.
‘Don’t be…what is the word?’
‘Angry?’ she offered.
‘Are you that?’
‘A little,’ she admitted.
‘You cannot. We have…Nous avons le plaisir d’avoir.’
‘A what?’
‘Musique, vin, danse, sur le bateau,’ he explained.
‘A boat? Where?’
‘Do you come?’ he asked, holding his hand out to her.
This sounded exciting. This sounded daring and different and not safe at all.
‘How do we get there?’ she asked, taking his hand.
‘Voiture.’
Chapter Forty
The ‘car’ turned out to be more of a delivery van Guy had borrowed from someone else he knew in the kitchens at the campsite. The seats were ripped, springs and sponge oozing out, there wasn’t a panel without rust and the tyres looked like they needed serious attention. But when they pulled up at the quay in Fréjus she felt like Cinderella arriving at the ball in her golden carriage.
‘This is crazy,’ she said, admiring the port and all the boats moored along the edge of the water.
‘You spend all this time here and you have not seen the town,’ Guy remarked, taking hold of her hand.
‘I don’t think my dad really knows what to do with me. The campsite is safe. He gets involved in the activities and I…sneak away to see you,’ she said, leaning forward and kissing his lips.
‘The boat…it is there,’ Guy said, pointing to a luxurious yacht moored a few feet away from where they had parked.
Emma took in the view. Pristine white and chrome with royal blue trims, the boat was more like a mini luxury liner. She could see people stood up on deck. They were laughing, glasses of wine in their hands. There were waiters with trays of food, jazz music was playing. Harry Connick Jnr. or someone like him. She froze when she saw what people were wearing. The women were in cocktail dresses, the men in short-sleeved shirts and smart trousers. She looked down at her tangerine coloured sun-dress and her white pumps.
‘Guy, I can’t go to a party…that party, dressed like this. I look under-dressed…not posh enough…too casual,’ she said, hoping he would understand.
‘Your dress?’ he asked, looking confused.
‘Yes. It isn’t good enough,’ she said.
‘You are with me…my…mon invite,’ he told her.
‘But…’
‘Come on,’ he urged, pulling her forward.
She let herself be tugged forward because there was nothing else she could do. This party was obviously important to him and she didn’t want to ruin it just because she was self-conscious and concerned over party etiquette.
There was a walkway from the edge up onto the boat and two men dressed in dark t-shirts and trousers were checking names on a list.
‘Guy, are you sure this is OK?’ Emma asked as he hurried her on board.
‘Oui! Do not worry…Guy Duval et ceci est ma invitée,’ he greeted the men at the top of the gangplank.
The list was duly checked and there they were, on board the boat amongst some of the most extravagantly dressed people Emma had ever seen.
‘Champagne?’ a waiter offered. Emma hesitated. Guy took two glasses from the tray and gave one to her.
‘What is wrong? We are here for fun?’ he asked.
‘I know but…who are these people? How do you know them? Do you know them?’ she whispered, following Guy through the boat.
‘The man who owns the boat. He is…quelqu’un que je connais.’
‘Someone you know,’ Emma translated.
Guy nodded and drank some champagne. He took hold of her hand and led her off down the boat towards a middle-aged man who was centre of attention.
‘Bonsoir, David,’ Guy greeted, butting right into the conversation.
The grey-haired man turned his attention to them and his face lit up like a Christmas tree.
‘Guy! I’m so glad you could make it! This is Guy everyone. Another little friend of mine. Fine worker. Always punctual, always a delight,’ David introduced, squeezing Guy’s shoulder with affection.
‘David, this is…ma copine, Emma,’ Guy said, stepping back a little.
‘Hello,’ Emma greeted.
‘Petite amie?’ David queried.
‘Oui,’ Guy responded.
‘Well it’s delightful to meet you, my dear! Wonderful. Help yourself to anything you like. Guy will look after you I’m sure,’ David said. He smiled briefly at Emma then turned his attention back to his group of friends.
Guy smiled at her and led her to the side of the boat where there were some free seats. They sat down and Emma drank some champagne, the bubbles light on her tongue and fizzy up into her nose.
‘He must be very rich,’ Emma remarked, still absorbing all the decadence and luxury surrounding them.
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‘Oui, he is,’ Guy said, nodding.
‘So what work do you do for him?’ Emma asked.
‘He has parties…at the hotel I work at,’ Guy explained.
‘You’re a waiter or something?’
‘Oui,’ he said, nodding again.
The boat’s engines kicked into life and squeals of excitement rose up from the deck. Emma knelt up on the seat to look over the side at the water below. The yacht was nothing like the ferry back to England.
‘But tonight I do not work. Tonight we have fun,’ he said. He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist as the boat left the harbour.
She’d had at least five glasses of champagne and she knew it wasn’t the slight sea breeze buoying the boat along that was making her dizzy. She swayed to the left and fell into Guy’s arms, giggling.
‘We should dance,’ she said, linking her hands behind his neck.
‘We should,’ he agreed, putting his hands on her hips. He rocked her back and forth in time to the music and she let herself melt into him. The alcohol was running through her, making her head spin and her heart race but, she liked the feeling. She was slightly out of control and she liked being that way when she was with him. It felt nice, doing something she shouldn’t, but feeling safe because he was there.
The boat pulled back into the quay but nobody moved to disembark. Emma raised her head from Guy’s shoulder and looked at the sky. It was pitch black. What time was it? She took a look at her watch. It was almost one in the morning. Normally, panic would have washed over her. Her dad would be worrying, but right now she didn’t care. He had Marilyn. He would probably be in his sleeping bag on the phone to her like he was the other night. It made her want to puke. Or perhaps it was the boat motion doing that. She lurched forward, suddenly feeling as if there was no air.
‘Emma,’ Guy said, steadying her.
‘I’m OK,’ she insisted, breathing in and stabilising herself.
‘We should go,’ he said, letting her lean on him. He headed towards the rear of the boat and the exit off.
‘Going already, Guy?’ David asked as they prepared to descend to shore.
