by Mandy Baggot
‘Mum, can I have some more sauce?’ Dominic called.
He was behind her at the table, hungrily devouring fish-fingers after his hour learning the intricacies of breaststroke at swimming lessons.
‘Yes, of course, I’ll get some.’ She snapped down the lid of the computer before standing up.
‘Will Chris be here soon? He’s getting me some more cars today,’ Dominic said. He raised his head and those eyes lit up.
Emma picked up the tomato ketchup and squeezed some onto her son’s plate. He was growing up so fast. He was tall, with a dark brown mop of hair that constantly fell across his forehead. He had an infectious smile and those wide eyes.
It had been just her and her dad when Dominic came along, but they had managed. And Emma hoped they had made him feel every inch the special person he was. He might not have been planned for, but even the best plans usually have to be adapted. And, whatever the future held for her now, Dominic would always be at the centre of it.
‘I don’t know what time he’s coming over. We’re going out tonight though, remember? Grandad’s coming to look after you.’
‘Great! That means I can stay up late and play on the Wii with him!’ Dominic said, peas falling from his lips.
‘So that’s what you get up to, is it?’ She smiled.
‘I always win. Grandad gets the buttons mixed up.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Emma replied. She opened her laptop back up.
There were dozens of photos of Guy, all waiting to be clicked on. Most of them were football shots, him in action for different teams in France. But there was one picture that interested her in particular. In this shot he was wearing an expensive-looking suit and had his arm around the waist of a beautiful dark-haired woman. She had eyes the shape of almonds and a slender figure draped in a coral-coloured shift dress. Madeleine Courtier the caption stated. She was so pretty, so immaculately turned out. Ally would know the designer of the coral dress and who her hair was styled by. But it didn’t need intimate knowledge of haute couture to see that this gorgeous woman was Guy’s equal in looks and status. Footballers were like movie stars these days. He was a footballer and she, Madeleine Courtier, looked like a movie star.
As Emma looked at the photo, a burn manifested in the pit of her stomach, bubbling and boiling, reminding her of all the nights she’d spent reliving what had happened in France. There he was in a magazine, almost unaltered, his handsome face working the camera, the edge of his tanned hand just visible at the waist of this hopefully highly airbrushed female companion. He had made a fool of her.
She slammed her laptop shut. The noise made Dominic jump and his fork clattered onto the table.
‘Mum!’ he announced, his dark eyelashes blinking as he retrieved his cutlery.
‘Sorry, Dom, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump,’ she apologised.
She ruffled her son’s hair and then held his head close to her in an embrace.
‘Is it Chaucer again?’ Dominic questioned, turning his head to look up at her.
‘What?’ Emma asked, the name feeding a memory back into her head.
‘Chaucer always makes you mad.’
‘He’ll make you mad too, when you’re older,’ she replied.
The doorbell rang and Dominic sprang from his seat like a greyhound out of a trap, racing to reach the door first.
‘It’s Chris! It’s Chris! Hi Chris, have you got my cars?’ Dominic bombarded as soon as Emma had opened the door.
‘Dom! Let Chris come in, for goodness’ sake. He’s tired, he’s been working and…’ Emma started.
And there he was, her lovely boyfriend. Tall, slim, blond-haired and blue-eyed with laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. But she couldn’t look him in the eye. They hadn’t spoken since the marry me of that morning, and she didn’t know if anything had changed.
‘Hey, that’s alright. You should know you can’t keep a boy away from his cars… especially a yellow limited-edition Ferrari and a replica of Lewis Hamilton’s winning racing car,’ Chris announced, producing two boxed cars from behind his back.
‘Wow! Mum! Have you seen these? Thanks, Chris they’re awesome! Can I play with them now, Mum? I’ve had enough dinner,’ Dominic said. He gave Emma the benefit of one of his heart-stopping beams.
‘Peas or racing cars. I guess it isn’t really a hard choice. Go on then,’ she agreed.
Dominic raced off upstairs to his bedroom and within seconds the noise of cardboard being broken apart was the only sound to be heard.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Emma offered.
‘Tea? Emma, I’ve never drunk tea,’ Chris said. A sigh escaped his lips.
‘Sorry, I know. I just feel awkward about this morning and…’ Emma’s eyes dropped to her shoes.
‘Well, don’t. It was a spur of the moment thing. I hadn’t asked in a couple of months, we were having a laugh with Dominic and everything and it just slipped out,’ Chris said in a matter-of-fact tone.
‘Slipped out,’ Emma repeated, raising her head to look at him.
‘Yeah, it wasn’t especially important. It just sort of happened,’ Chris continued.
‘Right.’
‘So, no need to feel awkward or anything. God, I could do with a beer. I brought some. Want one?’ Chris offered, indicating the bag he was holding.
‘Maybe in a bit,’ Emma answered as he moved past her, heading for the kitchen.
She knew he was talking rubbish. Marriage proposals didn’t slip out. They were well considered before they passed anyone’s lips. Chris was trying to make her feel better and that was so typical of him. Whenever there was crisis or confrontation he smoothed over the cracks and pretended the problem had never even existed. You couldn’t live like that forever, she thought. Eventually something or someone had to give. The question was, who would give first?
Chapter Four
This was his third attempt at doing up his tie. What was wrong with him? He let out a sigh and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Here he was, Guy Duval, international footballer, a world-renowned player just signed to a high-flying UK team set on winning the Premier League. He had the world at his feet – he had worked hard to get the world at his feet. So why wasn’t he happy?
He attempted the tie again, trying to look in the mirror for guidance.
‘Guy! The removers have cracked a bowl. The whole set is ruined! You must call them. We ask for compensation!’ Madeleine’s voice called from downstairs.
He dropped his hands down to his sides and sat on the edge of the bed. What was he doing? Where was he going? No matter where he was he was always at a loss. Nothing he did felt right. Eight years ago, he’d thought escaping was the answer. But what had escape brought him so far? He might be rich beyond his wildest dreams but when he looked in the mirror he still saw the face that disgusted him. He still held the memories that haunted him.
He felt the ache riding over him. The pain started like a flutter in his chest, crept its way upwards, taking a strangle hold on his neck, invading his shoulders, his back and then his head.
‘Guy!’ Madeleine called again.
‘I will be there,’ he finally responded.
*
‘Grandad!’ Dominic announced, jumping up at Mike as he entered the house.
‘Hello, Dom. Hello, Chris. Don’t you look smart?’ Mike said, his eyes taking in the grey suit and retro paisley tie Chris was wearing.
‘Do I? It’s really itchy, this material. Friend of mine lent it to me. I don’t have a suit. I mean, when does a taxi driver get to wear a suit?’ Chris asked, adjusting his tie and looking uncomfortable.
‘Chris and Mum are going to a ball,’ Dominic announced. He rolled his eyes and yawned.
‘It isn’t a ball. It’s a gala dinner,’ Emma said, coming down the stairs.
‘Wow! Look at you, love. You look smashing,’ Mike said, taking in his daughter’s appearance.
She only owned one smart dress and it ha
d seen far better days. But a black dress circa 2007 wouldn’t do if she wanted to tackle Councillor Martin about school funding. Ally had lent her the dress she was wearing now. It was a simple style, scalloped neckline, in at the waist and flaring out to the knee. The colour gave it the wow factor. It was canary-yellow and it brought out the deep chestnut-brown of Emma’s eyes.
‘Smashing makes me sound like some sort of successful clay sculpture,’ Emma said, blushing as both men looked at her in appreciation.
‘Your dad meant to say gorgeous, didn’t you, Mike? But he’s your dad, isn’t he? I should be the one telling you how beautiful you look… and you do,’ Chris said. His cheeks flushed.
‘You can go out now,’ Dominic instructed, taking hold of Mike’s hand and dragging him towards the living room.
‘Oh I see. You don’t need us now Grandad’s here,’ Emma joked, smiling at her son.
‘I thought you were going to go all mushy and kiss, that’s all,’ Dominic said, screwing up his face and poking out his tongue.
‘No mate, we haven’t had enough wine to do that,’ Chris replied.
Emma swallowed and avoided reacting by gathering Dominic into a hug. Did he really mean that?
‘Now listen, you be good for Grandad. Not up too late playing computer games and not too many Bourbons. And brush your teeth before bed,’ Emma ordered.
‘Have we got Bourbons? Fantastic,’ Mike said, clapping his hands together.
‘Bet I can eat more than you,’ Dominic challenged.
‘I’ve had years of practice,’ Mike reminded.
‘I think we should go. This sounds like hardcore biscuit-eating to me,’ Chris said, opening the front door.
‘We won’t be back too late, Dad,’ Emma said, touching him on the arm before she stepped out.
‘That’s OK, love. You enjoy yourself,’ Mike told her, catching her hand and giving it a squeeze.
It was a balmy evening for mid-September. August had been one of the worst on record, spoiling the school break. Now the children were back in the classrooms, the temperature had risen and everyone was wishing they were still on holiday.
Emma could only imagine Ally’s delight at a warm evening. It meant her friend could open the remote-controlled veranda doors leading from the function room out onto the deck. From there the guests would have a great view of the outdoor pool and waterpark-style lazy river.
‘This suit is nylon, isn’t it? I’m sweating buckets here. How long d’you think I’ll have to keep the jacket on for?’ Chris asked as they walked towards the entrance of the fitness centre.
‘There’s vicious climate control inside. You might be glad of it,’ Emma answered.
There were paraffin torches leading the way. Two wine waiters stationed either side of the main door held trays of champagne.
‘They will have beer, won’t they? I mean freebies are freebies, but I’ve never been that keen on champagne,’ Chris whispered as they approached the waiters.
‘If I know anything about Ally it won’t be the cava we’re accustomed to,’ Emma told him.
‘Champagne, sir? Madam?’ a waiter offered.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Chris said, picking a glass up.
Emma helped herself to a glass and then stepped through the door into the foyer where people were mingling.
She noticed Ally at once. She was wearing a peacock-coloured dress with a feather fascinator in her hair. No one else could have got away with wearing something so elaborate, but she did and made it look stunning. Ally waved and headed over in Emma’s direction.
‘Ooo Em, you look fab! I said that dress would suit you, didn’t I? Hello, Chris, what are you doing with that champagne? You’re not a champagne man now, are you? It’s a free bar tonight. We have five different lagers, fill your boots,’ Ally announced, holding her hand out to indicate the bar area.
‘Good stuff, I’ll get on over there then! Here, more for you, Em,’ Chris said. He handed Emma his half-started glass of bubbly and hot-footed it over to the bar.
‘Where on earth did he get that suit from?’ Ally asked. They both looked as Chris itched around the waistband of his trousers while he waited for his pint.
‘Oh don’t! He’s self-conscious about it enough as it is,’ Emma answered with a giggle.
‘Right, well, while he’s busy getting lager and scratching, come and meet the hottest specimen of manhood I’ve seen since the chef on my last cruise,’ Ally announced, taking Chris’ glass from Emma and grabbing her by the arm.
‘Oh, Ally I thought you were happy with Jonty,’ Emma exclaimed as Ally led her along.
‘He’s never here! Him being a pilot is a pain in the rear! One day it’s Germany, the next it’s Fuerteventura… wherever that is. And I’m pretty sure he’s spending intimate cabin time with Claudette the trolley dolly. He talks about her all the time… when he’s with me! No, no future in that one. He couldn’t even get me any air miles,’ Ally said.
‘Right, so who’s the next victim?’ Emma asked.
‘Well, remember I told you about the footballer, the French one, the one I thought would look like Quasimodo…’
‘Guy,’ Emma said. The name almost caught in her throat.
‘Emma, you have got to see him! He’s divine! He looks like something that’s been sculpted. Firm jaw, Roman nose, eyes the colour of a Grolsch bottle and a mane of hair any racehorse would be proud of,’ Ally described, her voice full of excitement.
‘But he isn’t here, is he? I mean he cut the ribbon this afternoon, didn’t he? He’ll be halfway back to wherever footballers spend their nights, won’t he?’ Emma asked. As the words came out of her mouth, her eyes scanned the room like an assassin looking for its target.
‘Of course he’s here! He’s here all weekend! No football, most of the players are away on international duty. Tomorrow he’s spending all day teaching football to the local kids. Well, I can tell you I am going to be keeping a very close eye on his ball skills,’ Ally said with a giggle.
‘I should really go back to Chris. He doesn’t really know anyone else here…’ Emma began, holding back from Ally’s determined walk across the function room.
‘Don’t be daft; he’ll have a pint to talk to by now. Ah, here he is. Just look at that! Isn’t he perfection?’ Ally said. She sighed.
And there he was. Guy Duval. Her Guy. The Guy who stole her heart.
Dressed in a blue-black suit, his thick glossy hair sat just on his shoulders, he was engrossed in conversation with a wizened woman in a tangerine-coloured frock coat.
‘Ooh God, he’s been pounced on by Kathleen Dobbs! She’s the chairwoman of the Fair Trader Association and hell, doesn’t she talk! Are they talking French? Emma? Is that French they’re speaking?’ Ally hissed at her friend.
She couldn’t be here in this moment. She couldn’t let Ally try and introduce them. Suddenly she longed for the familiarity of Chris and his down-to-earth normality. While Ally was busying herself scrutinising Kathleen Dobbs’ wrinkled mouth, Emma fled back across the room, trying to avoid elbowing guests’ glasses out of their hands.
She didn’t stop until she found Chris. He was leaning on one of the pillars festooned with ribbons, one hand wrapped around his pint glass, the other at the collar of his shirt, scratching.
‘There you are! Thought you’d deliberately deserted me in a room full of posh people for a second,’ Chris said. He smiled at her.
‘No, no, Ally just dragged me off to meet some woman from the Fair Trader Association. You know what she’s like and this is her big night,’ Emma said. She didn’t dare to look anywhere except at Chris. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. It was like she could sense him.
‘Well, she’s heading this way with someone in tow,’ Chris announced.
Emma buried her nose in her champagne glass and waited for the inevitable.
Chapter Five
‘Emma, Chris, this is Kathleen Dobbs from the Fair Trader Association. Kathleen, this i
s Emma Barron and Chris… er… Chris…’ Ally began.
‘Chris Mason, lovely to meet you, Kathleen,’ Chris said. He took hold of the frail lady’s translucent hand and brought it to his lips.
‘Oh I say, an old fashioned gentleman at last. These days most people want to kiss you on the cheek, or both if you’re particularly unlucky,’ Kathleen said, tittering with laughter.
Emma realised she wasn’t breathing and almost sucked in the contents of her glass as she gasped in some much-needed oxygen. It wasn’t Guy! Thank God!
‘Although, I didn’t mind the two kisses from the French gentleman over there. In fact, two wasn’t quite enough,’ Kathleen said. She let out a girlish giggle.
Emma coughed and hurriedly drank some fizz.
‘He is rather lovely, isn’t he? Speaks wonderful English,’ Ally continued.
‘And so handsome! When he told me he wasn’t married I very nearly offered,’ Kathleen said, a glint in her eye.
‘I almost offered this afternoon when I saw him on the rowing machine,’ Ally said. She let out a heavy sigh.
‘So what time do we sit down to eat? I mean, Chris, you must be starving,’ Emma interrupted.
She couldn’t listen to any more of it. Ally and Kathleen Dobbs were talking about Guy as if he were some sort of rare species, a never-been-seen-before Adonis to be admired and adored. That wasn’t the Guy she knew. He had made her give away her heart to him only for it to mean nothing. He was manipulative and detestable and she wanted to pretend she’d never met him.
‘There will be a gong in approximately—’ Ally checked her watch ‘—eleven minutes. I’d better mingle. Don’t forget, free bar. Drink up and make the most of it.’ She made off, surging back into the throngs of people.