by Mandy Baggot
‘I’m sure, Dad, honestly,’ she insisted.
Guy was meeting her in less than an hour and she needed her dad gone before then. She was sick with excitement. It was a date, a proper date. And last night she had experienced a kiss like no other. Ally would be unimpressed, but for Emma it was a milestone. The first boy she had wanted to kiss her, had kissed her.
He’d even been tentative about it. He’d held her hand first and stroked it with his long, tanned fingers. Then he’d entwined their hands and held them so firmly.
‘Tell me you do not leave for a long time,’ he’d whispered in her ear. ‘Two and a half weeks,’ she had replied.
And that’s when it happened. He had looked at her, with those jade-coloured eyes and slowly, almost teasingly, lowered his dark head towards hers.
‘Well, I’d better get on with this washing up then,’ Mike said, picking up the tea-towel and washing-up liquid.
‘Oh no, Dad, I’ll do it. You should be practising. Limbering up for the games,’ Emma told him. She stood up and grabbed the dishes from him.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to Nice?’ Mike checked, looking at his daughter with slight suspicion.
‘Maybe we could go next week, plan it properly,’ Emma suggested, clutching the plastic plates closer to her.
‘OK, well, if you’re sure. I’d better change my shirt and find those darts,’ Mike said eagerly.
He’d finally left for the clubhouse forty-three minutes later and all Emma had managed to do before Guy arrived was run a brush through her hair, douse herself in body spray and put on her best sundress, yellow with tiny white daisies on it.
‘Bonjour,’ he greeted. The way he looked at her told her he appreciated what he saw.
‘Bonjour,’ Emma answered. She felt about ten years old.
‘Thanne wolde I seye, goode lief, taak keep, How mekely looketh Wilkyn oure sheep!’ Guy spoke. His forced English accent was worse than Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.
‘God, you’ve been reading Chaucer!’ Emma exclaimed
‘You left it, in the bar. He speaks of how women feel, yes?’ Guy asked, handing over her book.
‘“The Wife of Bath’s Tale” does. For me, that’s the one that makes most sense. Well, as much as Chaucer can make sense,’ Emma said. She blushed and inwardly cursed herself for over-analysing.
‘Do you have allergic?’ Guy asked.
‘Allergic?’
‘For food? Some people, they have allergic…’ Guy began.
‘Oh, you mean allergies. No, I don’t have any allergies. I mean I don’t like broad beans much but who does?’ Emma said, smiling at him.
‘I have pique-nique – is this how you say? Food – in a… panier,’ Guy said, producing a wicker basket from behind his back.
It was so big Emma wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before now. Except she hadn’t been looking at anything but him and the tight, white T-shirt he was wearing, above a pair of jeans, cut off at the knees.
‘Gosh,’ Emma said, admiring his organisation.
‘I thought we could sit by the river. We could fish if you like… I do not know… or read the Chaucer,’ Guy suggested. His cheeks reddened.
‘That sounds nice,’ she said sucking in her stomach and trying to stand tall.
‘To fish?’
‘All of it.’ She blushed.
*
‘Why do fish eat bread? I mean it isn’t what they normally eat, is it? They eat bits of yuck from the bottom of the riverbed, don’t they?’ Emma remarked watching Guy dangle a makeshift rod into the fast-flowing water.
‘They think it is yuck. It looks like the yuck… on skis,’ Guy told her. He looked up and smiled.
It was a beautiful spot. They had walked no more than ten minutes away from the site, off the track and onto grass near a river. It was hidden, from the track like an almost secret snake of silver, running through the land.
‘Do you come here often?’ Emma asked. She let out a laugh at her own comment.
‘Why do you laugh?’ he asked, carefully stepping back up onto the bank and sitting down next to her.
‘Nothing, just a silly saying that’s all. So, do you come here a lot?’ Emma asked.
‘Oui, when I have the time. I work every day at the campsite and at a hotel near here. Then I help my mother. She has a new baby and… how you say… nous n’avant pas beaucoup d’argent,’ Guy told her.
‘You don’t have much money,’ Emma translated.
‘Oui.’
‘Neither do we. That’s why we’re camping and not in one of the luxury lodges. My mother… she died a few weeks ago,’ Emma admitted.
She’d tried to keep the pathetic, weak and sad tone out of her voice but had failed. The grief always took her by surprise.
‘That is why you look so sad. Why you keep the beautiful smile hidden away,’ Guy said, reaching up and gently stroking her hair back behind her ear.
‘I wish I was beautiful… like Tasha and Melody,’ Emma mused. They had high-fashion outfits and accessories she could only dream about.
‘The prostituées from the campsite? You do not be like them, they are stupides,’ Guy told her.
There was real anger in his tone, an irate look in his eyes at the mention of their names. She wouldn’t talk about them again. Not if it prompted a reaction like that.
‘Well, I haven’t really spoken to them or anything but they seem to—’
‘They talk of nothing but boys and hair-changing and they spit their horrible chew gum on the Astroturf,’ Guy told her.
‘You’re a very good footballer,’ Emma said, changing the subject. She was secretly glad the other girls’ multicoloured undergarments hadn’t won any favour with him.
‘I have trial next week, for OGC Nice. If I can get the time off work,’ Guy informed. Pride coated the words and Emma felt her chest swell in admiration.
‘Are they a big team? Sorry, I don’t know much about football. Well, I know the basics but…’ Emma started.
At this moment she wished she knew much more about it, like the offside rule for a start and how many players made a team.
‘It is big team, yes. If they like me this could be a big, how you say… big opportunité,’ he said, dipping the fishing rod back in the river.
‘What does your father do?’ Emma inquired.
‘Tsk!’ Guy spat, shaking his head.
The displeasure in his voice shocked her and she averted her eyes from him, worried she had spoiled the date. They hadn’t opened the picnic basket yet and he hadn’t tried to kiss her again.
‘He is dead to me,’ Guy responded. The way he said the words was brutal.
‘He isn’t around?’ Emma asked.
‘I do not know where he is. I do not want to know,’ he replied, still shaking his head.
‘But your brother? Your mother’s baby?’
‘His father is not around either,’ Guy said, turning to look at her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Emma said, swallowing a ball of nerves and anticipation.
‘Non, don’t be sorry. I will look after him. I just need a chance, perhaps with OGC Nice,’ Guy told her.
Emma smiled at him and he took hold of her hand and raised it to his mouth. He placed a delicate kiss on her skin and she let out a little gasp of delight and surprise.
‘Are you… faim?’ Guy asked, still holding her hand.
‘Hungry? Oh yes! Dad made scrambled eggs this morning and they were really horrible… très horribles,’ Emma said, using exaggerated hand gestures.
‘J'ai du fromage et du pain, des olives, des raisins locaux et une bouteille de Merlot,’ Guy said.
‘Wine,’ Emma said, a flush of adventure reddening her cheeks.
‘You like red wine?’ Guy asked, opening the basket.
‘Oh yes, I do,’ Emma said, smiling.
Chapter Ten
Present Day
‘You have to leave again? This early?’ Madeleine asked as Guy entered the kit
chen of their four-bedroom house in Finnerham.
They had only moved in a few weeks ago but already, thanks to a team of movers the football club had provided, it was looking like a luxurious mansion inside and out. The lawns were mowed every second day and they had a fresh flower arrangement for every room brought on a Thursday.
‘Yes, I teach the children today. Tonight I will be back for the football club party,’ Guy said, picking an apple and an orange from the fruit bowl on the central island.
‘You know I arrange for the couples clothing design today. This will be the second time I have to cancel,’ Madeleine continued.
‘I’m sorry. The football club ask me to fill in for Jason Simpson. I am new here. I am their face for promotion. I have to honour their commitments,’ Guy responded.
‘And what of my commitments? Our commitment, huh?’ she huffed, one hand on the hip of her designer dress.
‘I will make it up to you. Tonight, we will go to the party. Why not buy something new?’ he suggested, kissing her cheek.
‘New dress, new shoes, a bag and a coat,’ Madeleine said, pushing out her bottom lip in an attempt to look affronted.
‘Whatever you want,’ Guy responded, picking up his kit bag.
Right now he would say anything to get out of the house. He had just over an hour to get to Finnerham and then he would be seeing his son for the first time.
‘We need more goats’ milk and we’re almost down to the last guava. Could you call the personal shopper?’ Madeleine called as Guy headed for the door.
*
Dominic yelled out in excitement when Chris told him about the football skills day, with apparently the world’s greatest footballer, Guy Duval. Emma had never heard Chris this enthusiastic about football before. Now it was the Whites this and Finnerham that and by the time Emma had got Dominic in the car he was bouncing about with excited energy.
‘This is so awesome, Mum! I can’t wait to tell everyone at school,’ Dominic said, kicking the back of Emma’s seat with his indoor football boots.
‘Well, some of your friends might be there. We’re probably the only ones who found out about it yesterday,’ Emma replied.
‘Guy Duval’s an awesome player. Did you know he scored three goals for France against Austria in a friendly last month? I watched it on YouTube,’ he continued.
‘No, I didn’t know that,’ Emma responded.
She did know he had a birthmark at the top of his left thigh though. She didn’t think YouTube would have a clip of that.
‘He’s played for OGC Nice, then Marseille, and Finnerham have just signed him for fifty million,’ Dominic carried on.
‘Fifty million? Pounds?! That’s extortionate.’
‘It’s awesome,’ Dominic replied, using the obvious watchword of the day.
When they reached the front doors of the Wellness Sports and Spa Fitness Centre they had to weave a path through the giggling mothers and sisters to get inside. As soon as Emma got Dominic through into the foyer she saw why. Guy was sat at a table with Ally, signing autographs and posing for pictures while her friend tried desperately to enrol the children on the day’s course.
‘Sorry, was that Adam Peters? Or Peter Adams? I can’t hear myself think here. Shit, my pen’s run out! New pen! I need a new pen! Milo! A new pen is needed!’ Ally bawled in the direction of a shaven-haired youth loitering near the door to the office.
‘Are you OK? Here, I have a pen,’ Emma said, delving into her handbag and producing one.
She saw Guy look up, at the sound of her voice, from signing his name on the back of a leaflet about judo for an almost hysterical mother of a boy with a Mohican.
‘Oh Em, we’re inundated. Which is all good, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve had two call in sick already. Milo hasn’t even been inducted yet and as you can see it’s chaos! I should be showing the children into the changing rooms but I’m stuck here enrolling,’ Ally informed. Emma noticed a slick of perspiration on her top lip.
‘Mum, you could help Aunty Ally, couldn’t you? You do register and stuff at school. It would be easy for you,’ Dominic piped up.
Bless him. He had good ideas beyond his years but she really wished he hadn’t come up with one right now.
‘I know, Dom. But it isn’t quite the same,’ Emma spoke quickly. She turned her body sideways to minimise her view of Guy.
‘Oh, but it is! Here, you just write down the name and a contact telephone number for emergencies. Write the name on the sticker, stick it on the kid and send them to the changing area. Emma, please, I’ve got the hangover from hell after playing rummy with Kathleen Dobbs until the small hours. And if I hear another mother gush about Guy’s magnifique physique I’m going to be sick,’ Ally said.
‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ Dominic whispered. Emma looked to Dominic, not missing the awestruck expression on his face as he watched the football idol posing for photos at the other end of the table.
‘Yes, that’s him. If I didn’t feel like death I would be sat on his lap. But right now I just feel like swilling out my mouth with antiseptic and then eating a bacon sandwich,’ Ally said, fanning her face with her clipboard.
‘Go on,’ Emma said, putting her bag down on the floor.
‘What?’
‘Go on. Go! Go and do whatever you have to do. I’ll book the kids in, stick the stickers on, whatever. Go before you make me feel sick,’ Emma ordered, moving around to the other side of the table.
‘You’re a life saver, Em, really you are! Milo! Come hither!’ Ally called, hurrying out of the crowds and beckoning her colleague.
*
His heart was in full palpitation mode. There he was. Dominic… he had to be his son. He was tall for his age, with hair the same colour as his own. It was brown, cut short at the back but longer on top. It flopped down over his forehead, just like his did. He could barely sign his name. He couldn’t hear what the crowds were asking him. He was transfixed on this boy, his boy, just yards away from him.
‘Could you sign my breast? It’s a treat for my husband. He’s a big Whites’ fan,’ a middle-aged woman asked him.
‘Sure,’ Guy answered. He wasn’t looking as he moved his pen forward.
‘Breast, love, not my flippin’ navel,’ the woman laughed, lifting Guy’s hand higher.
*
There was a pillar in between them. A well-polished, chrome and mirrored pillar. If she leaned too far forward she could see dark hair falling forward over his face. If she leaned back she could see his football shirt tightening across the contours of his back. It was a no-win situation for her.
Suddenly, as she reached forward and stuck a label onto curly-haired Henry Palmer, she was aware of Guy getting up from his chair. A quick glance at her watch told her the session was due to begin at any moment.
Without really looking she could tell he was navigating the table, slipping his way through the bustle of chattering mums, grans and dragged-along partners towards her. Towards her!
‘Emma.’
She knew he’d spoken but she couldn’t raise her head. She also knew he was wearing shorts. She’d caught a fleeting glimpse of bronzed thigh when she’d dropped a sheet of name stickers on the floor. Seeing his face would be too much.
‘And your name is Bradley, isn’t it?’
‘Brandon.’
‘Sorry, Brandon,’ Emma said.
She wrote the name in her best and slowest teacher’s handwriting.
‘Emma,’ Guy attempted again.
‘B-R-A… is it Brandon with an O-N or Branden with an E-N?’ Emma queried, raising her head to look at the freckle-faced boy.
‘O-N…I think,’ he responded a look of puzzlement on his face.
Guy let out an exasperated snort of irritation and out of the corner of her eye she saw him head off towards the main gym hall.
‘Shall I check with my mum? She’s in the car park,’ Brandon stated.
*
‘Thanks for taking over with the signi
ng-in. Here, cappuccino,’ Ally said, sitting down next to Emma.
They were in the gallery café that overlooked the hall, together with at least half of the excitable mothers from the signing-in process. They now had their noses pressed up against the glass pretending to be watching their children.
‘I don’t like cappuccino,’ Emma reminded.
‘Sshh, I know. Right now, the brand new, state-of-the-art coffee machine only wants to dispense cappuccino. I’ll have to call the guy I guess,’ Ally said, gulping her drink.
‘What’s the matter? Isn’t he good-looking enough?’
‘What?’
‘Sorry.’
‘What’s the matter? You aren’t hungover, are you? You didn’t drink any red wine last night, did you?’
‘What is it with everyone being so concerned about me drinking red wine?’
‘Oh, would you look at him? I wish I was young enough and brave enough to put shorts on. I wouldn’t mind brushing up on my ball skills,’ Ally remarked, steaming up the glass with her breath as she moved her chair forward.
Emma looked too. There was Guy at the front of the hall, bouncing a football on his knee and talking to the children. His thick, dark hair was springing over his eyes with every movement. His chest was taut as he trapped the ball against it and deftly brought it down to his feet. She swallowed and turned her attention to Dominic.
He was looking at Guy like he was some sort of sporting god. His eyes were wide in concentration and he picked up a ball and tried to replicate the footballer’s moves.
‘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?’