by Mandy Baggot
‘No more food! I’m so full.’ She moved her chair back from the table a little and held her hands over her bloated stomach.
‘Chocolat,’ Guy stated. He held up a large, round box filled with chocolates.
‘Goodness, are they truffles? They must have cost a bit,’ she said.
‘Sometimes, I get… cadeaux… for doing good job.’ He stood up. He shook out a blanket and laid it on the ground between two trees.
‘Chocolate on the ground?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Nothing. It’s nice.’ She stood up, moved to where the blanket was positioned, throwing herself down. She stretched her arms out behind her feeling like a satisfied cat, warm and content. He sat down beside her.
‘Chocolat?’ Guy offered, showing her the box.
‘Yes please,’ she accepted, her eyes closing.
Guy took a chocolate from the box and placed it in Emma’s mouth. She wasn’t ready for it and she opened her eyes wide in surprise as it hit her tongue. Guy laughed and watched her, lying down and leaning up on his elbow.
She closed her eyes again and let the delicious, thick, creamy solid, melt with the heat of her tongue. It was so smooth. She let the fondant fold across her mouth. It was a sugar high. Then she felt something else. Guy’s lips touched hers, so gently, feather-light kisses laid on the edge of her mouth, almost seeking permission to be there.
She reached up to place her hands in his hair. It was so soft between her fingers and she adored how it felt. She drew his face closer, opened her mouth to encourage him to deepen the kiss.
She felt him open his mouth wider, his tongue rolling over hers, colliding with the chocolate, creating an exquisite fusion of sweetness and sensuality. At that moment she knew what she wanted. This was her moment. This was the perfect moment she’d read about in Ally’s Cosmopolitan magazine. She gently moved Guy back, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. She unfastened two and then her hands started to shake as he smoothed his thumbs across her cheeks and kissed her again.
‘Guy,’ she begged.
‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’ he whispered. He brushed her hair back from her face.
‘I want to…’
‘Want to?’
‘Take your clothes off. Um… déshabiller?’ she offered. Her breathing was unsteady and despite the warmth of the night she was quaking. She drew back from him, afraid she had been too forward or said something out of place. What if he didn’t want to?
He slipped off his shirt and reached for her, gently tugging her dress up and over her head. Straightaway a chill shot through her as she remembered not bothering with a bra. The straps had shown through her dress and it wasn’t a pretty bra, it was a comfortable one her mother had picked out for her, all structure and no lace. It didn’t have a place here.
Just from his gaze her nipples peaked. She’d never experienced a sensation like it and he hadn’t even touched her. His eyes were travelling over every inch of her, taking in every curve, every part as if he were admiring a piece of art.
‘Guy.’ The voice that came from her sounded needy and desperate. That was how she felt. If he didn’t touch her. If she didn’t feel his mouth on her breasts she would die.
‘Tu es très belle.’ He reached out, ran his finger along her breastbone and watched her as she quivered under his fingers. She closed her eyes as his hand moved to her breast, smoothing the skin with his thumb and creating slow circles towards the centre. Finally he reached her nipple. It was already so hard and swollen, aching for him that when he touched it she let out a cry.
‘Emma,’ he said, letting her go.
‘No. No, don’t stop, please,’ she begged, taking his hand.
He lowered her down onto the blanket and brought his head down to her chest, taking her nipple into his mouth. She closed her eyes and felt the heat rippling through her. She reached for his trousers. She wanted to get everything off. She’d never wanted to be naked with a boy before but now she needed it. She was ready.
She pulled at the fastening, undid the zipper and urged him to remove them. He swayed his hips, pushing the trousers down his body and finally kicking them off. He looked at her, his eyes wide, uncertain. She reached for his underwear, all the nerves she thought she’d feel about this situation taking second place to lust and the need to find out. She pulled at the elastic, inched the material away from his body until all of him was right there in front of her.
She saw him swallow as she looked at him. She didn’t really know what to do but she longed to touch him. She brought her hand to his penis, touching it with her fingertips before holding it in her hand and caressing it with her palm.
Guy pushed her back down onto the blanket and met her lips with his. A hot, crashing, sensation as their near-naked bodies met. He peeled her underwear away from her and she shook as he touched her.
‘I want you to…’ She still couldn’t bring herself to say the words. What were the right words for what they were doing? Sex? Making love? Doing it? Surely he would understand.
‘Je suis en train tombre amoureux de toi,’ he said.
His thumb was at the entrance of her vagina, gently probing, searching for something.
‘What?’ What did he mean? Amour was love. Was he saying he loved her? This was a holiday romance. That was all.
‘Emma… tu veux m'arrête?’ he breathed.
‘Stop? Do I want you to stop? No. Non.’
His thumb pressed harder and she felt something in her shift. As he rhythmically circled the golden spot she could feel all this power welling up inside her. Like a blooming flower being warmed by the sun, about to burst open to display its petals.
She couldn’t wait. She took hold of him and urged him forward, positioning her hips, letting him know, without any doubt, what she wanted to do. She shut her eyes and felt him push inside her. A second of pain and then what followed removed her breath. A surging, overwhelming rush boiled up as he began to buck against her. This wasn’t what she’d expected, this was something much more. She felt terrified and excited in equal measure. He moved further inside her with every motion and she only wanted more. The buzz was building; it had taken over her stomach and chest. She couldn’t breathe. She opened her eyes and looked up into his face, his beautiful, handsome face.
‘Emma… Emma… I cannot…’
He was holding her hand as he moved, rocking her towards something she had no knowledge of. And then she was flying. Riding the river rapids, then shooting up to the stars as her whole body was washed with electric pulses that ignited every centimetre of flesh.
She couldn’t speak as Guy cried out, squeezing her hand so tight. His body sagged. He leaned into her, burying his face in her shoulder. She ran her hand down his back, felt him trembling, a sheen of perspiration on his skin.
‘Je t’aime,’ he whispered.
She moved her hand through his hair, holding his body tight to her.
‘I love you too.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Present Day
He didn’t really know what had come over him. He hadn’t planned to say that. He hadn’t planned anything, perhaps that was half the problem. But seeing her, having her with him again, it had stirred up so many feelings. Feelings that had never left him. He wanted to be that way again. How he’d been when he was with her was how he wanted his life to be now. Back then, when things had been so hard, so horrible, she was his salvation. He was a better man with her. He was the man he longed to be. An ordinary man. A good man.
She couldn’t finish the fish. It was beautifully cooked and was drizzled with the most amazing sauce, but what Guy had said, coupled with being here with him, had her stomach tied up in knots. Giving it food was making the tension worse. In contrast, the red wine seemed to be helping. She drained her third glass then closed her knife and fork together on the plate.
‘It was lovely,’ she said, nodding.
‘You have not finished,’ Guy commented.
‘No… I… the starter was ver
y filling.’
He nodded and wiped his mouth with the napkin.
‘So, how are you finding England? It’s warm at the moment but you wait until the winter. We had snow last year.’ She sounded jaunty. It was highly inappropriate.
‘I have not seen so much of it. We arrive. We move in to the house. I come to the fitness centre. We have a charity party and…’
‘What charity?’
‘The football club is raising money to set up a youth organisation to run alongside their academy. They have had some funding from the English lottery, I think. Now they have to raise the balance to complete the project and pay for skilled staff to run it. It’s so every child can have time to be a child. Play, learn something fun, keep off the streets,’ he explained.
‘We need something like that here. After-school clubs haven’t really moved with the times. Mrs Morgan still runs origami,’ Emma said. She smiled as she thought about it.
‘Origami?’
‘Making paper shapes… animals and, decorative things,’ she explained.
‘The youth club won’t just be about football. There will be football sessions and the most gifted will have a chance to join the Finnerham youth team, but there will be all sorts of sports. It will not matter if you are good at sport. There will even be dressing up in Sumo suits. Everyone can do that,’ Guy said, smiling.
‘Like at La Baume,’ Emma said, her voice soft.
‘Yes,’ he responded.
Simultaneously they both reached for the bottle of wine. Clashing fingers Emma withdrew her hand.
‘It is empty. I will order another,’ Guy said. He raised his hand to beckon the waiter.
‘No. I don’t think we should,’ Emma said. She already knew she’d drunk too much. Her head was starting to cloud and she had that tingling sensation in the back of her head she always got with red wine.
‘Why not?’ he asked as the waiter came over. ‘Another Merlot please.’
Why not? She didn’t have an answer for that. Not a politically correct one anyway. The truth was if she had more wine she wouldn’t be in control. She would feel a little too relaxed, off guard and vulnerable. She didn’t want to feel vulnerable with Guy. Before three glasses of wine he had melted her reserve, after three glasses and more she didn’t trust herself to say or do the right things.
‘Have you been back to La Baume since…?’ He left the question open-ended.
‘No.’ She shook her head with determination.
‘I have a house there. I rebuilt my mother’s house after she died,’ Guy informed.
Emma drew in a breath. The shock of what he’d said hit her hard. She held the table with her fingers until her knuckles whitened.
‘You remember how she drank?’ He paused. ‘Well, after Luc, it got worse. She did not see that as a chance to change or make something else of her life. She gave up,’ he explained.
‘Guy… I am so sorry.’ She couldn’t stop the tears now. Like raindrops they fell from her eyes and traced a path down her face. There had been so much pain.
‘Oh, Emma, do not cry. Not for her, please.’
He reached across the table and took hold of her hand. With a tender touch he caressed her fingers with his, trying to soothe her.
She wasn’t crying for his mother. She was crying for herself. But she had to say the right thing.
‘No matter what she did. She was your mother,’ Emma stated. Guilt was stabbing at her. This was her fault.
‘But she does not deserve your tears. And she is gone. Maybe to a better place, maybe not,’ he said with a shrug.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Emma repeated.
‘Non. No, do not be sorry. So much of what has happened is my mother’s fault. She is the one who should be sorry. And I do not think she ever was,’ he said.
He was rubbing her fingers now, touching the skin with rhythmic strokes that could only be aimed to test her. She couldn’t get lost in their reverie. She had to remain strong. She had to remember how he had betrayed her. But his hands felt so familiar on hers, so natural, like they were meant to be. And her heart was skipping. It skipped in a way it hadn’t done since they were last together.
He took his hand away as the waiter returned with the wine. He waited for him to pour before he spoke again.
‘Your father? Is he well?’
‘Oh yes. He’s fine. Perfectly fine,’ Emma said. She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin, trying not to smudge her make-up.
‘Is he with… the lady you did not like,’ Guy began.
‘Marilyn. No. No, he’s not with Marilyn. He’s actually looking for love on the internet.’
‘Wow. That is… different,’ Guy responded. He let out a laugh. Emma smiled.
‘Does he meet the ladies or do they just Facebook?’ Guy inquired.
‘Oh no, he meets them. There’s been a dog trainer and now someone called Rosemary.’
‘You are OK with this?’ Guy asked. He looked at her as if searching for her true feelings in her expression.
‘My mother’s been dead a long time now. He’s not sixty yet. I suppose he needs something else.’
‘You sound as if…’
‘As if what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I want him to be happy but…’
‘You still miss your mother,’ Guy said, nodding.
‘It isn’t that,’ she snapped. Why had she overreacted like that? She did miss her mother. But by now, in her opinion, she should have healed completely… and she hadn’t.
‘It is not wrong to miss someone. No matter how long they have been gone,’ he continued.
His comment couldn’t have been more loaded, whether that was his intention or not.
‘I know,’ she whispered, meeting his gaze.
‘Feelings are sometimes difficult to interpret. What feels like the right thing to one person might seem wrong to another,’ Guy said. He pushed her full wineglass towards her.
‘Your English is so good. How did you… did you take lessons?’
‘I studied a little… after you left.’
‘You were always very good but now you’re… magnifique,’ Emma said, smiling.
‘And your French? Did you learn more?’ he inquired.
‘No. Well… with Dominic here I didn’t have much time,’ Emma admitted.
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’
‘Of course. To be a mother so young, it must have been hard,’ he said.
How did she handle this? She’d had far too much alcohol to deal with this how she wanted to. If he made her dwell on how hard it had been she would probably cry again.
‘I admire how you have raised him. He is a wonderful boy,’ Guy told her.
‘Could we have some coffee?’ she asked, clearing her throat.
*
He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close. She looked so fragile sat opposite him, her slender fingers toying with the tablecloth. What had really happened to her since they’d been apart? He’d thought about her often, but in most of those daydreams she’d been happy and content. Like she’d been in France. She didn’t look that way now. She seemed troubled, concerned, like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Was that his doing? Had he made her life complicated by turning up in it? Or was it something else? Something that was nothing to do with him. He wanted to know. He needed to know. Because he wanted to be back in her life. Right now he wanted that more than anything.
Chapter Twenty-Five
August 2005
She watched him as he pulled his clothes back on. They’d lain together for over an hour until time ticked closer to her curfew. She didn’t want to go but she also didn’t want her dad coming to look for her. How embarrassing would that be? And it would spoil it. This had been such a special night. She didn’t want it ending like that, being dragged back to her too-small tent by her dad.
‘Guy,’ she said. He fastened his trousers and turned to look at her.
‘I have to
go,’ she said. She’d pulled on her dress and was hugging her knees to her chest.
As the dark fell the temperature dropped.
He slipped his shirt over his arms and began to fasten the buttons as he came back to her. He sat down on the blanket and when the buttons were all done up he took her hand and brought it to his lips. His soft kiss shot a shiver through her.
‘I do not… Je ne veux pas que tu partis.’
She traced a line down his face, stopping at his chin and drawing him towards her. This gorgeous boy was hers. Even if it was just for the summer, he was hers. He wasn’t a counsellor or a teacher. He didn’t bang on about the grieving process. Here, with him, that part of her life didn’t exist anymore.
‘Guy… have you… have you been with many girls?’
She didn’t know why she’d asked that. Was it because this night had been too perfect? Had he done all this before for someone else? Why would that matter? Everyone Ally had been with already had a history.
‘Quoi?’
‘Have you… I don’t know the words… amour with other girls… like this?’ She indicated the blanket.
For a moment, when he didn’t immediately respond, she thought she’d ruined everything. She didn’t really know what she wanted him to say. She was more or less certain it hadn’t been his first time. He seemed to know what to do. He hadn’t appeared nervous at all. And what he’d done had been more than agréable.
‘I do not know… the words,’ he began. He tamed a section of hair behind her ear. She brushed her lips against his hand.
‘Please try. In French?’
He shook his head.
‘It doesn’t matter if you’ve been with other girls. I mean you’re eighteen. You work here and…’
‘Non. It is… I have. But it was pas le même. Pas comme nous,’ he said.
‘Not… not like us,’ Emma translated.
‘I want to say so much but… je ne sais pas les mots,’ he continued.
He rubbed his thumb over her hand, back and forth.
‘You don’t have the words?’ Emma guessed.
He nodded.
‘You are different. We are… spécial,’ he continued.