That First French Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  He was so close to retching he could taste it in his mouth. His stomach contracted over and over and beads of sweat were forming on his brow.

  ‘Listen, I think you and me could have quite a lot to talk about, don’t you?’ Keith said. He pulled his jacket aside and reached into the inside pocket.

  Guy stepped back, pressed his body against the porcelain of the basin.

  ‘I’d like to have lunch. My treat. Call my secretary to arrange something,’ he said. He held out a business card.

  Guy just looked at it. He might as well have been holding out a poisoned apple. His eyes were focused on the card but he couldn’t move.

  Keith stepped forward and pressed the card to Guy’s chest. At once, Guy cowered, lifted his hands to shield his head.

  ‘What you doing? I’m not going to hurt you. Keith wouldn’t do that,’ he said in soft tones.

  Guy pushed past him and made for the door, every inch of him screaming out for escape.

  *

  Marry me. Just two little words but they meant so much. They had meant so much back then. Back then they had actually meant everything. She toyed with the ring, rolling it around her fingers, letting the light dance off the stone and the slim golden band. What would have happened if she’d stayed? How would things have turned out? Would they still be together? Would there be more children? Or would their love have died out? Were the feelings she was having now just because she’d backed out too soon? Was it a case of getting the passion out of her system?

  Her mobile phone began to ring. Emma checked her watch. It was almost eleven. She stood up and picked it up off the side. Guy.

  ‘Hello.’

  There was no greeting back, just the sound of background noise. There was laughing and shuffling and what sounded like bar room conversation.

  ‘Guy? Are you OK?’

  Still there was no response. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was his girlfriend, Madeleine Courtier, wondering who ‘Emma’ was in his list of contacts. She swallowed and braced herself for an onslaught and accusations.

  ‘Guy,’ she tried again.

  Someone was definitely there. She could detect breathing in the foreground.

  ‘Guy, please. Are you OK? Has something happened?’ Now she was worried.

  ‘I love you, Emma.’

  The words were barely out before an anguished sob took over. Her chest heaved and she pushed the phone closer to her ear.

  ‘Guy, are you hurt? Where are you? I can come to you if you want me to.’

  She would have to call her dad or Ally to be with Dominic but whatever this was it was serious.

  Still he cried and her heart started to fall apart. She wanted to reach down the phone to him, to put her arms around him and make whatever this was, better.

  ‘Guy, you’re frightening me. Tell me what’s happened,’ she begged.

  ‘I have to go,’ he whispered through the tears she could hear were there.

  ‘No, please, don’t go. Talk to me… Guy…’

  The call ended and she put her hand to her chest, taking a much-needed breath. What had happened?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  August 2005

  ‘Whose is the baby? Is it yours?’

  Melody cackled at Tasha’s wisecrack and both of them moved their jaws up and down, crushing the chewing gum against their teeth.

  ‘Crying a lot isn’t it? Is it sick?’ Tasha continued.

  Guy’s mother was again drunk and incapable of looking after her infant son and Guy had to work teaching football skills at the campsite. Emma had offered to have Luc for a couple of hours. Apart from the screaming she quite liked having something to do. She could snatch half an hour to read and revise while he napped and it meant she had an excuse not to join in with the lame campsite games. This afternoon her dad was going to be competing in a raft race in the lagoon pool so this morning he had gone off to practise.

  She ignored Tasha’s comment and parked the pram next to a picnic bench, across from where Guy was teaching football. She put Luc’s bag on the table and took her books out of it.

  ‘What you reading?’ Tasha asked, picking up The Canterbury Tales.

  ‘Give it back,’ Emma ordered. Tasha began to leaf through the pages.

  ‘Looks crap to me. It’s not even English,’ she said, making exaggerated facials at Melody.

  ‘Not the type of English you speak, no,’ Emma responded.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? D’you think you’re better than us just because you’ve got some posh accent going on?’ Tasha questioned, pushing her face into Emma’s personal space.

  ‘You said it, not me.’ She stood her ground.

  ‘You cow!’ Tasha exclaimed, raising her hand.

  ‘Tasha! What d’you think you’re doing?’

  A loud male voice cracked through the situation.

  Tasha dropped her hand down as quickly as she’d raised it.

  A plump man with spiky blond hair and dark sunglasses, dressed in white trousers and a red and white striped short-sleeved shirt arrived on the scene.

  ‘What you doing? It didn’t look like you were making friends and influencing people, Natasha,’ he said, glaring at Tasha.

  The girl didn’t speak and Emma used this as her opportunity to grab her book back.

  ‘Apologise, Natasha,’ the man ordered.

  ‘I didn’t do anything, Dad,’ she insisted, scowling.

  ‘Apologise,’ he repeated.

  Tasha looked at Emma; her eyes narrowed, her shoulders back, looking defiant.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said almost inaudibly.

  ‘Good. Now I want you to go and help your mother get the picnic organised. We’re going out on the boat in an hour,’ the man told her.

  ‘D’you want to come, Melody? Melody can come, can’t she, Dad?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask your parents.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go,’ Tasha said, pulling Melody by the arm.

  Luc’s cries seemed to intensify as Tasha and Melody left and Emma reached into the pram to lift him out. She hugged him to her chest and whispered in his ear like she’d seen Guy do. Sweet, tiny little thing.

  ‘Now, he’s a handsome chap, isn’t he?’

  The man admired Luc and put his pinky finger into the baby’s hand. Luc clung on tight and stilled slightly.

  ‘He’s almost due a bottle,’ Emma informed.

  ‘Keith Crone,’ he introduced himself, holding his free hand out to her.

  ‘Emma, Emma Barron.’

  ‘I’m Natasha’s dad and I have to apologise for her. She’s been spoilt – totally my fault –but I did bring her up to have some manners. Any more trouble from her or her sidekick and you let me know,’ he said.

  ‘They weren’t really trouble just…’ Emma began.

  ‘I’ll leave you to this little one. Handsome boy,’ Keith said. He let go of Luc and waved a hand at Emma before strolling off with a confident gait.

  She’d barely had time to look in Luc’s bag for his bottle before Guy was at her side.

  ‘Que voulait-il?’

  ‘What?’ Emma asked.

  ‘The man… what did he want?’ Guy wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, he’s Tarty Tasha’s dad. Can you believe she took a swing at me? I actually had the Oxford English Dictionary in my bag. If she’d slapped me she wouldn’t have liked a wallop with that,’ Emma said, smiling.

  Guy winced and held his left side.

  ‘Are you OK? Is it still your ribs?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ he insisted.

  ‘I still think you should go to the hospital.’

  ‘I am fine.’

  ‘This can’t go on and as much as I like Luc, I can’t look after him all the time because your mother’s too drunk to. What happens when I have to go home?’ she asked.

  She looked at Guy, watched his expression dull, the light in his eyes dim. They hadn’t talked about what would happen to them when she left. She only had one more week. Then it wa
s back to Wiltshire, back to the house her mother had died in and to her dad’s blossoming relationship with Marilyn, the woman who was basically dancing on her mother’s grave.

  ‘Can we meet tonight?’ he asked her, lacing his fingers through her free hand.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s difficult to get my dad to believe I’m spending all this time with a friend I made up who he hasn’t seen. He’s going to start asking questions sooner or later.’

  ‘S'il tu plait,’ Guy said, rubbing his finger against Luc’s cheek and watching him gurgle.

  She wanted to meet him. Should she really be worried about what her dad thought? At the moment he was quite content to live his life to the full. He didn’t really have the time to worry about what she was getting up to. He had raft races and Marilyn.

  ‘OK,’ Emma agreed.

  ‘Thank you,’ Guy said. He leaned forward, kissing her lips and making her sway with the feeling that gave her.

  ‘You’d better go back to the football. We’ll be right here,’ Emma said, nodding her head in indication of her planned reading.

  He kissed Luc’s tiny face and squeezed her hand before hurrying back to his pupils.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Present Day

  ‘There’s a distinct lack of tuna in this tuna roll. I’m going to have to have a word. I know we’re not supposed to be serving stuff like Heston, but it is meant to rival the sandwich shop on the corner. I thought we might be able to steal some of their custom. We won’t be if our tuna rolls are just bread that was shown the fish but didn’t quite start a relationship.’

  Ally placed the offending item back on its plate and reached for her pastry. She raised her eyes from her food to Emma and shook her head at her.

  ‘You look pasty and sleep-deprived. What’s been happening?’ she asked.

  ‘Guy and I… oh I don’t know.’

  ‘You do know and you’re meant to tell me. That’s how the whole best friend thing is supposed to work.’

  ‘We want to try. I want to try,’ she began.

  ‘Things have moved on. Tell me more,’ Ally encouraged.

  ‘It’s all such a mess. I don’t really know what’s going on. We met, we decided we had to see if our feelings were going to lead anywhere but I said we must make sure we do the right thing. He has a partner, I have Chris.’

  Ally didn’t speak.

  ‘I was supposed to tell Chris. Not about Guy necessarily, but end things, make a clean break…’

  ‘You couldn’t do it,’ Ally guessed.

  Emma shook her head.

  ‘Well, maybe that’s telling you something in itself,’ Ally suggested.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Emma said, reaching for her coffee.

  ‘Listen, I know you say the bond the two of you had eons ago in France was tight, but we’re in 2013 now. You’re judging the situation on that first flush of romance suddenly being rekindled…’

  ‘He phoned me. Something’s happened to him but I don’t know what. He was crying and I haven’t heard from him since,’ Emma carried on.

  ‘Second thoughts. He’s had a change of heart. He’s realised what I’m saying. Sometimes you have to count the chicken that’s keeping your bed warm at night, not the one who frantically ruffled your feathers when you were seventeen, no matter how great it was at the time.’

  ‘You’re doing it again. You’re trying to make me stay with Chris. Why?’ Emma queried, her eyes meeting Ally’s.

  ‘Because he’s been there for you and Dominic and before him, the longest you’d ever been with anyone was four months.’

  Ally held her gaze until Emma was forced to look away. Of course, Ally was right. Chris had been there. He seemed to be able to take the rough with the smooth. He was a rock in so many ways but… he wasn’t Guy.

  ‘Now we’re going to this football match in an hour and I’m not going to be able to avoid him. After the game there are sandwiches and tea with the team and Chris and Dom will be there. It’s going to be so awkward,’ Emma explained.

  ‘I can’t help you if you’re not going to be honest with me,’ Ally stated. She pulled a raisin out of her cake.

  ‘What d’you mean? I am being honest with you. You’re the only one I am being honest with!’

  ‘Who’s Dominic’s father?’

  ‘I told you I don’t know.’

  ‘No, you fed me a story about turning into some sort of teenage nymphomaniac and having it away with half our year. I was around at the time. And I wasn’t permanently drunk on cider,’ Ally continued.

  She was starting to shake and she tried to hide it. She put her coffee cup down.

  ‘He is Dominic’s father, isn’t he?’ Ally stated.

  Emma shook her head. There was no way she could tell Ally any more. She had told her too much already.

  ‘Tuna rolls, my favourite!’ Chris enthused as he and Dominic approached the table.

  ‘Don’t,’ Emma warned her friend. She was rescued from having to answer by Dominic bundling into her.

  ‘Hey, Aunty Ally!’ he greeted, hugging her.

  ‘Hello, Dom. How’s your ankle?’ she asked, ruffling his hair up.

  ‘It’s fine now. I played football at school yesterday and scored two goals,’ he said proudly.

  ‘That’s my boy. Super stuff – on skis,’ Ally replied.

  ‘We’re going to watch Finnerham later. Guy’s going to be playing,’ Dominic said.

  ‘He might not be, Dom, you don’t know. He might be injured,’ Emma interjected.

  ‘Is he? Did you hear the team news?’ Chris piped up.

  ‘No. I just… well, we don’t know the team yet, do we?’ She stopped herself from saying any more.

  ‘How’s your dad’s internet dating going?’ Ally asked, swiftly changing the subject.

  ‘Oh he’s done with all that. He’s back with an old flame,’ Chris said. He winked at Emma. Her stomach turned. Her dad was back with Marilyn. They’d bumped into each other again. That had led to dinner and now there was talk of joining a darts team. All that in a few days.

  ‘Well, good for him. Is it good for him?’ Ally asked, looking to Emma.

  She shrugged. It was all she was capable of.

  ‘We’ll find out tomorrow. He’s invited us to dinner,’ Chris told.

  ‘But we haven’t said yes yet. I might be—’

  ‘Not more marking.’

  ‘Well, I am a teacher.’ She couldn’t keep the harshness from her tone. She followed it up quickly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Jonty’s promised me Italian tonight, no expense spared,’ Ally told the group.

  ‘I thought you’d broken up with him. Didn’t he like someone else?’ Dominic butted in.

  ‘Dom!’ Emma exclaimed.

  ‘You said!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ally,’ Emma said.

  ‘That’s OK. He’s still in the dog house. I’ll make sure his credit card takes a real pounding on tiramisu.’

  *

  He hadn’t slept since the night of the fashion show. He was back to prowling the house, working out at three in the morning, anything to get out of lying down and closing his eyes. He’d never in a million years thought he’d see Keith Crone again – anywhere but in his nightmares.

  He’d never known his occupation; just that he had money and lots of it. Knowing that Madeleine and Gabriella were going to be working with him on their lingerie label made him nauseous. This was where it was going to start all over again. He’d never be free.

  ‘Hey, Guy… you want something? Big game today,’ Daniel asked, standing in front of him.

  Guy put his boots down and faced his teammate.

  ‘Non.’ He shook his head.

  ‘You sure?’ Daniel checked.

  ‘I said no,’ Guy barked, standing up and squaring himself towards Daniel.

  ‘Alright, man, chill out. You know where I am if you change your mind.’ Daniel backed off and Guy turned his attention to the number eight shirt hanging on the
hook above the bench. It was his. Finally he had what he wanted and he couldn’t enjoy any of it.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Today was a big game. It was at home against the top of the league team, Irwell Rovers. He needed to perform. He needed this to be his best game yet. So far, although he hadn’t played badly, he was yet to score a goal for his new team. And he knew Emma would be watching.

  She’d called and texted and he hadn’t answered. He couldn’t. There was so much he wanted to say but he just didn’t know how to say it. As much as he wanted a fresh start, as much as he longed to be with her, he didn’t want to bring pain back into her life. And that’s what would happen. He’d hurt her before. He didn’t want to do it again.

  *

  ‘This is it, Dom. This is how the rich and famous watch football. From a glass-fronted box,’ Chris announced, leading the way into the private suite.

  Emma had shrunk into herself from the moment they left the car and entered the huge stadium. She wasn’t overawed by the size of the building or the number of people working there who seemed to accumulate the further they moved into the inner sanctum, she was just wary, on guard. She didn’t want to bump into Guy. She was concerned for him. She wished he would just send her a message to let her know he was OK, but she didn’t want to see him today. Not now.

  The suite was as luxurious as Chris had promised. A manned bar at the back of the room where they had entered, leather sofas, chrome and glass coffee tables adorned with magazines to suit every taste and a spread of food laid out at one side.

  ‘We don’t have to actually watch the game here though, do we? Don’t we have seats out there?’ Dominic asked. He moved through the suite, bypassed the luxury and headed straight towards the wall of glass at the other end of the room. There were the stands, so many seats, in white and royal blue, matching the Finnerham colours. And then there was the pitch itself. So lush and green despite the hot conditions they were experiencing. It was a grassy oasis that would soon be scuffed up by more than a score of football boots.

  ‘Nah, mate, of course we have seats! Can’t exactly cheer them on from here, can we? They’d never hear us,’ Chris said, laughing.