That First French Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘You have fun tonight?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes. Lots of fun,’ she replied, smiling at him. He smiled back at her then indicated the bench by the water. They sat down and Emma shivered. The balmy evening had turned into another chilly night.

  ‘I don’t want to stay here forever,’ he began. ‘You know this.’

  ‘I don’t know why. I love it here,’ she responded.

  ‘It isn’t about the place. It’s about the… les gens… the people.’

  Emma looked up at him, her eyes willing him to continue.

  ‘Ma mère et Luc… he needs a better life. My life, it has been difficult. I do not want this for him,’ he explained.

  ‘I know you want to leave, because of what your mother did and something should be done, but you can ask for help. There must be someone. I mean if you’re on your own where will you go? What will you do? Here you know people, you have work…’

  ‘I want to play football, Emma. I know I can do that. Very well. For a good team, for France.’ His reply was passionate.

  ‘I know you do and you will but—’

  ‘AS Saint-Étienne are holding trials. I want to go there. Without my mother, without this place, I can make it work,’ he insisted.

  ‘You will take Luc with you? But how will you manage?’ Emma asked, her eyes wide.

  ‘I want you to come with us,’ he stated.

  Something happened to her at that moment, something exploded inside her and her body was filled with shock, delight, excitement, anxiety all at once. She felt nauseous, grabbing the wooden bench to stop herself from swaying.

  ‘I do not do this well.’ He put a hand into the pocket of his trousers and took out a small box. He dropped down onto both knees in front of her and opened the lid.

  ‘Épouse-moi? Marry me?’

  Her jaw had dropped. She couldn’t believe this was happening. All this time she had been convincing herself it was just a summer romance, a wonderful love affair, frantic, deep but short-lived. And here he was proposing to her with the most gorgeous ring. A real ring. Like her mother’s engagement ring they buried with her. Gold and sapphire, understated but beautiful.

  ‘Guy…’ she started. She actually didn’t know what she was going to say. What did this mean? Could this really happen? Marrying him? Staying in France? Giving up school and her plans? She was only seventeen.

  ‘J’taime, Emma,’ he told her.

  She could see how nervous he was. The box was shaking in his hands and his words were tinged with fear. What was he afraid of? What he was asking or what her answer would be?

  ‘I love you too, Guy,’ she answered, smiling.

  ‘So…’ He inched the box a little closer to her.

  ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, putting him out of his misery. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you. Je t'épouserai. Is that right?’ she asked, laughing.

  He laughed and nodded his agreement, then paused. She watched him take a breath, as if he was composing himself.

  ‘You are… sure?’ he guessed at the word.

  Was she sure? At the moment, seeing him on two knees, having had half a dozen glasses of champagne, wanting some adventure, wanting to be something other than the daughter of a dead person, she was sure. Right now it seemed the most straightforward decision she had ever made. He loved her. She loved him. That was all they needed, wasn’t it? As for her dad, well, he had Marilyn now.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she replied, nodding.

  Guy took the ring from the box and slipped it onto the correct finger. It was slightly too big but it wouldn’t fall off unless she shook her hands vigorously. It looked good there. It looked right.

  ‘You are happy?’ Guy asked, looking up at her, still on his knees.

  ‘Yes. I am. Very happy.’ She pulled him towards her and kissed his lips. At that moment, she’d never been happier.

  She was still looking at the ring as they drove into the campsite. Guy stopped the van and along with the engine, everything silenced.

  ‘I have this planned before I meet you. I was going alone, then with Luc when he arrive and now…’ He put his hand to her head, stroked her hair with his thumb. ‘I just need this last week and I will have enough money to begin.’

  She leaned across the seat and caught his lips with hers, kissing him. He deepened the kiss and she clung to him.

  ‘I will look after you, Emma. And you must still study. I will work,’ he told her.

  ‘I don’t want to leave you tonight,’ she said, groaning in annoyance.

  ‘You must. Your father, he will be concerned,’ Guy said.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you.’

  She wrapped her arms around him and held his body close, breathing in the aroma of lemon, champagne and sea breeze.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, opening the door of the van.

  ‘Bonne nuit,’ he responded.

  The campsite was so quiet at this time. Just the hum of the insects in the bushes and the glow of the path-lighting lamps disturbed the night. Before she reached her tent she could hear voices and see activity. There were torches and a group of people. Was that a policeman? Oh, God! Had her dad called the police?

  Her instinct was to hide and run from this awkward situation but she decided it would only make it worse. He was obviously worried about her. She should have called him.

  ‘Emma! Oh my God, Emma! She’s here! She’s here!’

  Mike greeted her with a bear hug usually reserved for a returning war hero. He squeezed her so tight she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I lost track of time and…’ She surveyed the people looking at her. Campsite security, the woman from three tents along and the lifeguard with the tattoos. No police.

  ‘I’m sorry everyone, for causing a panic but all’s well that ends well, eh?’ Mike suggested to the search party.

  ‘I’m really tired, Dad. I’m going to go to bed,’ Emma said, unzipping the door of the tent.

  Listening to her father apologise again for inconveniencing everyone in the middle of the night, she looked at the ring on her left hand. What was she really going to do? She couldn’t actually tell her dad, could she? He wouldn’t believe her. He wouldn’t understand how she felt about Guy. No, it was best to keep it a secret… and just disappear.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Present Day

  ‘He’s asleep already. I think football, fresh air and giant portions of food have knocked him out,’ Emma said, returning to the living room.

  They’d stopped for more food and drinks on the way home from the football stadium. Dominic had eaten nachos followed by pasta carbonara, then ice cream.

  She stopped by the door, didn’t move any further into the room when she saw Chris was standing up. Usually he would have flicked on the TV, thrown his coat over a chair and be sitting on the sofa channel-hopping through the sports networks.

  ‘Listen, Em, I’m going to head off.’

  His voice sounded a bit on edge, not normal. His hands were in the pockets of his jacket. It was almost as if he didn’t want to be near her.

  ‘What’s wrong, Chris?’ she asked. He couldn’t know. How could he know?

  He made a noise in answer to her question. A strangulated sound she’d never heard before. The next time he looked at her, his eyes had a definite sheen to them. She didn’t know how to respond.

  ‘I saw you at the football… with Guy Duval,’ he stated.

  What did that mean exactly? What had he seen? Could she deny it? Why did she want to deny it? She needed to end the relationship, didn’t she? What should she say?

  Instead of saying anything she burst into tears, overwhelmed with a feeling of desperation, humiliation and treachery. She reached for the armchair and steadied herself.

  ‘Oh, Emma,’ Chris said, moving towards her.

  As she wept uncontrollably he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back and comforting her. She didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve this. She had cheated on
him and he was holding her, soothing her tears. It wasn’t right. She stepped back from his embrace, wiping her tears with her forearm.

  ‘Why aren’t you angry?’ she asked him.

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Em. I guess I knew it was coming. Some time, some when.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I’ve told you before. You’re way out of my league.’ He shrugged again.

  ‘No. It’s the other way around. I don’t deserve you. You’re special and I’m ruined. I was ruined when we met and there was nothing you could do to change that,’ she spoke.

  He nodded, shuffled his feet and then locked eyes again.

  ‘Is he Dominic’s father?’ The question hung in the air, silence shrouding it only slightly.

  What should she say? Should she tell him the truth? Didn’t he deserve something?

  She nodded then and swallowed, dipping her head and avoiding his eyes. When she finally lifted her head back up, Chris was looking resigned.

  ‘I just knew… a sixth sense or something.’

  ‘I hadn’t seen him or had any contact since Dominic. He just turned up, opening Ally’s fitness centre and…’

  ‘You’re still in love with him,’ Chris finished for her.

  She couldn’t respond. This was the hardest conversation she’d ever had. Her heart wasn’t just breaking for Chris; it was breaking for the loss of the relationship. There had been nothing bad about it. Chris had been everything a boyfriend should be. He just hadn’t been Guy.

  ‘What happened with you two way back then? Before Dominic?’ he asked.

  Emma shut her eyes. This was the problem. You gave someone some information and it was never enough. They always wanted more. Like Ally wanting to know the names of all those boys she said she’d slept with.

  ‘I can’t, Chris.’

  ‘Why not? I mean, I can’t say this is great for me but for Dominic… he gets to meet his dad after all this time,’ Chris said.

  ‘No. No, Chris, you mustn’t say anything to Dominic about this.’

  Now she was petrified. She shouldn’t have said anything. It was all very well trying to lessen the blow on someone’s feelings but not if it was going to cost her her relationship with Dominic.

  ‘I don’t understand. You’re going to get back together, aren’t you? It looked very much like that from where I was standing at the stadium,’ he snapped.

  Now he was angry and she was glad. Having him feel sorry for her when their relationship was crumbling before his eyes was far worse than any of his rage.

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say now. She had said too much again.

  Chris stepped closer to her and put a hand on her arm.

  ‘You’ve got one amazing boy up there. Do one thing for me. Do the right thing by him.’

  His voice cracked at the end of the last sentence and Emma let out an anguished sob as Chris opened the door to the hallway. He was leaving. He was leaving her. She closed her eyes, then hearing the front door open, she dashed after him.

  ‘Chris!’

  He stopped in the doorway, turned to look at her, tears streaking his cheeks.

  ‘Take care of yourself, Emma.’ He paused, took a breath. ‘And take care of Dominic.’

  With those words said, he left, closing the door for the last time.

  *

  He could hear laughing and voices chattering excitedly as he entered the house. Madeleine was obviously entertaining. She had done that a lot in France. Usually it was women like her, drinking too much, eating too little and discussing what was ‘hot’ or ‘not’. He slipped off his jacket, hanging it over the banister before moving towards the kitchen.

  ‘Guy!’ Madeleine greeted in excited tones. She threw her hands in the air and teetered towards him. She was wearing her favourite pair of Blahniks. He only knew what they were because he’d bought them for her and they’d cost close to a thousand Euros.

  As she kissed both his cheeks he noticed her guests. Gabriella was there and…

  He stepped out of Madeleine’s embrace and took another pace backwards.

  ‘Hello, Guy. You’ve come at the right time. I was just telling the girls here a few stories about La Baume,’ Keith greeted, raising his wine glass.

  ‘I’ve just remembered. I have left something at the club. Merde! My phone again. I should go and get it,’ he started, concentrating on Madeleine.

  ‘What? But you’ve only just arrived. It can wait. Come and sit with us. We are discussing the designs. Keith has some wonderful suggestions about the trim,’ Madeleine said, pulling his arm.

  ‘It’s looking gorgeous,’ Gabriella commented.

  How was he going to leave? It would raise questions. What was he going to do? Keith had a self-satisfied smile on his face and he was in his house. How had this happened? Why had this happened after so long? He had no choice but to let Madeleine lead him to the table. He pulled up a seat opposite Gabriella and instinctively reached for the wine bottle.

  ‘How did the game go today, Guy? Win? Or not?’ Keith asked, offering a laugh at the women.

  ‘It is football… so boring,’ Madeleine said, waving a hand in dismissal.

  ‘You’re telling me! Luckily, Daniel realises it bores the pants off me now so he doesn’t talk details anymore,’ Gabriella responded.

  ‘We won,’ Guy answered, picking up a wine glass and starting to pour.

  ‘That’s fantastic. Well done you. Did you know this boy was a bleeding marvel at eighteen? Best thing I’ve ever seen,’ Keith continued.

  Guy could feel he was starting to sweat and without looking he knew Keith’s eyes hadn’t left him. He almost spilt the wine and with haste, he put the bottle down and lifted the glass to his lips.

  ‘Oh, Guy. You didn’t say you knew Keith. It is so nice that you are old friends. We’re going to work so well together,’ Madeleine said, her excitement plain to see.

  ‘It will be just like old times,’ Keith said. ‘Won’t it, Guy?’

  He sank the glass of wine in one gulp and replaced the glass quietly, unable to summon speech.

  ‘To old friends and new beginnings,’ Keith toasted, holding his glass aloft.

  ‘Old friends and new beginnings,’ the ladies chorused.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  He’d had to endure two hours of that man in his house. Two hours with the looks across the table, the stories about La Baume, the hidden meanings, the wrapped-up threats, with Madeleine and Gabriella giggling like schoolgirls. He’d drunk a bottle of wine on his own and now he was paying for it with another sore head. He didn’t suppose the slight concussion was helping either. But despite his hangover, when he woke up he made a decision. It was time to leave Madeleine. Her involvement with that man was the final nail in the coffin of their relationship with or without what was happening between him and Emma.

  He dressed quickly, knowing Madeleine was out power-walking with the aerobics instructor that lived across the road. Elite people made friends quickly if there was networking to be done. Mutually appreciative blogging would take place soon after.

  He opened the walk-in wardrobe and located his battered case from the top shelf. Madeleine hated his luggage. She said it was a disgrace. She did have a point. It was old and falling apart but it had belonged to his father. In fact, it was the only thing he had to remind him he’d once had a father. And he only had it because his mother threw it at him once.

  He put the case on the bed and opened it. He’d just take clothes. Fripperies were Madeleine’s thing, not his.

  *

  She didn’t know what to do. When she’d woken up that morning everything had felt so different. The bed was big, but then Chris hadn’t stayed every night. The house was quiet, but that was nothing to do with Chris either. Despite Chris never living at the property, it was like something was missing. She’d actually felt bereft. As if someone had died. And, in a way, they had. The couple that was Emma and Chris had died, and it was n
ever coming back.

  ‘I thought Chris was coming with us,’ Dominic remarked for the third time as they walked up the path of her family home.

  She hadn’t been able to tell him. She attempted over breakfast but the words wouldn’t come. What was the matter with her lately? She hadn’t been able to tell Chris it was over and now she couldn’t tell Dominic it was over either. Weak and cowardly, that’s what she was.

  ‘He had to work,’ she answered. She rang the doorbell and took a deep breath. Here she was, standing on the front doorstep of her family home where Marilyn, the woman her dad had slipped so quickly into a relationship with, was cooking them Sunday dinner.

  She remembered quite vividly the last words she had spoken to Marilyn and they hadn’t been nice. In fact, they’d been vile. But a lot of water had passed under the bridge. Both of them were older, wiser, moving on. Hopefully it would be forgotten. Perhaps if she apologised. As that thought rode through her mind she closed her eyes and shut it out. She wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

  Mike opened the door, an apron over his short-sleeved shirt and khaki trousers, a wooden spoon in his hands.

  ‘Hello you two… oh, there’s only two of you. Where’s Chris? Couldn’t he park the car outside?’ Mike asked. He looked past Emma and Dominic to the street.

  ‘Mum said he has to work.’ Dominic pushed past Mike into the house. His tone suggested he didn’t believe the lie.

  ‘Dominic, wait,’ Emma called.

  ‘He’s alright, love. Are you alright?’ Mike asked, looking at her, concerned.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’ve brought a bottle of rosé. I didn’t know what meat we were having and…’ Emma galloped.

  ‘That’s perfect. Come on in,’ Mike said, opening the door wider for her.

  The smell coming from the kitchen brought it all back. Her mother had cooked roast dinners every Sunday without fail before she was ill. But that wasn’t Marilyn’s fault, she had to remember that. Her mother was gone and Marilyn was back and she had made her dad happy… would make her dad happy.