by Mandy Baggot
‘Tais-toi!’ she yelled again, bending over the pram as Luc continued to cry. ‘Tais-toi! Tais-toi! Tais-toi!’
Emma recoiled a step further, swallowing the displeasure and fear as she watched the woman lift Luc roughly from his blanket.
‘J’ai dit tais-toi!’
And then she shook him. Emma’s mouth hung open as a sickening dread crept over her. She watched in horror as Luc’s fragile form vibrated under the woman’s grip. His little head rocked back and forth, his cries silenced, the woman relentless in the motion.
She had to stop her. She had to confront her. She couldn’t just stand here hiding in the tent watching this brutality. She would speak up. She would protect Luc. She put one foot forward then…
‘Maman!’ It was Guy. He was wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off jeans and trainers. Shirtless and drizzled with moisture from playing football he snatched Luc from her hands. He pressed the baby to his chest, cradling his head with one olive-skinned hand.
‘Where have you been? I have to get ready for work and he just scream and cry. He will not stop,’ the woman shrieked, gesticulating wildly.
‘He is a baby.’
The woman shook her head and made a hissing sound through her teeth.
‘Un bébé,’ Guy tried again, anger in his tone.
She turned then, sliced the side of her hand against Guy’s face. He turned his body in reaction, shielding his brother from the backlash.
‘Tu penses que je suis une imbécile?’ she raved.
‘Non, Maman.’ There was desperation and exasperation inflected.
She pushed the pram towards him with force. The edge of it caught his hip as it came to a halt.
‘Tu prends lui!’ she ordered, throwing her hands up in dismissal.
Guy’s face was a picture of resignation. This performance was nothing new. Just like he’d told Emma, this was his life. And now she knew just why he was so desperate to leave. If they didn’t leave someone was going to get hurt… or worse.
She watched him, holding her breath, as he observed the small child. He looked into his eyes, running a finger over his cheek and placing his lips to his forehead in a soft, silent kiss.
‘Guy,’ she called out.
He turned then, saw her as she emerged from the tent. There were tears in his eyes and he clung to Luc as if he were a life force, the strength and purity he needed to pick himself up and refocus after his mother’s tirade.
‘I...’ He paused, seemed to recollect. ‘He is OK,’ he stated. He eased Luc from his chest to let Emma see.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have the words. Instead she put her arm around him, drawing them both against her.
Chapter Fifty
‘What do you think of the band, love?’
The band were terrible. They were French musicians somehow amalgamated into a Beatles/Rolling Stones/Jackson Five tribute band. One minute they were dressed as Sixties mods, the next they were donning white spangly suits with flared trousers and afro wigs.
‘Hideous,’ she replied.
Mike laughed and nodded, taking a glance at his mobile phone.
‘Waiting for a call?’ Emma asked, her head lifting out of Chaucer. She knew the answer. He’d been looking at the display all night. He was obviously waiting for Marilyn to ring.
‘No. Not really. Well, I thought perhaps…’
She interrupted quickly, not wanting to hear.
‘Could I have another drink?’
‘Coming right up,’ Mike said, picking up their empty glasses and leaving the table.
Now her dad was gone she could concentrate on watching Guy. He was clearing glasses and wiping down the tables. He did this most evenings but tonight he seemed to be spending an awful lot of time around Tasha’s table. He would take a tray of used glasses to the bar, wipe a table or two on the way and then stop back at Tasha’s table. He was smiling at her, laughing, exchanging body language not usually kept for someone you didn’t like. He hadn’t even looked her way once. She thought what had happened earlier had brought them closer, proved how much they needed each other. This was the man she was going to marry and now he was flirting with someone else. Was he? Or was she overreacting? He couldn’t be seen with her all the time. It could scupper all their plans. He was doing his job, being nice to the holidaymakers and keeping his distance so as not to arouse suspicion.
Her attention snapped away from Guy when a shattering crash reverberated around the room. All eyes turned to where a woman had staggered into a large table, knocking the contents of it on the floor. Glasses were smashed, plates were in pieces and the woman was trying with desperation to get on her feet. It was Guy’s mother. Drunk again. In charge of Luc.
Before she could think about it she was moving. Heading not for Guy’s mother, but for the pram.
‘Get your hands off me! I said I am fine! Leave me!’ Guy’s mother screeched, her arms flailing about in an attempt to relieve herself of two people who were trying to assist her.
Emma could smell the alcohol on her from yards away. The woman’s cheeks were ruddy, her eyes wild, her black hair falling out of what was now a loose chignon.
‘What are you doing here, Mother?’ Guy asked, taking hold of her arm.
‘What am I doing here?! What are you doing here? You are meant to be with David,’ she blasted.
At the mention of the name Guy froze. He raised his head slowly, but his eyes darted around him as if to see who might have heard. It was a mere split second before his eyes found Emma’s.
His skin blanched and he seemed to plead with her with his eyes.
‘I said, what are you doing here, Guy? Answer me!’ she bawled.
‘I am working,’ he responded. His voice was weak.
‘For a few Euros? Pfft! You will keep the arrangements I have made for you. I have made promises,’ she carried on.
‘I need to be here tonight,’ Guy said. He wasn’t looking at her now. He was hiding his eyes away, shifting on the spot.
Luc let out a cry of discontent and Emma put her hands on the pram handle, rolling it gently back and forth.
‘You will come with me now. You have a job with me,’ she ordered.
‘I cannot. I have to be here,’ he replied.
Without further debate, she struck out, swiping a hard hand against the side of his head.
‘Stop it!’ Emma yelled out at volume. The entire clubhouse seemed to quiet in an instant until the only sound to be heard was a dull murmur of hushed voices.
‘You! You are the girl he has been with. The one keeping him from his job,’ she sneered. The woman stepped away from Guy, took a wobbly stride towards Emma.
‘And you’re the so-called mother who beat him black and blue. The woman who’s drunk from morning ‘til night when she should be looking after a new baby! A baby she shakes when he won’t stop crying!’ Emma blasted.
Guy’s mother raised a hand and Emma held her position, stuck her chin out in defiance and waited for whatever was to come. This woman was a mother and she was hurting her children. She would give anything to have her own mother back. She wasn’t afraid of her.
Guy intercepted the blow, catching the fist on his shoulder.
‘Emma? What’s going on here, love?’ Mike asked, arriving at her side, drinks in his hands.
Emma opened her mouth to start to speak but caught Guy’s expression. He was silently begging her to keep quiet and say no more. There were just a couple of days left here. She needed to keep things normal. They could get through this and soon it would all be a bad memory. They’d have a new life.
‘She insults me!’ Guy’s mother screeched. She added words in French that sounded violently rude.
‘I will come,’ Guy spoke quickly.
‘Love?’ Mike said. Her dad’s questioning look, coupled with the fury in Guy’s mother’s eyes were making it so hard to bite her tongue. If she told the truth now maybe there would be another way out. If she explained the graveness of the s
ituation to her dad. He was a good man. If he knew they were in danger then…
‘You stay away from my son!’ Guy’s mother shouted at Emma, taking ownership of the pram.
‘Maman…’
‘Emma, love, what’s going on?’ Mike tried again.
Guy put his hand on the pram, pulled it from his mother.
‘Nothing, Dad. Nothing’s going on,’ she answered as Guy and his mother made their way to the exit.
‘You’re shaking, love. Do you know that woman?’ Mike inquired.
‘No. She was drunk, that’s all,’ Emma replied. She watched Guy and his mother leave the clubhouse. The woman was swaying and staggering, yelling at Guy as he pushed the pram.
‘Emma?’
‘I’m fine, Dad, honestly.’ She smiled at her father. ‘Shall we join in with bingo?’
*
‘Well, despite our initial reservations about the band I thought they weren’t too bad. The finale was good. You can’t beat a Beatles medley,’ Mike said. He chuckled.
Emma smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was thinking about Guy. She’d been thinking about him all evening. He hadn’t come back. God knows what his mother was doing to him. She shuddered.
‘Getting a bit nippy in the evenings now, isn’t it?’ Mike remarked, unzipping the tent.
Emma nodded as convincingly as she could manage.
‘You alright, love?’ Mike asked, turning back to face her.
‘Just a bit of stomach-ache. I might pop to the shower block for the toilet,’ she said, putting a hand to her midriff.
‘Do you need some tablets?’ Mike offered.
‘No thanks, Dad. You go in. I won’t be long.’
She just needed some space. She didn’t want a blow-by-blow account of the Beatles/Stones/Jackson Five tribute band or the bingo in five different languages.
‘Alright, love. I’ll see you in a bit,’ Mike said. His head disappeared into the canvas and she let out a breath of relief. She closed her eyes and let the French night wrap itself around her, revelling in the cool air as it cloaked her.
And then a pair of strong arms were around her, pulling her backwards, away from the tent. She wasn’t afraid; the grip was familiar and more than welcome.
When Guy spun her around, under the shelter of the tiled entrance to the shower block, he didn’t speak, just sought her lips with his.
She threaded her hands through his hair, easing his head downwards, wanting to fill herself with his taste. Finally, both out of breath, they separated their mouths and looked at each other for the longest time.
‘Did she hurt you?’ It was all that was important, nothing else.
He shook his head. ‘Non.’
‘And Luc?’
‘He is fine. Asleep. He will need milk soon. I cannot stay,’ he said, looking at his watch.
‘I… I’m sorry for what I said to her. I wasn’t thinking. I was just so angry and…’
‘Sshh. It is OK. She is not important. Just a few days and we will be somewhere else. Somewhere… mieux.’
She saw the release in his breath, heard the hope and promise in his tone.
She smiled. ‘Tell me about St Etienne. Is it as beautiful as it looks in photographs?’
Chapter Fifty-One
Present Day
Despite how they had arrived at this current situation, Emma was excited for the weekend. The last trip she’d been on involved thirty schoolchildren and a Shakespearean play. As much as she loved Richard III she’d missed most of it having to deal with Louisa and Tom who’d been trying to do a lot more than kissing in the darkness of the theatre. No, apart from day visits to the seaside and one week in a caravan in Norfolk she’d pretty much been confined to home. France sounded positively far flung.
She was nervous though. Not just for starting this new chapter with Guy, but for leaving Dominic for the weekend. She’d never left him before and that scared her a little. He was her rock. Her life had revolved around him for so long. But this weekend was just about her. Her and a lover she thought she’d lost.
*
When he saw her waiting at the entrance he was flooded with relief. After meeting with Keith, he’d almost convinced himself it was the start of everything going against him again. She was his light at the end of a long, black tunnel. She’d always been that.
He stopped walking to fully appreciate the fact she was there, waiting for him.
Black linen trousers, a T-shirt the colour of strawberries and a pair of sandals completed the look. As her hair was blown by the warm breeze his stomach contracted. She was so beautiful.
At once he felt like the most fortunate man on the planet. He started to walk again.
‘Emma.’
*
At the sound of his voice she turned around, one hand still on her small case. He was wearing a cream-coloured checked short-sleeved shirt over blue jeans, tan trainers on his feet. Her insides rotated as he approached and she let a gasp of excitement escape her mouth.
‘Am I late?’ he asked, checking his watch.
‘No. I was early. Like always,’ she said. She let out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. She didn’t know how to behave. All this was so new. She was almost delirious with joy.
He took her hand in his and breathed inwards, expanding his chest as he looked at her.
‘Let’s go back to France,’ he said, his words heavy with meaning.
‘I probably packed too much. I didn’t know what the weather would be like. It said it would be hot but there might be thunderstorms so I have short sleeves and cardigans and my rain jacket. I know you have to go to football tomorrow but what time? Not that I mind, it’s just…’
She stopped herself from talking. She was talking far too much and the train had only just left St Pancras. Guy was gazing at her, his eyes alive, a smirk on his lips.
‘Sorry. I’m just… I’m so excited. I’ve barely left Wiltshire in eight years and…’ she began.
‘I know,’ he responded. ‘I am excited too.’
*
He hadn’t let go of her hand since they boarded the train. They would be arriving in Paris in just under two hours now. It seemed surreal.
‘When we get to Paris we will travel to the airport. I have a plane to take us to Fréjus,’ he informed.
‘A plane,’ she said, eyes wide.
‘We would have flown the whole way but I thought this… was more special.’ He indicated the view outside the window as the countryside flashed past them.
‘And we can carry this in our luggage as far as France.’ He dipped his hand into his rucksack on the floor and lifted out a bottle of red wine.
‘Merlot! Before lunch!’ Emma exclaimed in mock horror.
‘Absolument,’ he replied, smiling.
‘If we can’t take it on the plane we’d better open it,’ she suggested.
‘I think we must,’ he agreed, loosening the cap.
She found herself giggling again. Feeling not seventeen but about twelve.
‘Tonight we will go out, have some food in Fréjus. Tomorrow I will leave in the afternoon for the game but I will be back. Midnight perhaps? A little later maybe. Sunday we have until the afternoon,’ he explained, pouring her a plastic cup of wine.
He passed her the drink and she accepted it, relishing the fruity fragrance.
‘To the future,’ Guy said, holding his cup aloft in a toast.
‘The future,’ Emma agreed, raising her wine in the air.
‘Our future,’ Guy added.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Together.’ His eyes fixed on hers.
Could this really be happening for them at last? No sneaking around, no secrets to keep…
The wine hit her throat and the alcohol made her cough. She drank another mouthful to see if that would help and replaced the glass on the table in front of them.
‘OK?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, sorry, I did say it was risky before lunch,’ she said, re
covering.
A mobile phone began to ring and Guy edged himself up on the seat to get it out of the pocket of his jeans.
*
It was Madeleine. He didn’t know what to do. He had said all he wanted to say. He had thought he had said all he needed to say. The last time they had spoken she was angry but had realised it was over. What did she want now? If he answered it could be an uncomfortable conversation in front of Emma and a train full of people. If he didn’t answer he would have to call her later or she would call him another time, perhaps at a worse time.
‘It is Madeleine,’ he spoke out loud, watching for Emma’s reaction.
‘Oh,’ she responded.
‘Would you mind? I just…’ he started.
‘Of course. Talk to her,’ Emma urged. She stood up, allowing him to shift past her into the aisle. He pressed to answer and moved on down the train, the phone to his ear.
‘Hello.’
‘Where are you?’ came the response.
‘I am on my way to France. I have a match tomorrow. Madeleine, are you alright?’
There was something about the tone of her voice that was unsettling him. She didn’t sound upset or angry; she just sounded accusing yet detached.
‘You said it was because I wanted something for myself.’
‘No, Madeleine, I did not say that. That is what you said.’
‘You said there was no one else,’ she continued.
‘There is no one else.’ He grimaced at the lie but he was keeping it this way for her. The break-up would have happened sooner or later regardless of Emma.
‘Liar!’
His heart lurched. What did she know? How could she know?
‘Madeleine…’
‘There are photographs, Guy, in two of the national papers. You and some tart, some plain, ordinary-looking woman, on the balcony of the football club!’
His heart sank as reality bit him. They’d been careless and reckless. Chris had seen them that day and obviously so had an eagle-eyed guest keen on making a few pounds.
‘Who is she?’ Madeleine ranted.
‘No one.’
He had to protect Emma from this. And Dominic. It would not be fair for the boy to have to deal with the fall out.