Do You Remember? (17 page)

Dominic and Chris’ cheers were echoing in her ears but her heart was throbbing. She’d seen what had happened, seen the blow to the side of his head and then him falling, landing like a dead weight on the grass. She watched as the physios from both teams raced onto the pitch, armed with their medical bags to assist. He was unconscious. He was injured. She didn’t know what to do.

‘What’s going on? Is he hurt?’ Chris inquired. Most people had been too elated at Guy scoring the winning goal; they had taken a minute to realise their new number eight was lying on the floor knocked out cold.

‘He isn’t moving,’ Dominic stated.

Emma’s insides lurched at his explanation and she wrung her hands together, feeling so useless.
Just get up. Just come to and get up. Let me know you’re OK.

‘Well, this isn’t such a great end to the game, is it? Cracking goal though,’ Chris said cheerily.

‘He is going to be OK isn’t he, Mum?’ Dominic asked, looking up at Emma.

‘Yes. Yes, of course he is,’ she said immediately. What else did you say to a child, even if you weren’t really convinced?

The seconds seemed to tick by. More and more of them passed. The wait felt endless but finally there was movement. Guy was moving his upper torso and seemed to be coming round. As quickly as they could, the physios got him onto the stretcher and began to take him from the field.

Both sets of supporters began to cheer his departure from the game, clapping to acknowledge the goal and his whole eighty-six minute performance. Before she really thought about what she was doing she was moving.

‘Emma?’ Chris noticed her as she moved to leave her seat and the stands.

‘I’m desperate for the loo. Can’t wait. I’ll meet you back in the suite,’ she called as she shifted past other fans towards the steps.

‘Can you get sweets, Mum?’

She was quite certain that at any moment she would be collared by a member of staff and put in a room wherever they kept football-player stalkers. She had no idea where she was going. The place was a labyrinth of corridors and rooms, but she just kept following signs mentioning ‘players and officials’ and ‘restricted area’.

She turned a corner and caught sight of the group. Half a dozen people were making their way down the corridor carrying a stretcher.

‘Guy!’ she called. How desperate she must sound but then wasn’t she desperate? Absolutely desperate, and needing to find out for herself if he was really alright.

Two men dressed in polo shirts in the Finnerham colours turned their attention to her.

‘You can’t come down here. It’s team officials only,’ the first man said.

‘I … ’ she started, taking another step forward.

‘Are you lost?’ the other official asked.

‘No. I need to see Guy. Guy!’ she shouted. Now she was sounding close to deranged. Soon they’d be calling security.

‘Emma? Please, let her through.’

Guy’s voice calling for her soothed her panic. The two men in her way looked at each other then parted like the Red Sea. The stretcher moved on, turning at the bottom of the corridor, Emma in pursuit.

‘Emma,’ Guy said, trying to sit up.

‘I’m here,’ she assured, rushing forward.

‘You must lie back, Guy,’ the physio said, guiding the stretcher-bearers into a clinical-looking room.

‘Emma, stay. Please,’ Guy begged.

‘I will. Of course I will,’ she responded.

What started out as half a dozen people in the room soon became whittled down to just the three of them. Guy, Emma and the club doctor, Colin.

‘I’ll be back to take your blood pressure in half an hour. You sit quietly and if you start to get any headaches or if you feel faint, you press the button,’ Colin told him.

‘I am fine now,’ he responded.

The surly-looking Scotsman didn’t look convinced but went towards the door anyway and left.

Emma reached for Guy’s hands and held them in hers.

‘I saw you go down on the ground and I was terrified,’ she said, the tears falling fast.

‘I’m OK. I was unconscious only a few minutes,’ he assured. He brought her hands to his lips, grazing the skin with them.

‘What’s going on, Guy? You called me. You were crying … then nothing,’ Emma began, brushing his damp hair with her hands.

He shook his head, let go of her and began toying with the blanket covering his legs.

Emma took a moment and watched him. He couldn’t meet her eyes now. He had dropped them to the blanket, his long, tanned fingers picking at the polyester.

‘I couldn’t tell Chris.’

The words sliced through the atmosphere, acting as another barrier between their emotions.

He nodded, as if he had been expecting it.

‘I wanted to … I tried but … ’ Emma started. She felt pathetic and seventeen again. She always made decisions quickly, decisively, why was this so different?

‘I have not told Madeleine.’

Emma closed her eyes as her stomach dropped. She wasn’t the only one who hadn’t kept a promise.

‘I wanted to but … something happened and … ’ he began.

‘You don’t have to explain. I understand,’ Emma said. She
did
understand. They were both in an impossible situation. Whatever they did was going to have an impact, either on them or the people they cared about.

Guy made a frustrated noise and tossed the blanket to the floor.

‘I cannot go on like this … without you. Now I’ve found you,’ he stated.

‘I know,’ she whispered.

‘I do not know what to do,’ he admitted.

He looked at her at last. Those bottle green eyes radiating frailty. He appeared frightened and vulnerable, just as he had that day in France, in the barn, covered in bruises. That was a memory she would never forget.

She took his hand and brought it to her mouth, echoing his earlier gesture. Her pulse was racing, watching his reaction, wanting to convey the depth of her feelings for him. He closed his eyes, giving in to her caress and everything it meant.

‘I love you, Guy. I never stopped loving you,’ she blurted out. She was admitting that to him and to herself for the very first time. Yes, he had hurt her, torn her heart in two. But even while broken, her heart hadn’t let her forget. She’d tried to hide her feelings away like the special items in the box under the stairs, but love didn’t always let you put a lid on it.

He kissed her then, furiously, desperately. She felt his eagerness to share the closeness, how keen he was to express everything he felt. She wrapped her arms around him, tracing her hands along the contours of his back. She longed to touch his skin, remember the velvety smooth texture.

He broke away, holding her face in his hands.

‘Come away with me.’

‘What?’

‘Come to France with me. I have a game, an international game next weekend. It’s one match. We have the rest of the time together,’ he elaborated.

‘Guy, I can’t. I have Dominic and there’s Chris and … ’

She needed excuses. She needed hundreds of them because her heart was in danger of skipping out of her chest just from the idea of it.

‘We can stay at my house. We can take the train … ’ he continued, gesturing, animated.

‘I can’t,’ she said again, ignoring all the things her body was telling her.

‘We can be together there. Like before.’ He kissed her lips, pressing her mouth with desire.

‘I have to go,’ she said, looking at her watch.

‘Back to him,’ Guy said harshly.

‘That’s not fair,’ Emma responded.

‘
This
is not fair. We are meant to be together.
You
know that.
I
know that – we’ve always known that.’.

She was crying again. These days it wasn’t taking much. She needed to be strong. She could be strong. She’d done it before and survived and survival was what mattered.

‘I have to go,’ she repeated with a little more force. She let go of his hand, moved to the door and taking one last look at him she left.

As the door closed he broke. He felt as if his world was collapsing. It had come crashing down a long time ago but he had picked himself up so well and held it together so competently that no one would know he was constantly fighting an internal battle. Now he was going through it all again. He drew his arms into his chest and wrapped himself up as he sobbed. The pain in his head from the blow of the Irwell defender was nothing compared to the savagery going on inside. He was not good enough for her. He had never been good enough for her. He was a bad, dark person.

‘He’s eaten at least two rounds of sandwiches and he sprayed the goalie with pastry from a sausage roll when he congratulated him on the penalty save,’ Chris informed.

Emma nodded although she hadn’t really heard what he’d said. She was watching Dominic and, periodically, the door to the function room they were now in. The players and officials were filtering in, all showered and changed into smart casual clothes befitting of a window of H&M.

‘He’s having a blast, isn’t he? He’s spoken to the youth manager already. I said I’d take him for a try out,’ Chris continued, following Emma’s gaze.

She didn’t respond.

‘Is everything alright?’ Chris asked.

She turned to face him. He was giving her the full concerned face, complete with soulful eyes. He’d looked that way when he’d ask her out the first time.

‘I’m fine.’ That was becoming her stock answer for everything lately.

‘Want some nosh? There’s salmon on those cracker things.’

‘No thanks.’

‘How about a drink then? Wine?’ Chris offered.

‘Wine. Yes, red. A glass of red would be nice,’ Emma decided. She needed something, if only to keep her hands busy.

‘Coming right up,’ Chris said, getting out of his seat. He headed to the bar and she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Just having him here felt stifling. There was just too much going on. And the longer the situation continued the more she felt like her whole world was going to cave in.

The door swung open and there he was. His hair damp from the shower and flicked across his forehead, he was dressed in dark trousers and a pale blue shirt. He was showing no signs of having been unconscious just a short time ago. He just looked perfect. She looked away, tried to concentrate on Chris who was doing battle at the bar. But she knew he was heading towards her. She could feel it.

Without waiting to make contact first, he pulled up a chair and sat next to her, placing a bottle of water on the table.

‘You cannot keep walking away,’ he stated.

‘Guy, please don’t do this. Not here. Chris is there and Dominic is … ’ Her voice came out panicked.

‘There are things I have to say,’ he continued. All confidence had dropped from his tone.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Why you called me the other night?’ she asked.

He took a breath and clasped his hands together.

‘I wanted to tell you … back then but … it was easier to let go,’ he admitted.

She could see he was hurting and every fibre of her being screamed for her to reach out and make a connection. But she couldn’t.

‘It’s about the past?’ she whispered.

He managed a nod and picked up the bottle of water.

‘We agreed not to talk about it. We said a fresh start.’

Her heart was pumping now. Fear and adrenaline were driving through her, urging her body to work faster and harder.

‘I know, but I don’t want this affecting the present and…it could,’ Guy spoke softly.

‘No.’ She shook her head.

‘Emma…’

‘Guy! Are you alright?’ Dominic had bounded up to the table and launched himself into a chair opposite them.

‘Hey, Dominic. It is nice to see you again,’ Guy responded.

Tears were stinging her eyes, her breathing rapid but she had to pretend everything was OK.

‘I might be joining the youth team,’ he announced proudly.

‘Wow. That is amazing. You will do very well. You are a good player,’ Guy encouraged.

‘Here we are. One glass of red wine. Well, hello, Guy. How are you? We were all a bit worried when that full-back clobbered you,’ Chris said, joining the group.

‘Hello, Chris. I am OK. It was more important to score the goal,’ Guy responded.

‘It
was
awesome,’ Dominic enthused.

‘Well, I’m sure you have lots of people to talk to and interviews maybe…
Match of the Day
?’ Emma suggested to Guy.

‘I have spoken to
Match of the Day
, just now,’ Guy responded.

‘Wow! Did you? Are you going to be on tonight?’ Dominic wanted to know.

‘Of course he is! He’s the hero of the hour,’ Chris reminded.

She couldn’t take this anymore. All elements of her life sat around a coffee table in a function room of a football stadium. She stood up, picking up her bag and looking to the door.

‘Em?’ Chris queried.

‘I just need to get some fresh air. I’ve got a headache coming on,’ she stuttered.

‘We’ll come with you,’ Chris said, urging Dominic to finish his Coke.

‘No. No, it’s fine. I’ll just be a minute. You talk to Guy,’ she said, looking to Guy.

He saw the despair in her eyes. What was he doing? What were they both doing treading this dangerous path? They’d promised to make it right but it seemed to be impossible. He knew he didn’t deserve her but he wanted her. He had never wanted anyone else.

‘Does your head still hurt?’ Dominic asked, breaking Guy’s concentration.

‘A little. I have small lump here,’ Guy said, putting his hand to the back of his head.

‘Do you?! Gross!’

‘D’you want a drink, Guy?’ Chris offered.

‘No. But thank you,’ he responded. He gave Chris a smile.

Knowing that Chris was a good man and how well he had looked after Emma and Dominic made this all even worse.

Ally’s phone went to voicemail again. Emma suspected she would be either somewhere with Jonty, rekindling their relationship, or up to her eyes in registering children for swimming lessons which started next week. Either way Ally wasn’t answering. Not that she would be able to help. Ally already didn’t approve of the situation and who could blame her? Emma had made her tell lies to cover her infidelity and that couldn’t carry on. That wasn’t who she was anymore. She was better than that.

The executive box was empty now and as she looked out from the balcony, over the stud-marked pitch, she sucked in the tranquillity. Thousands of fans had screamed and shouted not more than an hour ago, filling the stadium with a cacophony of sound. Now there were half a dozen grounds men on the turf and just quiet.

She sensed and smelt him before he made it up to her. She turned around and faced him before he could open his mouth to speak.

‘I don’t want this anymore. It isn’t good. Whatever we have it’s hurting people. It’s hurting me,’ she blurted out.

He said nothing, just moved towards her, his form blocking out the sun.

‘No one knows anything yet and if we stop this now there’s nothing
to
know,’ she continued.

Her heart had stepped up a gear and was pounding in her chest and up into her ears. He wasn’t listening. Just coming closer. And the nearer he got the more she shook.

He stopped only when he got alongside her, leaning on the balcony rail next to her, his eyes not leaving hers.

Involuntarily a noise escaped her lips and it rocked her. It was something between a sigh and a yelp, frightened yet excited, longing.

‘I do not deserve you, Emma. But I cannot let go,’ he whispered.

She gazed at him, taking in every inch of his face, the grass green eyes, the olive complexion, the hint of stubble on his face, his full, lush lips. She couldn’t fight this feeling. It was forcing her to act. This deep-rooted need she had, this connection she couldn’t deny was overtaking all sense about rights and wrongs.

She only moved a centimetre but they both knew what it meant. Restraint had been overridden; passion and desperation were taking over. She drew his face to hers and their mouths met. Hungry, wet - fusing together as if time needed to be made up.

‘I cannot let you go. I will not,’ Guy said, kissing her lips, holding her tight.

‘I know…I know,’ she responded, tears spilling from her eyes.

‘I want to hold you so much. To never let go,’ he whispered. His hands traced the line of her shoulders as the kisses continued.

‘I’ll come to France,’ she said. She kissed his cheek, took his hands in hers.

‘What?’

‘I’ll come with you to France next weekend. I’ll tell Chris and I’ll come,’ she stated again.

He looked at her, an expression she couldn’t quite read on his face. Perhaps he had changed his mind. Maybe he’d decided they shouldn’t.

‘
Formidable!
’ he exclaimed. He picked her up and spun her around in his arms. She laughed out loud, a surge of euphoria spiralling through her as he put her back down on the ground and pressed his lips to hers again.

‘A new start,’ he said.

‘A new start,’ she echoed.

The door of the balcony closed shut.