Do You Remember? (2 page)

Present Day

Marry me
.

The words were bumping around in her head, stopping anything else from getting through. Sometimes when Emma replayed the phrase it filled her with excitement, joy and a thrill she hadn’t felt for years. Then, when her mind repeated the question again it was spoken by a different voice.
Marry me
. It sounded wrong, almost like a jailor talking before the shackles were attached.

‘Well? How does it look?’ Ally Thomas barked.

‘It looks like a gym.’

‘Argh! Emma! A little more enthusiasm please! It is a state-of-the-art sports facility. A gym conjures up images of strongmen, puffing, panting and dumbbells. Here, at the Wellness Sports and Spa Fitness Centre we do not have stress and strain. We have motivational personal trainers. We have the latest in cardiovascular equipment and we have beauty treatments to rival a dip in the Icelandic mud baths,’ Ally announced. She proudly puffed out her chest like an aroused pigeon.

The Wellness Sports and Spa Fitness Centre was brand new and being opened and launched that day. Emma was there because Ally was the manager. Ally knew nothing about sports and fitness, but she had a power suit and a loud voice and could organise the unorganisable. She wanted her best friend’s opinion before the official opening in the afternoon. How things had changed in eight years.

Eight years ago, Ally had been all set to do a course in beauty at the college and Emma was destined for university. She
had
made it there, but at the time she’d had to prioritise.

Emma swallowed as she caught sight of their reflection in the wall-width mirror. Self-consciously, she scraped her blonde bobbed hair behind both ears. Compared to Ally she looked like Cinderella in the pre-ball rags period. Ally was dressed in designer wear, all coiffured and tweaked, not an eyelash out of place. Emma was wearing jeans she’d had for years and a much-loved, shapeless, cream, long-sleeved top. Money was tight and Dominic came first.

‘So, are you staying for the ribbon-cutting?’ Ally asked, checking her watch.

‘No, I’ve got to pick Dominic up from swimming in … ’ She checked her watch. ‘God, fifteen minutes. I’d better go.’

‘No more rushing about for you in a few months. We’ll be doing swimming lessons here you know,’ Ally proudly reminded..

‘I know, you’ve given me at least five leaflets about it. I’ve got to go,’ Emma said, embracing her friend and trying not to crinkle her so obviously new suit.

‘You and Chris are coming to the gala dinner tonight though, aren’t you? I’ve invited Councillor Martin. I know you’re desperate to bend his ear about more funding for the school,’ Ally said.

‘Yes we’re coming. My dad’s babysitting Dominic and we have a pass out until at least midnight. Later if I leave him chocolate Bourbons,’ Emma said, grinning.

She’d been looking forward to the gala dinner since Ally told her about it. Usually the closest she got to dressing-up was when she decided her students at the school needed period costume to help them understand the era they were studying. With a young son and a boyfriend who worked unsociable hours as a taxi driver, nights on the razz were very few and far between. She only hoped tonight wouldn’t be tainted by the question she still hadn’t answered. He’d said the words,
marry me
, like he’d said them twice before. This time she had sighed heavily, patted his arm and taken a pile of towels up to the airing cupboard. She knew it wasn’t what he’d hoped for and she wondered how long he would keep asking before he gave up on her.

‘How’s your dad’s internet dating going?’ Ally asked, opening the door and leading her friend back out to the balloon-adorned reception area.

‘He’s going on a second date with Velma the dog trainer next week,’ she announced with a giggle.

‘Blimey! I thought you said she brought one of her dogs along to the last date.’

‘She did. Dad likes dogs,’ Emma said.

‘I’m saying nothing.’

‘So, who’s the celebrity you managed to con into opening this fitness and wellness spectacular for the prize of a money-off voucher for the butchers?’ Emma asked. She pushed open the main door and got her hair whipped up by the breeze.

‘Ah well, I had got Jason Simpson. You know, England’s number ten, scores loads of goals every week for Finnerham United. The kids absolutely love him, the women adore him, the men respect him and I was clapping my hands together … ’ Ally began.

‘He can’t come, can he?’

‘He’s gone and done in one of those crucial ligaments or something and they’re operating…today,’ Ally informed her with a frustrated sigh.

‘And?’

‘And I’m left with some new guy they’ve just signed from France. Now what was his name? Guy. That’s right, Guy Duval. He probably can’t speak the lingo, no one will understand a word he says and he’ll probably smell of onions and look like the back end of a bus,’ Ally gabbled.

‘Guy Duval,’ Emma said. Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.
The images were already in her head; his dark hair, his emerald-coloured eyes, the touch of his hand..

‘Emma, you’re letting air in. It will play havoc with my climate control,’ Ally said, taking the door from her friend’s hand.

‘I have to go,’ she said, her voice almost failing her.

‘I know, shoo! Go and get Dom and I’ll see you later. I’ll be the one with my hand up the French guy’s arse being the ventriloquist when he can’t speak a word of English,’ Ally said, cackling out a laugh.

Emma managed a faint smile and hurried out of the leisure centre. It couldn’t be him! Duval in France was like Smith in England. There were hundreds of people in France called that, weren’t there? And so he played football? So did lots of men. Lots of French men called Duval. No, it couldn’t be him. It wouldn’t be him.

It was him. Google had a lot to answer for. Here he was, Guy Duval from the Riviera campsite, now looking at her out of her laptop screen. He was dressed in the bright blue of the French national football team, the gold cockerel motif looking resplendent on his chest. Everything about him was as she remembered it. She had never envied a cockerel before, but there it was, its feathers erect, a smug beak on it, festooned against that well-structured torso.

Why had she never Googled him before? She knew the answer to that. She had banned herself from thinking about him. When he broke her heart she snapped. She’d left, she’d moved on and she had well and truly put him away in her past. It had to be that way. There were times when her thoughts had travelled back to those few weeks, usually when she had had too much to drink or after a bad day at school. The trouble was, she could still so easily recall how the French sunlight felt on her skin, how his hand had felt in hers. But along with the good memories were others she would rather forget. She’d been broken. He had broken her. You don’t Google people who took your heart and threw it away.

‘Mum, can I have some more sauce?’ Dominic called.

He was behind her at the table hungrily devouring fish-fingers after his hour learning the intricacies of breaststroke at swimming lessons.

‘Yes, of course, I’ll get some.’ She snapped down the lid of the computer before standing up.

‘Will Chris be here soon? He’s getting me some more cars today,’ Dominic said. He raised his head and those eyes lit up.

Emma picked up the tomato ketchup and squeezed some onto her son’s plate. He was growing up so fast. He was tall, with a dark brown mop of hair that constantly fell across his forehead. He had an infectious smile and those wide eyes.

It had been just her and her dad when Dominic came along, but they had managed. And Emma hoped they had made him feel every inch the special person he was. He might not have been planned for, but even the best plans usually have to be adapted. And, whatever the future held for her now, Dominic would always be at the centre of it.

‘I don’t know what time he’s coming over. We’re going out tonight though, remember? Grandad’s coming to look after you.’

‘Great! That means I can stay up late and play on the Wii with him!’ Dominic said, peas falling from his lips.

‘So that’s what you get up to, is it?’ She smiled.

‘I always win. Grandad gets the buttons mixed up.’

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Emma replied. She opened her laptop back up.

There were dozens of photos of Guy, all waiting to be clicked on. Most of them were football shots, him in action for different teams in France. But there was one picture that interested her in particular. In this shot he was wearing an expensive-looking suit and had his arm around the waist of a beautiful dark-haired woman. She had eyes the shape of almonds and a slender figure draped in a coral-coloured shift dress.
Madeleine Courtier
the caption stated. She was so pretty, so immaculately turned out. Ally would know the designer of the coral dress and who her hair was styled by. But, it didn’t need intimate knowledge of haute couture to see that this gorgeous woman was Guy’s equal in looks and status. Footballers were like movie stars these days. He was a footballer and she, Madeleine Courtier, looked like a movie star.

As Emma looked at the photo, a burn manifested in the pit of her stomach, bubbling and boiling, reminding her of all the nights she’d spent reliving what had happened in France. There he was in a magazine, almost unaltered, his handsome face working the camera, the edge of his tanned hand just visible at the waist of this hopefully highly airbrushed female companion. He had made a fool of her.

She slammed her laptop shut. The noise made Dominic jump and his fork clattered onto the table.

‘Mum!’ he announced, his dark eyelashes blinking as he retrieved his cutlery.

‘Sorry, Dom, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump,’ she apologised.

She ruffled her son’s hair and then held his head close to her in an embrace.

‘Is it Chaucer again?’ Dominic questioned, turning his head to look up at her.

‘What?’ Emma asked, the name feeding a memory back into her head.

‘Chaucer always makes you mad.’

‘He’ll make you mad too, when you’re older,’ she replied.

The doorbell rang and Dominic sprang from his seat like a greyhound out of a trap, racing to reach the door first.

‘It’s Chris! It’s Chris! Hi Chris, have you got my cars?’ Dominic bombarded as soon as Emma had opened the door.

‘Dom! Let Chris come in for goodness sake. He’s tired, he’s been working and … ’ Emma started.

And there he was, her lovely boyfriend. Tall, slim, blond-haired and blue-eyed with laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. But she couldn’t look him in the eye. They hadn’t spoken since the
marry me
of that morning, and she didn’t know if anything had changed.

‘Hey that’s alright. You should know you can’t keep a boy away from his cars…especially a yellow limited edition Ferrari and a replica of Lewis Hamilton’s winning racing car,’ Chris announced, producing two boxed cars from behind his back.

‘Wow! Mum! Have you seen these? Thanks, Chris they’re awesome! Can I play with them now, Mum? I’ve had enough dinner,’ Dominic said. He gave Emma the benefit of one of his heart-stopping beams.

‘Peas or racing cars. I guess it isn’t really a hard choice. Go on then,’ she agreed.

Dominic raced off upstairs to his bedroom and within seconds the noise of cardboard being broken apart was the only sound to be heard.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Emma offered.

‘Tea? Emma, I’ve never drunk tea,’ Chris said. A sigh escaped his lips.

‘Sorry, I know. I just feel awkward about this morning and … ’ Emma began, her eyes dropping to her shoes.

‘Well don’t. It was a spur of the moment thing. I hadn’t asked in a couple of months, we were having a laugh with Dominic and everything and it just slipped out,’ Chris said in a matter-of-fact tone.

‘Slipped out,’ Emma repeated, raising her head to look at him.

‘Yeah, it wasn’t especially important. It just sort of happened,’ Chris continued.

‘Right.’

‘So, no need to feel awkward or anything. God, I could do with a beer. I brought some. Want one?’ Chris offered, indicating the bag he was holding.

‘Maybe in a bit,’ Emma answered as he moved past her, heading for the kitchen.

She knew he was talking rubbish. Marriage proposals didn’t slip out. They were well considered before they passed anyone’s lips. Chris was trying to make her feel better and that was so typical of him. Whenever there was crisis or confrontation he smoothed over the cracks and pretended the problem had never even existed. You couldn’t live like that forever, she thought. . Eventually something or someone had to give. The question was, who would give first?

This was his third attempt at doing up his tie. What was wrong with him? He let out a sigh and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Here he was, Guy Duval, international footballer, a world renowned player just signed to a high-flying UK team set on winning the Premier League. He had the world at his feet- he had worked hard to get the world at his feet. So why wasn’t he happy?

He attempted the tie again, trying to look in the mirror for guidance.

‘Guy! The removers have cracked a bowl. The whole set is ruined! You must call them. We ask for compensation!’ Madeleine’s voice called from downstairs.

He dropped his hands down to his sides and sat on the edge of the bed. What was he doing? Where was he going? No matter where he was he was always at a loss. Nothing he did felt right. Eight years ago he thought escaping was the answer. But what had escape brought him so far? He might be rich beyond his wildest dreams but when he looked in the mirror he still saw the face that disgusted him. He still held the memories that haunted him.

He felt the ache riding over him. The pain started like a flutter in his chest, crept its way upwards, taking a strangle hold on his neck, invading his shoulders, his back and then his head.

‘Guy!’ Madeleine called again.

‘I will be there,’ he finally responded.

‘Grandad!’ Dominic announced, jumping up at Mike as he entered the house.

‘Hello, Dom. Hello, Chris. Don’t you look smart?’ Mike said, his eyes taking in the grey suit and retro paisley tie Chris was wearing.

‘Do I? It’s really itchy this material. Friend of mine leant it to me. I don’t have a suit. I mean, when does a taxi driver get to wear a suit?’ Chris asked, adjusting his tie and looking uncomfortable.

‘Chris and Mum are going to a ball,’ Dominic announced. He rolled his eyes and yawned.

‘It isn’t a ball. It’s a gala dinner,’ Emma said, coming down the stairs.

‘Wow! Look at you, love. You look smashing,’ Mike said, taking in his daughter’s appearance.

She only owned one smart dress and it had seen far better days. But a black dress circa 2007 wouldn’t do if she wanted to tackle Councillor Martin about school funding. Ally had leant her the dress she was wearing now. It was a simple style, scalloped neckline, in at the waist and flaring out to the knee. The colour gave it the wow factor. It was canary yellow and it brought out the deep chestnut brown of Emma’s eyes.

‘
Smashing
makes me sound like some sort of successful clay sculpture
,
’ Emma said, blushing as both men looked at her in appreciation.

‘Your dad meant to say
gorgeous
didn’t you, Mike? But he’s your dad, isn’t he?
I
should be the one telling you how beautiful you look…and you do,’ Chris said. His cheeks flushed.

‘You can go out now,’ Dominic instructed, taking hold of Mike’s hand and dragging him towards the living room.

‘Oh I see. You don’t need us now Grandad’s here,’ Emma joked, smiling at her son.

‘I thought you were going to go all mushy and kiss that’s all,’ Dominic said, screwing up his face and poking out his tongue.

‘No mate, we haven’t had enough wine to do that,’ Chris replied.

Emma swallowed and avoided reacting by gathering Dominic into a hug. Did he really mean that?

‘Now listen, you be good for Grandad. Not up too late playing computer games and not too many Bourbons. And brush your teeth before bed,’ Emma ordered.

‘Have we got Bourbons? Fantastic,’ Mike said, clapping his hands together.

‘Bet I can eat more than you,’ Dominic challenged.

‘I’ve had years of practice,’ Mike reminded.

‘I think we should go. This sounds like hardcore biscuit eating to me,’ Chris said, opening the front door.

‘We won’t be back too late, Dad,’ Emma said, touching him on the arm before she stepped out.

‘That’s OK, love. You enjoy yourself,’ Mike told her, catching her hand and giving it a squeeze.

It was a balmy evening for mid-September. August had been one of the worst on record, spoiling the school break. Now the children were back in the classrooms, the temperature had risen and everyone was wishing they were still on holiday.

Emma could only imagine Ally’s delight at a warm evening. It meant her friend could open the remote control veranda doors leading from the function room out onto the deck. From there the guests would have a great view of the outdoor pool and waterpark-style lazy river.

‘This suit is nylon, isn’t it? I’m sweating buckets here. How long d’you think I’ll have to keep the jacket on for?’ Chris asked as they walked towards the entrance of the fitness centre.

‘There’s vicious climate control inside. You might be glad of it,’ Emma answered.

There were paraffin torches leading the way. Two wine waiters stationed either side of the main door held trays of champagne.

‘They will have beer, won’t they? I mean freebies are freebies, but I’ve never been that keen on champagne,’ Chris whispered as they approached the waiters.

‘If I know anything about Ally it won’t be the cava we’re accustomed to,’ Emma told him.

‘Champagne, Sir? Madam?’ a waiter offered.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Chris said, picking a glass up.

Emma helped herself to a glass and then stepped through the door into the foyer where people were mingling.

She noticed Ally at once. She was wearing a peacock-coloured dress with a feather fascinator in her hair. No one else could have got away with wearing something so elaborate, but she did and made it look stunning. Ally waved and began heading over in Emma’s direction.

‘Ooo Em, you look fab! I said that dress would suit you, didn’t I? Hello, Chris, what are you doing with that champagne? You’re not a champagne man now, are you? It’s a free bar tonight. We have five different lagers, fill your boots,’ Ally announced, holding her hand out to indicate the bar area.

‘Good stuff, I’ll get on over there then! Here, more for you, Em,’ Chris said. He handed Emma his half-started glass of bubbly and hot-footed it over to the bar.

‘Where on Earth did he get that suit from?’ Ally asked. They both looked as Chris itched around the waistband of his trousers while he waited for his pint.

‘Oh don’t! He’s self-conscious about it enough as it is,’ Emma answered with a giggle.

‘Right, well, while he’s busy getting lager and scratching, come and meet
the
hottest specimen of manhood I’ve seen since the chef on my last cruise,’ Ally announced, taking Chris’s glass from Emma and grabbing her by the arm.

‘Oh, Ally I thought you were happy with Jonty,’ Emma exclaimed as Ally led her along.

‘He’s never here! Him being a pilot is a pain in the rear! One day it’s Germany, the next it’s Fuerteventura…wherever that is. And I’m pretty sure he’s spending intimate cabin time with Claudette the trolley dolly. He talks about her all the time…when he’s with
me
! No, no future in that one. He couldn’t even get me any air miles,’ Ally said.

‘Right, so who’s the next victim?’ Emma asked.

‘Well, remember I told you about the footballer, the French one, the one I thought would look like Quasimodo … ’

‘Guy,’ Emma said. The name almost caught in her throat.

‘Emma, you have
got
to see him! He’s divine! He looks like something that’s been sculpted. Firm jaw, Roman nose, eyes the colour of a Grolsch bottle and a mane of hair any racehorse would be proud of,’ Ally described, her voice full of excitement.

‘But he isn’t here, is he? I mean he cut the ribbon this afternoon, didn’t he? He’ll be half way back to wherever footballers spend their nights, won’t he?’ Emma asked. As the words came out of her mouth, her eyes scanned the room like an assassin looking for its target.

‘Of course he’s here! He’s here all weekend! No football, most of the players are away on international duty. Tomorrow he’s spending all day teaching soccer to the local kids. Well, I can tell you I am going to be keeping a very close eye on his ball skills,’ Ally said with a giggle.

‘I should really go back to Chris. He doesn’t really know anyone else here and … ’ Emma began, holding back from Ally’s determined walk across the function room.

‘Don’t be daft; he’ll have a pint to talk to by now. Ah, here he is. Just look at that! Isn’t he perfection?’ Ally said. She sighed.

And there he was. Guy Duval. Her Guy. The Guy who stole her heart.

Dressed in a blue/black suit, his thick glossy hair sat just on his shoulders, he was engrossed in conversation with a wizened woman in a tangerine-coloured frock coat.

‘Ooo God he’s been pounced on by Kathleen Dobbs! She’s the chairwoman of the Fair Trader Association and hell doesn’t she talk! Are they talking French? Emma? Is that French they’re speaking?’ Ally hissed at her friend.

She couldn’t be here in this moment. She couldn’t let Ally try and introduce them. Suddenly she longed for the familiarity of Chris and his down to earth normality. While Ally was busying herself scrutinising Kathleen Dobbs’ wrinkled mouth, Emma fled back across the room, trying to avoid elbowing guests’ glasses out of their hands.

She didn’t stop until she found Chris. He was leaning on one of the pillars festooned with ribbons, one hand wrapped around his pint glass, the other at the collar of his shirt, scratching.

‘There you are! Thought you’d deliberately deserted me in a room full of posh people for a second,’ Chris said. He smiled at her.

‘No, no, Ally just dragged me off to meet some woman from the Fair Trader Association. You know what she’s like and this is her big night,’ Emma said. She didn’t dare to look anywhere except at Chris. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. It was like she could sense him.

‘Well, she’s heading this way with someone in tow,’ Chris announced.

Emma buried her nose in her champagne glass and waited for the inevitable.