Do You Remember? (25 page)

He looked at the ring sat in its leather box. He knew, if looked upon by others, this was too soon. But it wasn’t for him. In his heart he had been engaged to Emma all this time. This ring was different. It was bought with one week’s wages because he’d fought and he’d struggled and he’d succeeded professionally against all odds.

He slipped the box into his trouser pocket. He didn’t know if tonight was the right time but having the ring close made him feel good. It was security. It was a real, tangible object he was going to put on the finger of the woman he loved. It was validation that everything he’d lived through had been worth it.

As she stepped into the kitchen she saw him raise his head. His eyes met hers and she saw how much he loved her in that moment. Could there finally be a happy ever after? Could she be brave enough to accept it?

‘You look wonderful,’ Guy said as she moved across the room, closer to him.

She brushed her hands down the yellow sundress she was wearing. It was so similar to one she’d worn when they first knew each other. He held her hands and smiled.

‘Let’s go out, have fun and forget everything but us,’ he suggested.

‘I’d like that,’ she replied.

‘This restaurant is the best in Fréjus,’ Guy remarked.

The car had left them at the harbour and they’d meandered along it, taking in the boats, the bustle of the night time scene, before heading for the restaurant.

‘Is it very expensive?’ Emma asked.

‘Is that important?’

‘No. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked that.’

She did know. The life they’d talked about when they were younger had never involved money except in their dreams. To start with they were always going to be surviving day to day, scraping by, doing the best they could. Fancy restaurants had never been on the agenda. But that was why where they were now was both so similar yet so different. They’d travelled separate paths and ended up at the same place.

‘They have a good Merlot,’ he said, smiling at her and squeezing her hand a little tighter. The touch eased the tension.

A man in a smart black suit, teamed with a bright pink tie greeted them at the door.

‘
Monsieur Duval
, welcome back to
La Mer.
Please, our best table is this way.’

The man began to lead Emma and Guy toward the rear of the restaurant. Emma pulled at Guy’s arm.

‘Could we sit at the front? If you think you won’t be plagued by autograph hunters,’ Emma said.

‘Of course. We can sit anywhere you like. Excuse me, may we sit at the front?’ Guy asked the waiter.

‘
Absolument
. Please,’ he said, turning back around. He led on to the front of the restaurant. The table he stopped at was right in the window, overlooking the street and the boats docked in the harbour.

Guy beat the waiter to pulling out Emma’s chair. She smiled at him and sat down. The waiter offered the wine list but Guy waved it away.

‘Your Merlot,’ he ordered.

‘And a glass of water,’ Emma interjected.

‘Perhaps a jug?’ Guy suggested.

‘Very good,’ the waiter said. He handed them both a menu and left them alone.

‘I’m too excited to think about eating. I can’t believe we’re here…together,’ she whispered.

A smile drew across Guy’s face and he clasped her hands across the table.

‘You sounded just like the Emma I met all those years ago just then. So much excitement, so much youthful innocence,’ he said.

‘This time I want to do things properly, Guy. Before, we started so fast, rushed ahead because we had to. We don’t need to do that now. We’ve got all the time in the world. I want to be young again. I want us to date, to hold hands, to take off our clothes and jump in the stream,’ Emma said. She let out a giggle and he brought her hands to his lips, kissing the skin.

‘I want to do all that too,’ he agreed.

He returned her hands to the table and it was then he caught sight of a couple outside. Their arms were linked together and they were walking toward the restaurant. As they moved closer Guy’s heart plummeted.

The waiter returned to the table with the wine and it was all Guy could do to stop himself ripping it out of his hands and filling a glass. He drummed his fingers on the table as they went through the tasting formalities.

‘Are you OK?’ Emma asked as Guy poured her some wine, then filled his glass to the brim.

He managed a nod but all he could concentrate on was drinking as much wine as he could in one mouthful. His flesh was creeping; a cold, damp feeling was spreading from his fingers, up his arms and deeper through his torso. They were coming in. There was nothing he could do to avoid this situation. He tried to shrink into his seat, even though he knew it would do no good. Out of the side of his eye he saw them enter. It was just a matter of time.

‘Goodness! What a thrill! Tasha, look, it’s Guy Duval,’ Keith’s voice rang out.

Emma looked up and set eyes on the girl she had spent years despising. Except now she wasn’t a girl. Now, Tasha was a grown woman like her. But unlike her, Tasha was wearing something that looked designer. She was taller than Emma remembered and thinner. And surprisingly she looked completely polished, faultless, perfected. One thing she did remember about Tasha was she hadn’t been polished. She’d dressed in the latest fashions, yes, but cheap, throwaway clothes and her accent had been more street than princess.

‘Hello, Guy. How nice to see you again,’ Tasha greeted.

Emma’s stomach turned over. She had to look away. This moment could stop them from having a perfect weekend. It had been ridiculous for her to think the past could stay behind them.

‘Hello,’ Guy responded so softly it barely reached anyone’s ears.

‘And you’re Emma aren’t you? Do you remember Emma, Tasha? She stayed at La Baume once, years ago. Isn’t it nice the four or us getting reacquainted like this?’ Keith continued.

‘How lovely to see you again, Emma. Are you and Guy…’ Tasha left the question open ended.

‘Yes. Yes we are,’ Guy answered, determination in his tone.

‘Oh, how lovely. Should we celebrate do you think? Some champagne perhaps?’ Keith suggested.

‘There’s no need. We were just going to have a quiet dinner and…’ Emma began. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be with this woman. Tasha had changed the course of her entire life. What she had done had made such an impact. It had altered her path irrevocably, changed her, made her make choices she never should have had to make.

‘I was hoping to celebrate a little venture of my own actually.’ Keith didn’t wait to be invited. He pulled up two seats from another table and motioned for Tasha to sit down.

‘I don’t think…’ Guy started.

Tasha looked to Emma and she clenched down the emotion that rose up the second the look connected. This was all wrong, this night was supposed to be special and now these people, reminders of the time when she was young and vulnerable, had burst in, shattering everything. She reached out for her wine glass and held it tight.

‘I’m launching a brand new line. I’m in the lingerie business you see, Emma,’ Keith told.

Guy bit the inside of his mouth. This was the worst situation. He wanted to drag Keith away from Emma by the lapels of his jacket. Just his presence had flooded his gut with nausea he could almost taste. He knew where this was going. Keith was spreading unease, dragging Emma into the middle of a situation she had no clue about. He knew how she would be feeling. She thought Tasha was the person who had helped him break her heart. He could see just by looking at her that she was only just holding all that resentment in. He was the only one who could do something about this.

‘We have to go,’ Guy said, rising from his chair.

‘Go? Go where? You’ve not eaten,’ Keith yapped, indicating the untouched silverware on the table.

‘I have an important match tomorrow. I did not realise the time,’ he continued.

‘It’s barely past half nine,’ Keith continued.

‘Guy…’ Emma started. He could see from her expression she was torn. She didn’t want this woman to burst back into their lives and spoil what they’d only just begun. But she did not want to appear rude.

‘Daddy, we’ve interrupted their dinner. We’ll leave you alone,’ Tasha said in a diplomatic tone.

‘I’ll just come right out and say it then. I’m launching a male line and I want Guy here to endorse it. I want him to be the face of…well the body of…Mustang Lingerie.’

Tasha let out a squeal of excitement. Guy grabbed Emma’s hand, hauling her up off the seat.

‘We’re leaving,’ he stated.

‘I’ll give you a call. We can talk details.’ Keith smirked.

‘Never. Do you hear me? Never. Do what you like, tell as many reporters as you want to. It’s over,’ Guy hissed into Keith’s face.

‘Guy,’ Emma began.

Rage pulsing through his veins he pulled Euros from his wallet and dropped them to the table to cover the cost of the wine they hadn’t drunk. Then he propelled Emma towards the door and out into the night.

She watched him draw breath, filling his lungs with the moist, balmy air, his eyes closed.

‘Guy, tell me what’s going on,’ she begged, looking to him pleadingly.

It was Tasha. She knew it. The woman had destroyed things the first time around and she was set to do it again. He’d seen her…recently and not said a word.

Guy opened his eyes. The expression of pain, sorrow and pure hopelessness clawed at her heart. Whatever he was going to tell her was going to rip her world apart.

5 September 2005

Today was the day and Emma had much more than butterflies in her stomach. It was as if a whole colony of bees had invaded and were building a giant honeycomb inside her. Her dad thought they were going home together to that death-tainted house for him to move in his girlfriend and for things to carry on as before, just minus her mother. In reality she was running away to get married to a boy she had known just a few weeks. It wouldn’t be easy, but the thought of striking out on their own filled her with excitement rather than fear.

She watched her dad taking down the tent, canvas covering his head as he removed another pole.

‘Do you want some help?’ she offered.

‘Thanks, love,’ Mike replied.

She ducked under the tent and helped hold the material up. It was roasting hot under the material, the autumnal sun touching everything in its reach.

‘What time do we have to leave?’ Emma asked.

‘I thought about two. Is that alright with you?’ Mike replied.

‘Yes, of course. I was just checking. I thought I might catch the wig-wam building this morning,’ Emma said. In truth she was meeting Guy with a bag she’d hidden in the shower block to pass it over and finalise the details of their escape. They’d planned to leave at one. Guy had bought a cheap car from someone he knew. He’d already packed for him and Luc, taken the case and bags to the barn. They were really going to do this.

‘Wig-wam building. That sounds like a caper. Once I’m packed up here I might come and have a look too,’ Mike said, pulling out the last pole. The canvas fell about them and Emma’s stomach lurched. She didn’t want her dad leaving the camping area really.

‘Are you alright, love? You look a bit peaky,’ Mike remarked as they both backed out from under the tent.

‘Just a bit of stomach ache that’s all. It’s the end of the holiday and…we’re going back home,’ she said. She hated lying but she had to. Her dad would be OK. He had Marilyn.

‘Things will get better, love. And, who knows, if I work hard, we might be able to afford to come back here next year,’ Mike stated, smiling.

She couldn’t bear it anymore. She needed to see Guy, needed reassurance that this was the right path, that their love was enough to change everything.

‘I’d better go, if that’s OK,’ Emma said, backing away.

‘Of course, love. If I don’t make it I’ll see you back here about half one. We can stop off for some lunch on the way to the ferry,’ Mike told her.

This was it. This was the moment she was leaving her dad. He was there, rolling up the tent, oblivious to the poignancy. What should she do? Should she just back away? Leave without saying anything? She didn’t want him to know but she also didn’t want him to think the decision had been made without care or consideration when he looked back on things.

‘I love you, Dad,’ she said, tears pricking her eyes.

Mike looked up then. The intimate statement was not a usual occurrence in their family. Emotions were buried deep and not often exclaimed.

‘You sure you’re alright, love?’ he asked. He didn’t sound suspicious, just concerned. She needed to leave now. She’d said enough.

‘I’m fine…Jane Eyre,’ she said as explanation.

‘Those Brontë girls again.’ Mike shook his head. Emma smiled and waved her hand.

‘I’ll tell you all about the wig-wams.’ She lowered her voice. ‘One day.’

Her heart was heavier than she could have imagined. Why was it so hard? She wanted to move on with Guy, didn’t want to be in a house with her dad and Marilyn, but something inside her was breaking. She looked at her watch. Guy should be here. She jumped down from the gate and looked up the path. He wasn’t in sight. Where was he?

‘Lost someone?’

Staring up the path one way had caused Emma not to notice the approach of Tasha’s sidekick, Melody.

‘No,’ Emma snapped in response.

‘Because if you were looking for Guy I know where he is,’ Melody boasted.

She wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her comment. Neither Tasha or Melody had ever been anything other than obnoxious. She turned her face away from the girl, focused on the countryside scene the other side of the gate.

‘About ten minutes ago he was going into Tasha’s caravan. They’ve been getting really close, if you know what I mean,’ Melody continued. Emma couldn’t help but look at her. A satisfied smirk was set on her lips. Emma’s heart pumped harder and faster as she let the words seep inside her. Why would Guy be with Tasha? He said he disliked her but that time in the clubhouse he’d spent so much time hanging around her table. What if…what if he’d lied to her?

‘She’s wearing a brand new dress today. She got it from a boutique in Fréjus,’ Melody continued.

She shouldn’t say anything. This was nonsense. The girls were always teasing her, trying to wind her up. She knew Guy, they were deeply in love and they’d made so many plans. He wouldn’t be with Tasha. He would be changing after football and making his way to meet her. He was late that was all.

‘By now, he’s probably taken it off,’ Melody continued.

‘Shut up! You’re a liar!’ Emma yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the girl.

‘Why would I lie? We were meant to be building a wig-wam together until she got a better offer. She wouldn’t tell me what she was doing but I saw him … hot and gorgeous, no top on, going into her caravan,’ Melody explained.

‘I don’t believe you! You’re lying!’ Emma screamed.

She was shaking, her hands trembling, her insides coiling up tight. This couldn’t be happened. She’d given everything to this relationship, all her thoughts and feelings, all her hopes and dreams. She’d bared her soul.

‘Caravan 12. It’s right by the lake. Go and see for yourself if you don’t believe me,’ Melody challenged.

She couldn’t think. There was so much information bombarding her brain. Everything Guy had told her, his declarations of love, his ideas for their future…everything was being soured by Melody’s accusation. She wanted to hold on to the truth she longed to believe, but something was niggling inside her. A germ of suspicion had been planted and she needed to resolve it before it spread its deep roots.

She gave Melody a hard shove, sending her sprawling into the bushes. Then she took off up the path towards the lake. Melody picked herself up.

‘It isn’t my fault he doesn’t want you! Maybe you should do more than read all the time!’

Her heart had been in her mouth the whole way across the campsite. Now, her stomach was clenched in so tight it felt as if her ribs were bruising her on the inside.

These caravans,
this
caravan, were unlike the others that stood at the end of the site she’d been staying on. This was luxury. This was a house with double-glazed windows and a proper front door. This was definitely it. Number 12. Her anger was reined in. Now she just felt terrified. What was going on behind the door? Was Guy really here? Was he in there with Tasha? The only thing she
did
know was she had to find out one way or another. Her whole future rested on it.

She took a step towards the set of three steps that led up to the door. Then she stopped. What was she doing? Why was she believing the word of a horrible, bitchy girl she didn’t like over the assurances Guy had given her? She shook her head, prepared to retreat. Then she heard a voice. Every hair on her body reacted to the sound on instinct. It was the voice that usually sent shivers running over her body. Now, it was filling her with dread. He was in there. He was in Tasha’s caravan, just like Melody said.

Her eyes filled up with tears. She didn’t know what to do. From inside he spoke again, softly. Was he whispering to Tasha? Telling her he loved her?

Fired by pure white anger she mounted the steps, flinging open the door.

On the breakfast table were the remains of a picnic. A half-empty bottle of Merlot. Tears were leaking from her eyes now, but she couldn’t stop. She needed to see. She needed to be sure.

She headed down the corridor to the bedrooms. Why? Why was this happening? Hadn’t she given him everything? And he was throwing it away for a trampy girl from London.

There was only one door closed. She knew what she was going to see. Why did she need to see it? Because her heart was pleading with her, asking for clarification, begging her mind to give it a chance.

Her hand was on the door. As every millisecond ticked by she felt her heart drop deeper into the pit of fear her stomach was creating. If this was what she thought it was she’d wasted herself. Wasted these last weeks, sharing herself, giving him not only her body, but her dreams, her hopes, her precious memories of her mother, believing in a love that had never been.

The door flew open and there he was. Hair falling over his face, his forehead slick, his cheeks red. He was wearing only shorts. The door was ajar. She caught sight of the rumpled bed clothes, an arm and the shape of a body in the bed. He’d betrayed her. He’d slept with someone else, with Tasha.

‘Emma,’ he began. He reached for her. She fell back, a guttural sound coming out of her mouth. She grabbed at the walls of the corridor, righting herself, backing away as quickly as she could.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed. She couldn’t balance. Her world was spinning on its axis and she was falling.

‘Emma, wait, please. I can explain,’ Guy called. He was putting on his t-shirt, hurriedly pulling it down as he pursued her.

‘I’ve seen everything I need to,’ she hissed. Her voice wasn’t angry enough. She wanted to yell and spit. She wanted to hit him, claw at him, let him know just how much pain he had caused her. But the tears were getting in the way of everything. She was sobbing loudly, with no control, choking on emotion so thick it felt like it was coating her entire insides.

She burst out of the caravan into the hot air. Despite the heat there was a moment of relief. She was out of there. Away from the place where he’d cheated on her. She took a breath, tried to still, retain some dignity. She marched on down the steps and off up the path.

‘Emma, please let me explain,’ he repeated. He grabbed her arm, turned her, forcing her to look at him. The expression on his face was unreadable. What could she see there? There was sadness, regret, fear, shame, despair even. No, she couldn’t fall for that. He was a liar and a cheat. He had just slept with that rough girl who showed off her underwear and had no clue who Chaucer was. How could he? The only reason there were tears in his eyes was because he’d been caught.

‘Get off me! Don’t you touch me! You’ve been touching her haven’t you?! Sleeping with Tasha like you slept with me! Have you asked her to marry you yet?’ she exploded.

‘It is not how you think. What I do here, it is…’ he began.

‘You’re half-dressed and she’s in that bed! That’s all I need to know! Let me go!’

His hand was still holding her arm, the velvet smoothness of his fingers pressing onto her skin. A cheater’s touch. Well-practised, used many times on holidaymakers just like her. She could write into
Cosmopolitan
and tell her story when she got home. Naïve teenager falls for campsite Romeo.
Stupid. Idiot. Sucker
.

‘Come with me. I will try to explain.’ His fingers caressed her arm and all those lustful feelings began to stir inside her. She wrenched her arm away, her breathing heavy, her heart in overdrive. And then she lost control. She thumped him hard on the chest once, then again and again, one fist connecting after the other.

‘Liar! Cheat! You’re a bastard! I hate you! How could you? How could you?’

At first he accepted the blows, allowed her to hurt him but then he stopped her, blocked her attack by taking her arms.

‘Emma, look at me, please,’ he begged.

She was sobbing again, her eyes red and misted, her mouth agape, trying to suck in air to keep her functioning.

‘I love you,’ he told her.

The declaration had her yelping as it pulled at her soul. She shook her head at him.

‘Emma, ‘he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘I never want to see you again. I’m going home,’ she stated. She waited a moment for the news to sink into him and then she ran. It was over.