Do You Remember? (7 page)

The rest of the morning blurred. He wasn’t really present at the remainder of the training session. His mouth was working, giving out instructions and praise in equal measure. His body too was there, showing his pupils how to perform football skills. But his mind… Thoughts of Dominic moved around his head like a carriage on a Ferris wheel. Up and around, down, shaking and unstable.

He couldn’t believe what Emma said. He
had
to be Dominic’s father. He just had to be. If he wasn’t, if she had been that close to someone else, it changed everything. It would tear up the precious memories. It would demolish all the feelings he clung to in his darkest moments. She’d whispered things to him; let him in on her innermost fears. Her grief, her jealousy, and all her insecurities. Or so he’d thought.

He sucked down some water as the parents began to arrive to collect their children. Ally had come in with the clipboard and was ensuring no one left without being marked off. He looked at his watch. He should head home. Tonight was an important function for Finnerham. There was a charity auction he was going to be paraded at. But he couldn’t go without knowing about Dominic. Not only if he was better; but if he was his.

‘It’s making it hot and the bandage smells.’

They were home. Two hours in accident and emergency was a record. Once, when Dominic was a baby, she’d been passed from nurse to nurse and spent almost five hours there. A wailing baby with a high temperature and not one person seemed to care. She’d been terrified. She was young and naïve; terrified that she had left it too long to get medical help for her son. Mike had driven them and then Marilyn had turned up. Perfumed, preened and wearing pearls. At one in the morning. The memory sent a shot of bile into her throat. She swallowed it down.

‘Mum! How long does it have to stay on?’ Dominic called.

She came back into the room.

‘At least a week. You heard the doctor. And no football either.’

She put another cushion behind Dominic’s back and lifted his injured leg onto the sofa. Just a bad sprain, nothing torn or broken they’d said.

‘Are you hot?’ She put the back of her hand on his forehead.

‘My ankle is and the bandage is made out of that stinky stuff. It’s like the one Grandad had on his arm when he hurt it at badminton.’

‘I’ll get you a drink. Hot chocolate?’ Emma offered.

‘Coke?’

‘Dom…’

‘Please.’

‘Oh, go on then,’ she gave in.

She flicked on the television and handed Dominic the remote control.

She was exhausted. After a late night and a morning of emotional turmoil she was done in. She switched the kettle on and opened the fridge. She took out the Coke and poured some into a glass.

Her mobile phone vibrated with a text message. She looked at the sender. Chris.

Did Dom enjoy the training?

She let out a sigh. She couldn’t reply. She should call him. She should let him know about Dominic’s ankle but she couldn’t do it now. He would ask a load of questions and she’d feel uneasy. She still felt uneasy about what happened with Guy. He’d looked so determined, then so wounded and finally, furious. When he’d planted his hand on the window, a moment from the past had flashed before her. She had ached to say the right things. Not the truth, but the words to stop him asking. She’d never expected him to be here. He wasn’t supposed to ever be in her life again. What she’d left in France was supposed to have stayed there and what she’d taken away wasn’t meant to be shared.

A knock on the front door made her jump.

He should have been travelling back to Finnerham but instead he’d waited for Ally to leave the fitness centre. He was convinced a good friend would need to check up in person, make sure the boy was OK. She’d driven to a leafy suburb and parked outside a terraced home with venetian blinds at the windows and a dark green front door. He parked across the street, not directly opposite, but close enough to see. He slunk down low in the seat, knowing his Range Rover probably stuck out like a sore thumb. He felt like a voyeur. Watching, he saw Ally knock on the door. His heart picked up pace as he waited. Perhaps this wasn’t where they lived. Maybe this was another friend of Ally’s or a man, a boyfriend.

The door opened a crack and he saw her. A look of relief seemed to cross her face when she greeted Ally, as if she was expecting another caller. Had she expected him? If she had, that told him everything he needed to know.

‘God, you look bloody awful…on skis. It’s broken, isn’t it? It’s broken and you’re going to sue Ultra Leisure,’ Ally spluttered when Emma opened the door.

‘Oh it’s you!’ Emma exclaimed. Relief wrapped around her words.

‘Is it in a cast? Please don’t sue the leisure centre, Em. I’m really enjoying the job and it’s great money…’

‘Come in,’ Emma said, opening the door wider.

‘What can I do? There must be something I can do. How about free membership…for life,’ Ally said. She wrung her hands together.

‘It’s not broken. It’s just a bad sprain. He’s fine,’ Emma told her.

‘Oh thank God! I was totally panicking. For a minute I thought I was going to get fired and have to hang on to Jonty for a bit longer until I found another job!’

‘And you’re also relieved Dominic isn’t going to be on crutches for weeks.’

‘Oh, Em, of course. I mean that goes without saying,’ Ally said quickly.

Emma let out a breath and put her hand to her forehead, pinching her eyebrows. She could feel the beginnings of a headache.

‘Are you alright? You look a bit pale.’

‘Yeah,’ she replied. She didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t think straight.

‘I’ve brought Dom some chocolate. All that the vending machine could offer apart from sports drinks; I thought he might have had enough sport for one day. I could murder a coffee,’ Ally stated.

Emma nodded.

‘I’ll go and give it to him. Then you can tell me all about it,’ Ally said. She reached for Emma’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

She was sure Ally thought she was a moron. What was it about her and this man? She was a strong, independent woman. A teacher and a pillar of the community. She marked GCSE homework, she taught Shakespeare and last term she’d even headed up an abseiling experience. She was not someone who should fall apart over a man…a boy from her past.

‘Let me get this straight then. You told him, that he wasn’t Dom’s father and he didn’t believe you,’ Ally recapped.

‘Sshh, Ally I don’t want Dom to hear any of this. It was bad enough earlier. I shut the car door and luckily his leg was hurting him so he didn’t ask any awkward questions but…’ She picked up her cup of coffee and cradled it to her chest.

‘He isn’t Dom’s father. You’re sure?’

‘Haven’t we been through this?’

‘And you’d tell me the truth about this, wouldn’t you?’

Emma lifted her chin, looked her friend directly in the eye.

‘That was a really stupid thing to say. I’m sorry,’ Ally backtracked.

‘I just really don’t need this happening. I’ve got pressure at school, I’ve got Chris proposing every month, I’ve got Dad’s internet dating to worry about and…’

‘Why are you worried about Mike’s internet dating? He’s a grown man. It’s about time he had a bit of fun, isn’t it? What was the name of that girlfriend he had years ago? The one that looked like she’d stepped off the pages of
Woman’s Weekly
? All light perm and acrylic jewellery,’ Ally commented.

‘Marilyn.’ The word scorched her mouth.

‘That was it. He hasn’t had anyone serious since then, has he?’

‘
She
wasn’t serious. She was an interfering, busybody who took advantage of a grieving widower,’ Emma spat.

‘Right. Best left in the past then. Like you and the Gallic hunk?’

‘There was a question mark.’

‘What?’

‘You put a question mark at the end of your sentence.’

‘Yes Ms Grammar, I did. Is there one?’

‘I don’t want him here. My life is different now. He hurt me and I’d forgotten him.’
Liar
.

‘But?’

As Emma put her coffee cup back on the table the letterbox rattled. The sound made her release her grip too soon. The cup circled on its axis, then tipped, spilling the remainder of its contents.

‘Whoa! You need to relax. It’s the letterbox. Probably the useless freebie paper with the coupons for Dominos that make their extortionate pizzas almost worth buying,’ Ally suggested.

Emma got to her feet, ignored the fallen cup and walked from the kitchen. What had landed on the doormat wasn’t the freebie paper. It was the page of a notepad.

Instinctively she knew who it was from. She bent down to pick it up. The paper was folded in two, her name written on it, a line underneath. She opened it up, reading the words.

Tomorrow night. 7.30pm. Café Rouge. Guy

August 2005

‘I have to go,’ Guy whispered. ‘I have work.’

Emma opened her eyes. The warm sun on her face, the rays seeping into her skin always made her drowsy. Lying next to him, usually wearing her most flimsy outfits, was heaven. She felt so safe, so content, so happy.

This was their third date. After she’d almost drowned in the river they’d spent a second date together on the beach. She’d told her dad she’d met a new girlfriend called Sally. Sally came from Brighton (it sounded cool and was far enough away from Wiltshire not to continue the relationship when she got home) and she was studying for her A-levels too. Mike seemed happy enough with the lie and had yet to ask to meet the girl. If he did ask she would think of something. She could probably find a willing teenage holidaymaker to pay.

Now, on date number three, they were lying in a honey-coloured field of corn having spent the afternoon walking through the French countryside, stopping to play ball now and then and chasing butterflies.

‘What time is it?’ she asked, reaching for his hand and the watch on his wrist. She hadn’t noticed the watch before. It looked expensive.

‘It is
cinq heure
,’ he informed. He took his arm away.

‘Five. Where do you have to be at five? There’s a game show tonight in the clubhouse but that’s not until eight,’ she said.

‘I know. I have to work before, at the hotel and
ma mere…
she needs my help,’ Guy told her.

‘With your brother?’

‘Yes. I have to work for him now,’ Guy said. His beautiful eyes dimmed, his lips downturned and Emma reached up to take his face with one hand.

‘You’re a good big brother,’ she stated. She softly brushed his forehead with her fingers, savouring the way his skin felt to touch.

‘I want to be,’ he replied, moving his lips to kiss the tips of her fingers as they travelled to his cheek.

‘I want to stay here forever,’ Emma stated.

As soon as the words left her lips she inwardly cursed herself. Why had she said that?
Stupid idiot!
This was their third date. He was gorgeous and she was lucky he was spending time with her! She’d gone and blown it! Everyone knew boys didn’t like stupid girls who thought three dates meant always!

‘There is a…how you say…
un monde entier
,’ he responded.

‘What does that mean?’

‘The…land…the place…’

‘The world?’

‘Yes,
oui
, the world is big place. I want to see more than here,’ Guy told her.

‘I know what you mean. Until I came here I hadn’t seen much more than the inside of our house for months. We thought my mum would want to go places, live her last days doing things she’d always planned to do. In the end she was just too sick to do anything but lie there and wait to die,’ Emma explained.

She felt the pain in her gut, rising up into her throat, bringing the emotions with it. She was so fed up of crying. And boys on third dates were not interested in emotion. Well, actually, Ally had convinced her that all boys were interested in at all was getting into your underwear. And once they’d accomplished that, the relationship was pretty much doomed. Unless you wanted to give him a blow job. That was going to guarantee you at least six months together if you did it right.

‘I am sorry for your mother,’ he said. He brushed his hand through her hair and brought his lips down onto her cheeks in turn. It felt nice. It felt reassuring. Perhaps there might be a fourth date after all.

‘We should read the Chaucer. If you want to be teacher you should work hard,’ Guy said. He picked up her copy of
The Canterbury Tales
and opened it up where the page was marked.

‘I hold a mouses wit not worth a leke, That hath but on hole for to sterten to,’ Guy read.

Emma giggled. The text sounded terrible in class with Mr. Devlin reading it. It sounded even more ridiculous read by a Frenchman.

‘What does this mean? He talks of mouse…
souris
?’

‘I know,’ Emma said, unable to suppress her laughter.

‘What does it mean?’ Guy asked again.

‘Basically it means don’t put all your eggs in one basket. A mouse’s heart is not worth anything if it has but one hole to run to and if that one fails then all is over. Something like that,’ Emma explained.

‘I do not know.’

‘Everyone should have a contingency plan. In life things don’t always work out how you want them to,’ she said.

She sat up, brushed some imaginary dust from her dress and snatched the book from him. It was a shame Chaucer hadn’t written about what to do if your mum died and your dad was seeing another woman.

‘You are mad,’ Guy remarked, watching her.

‘I don’t want to go home to how things are,’ she let out. There were the words again, falling from her lips without any thought.

‘You are still sad for your mother.’

‘No. It isn’t that,’ she snapped.

‘Emma…you must tell me,’ he said.

Her breathing was erratic now. She was thinking about Marilyn and her heart was pumping the blood around her body so much faster than it should. That woman had been waiting. She had been waiting for her mother to die. Now she was sending messages to her dad. Texts ending in kisses just weeks after the funeral. What sort of person did that?

‘Emma…’

‘My mother was dying and my dad was seeing someone else. Some bitch called Marilyn,’ she blurted out.

She felt the tears coming. She willed herself not to let the emotion go. Things were going well. He liked her. She shouldn’t be this wreck of a person. Why couldn’t she just be normal? If she was normal, not a sobbing idiot, if she got a push-up bra and court shoes, she might be able to keep in touch with him when she got home. If she carried on the way she was he would move on to Tasha or Melody before the week was up.

She looked for something to wipe her eyes. Corn didn’t look like it would make a good tissue. Before she could think anymore, the air flooded out of her lungs as he wrapped his arms around her. He held her so tight against his body and rocked her like a child.

Could she let it out? Could she let him see how fragile she really was? Back in the house, just her and her dad and the threat of Marilyn hanging over her, she had longed for her mother. She spent more and more time alone contemplating how her life was going to be from now on. What she wanted. What she didn’t want. How much she hated what had happened to her. She was angry. She was mad at the world. She didn’t know what to do. Who was Emma Barron now? Who would she become?

‘I don’t want to be the girl everyone pities. The girl who likes books too much. The girl who lost her mum,’ she sobbed into his chest.

‘What do you want?’ he asked her, cradling her head with his hands.

‘I want an aim. I want something for me. Something to call my own. I’m doing these exams but I don’t know if that’s what I really want. I don’t know what I really want but it isn’t a house shrouded in death and a father already looking for a replacement wife,’ she bawled.

‘We will find a way,’ Guy said. His voice was soft, husky and warm in her ear. The words caressed her, filled her up with hope. This was a holiday romance. There was no future in it. But what he was saying soothed her. It made her feel better, gave her the consolation she needed, wrapped up her soul.

‘We will make things better…
ensemble
…together,’ Guy said. He interlocked their hands and her heart swelled.

‘When I am with you…everything is better,’ he told her. She felt his body contract with a shiver and he held on tight.