Do You Remember? (9 page)

Present Day

She’d lied to Chris. Not a white lie, like pretending that she liked a new shirt that he’d bought when really it was hideous, but a big, fat, blatant lie. She’d told him she needed to spend the evening marking homework. She knew Dominic would probably tell him she’d gone out when they saw each other next, but she had a plan for that. Ally would have a relationship crisis and need a shoulder to cry on. That would make two lies. Once she had started there was no stopping. When you’d spent most of your life hiding the truth it was second nature to lie, whether you wanted it to be or not.

‘Thanks for coming over, Dad.’

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and shuddered. She’d made too much effort. She was wearing foundation, eye-shadow, eye-liner, blusher and lipstick. She hadn’t made that much effort for the fitness centre opening. She was wearing an apricot sleeveless blouse she hadn’t worn in years and a black layered skirt she last wore to the school prize-giving.

‘You look nice, love. Where did you say you were going?’ Mike asked, looking up from the TV magazine.

She hadn’t said. She would have to tell another lie.

‘To see Ally. She’s on the verge of a break-up from her latest boyfriend. He’s a pilot, works long hours and…’ Same lie. Did that count as a third?

‘He’s spending too long with one of the air hostesses,’ Dominic added.

‘Dom!’ Emma exclaimed.

‘You said!’

‘I know but you weren’t supposed to be listening.’

‘How’s the internet dating going, Grandad?’ Dominic piped up.

‘Dominic Barron!’

‘It’s going alright, Dom. Not too bad at all. I’ve got another date with Velma next week and a dinner with a new lady I’ve been instant messaging with,’ Mike replied.

‘What’s her name?’ Dominic inquired.

‘Rosemary.’

‘Bleurgh!’

‘Dom, you’re being very rude. I’m glad you don’t want Bourbons before bed,’ Emma scolded.

‘Oh, Mum!’

‘She sounds very nice in her messages and we both like The Rolling Stones,’ Mike informed them.

‘She sounds lovely, Dad,’ Emma said.

She was looking in the mirror and tweaking her hair. What was she doing tweaking her hair? What was she doing going to this restaurant to meet Guy. She’d said all she needed to say to him. Why was she torturing herself? It wasn’t going to help. It could possibly make things worse.

‘I bumped into Marilyn the other day,’ Mike stated.

‘Marilyn. Who’s that?’ Dominic chipped in.

Emma felt her hackles rise at the mention of her name. It brought back so many memories. She’d hated Marilyn. She’d been jealous and grief-stricken when they got together. She’d needed her dad’s undivided attention and she’d made sure she’d got it. She’d driven the two of them apart.

‘She’s an old friend,’ Mike elaborated for Dominic’s benefit.

‘An old
girlfriend
?’ Dominic asked, giggling.

‘I should go,’ Emma said, looking at her watch. She didn’t want Mike to say anymore. It was enough that he’d seen her again. She didn’t want to hear whatever came next.

‘She asked after you, love. Asked all about Dominic too. I told her you were practically running the school,’ Mike said, smiling.

The light was there again. His eyes were practically dancing. She knew he’d cared about Marilyn but back then it was too soon. She’d wanted him to mourn. He should have wanted to mourn.

‘Someone told the Head about
Copacabana
. I think I’m going to have my work cut out with the costumes,’ Emma said, picking up her handbag.

‘Well, Marilyn is a dressmaker. You remember the little suit she made Dominic?’

Shit.
She’d forgotten that. She needed to go before she said anything else that would stir up memories. Seeing anymore animation on her dad’s face would open the floodgates to the guilt.

‘What suit?’ Dominic asked.

‘It was white bloomers, a little shirt and a matching jacket. You wore it to your christening,’ Mike told him.

‘Urgh! Gross!’

She had a final look in the mirror and gave the front of her hair another flick.

‘I’d better go then. Bye, Dom,’ she planted a kiss on the top of the boy’s head. ‘I’ll see you a bit later. Be good.’ She opened the door to the hallway.

‘Were you saying that to Dom or me?’ Mike said, grinning.

She smiled at them both and then closed her eyes, shutting the door.

The worst thing was he didn’t even know if she was coming. He’d arrived early and asked the manager for their most private table. Here in the UK the press were crazy, even more so than in France. At the moment attention was focused on Jason Simpson and his injury. It helped that he had yet to play his first game for Finnerham. Once that happened he would be back in the media spotlight.

He’d been given the menu and without looking at the wine list he’d ordered a bottle of French Merlot. The first glass had slipped down without him even realising it. He checked his watch again. It was just after half past seven. She was late. Or not coming.

He picked up the fork and twirled it around his fingers. His hands were shaking. He didn’t know what he was going to say to her, if she came. He needed to find out the truth about Dominic. Here, together, away from the noise, he would be able to tell if what she was saying was true. He took a sip from his glass of water and topped up his wine. No matter what she told him, he could handle it better than if she didn’t turn up at all.

He beckoned the waiter and picked up the small vase on the table.

‘Excuse me. Do you have any yellow flowers?’

She’d splashed out on a taxi. She’d splashed out on a taxi and hidden the fact from her dad and Dominic by calling one from outside the house. She couldn’t drive to the restaurant. Her hands were trembling and she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. Now, having paid the cab driver she was stood opposite Café Rouge wondering if she really wanted to go in. A drop of water on her bare arm told her it was starting to rain. Judging by the black clouds converging in the darkening sky above her, a thunderstorm was imminent. They needed rain. It had been too warm for too long and the ground was parched. As if sensing the drought she swallowed, urging moisture into her mouth. What was she doing? Why was she here? Whatever she said to him was only going to make things worse one way or another. There was no chance that this meeting was going to improve anything. She was going to tell him lies. He was going to try and wriggle out of how things were left between them eight years ago. She knew what she had seen. She still felt the betrayal. Yes, she’d been seventeen; young, inexperienced in love but…she’d believed in him. She’d believed in them.
Fool
.

The sporadic drops of rain started to become persistent and she needed to make a decision. Despite who she knew was waiting for her, Café Rouge did look inviting with its red and gold signage and cream drapes in the window. The interior promised sanctuary from the storm, a warm glow permeating through the glass doors.

She was starting to get wet from the rain. A couple ran past her, covering their heads with a handbag and a newspaper. She couldn’t stand here forever. She stepped off the kerb and looked both ways.

August 2005

She was a bit early. She’d thought the shop on the campsite would question her age when she tried to buy the wine but the cashier hadn’t even blinked. Now she was sat on the low wall at the back exit of the complex waiting for Guy.

She could hear the host and applause coming from the clubhouse but it sounded far away. Here, almost out of the holiday park, it felt like a different France. Guy had shown her the forest, the river, the beach, the fields, all so idyllic, so peaceful. She didn’t know how she would cope with going home. Wiltshire had its beauty, it was green and rural, but it wasn’t Europe. Being here was healing her. She could feel it. He was healing her. He listened. He paid attention to her. He made her feel special.

‘Psst!’

The noise startled her and she looked around to see where it was coming from. He emerged then, from behind a palm, smiling.

‘You scared me,’ Emma said, laughing as she stood up.

‘Sorry.’ He met her in the middle of the path, taking hold of her hands. Before she knew what was happening his mouth was on hers. His lips tasted of citrus and sun cream. She cupped his head with her hands, pulling him in closer, opening her mouth wider. She wanted to get as close as she could. She pressed her chest against his, felt the rise in rhythm of his heart. He broke away, out of breath, eyes wide, exploring hers.

‘I…want to do that…
de tous les jours
,’ he told her.

‘Every day,’ she answered.

‘Every day,’ he repeated.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

He was holding her hand and leading her through the woods. It was getting dark now, the brown bag with the wine in was getting heavier and she could barely see where her feet were going. Had she known he had a moonlit ramble on the itinerary she might have worn trainers. No she wouldn’t. Ally said trainers were for PE only…or shopping. The strappy sandals made her feet look slimmer and they were picking up a tan. Having slim, brown feet to show off was worth a few bramble scratches on her calves.

‘We are here,’ he announced. He drew back a large piece of foliage and Emma gasped.

In front of her was the most spectacular table setting she had ever seen. Not even something from a romantic movie could have compared to what was in front of her.

Just a few metres ahead was a table laid with a pale linen cloth, set for dinner for two. There was a lone candle in a glass holder in the middle of the table and a small vase of yellow flowers perfected it. In the trees above were white fairy lights, creating an almost magical glow. She put her palms to her cheeks and took a breath.

‘Guy…’ she started.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked, watching her expression.

‘I…I…it’s beautiful.
C’est beau
,’ she said, turning to him.

‘
Tu es belle
.’

He toyed with her fingers as he held her hand, smoothing the skin on each one and bonding them together.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered. There were tears brimming up in her eyes but she didn’t want to let them fall. This was by far the most wonderful thing anyone had ever done for her. And it was for her.
All
for her. Because he cared.

‘Say you will eat with me. I have pâté, then…how you say…
poulet
.’

‘Chicken.’

‘
Oui
and
salade
. Then we have
mousse au chocolat
,’ Guy finished.

‘I can’t believe you went to all this trouble for me.’

She was overwhelmed. This boy she had thought to be nothing more than a holiday romance was spending his time with her. Spending his money on her. Money he’d already told her he didn’t have much of.

‘Trouble?’

‘Um, trouble…
difficulté
. No, not that. Um…
derangement
. I think that’s right.’

‘
Pas de problème
. Please, we eat?’ Guy asked, leading the way.

Her stomach contracted at just the thought of anything other than camp stove cooked fare. On the table for the first course was delicious looking bread and an individual terrine of the most fragrant pâté. Guy pulled out a wicker chair for her and she sat down.

‘Thank you. Here, I got some wine,’ she said, passing him the bag.

‘Merlot,’ he said, looking at the label.

‘I don’t know much about wine and Dad only gave me five Euros,’ Emma said.

‘It will be…
bien
.’

‘Open it. Let’s have some with dinner,’ she urged. ‘I got a screw top just in case.’

He smiled. He opened the bottle and poured wine into both their glasses. Then he whipped the cloth off another bottle stood on the side of the table. It was exactly the same wine Emma had bought. She let out a laugh.

‘Great minds think alike,’ she said, sipping some of her wine.

‘What?’

‘It’s a quote. No one knows who first said it.’

‘Is it the Chaucer?’ Guy inquired.

‘Oh no. It’s far too straight forward for him,’ she said.

‘You like pâté?’ Guy asked.

‘Oh yes. Did you make all this?’

She took some bread and covered it with a thick spread of pâté. She sunk her teeth into it and savoured every sense as it travelled over her tongue.

‘
Non
. I have a…friend?’ he tested.

Emma nodded her head.

‘He is chef at the restaurant,’ Guy explained.

‘This is gorgeous.’ She swallowed her mouthful and had a large swig of wine.

‘
Demain
…I have to…
essai de football
,’ he started.

‘Your trial. With the football team in Nice,’ Emma guessed.

‘
Oui
.’ He drank some wine and looked across the table at her.

‘Are you nervous?’ Emma guessed.

He nodded and reached for her hand.

‘But you’re brilliant. I don’t know much about football but you play so well and they’ll see that,’ she said, squeezing his hand.

‘There are many people. Many people are good,’ he told her.

‘But you really want to play for them. You’re passionate about the game. The children here love it when you teach them,’ she continued.

‘I have to be good. I have to get place in the…
équipe
.’

‘You will. I know you will,’ Emma said with confidence. She could see from his expression that this trial was a big deal to him. He was hanging all his hopes on it.

‘But if you don’t…’ she started.

‘I have to, Emma. I need to…for Luc,’ he said. He withdrew his hand to take hold of his wine glass.

‘I know you want to look after your brother but your mother…it’s her responsibility and…’

‘She cannot. She does not…’ He shook his head hard and distracted himself by buttering some bread. He was upset. She didn’t want him to be upset. Not when he had arranged this perfect meal in such a beautiful setting for her. She cleared her throat and held her wine glass up.

‘I believe in you. And if this football team can’t see the best player in the world standing in front of them tomorrow then they’re idiots…on skis,’ Emma stated.

He raised his head to look at her. His eyes brightened.

‘To Guy Duval,’ Emma toasted. ‘
Bonne chance pour demain
.’

He raised his glass, leaning forward to touch hers.

‘
Salut!
’

‘To us,’ Emma translated.

As their glasses met she felt her whole body fill up with a warm, tingling sensation. It struck her like a thunderbolt. She’d never been this happy. He really understood her despite the language barrier. She’d told him all about her life, her mother, her books and he got it all.

She looked up. She watched him eat his bread, wiping his long fingers on the napkin. He was perfect. But could it last?