That First French Summer - Mandy Baggot Page 0,106
of the car. The driver said something in French she didn’t understand. She could see Guy, hurrying down the quay towards the car.
‘Please, Monsieur, vite!’ she called. Guy was just yards away, such a wounded expression on his face. She couldn’t look. She turned away as the taxi pulled off and closed her eyes.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
5 September 2005
She’d run. Left the campsite, turned out of the gate, passed the barn and raced on and on towards the river. Her eyes were blinded by the tears. It wasn’t fair. Why was she being punished like this? Because she’d got drunk and stupid and cautioned by the police after her mother had died? Because she’d been deliberately cruel to her dad because she blamed him for not being there when her mother passed? Hadn’t she coped with enough heartache? Hadn’t she tried to bury herself in her books and do the right thing? Why had life decided to hurt her again? Take away the one thing, the one person who was hers? They’d been in love. She’d been in love, so deeply in love it had filled her up to the brim. Guy had given her her life back. Just when she thought there was nothing but death and loss and Shakespeare, he had come along and shown her how beautiful life could be. He’d asked her to marry him and she’d believed him. She’d convinced herself it was more than a holiday romance. Fallen for the fairytale. He’d taken their love and thrown it on the bedroom floor of that caravan when he’d slept with Tasha.
She was out of breath, her lungs bursting. She jogged to a stop, bent double and put her hands on her hips as she straightened up. She should have been getting ready to leave. Leave with Guy to a new life. Instead she was here, hurt, humiliated, wanting to rage at the world for letting her down again. If there was a God, where was he? Why had he taken her mother? And why had he made this happen? He’d given her Guy and snatched him back. She wanted to scream at the heavens. She wanted to beat her fists on the ground. She wanted to get drunk again. So drunk she couldn’t feel anything. It would only numb the pain for a while but even a few hours out of real life was better than nothing at all.
She hugged herself, bracing her stomach, trying to quell the torment when she heard a noise. It was a baby crying. Such a loud, distressed sound and a sound she recognised. It was Luc, she was almost sure of it. She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked around. There were fields of crops to her left but to her right was the grassland that led down to the river. She squinted against the sun, putting her hand up to her forehead to shield her eyes. There, across the grass, was Luc’s pram and beside it was a figure led on a blanket on the ground.
She picked up her pace and headed towards them. It was so hot today and the pram wasn’t in any shade. As she got closer she saw it was Guy’s mother on the rug. She was asleep or unconscious, an empty bottle of brandy next to her. Anger gnawed at her. What sort of woman was she? She beat her eldest son, she neglected her baby and when he didn’t stop crying she shook him until he did. On closer inspection Emma could see she was breathing. She was passed out and drunk. She wasn’t fit to be anyone’s mother. It was so unfair! Her own mother who always had time for her, always been there for school, for hugs, for chats, for everything, had been taken away, while this horrible, nasty, woman was here, wasting her life away and ruining the lives of everyone around her. She was vicious and brutal. A dangerous bully.
Emma bent over the pram and lifted Luc out.
‘There now. Sshh, it’s alright. Emma’s here now,’ she hushed, cradling his tiny body against her.
His cries lessened immediately and as she began to sing the song Guy had taught her he stilled, his breathing soft and contented. None of this was his fault. This poor little infant had been born without anyone in his life to look after him. His mother was a violent alcoholic and his brother was a liar and a cheat.