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.
*
Emma 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 really 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. ‘That was a bit of me circa back then.’
‘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. 7.30 p.m. Café Rouge. Guy
Chapter Fifteen
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