Was it too late to put things right? Was putting things right the proper thing to do? He pushed away his starter plate.
‘I want to know about your teaching,’ he said, pouring her another glass of wine.
*
She'd barely eaten. She’d watched him. They’d said very little. He’d commented on the weather and she’d asked ridiculous questions about football. She still didn’t know anything about it and she didn’t really want to. They were both circling around each other, avoiding the important questions.
‘I’ve been at the school for four years now. I teach English,’ she answered.
‘Chaucer?’ he queried. A smile flickered over his mouth and heady memories were forced into her mind.
‘Sometimes. Not this year. This year we have Othello and Jane Austen… with a rousing rendition of Copacabana if Councillor Martin gets his way.’
‘I meant what I said about the money. I would like to give something to the school,’ Guy told her.
‘Why?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you know nothing about the school,’ she challenged.
‘I know you work there. I know how passionate you were about reading and literature. I would like to help. Is it wrong to want to give something?’
‘I…’
He threw his napkin on the table and put a hand through his hair. He looked frustrated. She chewed her lip. She knew that she was making him like this because she was scared to say anything that mattered. She could have been having this conversation with her hairdresser.
‘You say I am not Dominic’s father. OK. If that is what you say then that is what I believe,’ he stated.
Did he believe it? Did he believe it really? His tone sounded honest but his chest rose with hampered breaths that told another story.
‘Where is he? The father.’
‘Not around,’ Emma answered.
She watched him take a long breath in. He held it there for what felt like a long time and then let it go through his nostrils.
‘You and he were…’ he began.
‘It’s a long story, Guy. You know my mother died. It happened then, before I met you.’
‘But when we were together. You were…’
‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’
‘So the things you say to me back then…’
‘I was only seventeen. I needed someone… I said I didn’t want to talk about it.’
She wanted to leave. She wanted to get in a taxi and go back to her dad, Dominic and a cup of coffee. That was her life. That was where she belonged. Not here with this guy from her past.
‘I would have understood,’ he said.
She could feel his eyes on her. So intense, so full of feeling. Just being near him stirred all those sentiments up again. It was dangerous to be here. She was flirting with disaster just by seeing him again, for so many reasons.
‘Tell me about your career. Dominic tells me you’re quite the international celebrity.’
She’d had to change the subject. His scrutiny was giving her goose bumps where she didn’t even know you could get goose bumps. She needed to be mature. She had to be the adult here. Everything from their time together had been banished to the back of her memory and locked up for very good reasons.
‘Celebrity. Yes, so it seems.’ He took a swig of his wine and sat back a little in his chair.
‘Finnerham have paid an awful lot of money for you to play for them. It must be very flattering,’ Emma continued. She had to stride on with the questions or the spotlight would be back on her.
‘Flattering? Non. Embarrassing, perhaps. I do not know if I am capable of being the player they deserve. The way we play football in France is very different to how the game is played here. I have taken the opportunity and I will be trying to learn as much as I can,’ he explained.
‘But you’ve played for your country and OGC Nice.’
‘I had to make it there. I had to get there for Luc,’ he stated.
She saw his fingers tighten around the wineglass and his gaze travel out to the mid-distance. Emma wiped at her mouth with her napkin and waited for him to continue.
‘Luc died, Emma,’ he stated.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, putting down her napkin.
There were tears in his eyes now. He was swallowing, trying to keep himself in check but she could see what was trying to break out from under the surface. Sorrow. Deep sadness over the loss of his brother.
He shook his head and took another drink. He paused before he spoke again.