pit of her stomach, bubbling and boiling, reminding her of all the nights she’d spent reliving what had happened in France. There he was in a magazine, almost unaltered, his handsome face working the camera, the edge of his tanned hand just visible at the waist of this hopefully highly airbrushed female companion. He had made a fool of her.
She slammed her laptop shut. The noise made Dominic jump and his fork clattered onto the table.
‘Mum!’ he announced, his dark eyelashes blinking as he retrieved his cutlery.
‘Sorry, Dom, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump,’ she apologised.
She ruffled her son’s hair and then held his head close to her in an embrace.
‘Is it Chaucer again?’ Dominic questioned, turning his head to look up at her.
‘What?’ Emma asked, the name feeding a memory back into her head.
‘Chaucer always makes you mad.’
‘He’ll make you mad too, when you’re older,’ she replied.
The doorbell rang and Dominic sprang from his seat like a greyhound out of a trap, racing to reach the door first.
‘It’s Chris! It’s Chris! Hi Chris, have you got my cars?’ Dominic bombarded as soon as Emma had opened the door.
‘Dom! Let Chris come in, for goodness’ sake. He’s tired, he’s been working and…’ Emma started.
And there he was, her lovely boyfriend. Tall, slim, blond-haired and blue-eyed with laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. But she couldn’t look him in the eye. They hadn’t spoken since the marry me of that morning, and she didn’t know if anything had changed.
‘Hey, that’s alright. You should know you can’t keep a boy away from his cars… especially a yellow limited-edition Ferrari and a replica of Lewis Hamilton’s winning racing car,’ Chris announced, producing two boxed cars from behind his back.
‘Wow! Mum! Have you seen these? Thanks, Chris they’re awesome! Can I play with them now, Mum? I’ve had enough dinner,’ Dominic said. He gave Emma the benefit of one of his heart-stopping beams.
‘Peas or racing cars. I guess it isn’t really a hard choice. Go on then,’ she agreed.
Dominic raced off upstairs to his bedroom and within seconds the noise of cardboard being broken apart was the only sound to be heard.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Emma offered.
‘Tea? Emma, I’ve never drunk tea,’ Chris said. A sigh escaped his lips.
‘Sorry, I know. I just feel awkward about this morning and…’ Emma’s eyes dropped to her shoes.
‘Well, don’t. It was a spur of the moment thing. I hadn’t asked in a couple of months, we were having a laugh with Dominic and everything and it just slipped out,’ Chris said in a matter-of-fact tone.
‘Slipped out,’ Emma repeated, raising her head to look at him.
‘Yeah, it wasn’t especially important. It just sort of happened,’ Chris continued.
‘Right.’
‘So, no need to feel awkward or anything. God, I could do with a beer. I brought some. Want one?’ Chris offered, indicating the bag he was holding.
‘Maybe in a bit,’ Emma answered as he moved past her, heading for the kitchen.
She knew he was talking rubbish. Marriage proposals didn’t slip out. They were well considered before they passed anyone’s lips. Chris was trying to make her feel better and that was so typical of him. Whenever there was crisis or confrontation he smoothed over the cracks and pretended the problem had never even existed. You couldn’t live like that forever, she thought. Eventually something or someone had to give. The question was, who would give first?
Chapter Four
This was his third attempt at doing up his tie. What was wrong with him? He let out a sigh and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Here he was, Guy Duval, international footballer, a world-renowned player just signed to a high-flying UK team set on winning the Premier League. He had the world at his feet – he had worked hard to get the world at his feet. So why wasn’t he happy?
He attempted the tie again, trying to look in the mirror for guidance.
‘Guy! The removers have cracked a bowl. The whole set is ruined! You must call them. We ask for compensation!’ Madeleine’s voice called from downstairs.
He dropped his hands down to his sides and sat on the edge of the bed. What was he doing? Where was he going? No matter where he was he was always at a loss. Nothing he did felt right. Eight years ago, he’d thought escaping was the answer. But what had escape brought him so far? He might be rich beyond his wildest dreams but when he