Long Game

by Catherine Evans

  When Dad turned to face her and his eyebrows scurried across his forehead, she knew she’d picked the wrong topic. Given Dad’s reaction, she had to brazen this out. She couldn’t flinch or grimace, as these would indicate emotion. Quin was neutral territory. He had to be neutral territory.

  ‘You and Quin have always gotten along well.’

  ‘He’s like a fifth brother,’ Cress said quickly, hoping that it would take the focus off the fact that everyone was making sacrifices for her. Actually, she had no idea how this would work, because Quin was making sacrifices too. No flinching. She held Dad’s gaze, not even blinking for fear that extra moisture in her eyes might lead to more and more welling up of emotion. She hadn’t dreamed that coming home would be so hard.

  ‘He’s not your brother though.’ Dad paused, checked the paddock, the machine, and then looked back, giving her a long stare.

  Cress maintained his gaze and nodded once. She didn’t need Dad reminding her of something she had to remind herself about a million times a day. It had been worse after he’d kissed her. And she’d kissed him back. Something so simple—it had hardly been a kiss—had scrambled her brains. She’d spent much of the last fortnight separating them out again, carefully and gently. She’d done well, she thought, and she didn’t want Dad and his size elevens re-scrambling her mind.

  ‘Cress?’ Dad spoke her name so softly, she knew he was doing his best to play mother in a father body. She loved him always, but these moments, when he tried so hard to be her confidante, made her heart all squishy.

  ‘My dream is to play footy and I have that chance. But that means I have to train hard, really hard. I don’t have time to think of Quin in any way other than a brother.’ She glanced at Dad a few times while she spoke but she couldn’t hold his gaze.

  Dad bit his lips and his jaw worked hard. He kept his attention on the header and the crop but she knew it wouldn’t last for long. ‘You make time if you really want to do something.’

  This was Dad’s creed. It was how he expected the Kennedys to live their lives. It was what Cress always strove to do but in this case, she couldn’t. ‘It’s not happening, Dad. We aren’t like that. We haven’t stepped past friends. Ever.’ She made sure Dad couldn’t see her fingers crossed behind her back.

  Dad made a sound, which could have been clearing his throat, or maybe a soft growl, but he’d started the conversation so he had to put up with what she shared with him.

  ‘If it changes, don’t lead him on.’ Mother-tone had gone and this was Dad back now.

  ‘Dad.’ Lots of exasperation came out in that one word.

  ‘Don’t mistake something deeper for brotherly love.’

  Just as Cress was about to nod and forget the whole conversation, Dad’s words hit her. Did he think Quin liked her as more than a friend? Breath was hard to come by and the sudden sweat coating her body had nothing to do with summer. No matter what questions Dad had caused, she wasn’t asking them. She was going to try not to even think about them. Not now. Maybe she’d think about them at the end of her footy career.

  Dad slowed the header for the corner and then brought the wheels to a stop, machinery still churning. ‘Need to run home?’ he asked with a grin.

  ‘Oh boy. Do I ever.’ She grinned back and Dad’s laughter filled the cabin and her heart. She wrapped him in a hug. ‘Thanks Dad, and Mum.’

  He swatted her leg but held her close. ‘See you at home.’

  Within minutes, she had cleared the machinery and was climbing through the paddock fence then waving as Dad took off. Dust and chaff swirled through the air so she started running down the track before it filled her lungs. Without warming up, she took the run easy, loping. It was good to stride out after six hours in the car, with just a short break in the paddock.

  Dad wasn’t right about Quin. Dad was protecting her, making sure she was okay, doing the mum-and-dad thing. Quin had her firmly in the ‘friend’ category. Even the peck he’d given her meant nothing to him. It was her reaction that had her messed up. He’d been the same as always afterwards.

  She hadn’t worked out what had hurt him and made him so hesitant to be around Hayley, but she hadn’t asked again either. He’d relaxed at yoga, and Hayley had given up putting the hard word on him after the first week. Sure, she still ogled him, but they all did that. Not even Mattie and Claudine were immune, much to Cress’s amusement when she caught them watching him. They’d just wink and later Mattie had told her she was still a female and could appreciate a good body. Cress understood that. She could appreciate a good female form almost as much as a good male one. Quin was an excellent male specimen.

  She drew in a deep breath and dust tingled her nostrils.

  It was so good to be back home.

  The hard-packed earth beneath her feet was familiar, as were the stinging rays of sunshine. The heat here was drier than in Sydney, the sun warmer, the air cleaner and the sky a more breathtaking blue. The screech of a cockatoo made Cress laugh. Then she whooped, leaping off the ground as she yelled. It was so good to be home.

  She landed lightly and pivoted, taking in the golden paddocks, the green hills in the distance dotted with white clumps of sheep. Big gums were scattered across the farm giving shade in paddocks, or making windbreaks. The vast expanse of the land allowed her chest to expand.

  This is what she missed. Space. Distance between people. Room to move. Nature. The sound of the breeze. The distant hum of hard work. Silence to think. One other surprising thing she’d missed was a rough track to run on. It made her feet work. Where she trained, the tracks were all smooth, manicured. This rough road was what gave her speed, stamina, and awesome ankles. Farm life had given her footy skills. It gutted her that she had to give up farming to play footy. If only there was a way to do both.

  Chapter 8

  It had been years since Quin had been in Grong Grong for the Boxing Day family sports day. Everyone greeted him warmly, as if he’d been here last year or last month. In a way, he felt like he had been here last month. He no longer had the feeling that he didn’t belong in town. Being home, and hanging with the Kennedys, settled him in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d left town almost a decade ago.

  ‘You’re here.’ Cress’s voice was like an icy cold beer, late, on a scorching hot day.

  ‘Of course.’ He reached out and tousled Cress’s short blonde hair, hoping it felt more brotherly to her than it did for him. As the silken strands tickled his fingers and palm, he wished he hadn’t touched her at all. He’d missed her company. Although he’d spent a fair bit of time at the Kennedy’s already, he was living at his parents’ place in town and she was at the farm. He’d become used to waking to her company, and going to sleep knowing she was close by. He missed his friend. Yes, definitely, friend.

  Quickly, he turned to Tris and the rest of the Kennedy gang. ‘Kennedys.’ Handshakes and back slaps took up so much time, he forgot about his awkwardness.

  ‘You’re coming over after?’ Tris asked. He nodded. It was also part of the tradition. Sports day at the oval and then a leftovers’ meal out at the farm, and depending on how hot is still was, maybe a swim in the house dam. He glanced briefly at Cress, wondering how she’d look in swimmers, and then shook his head. She’d look the same as she did in her training gear—out of bounds.

  They split up into teams. Tris, Damon, Gareth and Quin went on one team, while Ollie, Cress and her dad went on the other. Years ago this split was made and no one seemed inclined to change it. They’d deemed it the fairest way to divide the Kennedys and Quin had gone with Tris.

  ‘I can’t believe your dad still gets out here and plays.’ Quin’s parents had never played. They weren’t into sport.

  ‘He forgets how old he is.’ Tris laughed. ‘Well, tomorrow he’ll be complaining but today he’s as young as he thinks he is.’

  ‘Does he still have that wicked kick?’

  ‘The one Cress inherited, yep.’ Tris rolled his eyes and not for the first time Quin won
dered how all the boys really felt when their sister kicked their butt. As usual, though, he was too afraid to ask. There just wasn’t any way you could politely ask your mate that question and remain mates.

  Footy and soccer were played early, before it got too hot, and then the afternoon game was cricket. Teams were filled with men and women, boys and girls. Anyone from the age of about seven to seventy. Games were for fun, so the only rules that applied were to be fair and try not to injure anyone. For the littlest kids and the non-sporty, other activities were held but what they were Quin had no idea. All he ever remembered was running around all day and having one of the best days of his year.

  As a Christmas present to himself, Quin had always pretended he was a Kennedy. They treated him as one of their own, always including him and never brushing him off.

  There was no exception today. In the soccer game, Mr Kennedy tackled and shoved Quin as much as he did his kids. None of it was to hurt or maim, it was all done in jest. Family rivalry had always been strong and everyone knew Quin was as much a Kennedy as he was a Fitzpatrick.

  A whistle blew and Quin poured the cool water over his head and then shook it on Cress and Gar, who were rumbling on the ground as if they were children, to little effect. When Damon gave Gar a kick to his buttock, they paused and jumped up for the second half.

  Cress was streaked with dust and sweat. More dirt than skin now showed. Somehow she’d come off better than Gar, who must have landed in the spilled water and had great globs of mud on his cheek and shoulder.

  ‘I can’t take you two anywhere,’ Mr Kennedy muttered as they jogged back out for the rest of the game.

  He watched Cress’s long legs eat the ground. Her body balanced perfectly as she ran. She had the Kennedy look about her—long legs, lean but strong body, wide shoulders, blonde hair, blue eyes, wide cheekbones and strong jaw—but her features were softened by curves.

  One of the Weston boys came at her then, his leg stiff, ready to attack her and not the ball. Quin’s gut clenched. Out of nowhere, Ollie came and shoved the Weston guy. Cress slotted the ball past them and moved on with the game but she kept slinging looks over her shoulder, keeping an eye on Ollie.

  When the first punch was thrown, she was flying back to Ollie, leading the rest of the clan. Quin was there with them but he hung back. He had to. He watched Cress. She should be hanging back too, but she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. He moved to stand in front of her and walk her away from trouble if needed. He’d have to talk to her. She couldn’t risk her career by being provoked by a Weston.

  There were more Kennedys than there were Westons, so the fisticuffs became nothing more than a few shoves. Words were spoken, the families broke apart, and the game continued.

  Quin’s heart hadn’t stopped pounding. He sucked in a slow, deep breaths, hoping no one had seen or, heaven forbid, videoed the fracas.

  There was a bit of a fiery edge to the game now. Quin watched the Westons carefully, looking to see who else was around who might take their side if things got rough. At school, the Westons had been the bullies. The Kennedys had taken them on. Four Weston boys against four Kennedy boys. The Westons thought they had it easy. And then Cress had turned up. She hadn’t worried the Westons, she was a girl, a slip of a thing. Then she fought. Cress fought dirty. She had to, she had four older brothers to keep up with. With no mother to ‘bring her into line’, as many townswomen were heard to say, Cress was as good as any boy. The Kennedys beat the Westons, but no one would ever say the Westons gave up. Every chance they had, they tried to regain the upper hand in town. The Kennedys were tight, and because they were fair, most of the town sided with them. But if this went beyond town … Quin didn’t want to think of that.

  Quin hadn’t thought about the Westons in years but it seemed they weren’t happy for Cress’s success. If he had to guess, he’d say it was their mission to take her out today. Maim her so her season with the Sirens was done. It wouldn’t just be her either. They’d target him. They had years back. He really did have to warn her. She wasn’t going to take that well.

  Them ruining her career wasn’t something Quin was going to allow. It wasn’t anything her brothers would allow. He had to make sure they all knew, because knowing Watercress, she wouldn’t be backing down from any fight. She wouldn’t be sitting out of any games. If anything, she’d take them on, challenge them, and wear the consequences.

  He didn’t want consequences. He wanted Cress’s success.

  When the game finished, Quin went straight to Tris. ‘The Westons—’

  ‘Are trying to get Cress. I know. I’m swapping teams with Dad. Ollie and I’ll take out the Westons if they try anything. You can mark Cress, keep her out of trouble.’

  Quin blinked twice. ‘How the heck am I meant to do that?’

  Tris chuckled. ‘I made the plan, you get the hard part.’

  For Quin, it was like he was a kid again, planning crazy schemes with his best mates, except the repercussions this time could be shattering.

  Tris made his way around his brothers and dad, no doubt filling them in on the plan, while Quin kept his eye on Cress who was socialising with a bunch of girls nearby. He couldn’t interrupt her now.

  Here she was relaxed in a way she wasn’t in Sydney. He’d thought Sydney-Cress was Cress grown up—the straight spine, the held back shoulders, the chin tipped up, eyes focused. A few days in Grong Grong had her shoulders relaxed, her head down, eyes laughing, and sometimes he even saw her slouching as he had when they were younger.

  He hadn’t realised how tough she found the move. He shook his head. He’d known it was tough because he’d been there and done it himself. That’s why he’d made every activity they’d done fun, a break from sport, something they’d dreamed of in the past.

  A whistle blew, breaking him from his musings. It was time for the game. Aussie Rules was huge in Grong Grong and people came out for this game to spectate if they weren’t playing and they weren’t here to see the Hercules’ or Sirens’ superstars. Most of these people came to watch every year. Diehard supporters, many unable to take to the field any longer. Quin loved that they had so much interest in the game even when they could no longer play.

  As they went out to play, he leaned over to her. ‘Does your contract allow you to play social games?’

  She frowned and stared at him. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not banned from playing social games, but it won’t be good if I get injured, and I had to let the coach know I’d be mucking around out here.’

  ‘I have to come back and play at home after the season.’

  ‘So you’re okay to play before the season?’

  She shrugged. ‘No one said I couldn’t.’ She brushed his arm. ‘If you’re worried, just go easy and then you won’t see me for dust.’ Her grin was pure evil.

  ‘You wish, Watercress.’

  She didn’t go easy, or if she did, he wasn’t looking forward to her full-on game. He had to work to keep up with her. Not only fast, she was agile, had a mean right step, and could leap and fly like a bird. The mark she took right out of his hands had him lost for words, and the goal she’d kicked afterwards had almost made his eyes water. He never let opponents get the better of him like that. He’d underestimated her, and he didn’t make that mistake again. Especially not when Tris and his brothers were hooting their laughter at him.

  Thankfully Watercress was a good sport and didn’t crow in his ear about how good she was. He might have forgotten who he was playing against then, and elbowed her out of his space. Hard.

  The one fortunate thing was that the first quarter was uneventful with regard to the Westons.

  When they came off for drinks, Cress was mobbed.

  Gar shook his head at Quin. ‘You might have told us how much she’d improved.’

  ‘That goal was phenomenal. How far out was she?’ Damon scratched his head as he stared at them both. ‘She had to have kicked it, what, thirty, forty metres? She could kick before but not lik
e that.’

  Gar thumped Quin’s shoulder, hard enough it hurt. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  ‘I don’t go to training with her. How would I have known? I haven’t seen her play since she was fifteen or so.’

  Gar frowned, then looked at Damo before looking back at Quin. ‘You haven’t seen her play since you left town?’

  ‘How would I have?’

  ‘You’re going, though, in Sydney?’ Damon asked.

  ‘Planning to.’ Quin grinned. ‘I figured you guys would be crashing at my place and we’d all be going.’

  Gar whooped and Damo grinned before they swamped Quin in a big, sweaty, brotherly hug.

  Something shifted inside Quin. Like a rock had been pulled out of the backpack he carried, or something. He hugged the guys back. Tight.

  This was home. This was …

  The whistle blew. Second quarter.

  A few minutes in, Quin and Cress flew high, competing to take a mark, and a Weston shot across to take them out, illegally, but Westons didn’t care about legality. Apparently, neither did Tris and Ollie. They closed in and shouldered the Weston guy out of the way. Cress took the mark, because she’d kept her eye on the ball, and her free kick found her teammate. Quin looked at Tris and jerked his head towards the sideline. He was getting her off the field. He had an idea but wasn’t sure it would work.

  Quin went down with a yell, clutching at his knee. He hoped to goodness he could pull off a knee injury because it was all he could think of to get Cress off the field.

  She was beside him in a second. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Jarred my knee,’ he said, putting as much agony into the words as he could manage. ‘It’s okay. I’ll be right in a bit.’

  ‘You’ll need ice.’ Cress words were clipped, as if she was mad at him.

  The Kennedy clan all gathered around him and lying on the ground, he felt like a fool.

  ‘Can someone help me get him up.’ Cress directed her words at her brothers but none of them moved.