by Javi Reddy
James told Jay about Vinny and how his father had got evidence to bring him down. “Unfortunately, there’s no real evidence against Lalitha. Yes, the antidote was found in her flat, but it’s not enough to convict her. The world will never know about her evil. But you will. What you do with that is up to you.”
Jay nodded to himself slowly before continuing:
“She thought of everything you know. She even had my earphones poisoned.”
James stared across the bridge, to nowhere in particular. “You look like you need a drink,” Jay told him.
“Yeah. Just not tea.” They both laughed.
“The silver tea set in my room. It was my mother’s. I didn’t even know that until Lalitha told me about it.” James thought about his father’s jacket.
“Keep it there. The proudest thing for any parent is their child wanting to keep a part of them around.”
He briefly gave James his boyish grin.
“You know, even though I didn’t take cocaine, there was still an unknown substance in my body for the last few games of the Staffords Cup.”
“So?”
“So, who’s to say that substance never helped me during the tournament?”
“You don’t know that.”
“It just doesn’t feel right.” They stood in silence for a bit.
“What’s in the envelope by the way?”
Jays shrugged his shoulder before opening it. It was a letter from his father:
Dear Jayendra,
A parent should never have to hide behind a piece of paper. Their words should be given to their children with all the warmth and care that comes by looking into their eyes. I’ve never been able to find the right words for you, when a good father would surely have been able to.
I just want you to know how proud I am of you. My anger stemmed from my own inner hurt, and you should never have had to suffer for that selfishness. That was my biggest mistake as a man trying to raise you on his own. I should not have tried to force my own mark on you.
I’ve spent the last few days with Amritha, and I wish that I got to know her under different circumstances. She reminds me so much of your mother—beautiful, compassionate and determined. She is willing to sacrifice everything for you. Just like your mother did for me.
Your mother gave me a son, and it is something that will always outshine her tragic passing. I would like to think that she did not give her life in vain. Whilst, I failed her with Lalitha, I see now that I did not with you. I am sorry that you did not get to know the women in your life better. Your mother was out of my hands, but I should have dealt with your sister better. Find it in your heart to forgive her and to forgive me. I know you will because your mother would have.
Son, you are something special. You see, I only opened my eyes properly a few weeks ago. I was at the final. I was there to see Rosebank make history. More importantly, I was there to see who you are. As I sat in the crowd, I felt the surge of power that you brought to those people. I witnessed how you lifted an army of despairing spirits into a flame of belief and belonging. Just by getting onto that field.
You do that with so many people: Amritha, James. Me. I hope that your purity and optimism, which is hardly around in this day and age, never leave your side. I do not want you to grow as bitter as I let myself to be. You set me free from that, and I will always be grateful to you for giving me this gift. You are destined for greatness, my boy, far beyond Rosebank.
One day, you will have big decisions to make, whether it is to do with football or not, and all I ask is that you make the choices that you have been making all this while. That you keep fighting that good fight.
Do not fear your talent in the same way that I feared it. Use it. Live it.
You are not just a boy with a ball at his feet. You are a hero with the world in his hands. Remember, above all, comfort is not courage.
Love, Dad.
Jay, finally, let a tear trickle down. James moved in and offered him whatever hug his battered body would allow. Amritha moved over and joined them. The warmth James had been searching for, sat snugly in this triad. James savoured it one last time before making his way to the back of the police van.
This time, he didn’t close his eyes. He sat there and made sure that he saw everything before they drove him away. He cast his eyes upon Jay taking out his Staffords Cup medal from his pocket and throwing it into the little stream running under the bridge. Jay folded up his letter and put it into his top pocket, close to his heart. He took his beautiful girl’s hand and they walked away from it all. And the artist finally belonged.
End
