Love in Every Season

by Charlie Cochrane

  “Shall I do some juggling?”

  Mum laughed, got wheezy again and I decided not to indulge in any more jokes.

  “How long are you going to be on the antibiotics?”

  “As long as it takes.” She clearly didn’t want to talk about her, only about me—she kept saying I shouldn’t have come down, how Dad was an idiot to have rung me, and an even worse idiot to have rung Brian. How I had more important things to worry about. I kept nodding and pretending I believed her, although I’ve seen that courageous act before (like when she really was at death’s door, with the flu) and I wasn’t falling for it.

  I played the diversionary card, admiring some lovely yellow lilies she had in a vase. “Are these from Dad? He must have been worried about you if he’s gone upmarket from carnations.”

  “Of course they’re not, you daft thing. Your dad’s are those in the vase on the windowsill.”

  I turned to see the obligatory carnations—at least they were an adventurous colour, a deep shade of purple rather than the usual white—relegated to the equivalent of the bronze medal podium. “Right. The lilies must be from your toy-boy, I suppose? Does Dad know you’ve got a secret admirer?” I could make all the rude remarks I wanted to. Dad had gone with Mum’s shopping list to get some stuff from home, via Boots the Chemist.

  “Not me.” Mum pointed at the bedside cabinet. “There’s a card in there. I kept it especially to show you.” She had a roguish smile.

  “They’ve got to be from Matty.” I was sure I’d worked it out. His flowers would have automatically got pride of place; she’s always had a soft spot for him. I found the card and was about to make some rude remark about how his handwriting was as bad as at school, when I got another shock. Get well soon. Nick. “Bloody hell.”

  “Language, young man.”

  “I think I’ve earned using a bit of language. When did he send these?” And how did he know? Had Dad somehow found his number and made him part of Operation Let’s Organise Ben?

  “He didn’t send them. He brought them. Yesterday afternoon. What a lovey lad. I wish you’d met him earlier and then you could have brought him round before you went off to Manchester.” From the dreamy look in her eye, she’d obviously fallen for his charms, as well.

  “Like I said, I only met him the day I went to see the swimming.” My head was swimming, too. “Did he come here on his own? He didn’t mention it when he e-mailed me last night.” I’d mentioned Mum being ill in my reply, though. Swine; knowing before I did and keeping it secret. They were all swine—Dad and Brian and Nick and Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.

  “No, he didn’t come here on his own, you silly thing. I’d have had a fit, some strange slip of a lad coming in to visit me, even if he is as nice looking as your Nick.” Funny how he’d become my Nick all of a sudden. I wasn’t aware I had any real dibs on him, no matter what had been said that evening at his flat. “He came here with Matty. He’d brought me some stuff from his mum—a book to read and some chocolates. As if I feel like eating chocolates at the moment.” She rolled her eyes, readjusting herself on the bed, which brought on another bout of wheeziness.

  “Don’t overdo it.” I helped her get comfortable, plumping up the pillows. “Please. Look after yourself.”

  “Oh, don’t you fret, I will. I’ll look after me if you promise to be a good boy and look after yourself and your swimming. It’s the thought of your medal that’s making me determined to get well as soon as possible.” She smiled, obviously trying to look as if nothing was wrong, but I could see how tired she was. “And as an extra incentive I’ve got having a word with Mrs. White.”

  “What’s she been up to now?” If another complication came along I thought I’d hang up my trunks and join a monastery or something.

  “Oh, nothing much. I shouldn’t really make a fuss, because I suppose she can’t help it. She’s never been the same since her husband upped and left, although if he’d got wind of how she was going to turn out, I’m not sure I can blame him.” She addressed a spot just beside my left ear, which was a sure sign diversionary tactics were being employed.

  “It’s more than ‘nothing much’. I refuse to do another length of any pool until you tell me.” I grinned, tapping her hand like I’d done when I was little and trying to wheedle stuff out of her. Sweets as well as information.

  “It was when I saw her and she told me about you and Matty and Nick meeting up like that, out of the blue. How she’d been hoping since you were just boys together that you’d have a big slap-up double wedding and now there seemed no chance of it. Spiteful cow, I could have slapped her.” Mum closed her eyes. “That wasn’t very Christian of me. I’d better say a quick prayer that I’m sorry just in case I take a turn for the worse.” She opened her eyes, smiling roguishly. “Just joking. But she made me so mad she was lucky I didn’t slap her.”

  “I bet she did. I wish you had slapped her. Double bloody wedding.” I snorted, pleased that Nick wasn’t there to hear me because it isn’t my best tone. Or I should have been pleased—I was beginning to have second thoughts. “I still don’t understand why Matty dragged him along. I hardly know the bloke, not really. You don’t know him at all.”

  “Oh, they were off on a recce, finding somewhere Matty could take Jenny for their first year anniversary. They’d heard of some new gastropub and wanted to try it out.” She rolled her eyes. “Overpriced muck, probably.”

  “Probably.” We both started to laugh, chuckling away until Mum got wheezy again. “Any more of that and I’m calling the nurse.”

  “It’s only my asthma. Hasn’t bothered me since I had that flu so bad a couple of years back, but it’s here again with a vengeance.” She fixed me with a beady eye, no less beady for her not being in tip top condition. “Don’t you go giving your Nick any grief about coming to visit. He couldn’t have sat in the car park, while Matty nipped up here to see me. That would just have been rude. I call it very gentlemanly to come along.”

  Trust her to be able to hit the nail right on the head, even when she had half of no information to go on. She’d sussed out Nick’s visit had annoyed me, just like she’d already spotted over a fuzzy Skype connection that I fancied him; she knew me too well.

  The relief at seeing Mum better than I’d expected had left me in search of something else to put my anxieties into. I was a mass of adrenaline and needed to channel it somewhere—and Nick was right in the firing line. I’d already planned to give him a great big piece of my mind as soon as I could get him on the blower.

  I didn’t mind him discussing me and my family with Matty—mutual friends and all the gossiping benefits that confers, just like I’d discussed Matty with Jenny—but he’d stepped over the line. Wangling his way in to see my mum, and without me even being present, was too much. It was my right to make the introductions, not Matty White’s. Wasn’t it someone like Oscar Wilde who said it was a tragedy that men didn’t turn into their mothers? Old Oscar should have met Matty.

  “And while you’re at it, stop it.” Mum’s voice—even wheezier now—cut into my thoughts.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop brooding or whatever it is you’re doing.” Yes, Mum’s telepathic as well as everything else—aren’t they all? “You’re getting worked up about your Nick and the fact he came to see me. I wish I’d said I’d bought those flowers for myself.” She lay back on the pillows. “There’s no point in you getting into a lather with your big races just around the corner or you’ll never be able to pull out the times you need.”

  “The Games don’t matter, Mum, not compared to you getting better. Don’t worry about me, please.” I hated seeing her cry and I had an awful feeling waterworks weren’t far away, either because of her chest infection or because she wanted to shame me into behaving myself. Neither of those was in character, which was worrying. “I’m calling the nurse. You’re not well.”

  “Of course I’m not well, you big ha’pporth, or did you think I came here for a holiday?” She forced
a grin and, although my mind wasn’t settled, I felt happier to hear her joking. “But I’m a damn sight better than I was. I should be home the day after tomorrow, if everything goes to plan. I won’t be allowed to overdo it for a week or two but the consultant says he’s happy for me to come and watch you so long as I’m sensible. So you make sure I’ve got something to watch that’s worth watching.”

  I wondered, not for the first time, whether Brian mailed her every night with a report on my times in the pool. And whether I was eating properly. She had that I don’t think you’re coming up to scratch look in her eye, like she used to give me when I’d not put in maximum effort on my homework or it was a touch cold and I’d gone out without my vest on. See? Telepathic.

  “I won’t let you down,” I said, trying to convince myself that I could keep that promise.

  “Just try your best, that’s all Dad and I have ever asked for. And not for us. For you. You’re the only one who counts.” She squeezed my hand. “We’re so proud of you I think we might burst one day.”

  “Are you sure you’re not hiding something from me? That’s the sort of speech they make on the telly when someone’s about to drop the bad news bombshell. Should I cue the soppy music?” I was joking, of course. Mostly joking, anyway.

  “You can cue having your backside whacked if you don’t stop the cheek. Now give us a kiss and let me get a bit of rest.”

  I kissed her cheek, gave her a hug and promised I’d have time to be back in the morning. I’d already arranged to get the bus home, which would give me some thinking time and let me stretch my legs a bit. By now my body was asking why it hadn’t been put through its paces yet today. I was in two minds whether to go down the local pool and try and do some lengths, but it risked getting questions about why I wasn’t in Manchester, hard at work and training like stink. I’d “opened” the new changing rooms after their makeover, being just about the only local sporting celeb—at least the only one available at the time—so several of the staff and regulars down there had sort of adopted me as their Paralympic pin up.

  I decided to settle on doing some work on Dad’s cross trainer after lunch, followed by a long hot bath. I was just slugging back some rehydration drink as I’d sweated off about four gallons working out, when the doorbell rang and I found a sheepish looking Matty White on the step.

  “Hi, Ben. How’s your mum?”

  I contemplated leaving him on the doorstep but decided it would be easier to thump him, should I decide to, in the privacy of our lounge. “Come in. Want a cup of tea?”

  “I’d prefer it to what you’re having.” He eyed my isotonic solution warily.

  “It’s not as vile as it looks.” We went into the kitchen, where I could fuss about with the kettle and things. Making a pot of tea’s always useful if you want to show your true feelings. Maybe that’s why the English are so addicted to it in moments of crisis. “And as for Mum, she’s pretty chipper. You should know, of course. You knew before me.”

  “Ah.” Matty sat on one of the breakfast bar stools, swinging his legs like he’d done when he’d almost had to have a ladder to get up on the thing. “She said we’d visited?”

  “Of course she did. She could hardly hide the fact with the Chelsea Flower Show on her bedside locker.” If you can slam a teabag into a pot, I did so. It felt good, so I lobbed in another.

  “Nick got a bit over-enthusiastic. He wanted to make a good impression.”

  “He succeeded. Mum was full of how charming he is.” I slammed the fridge door, part of me wishing either Matty’s or Nick’s fingers had been caught in it. Preferably both. “I’m not sure I’m that impressed, any more.”

  Matty’s face dropped. “I thought you two got on like a house on fire? Jenny says he’s been boring her stiff talking about how great you are.”

  “Has he?” I couldn’t help being at least a bit pleased. Up until that morning Nick had been my number one fantasy and for all my anger at him, I still couldn’t think of him without getting a bit excited.

  “You know he has. He told me you’ve been mailing each other like a pair of lovesick teenagers. Ow.” Matty rubbed his hand where I’d got him with a hot teaspoon. “You’ve not done that since we were at school. What’s gone wrong with you and Nick?”

  “Nothing. Everything. Oh bugger.” My left arm had gone into a spasm, sending hot water everywhere. Matty mopped up while I held my hand under the cold tap.

  “Scald yourself?” He came over and took a look. “You’ll live. Hold it under there for five minutes and you won’t even have a mark.”

  “Might have frostbite, though, if I last the five minutes. My parents must get their mains water from Siberia. Wet me that tea-towel.” I swathed my hand in the sodden material, glad that Mum wasn’t there to see me making a fuss over what would probably turn out to be nothing. “I was just cross that Nick had met Mum without me being there to do the introductions. And then he didn’t even mention he’d seen her when he mailed me last night.”

  Or when he’d texted this morning: three texts, none of which I’d replied to.

  “Don’t blame him. It wasn’t his idea. He had his arm twisted.” Matty looked shamefaced enough to prove he was telling the truth. “You know how I hate hospitals. He wanted to stay in the car but I talked him into keeping me company.”

  “And that ridiculous bunch of flowers?”

  “Nick said I was a tight wad for not having brought something for the patient and that we couldn’t go in without bearing some sort of a gift. We got them at the hospital shop. I thought they were nice.”

  “Yes. Well.” I fussed over my hand. “If it’s all so innocent, why didn’t he mention it?”

  “Oh, for goodness sake.” Matty threw him hands in the air, almost sending the tea flying again. “Because he probably knew how you’d react. And anyway, he’d been told to keep his trap shut. Your Mum said she didn’t want you finding out the wrong way. Think about how you’d have felt if he’d texted you. Oh hi. Your mum’s looking good considering she’s just had her appendix out and with six drips sticking out of her. You’d have had kittens.”

  He had a point, although I wasn’t ready to admit it. Nor was I quite ready to forgive Nick. You’d have to give me half an hour before I could tackle one of those texts. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a bit of a strain.” I raided the biscuit barrel, remembering my manners and offering it to Matty, too, although I had first pick.

  “Custard creams! Just like Fridays, after school. Custard creams and X-Box.” Matty took a couple, not like the handful he’d have helped himself to back in those days. “I hope things work out with you and Nick. He’s a nice bloke.”

  “I know he is. I’ve spent these last few days trying to get the bugger out of my head.” I peeled the tea towel from my hand, keeping my eyes on the skin—not a mark to be seen—rather than on Matty. We’d not had this sort of conversation before, not with me doing the pouring out my feelings bit. I’d had to listen to his latest girlfriend woes often enough so I reckoned I was owed one. “You have no idea what it’s like, getting to the last ten strokes of the hundred metres and, instead of being focussed on the working your guts out up until you hit wall, you find you’re thinking about Nick Prior’s arse.”

  “Ew.” Matty sounded so much like a teenage girl I had to punch him, just like I’d done when we were youthful and acne ridden. Somehow that reminder of older times broke down the last walls of reserve.

  “You wouldn’t like me saying ‘Ew’ if you were talking about knocking off Jenny.” The use of “knocking off” signalled a return to younger days, too. “My times have been crap since I’ve been in Manchester, all because I can’t get focussed. I thought I was getting my act together and then Mum gets ill and lo and behold Nick’s got himself mixed up with that as well. How the fuck am I ever going to get my head clear for racing?”

  “Beats me.” Matty shrugged. “But I’m not your coach. What does he say?”

  “Do you think I’ve told him why
I can’t get in the zone? He’d have my guts for garters.” At last I looked Matty in the eye. “Right. Forget about being a coach or an athlete or a sports psychologist or anything clever. Remember what it’s like to be a red-blooded male. You must have known one once.”

  “Ha bloody ha.”

  “Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do? I’ve tried not thinking about Nick but it doesn’t work. The randy thoughts don’t go away.”

  A sly grin crossed Matty’s face. “If it really was me and Jenny, I’d work out how to sneak away for a couple of hours and get my leg over at a local hotel before anyone realised I was gone.”

  “Go AWOL? You must be mad.” Not that I hadn’t considered it, accessing a nice little bit of afternoon delight, when I’d told everyone I was out for a run or doing some shopping. I’d rejected the idea just as quick. There were a handful of reasons why it was a bad idea.

  For a start, we were all in the national media spotlight—2012 was proving even bigger business than any of us had expected. Clearly the Daily Telegraph had already decided that even someone like me was story worthy if the encounter at the airport was anything to go by. Any little misdemeanour by a British competitor was going to be pounced on. The media didn’t just want to have medal success to celebrate, it wanted its usual pound of frail flesh.

  I wasn’t prepared to give it to them. Nor, if I’m honest, had I been going to risk putting the idea to Nick. Not that I thought he’d be too prudish, it was more the fact that he was a serious sports fan and I was sure he wouldn’t have approved of such misbehaviour on the eve of the Games. I shook my head at Matty and took refuge in another custard cream. “I’m not risking getting any sort of disciplinary sanction. Not now.”

  “And you wouldn’t think about sneaking him into the camp if you’re too wary to sneak out?” There was something in Matty’s tone which suggested he was doing more than just winding me up. “Rolled up in one of those mats we used to have in PE?”