“As you say, ha bloody ha.” I had enough on my plate with Mum and the Games and my misbehaving groin to put up with Matty White arsing around.
“Or you could make do with your own bedroom. Nick’s due to get here around six. We planned it to coincide with evening visiting time so your Dad would be up the hospital again. Assuming you’re not going with him?”
“What?” I think I lost it at the Nick will be here bit.
“Is all the water in your ears making you deaf? Nick. Will. Be. Here. At. Six.” Matty grinned. “Unless you’re otherwise engaged, in which case could you text him as he’ll be waiting to hear?”
Bloody hell. I was a sweaty, raggedy mess, not even shaved down for competition yet, emotions all over the shop and thoughts not much better. How was I going to make the big impression? Unless Nick got turned on by caveman style. And assuming, of course, I’d totally forgiven him by the time he rang the doorbell. “I should be free—I’m not going back to see Mum until tomorrow. They,” I tipped my head vaguely in the direction of the hospital, “both feel I’ve been put through the wringer and need to put my feet up. I tried to argue the toss with Dad in the car this morning—he’s running himself ragged what with dropping into work and running after Mum—but he wouldn’t have it.”
“I know. Yesterday your Mum said she was going to drag him away for a bit of a holiday when she was up and around again. She said that they could go anytime they wanted, seeing as he’s the boss.” Matty suddenly looked unusually serious. “But you’ve only got one chance. At least at the moment—the next games won’t come around for another four years.”
“You’re preaching to the converted, Matty.” My eyes began to sting.
“Remember when we heard about London 2012? How nutty we went.” Matty sounded choked up as well.
“I’ll never forget.” I just hoped Nick wouldn’t come along early and find the pair of us blubbering nostalgically. Puffy eyed isn’t my best look. “I want that medal so much and it seems like life’s determined to get in my way.”
“Maybe you’ll feel better if you and Nick…” Matty’s bravado clearly deserted him at that point, “have a bit of time together. Get it out of your system.” He went bright red, so I didn’t ask him what it was supposed to be. We finished the pot of tea, hit the custard creams one last time, then Matty skedaddled so I could make myself presentable. Before I texted Nick, though, I double checked with Dad that I wasn’t needed.
“No, Mum’s had enough of you.” Dad sounded pretty chipper. “Have a couple of hours on the settee with the remote control and then get your beauty sleep. You can defrost something for tea from the freezer—I’m going to your gran’s and having a proper meal cooked for me.” I could hear the grin.
“Aren’t I invited?”
“She doesn’t even know you’re here. She’s in enough of a flap as it is. If she thinks we’ve got you back she’ll be convinced that Mum’s already been given the last rites and we’ve not been brave enough to tell the rest of the family.”
That must be where I got my suspicious streak from. “If Gran’s made you her Yorkshire pudding I don’t think I’ll speak to you ever again.”
That sorted, I could text Nick, say sorry I’d not replied to his earlier messages but things had been a bit fraught—stretching the truth but not technically a lie—and get the long soak I’d promise myself. Everything with a clear conscience. Maybe I was making a fuss over nothing; my parents aren’t the sort to deny me a bit of fun, something to calm my mind and settle my hormones. Make the most of things, always take your chances, had been Mum’s motto for as long as I could remember. And Dad couldn’t complain, either. He was having Gran’s cooking, so I deserved a treat for missing out.
***
I was trying on my third attempt at a decent outfit—my best clobber had gone to Manchester with me—when Nick texted to say he was ten minutes away. Ten minutes for the old butterflies in my tummy to go on a spree. I made the best job I could of looking presentable, went to sit in the lounge and tried to calm down. Not easy, given the nerves and the adrenaline and the hormones flying about.
I nearly leapt out of my seat when the doorbell went. When I’d eventually calmed down enough to open the door it was to find the second sheepish person that day waiting there. Maybe Matty had been in touch to tell Nick how he was likely in the doghouse.
“No lilies for me?” I wasn’t going to let Nick have it that easy, even if most of my bad mood had dissipated.
“Ah.” Nick wiped his shoes on the mat, like a well-bred boy, even though the weather had been too dry for them to be at risk of mucking up the carpet. “I can understand why you’re a bit miffed with me about that, although I can explain. It was a case of trying to weigh up the lesser of two evils. You weren’t actually there and while Matty was right on hand with every likelihood of shouting at me, I went with avoiding the present danger.”
“You don’t know I’m not going to shout at you. Right now.” I’ve got a hell of gob on me when I get angry, so he wouldn’t have liked getting on my bad side, but I guess the inane grin I was trying to hide showed there was little imminent risk of that coming about. I showed him into the kitchen, where he hopped up onto the stool Matty had chosen. “I should have been the one doing the introductions.”
“Tell me about it.” He rolled his eyes. “I ended up in at the deep end. You’d let slip about me and of course she wanted to know all the gossip. Or as much as I was willing to let slip.” He spread his hands, a little boy’s helpless gesture, along the lines of, I couldn’t help it. The vase just broke in my hands.
“You seem to have told her enough. She was completely charmed.” I leaned against the sink. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet. I thought maybe we could order a takeaway? You must know somewhere decent.”
“I do. Sounds like a good idea. Cup of tea?” Very English, weren’t we? Shouldn’t romance have meant plying him with champagne or cocktails?
“No thanks. I could murder a can of Pepsi or something if you have it.”
“I’ll have a look in the cupboard.” Mum usually kept a stock in for me, as it’s one of my real treats. “Here you go.”
I offered him a can and remembered to give him one of the nice glasses to put it in. I got myself one while I was at it.
He poured the can out thoughtfully. “I know it’s being a bit presumptuous, but I expected you to be a bit happier to see me.”
Twenty four hours ago I would have been. Now, although I’d got beyond the point of wanting to bawl him out, thanks to all the apologies being lobbed at me, Nick sitting in my kitchen and drinking my Pepsi wasn’t the great reunion I’d dreamed about. It was a case of nerves, I suppose, or something else not letting me settle. On the one hand it was great to see him, and the inclination to run him straight up to my bed remained lurking just below the surface, but I’d have preferred it to be under a less bloody awful—and complicated—set of circumstances.
“It’s brilliant to see you, honest. It’s just...” I shrugged. Somehow this longed-for encounter had got too tied up with other things to taste as sweet as I’d anticipated. “It’s a bit out of the blue.” That was the best I could manage.
“Sorry. It’s probably not the best time, is it, with you rushing about from pillar to post? I just thought it would be nice to see you again.” He reached over to rub my fingers. “I’ve been thinking about you an awful lot.”
I squeezed his hand. “Tell me about it. My...” I was going to mention my hundred metre times all going to pot because of erotic fantasies in which Nick was the leading man, but I got cold feet. It didn’t feel like the right sort of thing to discuss in Mum’s kitchen.
“Your what?”
“I was going to say that my event preparation has hardly been ideal.” That would do—it sounded less silly.
“Bloody hell, yes. That’s the understatement of the year.” He shook his head. “Your Mum will be fine, I’m sure. Try not to worry yourself. Focus on
the races.”
The mention of Mum set my nerves off again. “You’re a doctor, are you, to be that certain? I thought you read languages.” Looking back, I can see I was out of order to be so aggressive, but at the time I felt like the hardest done by man on the planet. As I couldn’t rail at God or fate or the universe, as they weren’t actually sitting at the breakfast bar, Nick was the best target I had.
“Don’t be so touchy. I was trying to help.” He sat back, hands held up as if surrendering. “If you’re still grouchy about me visiting your mother then I’ve already said I was sorry. I’d have stayed in the bloody hospital car park if I’d known you were going to make such a song and dance about it. Matty didn’t seem to think you’d mind.”
Funny how just a few words can turn a conversation sour. “Yeah, go on, blame Matty. Like you’re not big enough to argue your corner with him.”
“You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’ve made it all up about Matty wanting some moral support.”
I knew Matty hated hospitals, always had done, but sometimes the more you get told the truth, the more you’re determined not to believe it. My optimism and excitement had flipped into one of those moods, adrenaline channelled into making war rather than love. “I think it’s damned peculiar that you just happened to be with him, like you just happened to be there at the Aquatic Centre.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
I wasn’t sure myself, but when has logic ever played a part in a slanging match? “You seem to want to inveigle yourself with my family and friends. You’ve not got a God-given right to hurry things on.”
“Sorry?” I’d never seen Nick look dumb before.
“You heard me. Hurrying things on, like meeting my parents before I was ready.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He picked up his Pepsi can and slammed it on the breakfast bar. “Can we not give that subject a rest?”
“Not till I’ve had my say.” Not that I had much coherent stuff to say, anyway. Plenty of the sort of crap you tend to spout when you’re cross, tired and irrational. “It feels like you’re stalking me. And stalking my mum, which is worse.”
“What the hell are you going on about?” Nick ran his hands through his hair. “I’d hardly call it stalking.”
“I would. It happens too often to celebrity sportsmen.” Not that I was a celebrity, despite the reporter taking my photo at the airport., but I had the bit between my teeth, ears back and heading for the winning post. No reasonable argument or simple matter of facts was going to get in my way. “You said you’d been badgering Matty to meet me and you succeeded. You said you weren’t going to let me slip away. Did that include wheedling your way into my mum’s hospital room and pinning her down on her sick bed?”
“What?” Nick pushed himself out his chair and squared up to me over the counter. “You’re mad.” He got up, grabbing his jacket and fumbling for his car keys. “Fucking bonkers. You find yourself picked for the Games and suddenly you think you’re David Beckham.” He headed for the door while I just stood and watched, stunned. “I’m glad I found out before I got myself too fucking tangled up.”
How dare he say that? He was out the front door before I finally sprang into action. I managed to get to the step before he’d gone out of parting shot range. “Maybe I’m well rid of you, too. Too bloody close a shave.”
Hardly the great, dramatic goodbye but it had to do. My mind was in too many places to gather it together and come up with something significant.
He turned, fuming, car keys still dangling from his hand. “Give your mum my regards. She’s a lady. Shame she gave birth to a nutter.”
He did the old one hundred and eighty degrees, jabbing his keys in the direction of the automatic unlocking system and then flinging open his car door like he wanted to wrench it off its hinges. He managed a theatrical door slam and a Quentin Tarantino type tyre squeal as he pulled into the road, tearing down the street and almost doing a handbrake turn around the corner. He’d driven so carefully all the way here that first night we’d met, I could tell he loved his car, so he must have been seriously pissed off to be slamming his precious motor all over the road.
Five minutes later I realised I was still standing on our front path, staring after tail lights which had long since gone. I was cold—it had been a clear day leading to a cloudless evening and the first autumnal nips were getting into the air—to the point of shivering, and I suddenly realised how hungry I was. I’d not eaten a proper meal since breakfast, a breakfast grabbed at Manchester airport to boot, and my body was used to being given a regular input of calories. I wasn’t sure there’d be much in the fridge, given the house’s current Mum-less state, and I wasn’t enthusiastic about raiding the freezer, but there had to be stuff to make toast, didn’t there?
I was halfway through buttering and jamming a pile of the stuff—comfort food, that was what I needed—when I realised what a complete dick I’d been. What had I wanted this last week? To see Nick. What had I had the opportunity of doing today? Giving Nick a right royal snogging at the very least, if not the whole how’s-your-father. And what the fuck had I done with said opportunity? Screwed it up.
I sat at the breakfast bar, trying to eat a piece of toast and failing miserably, each bite sticking in my craw, despite swigging it down with the remains of the Pepsi. In the argument between making myself eat, because I had to, or going to bed hungry, the second option was winning urged on by a wave of guilt.
Nick had done nothing wrong. Okay, maybe he’d been a bit of a plonker about how he’d handled our conversation in the kitchen but I hadn’t given him a lot of choice. I left the toast to go cold and headed for the hall, squaring up to my image in the mirror. “You’re a fucking idiot,” I shouted at my reflection. The man in the mirror didn’t look remorseful enough so I tried again. “A fucking useless, idiot cripple who doesn’t deserve someone like Nick.”
That seemed to do the trick. My eyes were already stinging with tears and regret. I’d burned all my boats.
“You want him back? You’ve got two fucking chances at that, Ben,” I jabbed at the glass, “fat and slim. You’ll have to throw yourself into your swimming instead and hope to God it keeps you warm at night.”
All I had left now was the Games. For so long I’d persuaded myself they were all I wanted, the desire to win mixed up with the desire to make my parents happy by just being there—hell, they’d be happy for me to come last in my heat so long as I did my best. Now I knew I wanted someone else, someone I’d chosen, next to me to enjoy success with. I sound a great wet lettuce, don’t I? Result of too many years of avoiding commitment and pretending it didn’t matter.
And, of course, Ben Edwards had stumbled across someone special, someone who’d have been desperate to join in the poolside cheering and Ben had managed to send the bloke running for the hills.
I was contemplating whether I’d feel better if I whacked the mirror and if the pain would outweigh the satisfaction, when the phone went. There was nothing like hearing Dad’s voice for bringing me to my senses again. “Hiya. Are you okay?”
I hardly let him finish. “I’m fine. Is Mum alright?”
“She’s great. Sounds like you need to sort your nerves out, Ben. Keep on edge like this and you’ll be in no fit state come the Games.”
Was I that obvious? “You’re not doing a lot to help my nerves, ringing me up out of the blue. When will you be home?”
He chuckled “I always said you sound more like your mother every day. I’m ringing from Gran’s. She’s got herself worked up over your mother and I don’t want her in hospital as well. I didn’t realise she was in such a state until I tasted her Yorkshires.”
Blimey, she must have been bad. Her need was clearly greater than mine, although I could have done with Dad here, especially considering the mess with Nick. “Have you let on that I’m here?”
“I’m afraid I had to, which is one of the reasons she’s so twitchy. ‘It’s got to be bad if they’v
e flown Ben back’.” The impression was uncanny. “Where have I heard that before?”
“Guilty as charged.” I do love Dad. Even the shortest chat with him left me feeling better.
“And just like your mother, she insists she’s fine and that I should be looking after you rather than fussing over her. I should shoot the bloody lot of you.”
“Shoot the girls and I’ll swear in court it was an accident.”
He had a point. I was a grown man; I should be able to look after myself when everybody else was throwing a wobbler. I’d have to grow a pair and get on with it. “Everything’s fine here,” I lied. “There’s milk in the fridge and Weetabix in the cupboard so I’m set for supper and breakfast. And don’t you go overdoing it. I don’t want you ending up in the next ward to Mum.”
“I’ve got lemon meringue pie for pudding, later, so don’t you worry about me. You get a good night’s sleep and I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock alright?”
“Perfect.” That would be time enough to get in to see Mum again before getting to the airport. “Lucky you’re the boss or you’d be getting the sack.”
“I knew there had to be one advantage to running my own business.” He laughed. “Maybe I should give myself a bonus when this is all done. Night night, Ben. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.” The face in the mirror still looked at me accusingly. “Don’t start,” I told him and turned away.
Maybe I should grow a pair over Nick, too. How much would it take to man up, ring him and say “sorry”? Looks like I was going to have to find out. I counted to six—enough time to walk into the lounge, get my breath but not enough for cold feet—and tapped in Nick’s number.
“Hello?” The voice was abrupt; he must have seen who the incoming call was from.
“Nick?” I swallowed my pride for about the fifteenth time that day. “It’s Ben.”
“I know who it is.” He wasn’t making this easy, although I couldn’t blame him.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I could blame being bloody rude on the strain of training or Mum being ill or a million other fucking things, but I won’t. I was just out of order.” I swallowed hard. If that didn’t do the trick I was up the creek without a paddle.
Love in Every Season Page 9
