by Jessica Ashe
I encouraged Shaun to have friends over so that he could hang out with Maisie again, but he’d retreated into his shell after the last time. Apparently one of his mates had spread the word that Shaun had an empty house, and some guys had come round that he didn’t like. They started getting to him by insulting me, but they didn’t anticipate getting a lesson from Maisie.
That still made me smile, although I’d had a few stern words with her to make it clear she should never do that again. If she went around punching everyone who had an irrational dislike of me then she would end up with bloody knuckles and an intimate familiarity with the English legal system.
My actions in trying to get alone time with Michelle made me feel like we were the kids and Maisie and Shaun were the parents. Weren’t kids the ones who wanted their parents out of the house to fool around?
Sundays were a day off for all of us. Maisie and Shaun didn’t have to train, and I had no game to play. Sundays were also one of my cheat days where food was concerned. I wasn’t technically allowed to eat badly any day of the week, but I found that Sunday was far enough away from my midweek physical that I could get away with it.
I’d invited Michelle out for a meal at the pub, but she’d responded with “we’d love to.” After dinner, I could hint that the grown-ups wanted to stay behind and have a drink, but I wouldn’t bet money on Maisie and Shaun picking up on the clue.
I’d headed to Shaun’s room to check if he was ready when I heard my mobile phone ringing. I dashed back to my bedroom hoping that it was Michelle to say that Maisie couldn’t make it tonight, but instead it was a number I didn’t recognize. This phone number hadn’t been given out to many people, and so far I’d manage to avoid prank calls or sales pitches, so I decided to answer it in case it was about training.
“Oliver Cornish?” a female voice asked.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Please hold for Mr. Atkins.”
Atkins? I only knew one Atkins and he was the manager of the England rugby team.
There was a beep, followed by a voice I recognized from television. “Oliver, this is Vinnie. Vinnie Atkins.”
“Mr. Atkins. It’s a pleasure to speak to you.”
I sounded a little like a star struck teenager, and to a certain extent I was. I’d met pretty much everyone important in rugby over the last few years, but I’d never met the current England manager. We’d even been at the same charity events on occasion, but never crossed paths.
“Call me Vinnie,” he insisted. “It’s about time we spoke.”
“Of course. I’ve been hoping to speak to you for a while, but I’m afraid this isn’t a great time.” I could hear Shaun downstairs by the front door waiting for me, and if we left much later we would be late. I didn’t like to keep ladies waiting.
“It won’t take long,” Vinnie said. “Listen, I don’t know all the details about this whole situation with you and the national team. I wasn’t manager back in 2007 so I only know what was in the papers.”
“I retired from international rugby,” I explained.
“Yes, yes, I know that. And I assume the reason was because you fluffed that kick in the final.”
“Yes,” I lied. There was more to it than that. A lot more.
“Well, listen, that was a long time ago. Your performances on the pitch since then have been nothing short of sublime. I want you back in the team, and I’m not going to take no for an answer.”
“I don’t know…”
“Yes you do. Look, I’ve watched your games a lot lately, and the one thing that’s obvious is your passion for the sport. Other than that one mistake, you always showed that same spirit when you had the England shirt on. What can I say to convince you?”
There was no reason I couldn’t play for England again. I’d quit rugby for a year because of what happened with Shaun’s dad, but then that problem sorted itself out with the arrest of the men responsible. I was safe to play rugby again, and that included playing for England.
I had memories of playing for England. Not good ones. Memories of a single second that still haunted me even now. They probably always would, unless I took the opportunity to right those wrongs.
If I could perform to the best of my ability in an England shirt, then that would go a long way to making up for my past mistakes. Maybe I would even start sleeping better at night. That would be nice.
“You’re going to get a lot of grief from the public,” I said. “If you call me up, some people will accuse you of being desperate.”
“Not to my face they won’t,” Vinnie joked. At least I think he was joking.
“They’ll show that clip of me missing the kick on a constant loop.”
“Yep, probably. But I figure you’ve seen that enough times in your head anyway.”
I laughed. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Excellent. I’m going to announce the squad tomorrow. You know what this means right?”
“I’m going to have to learn the words to the national anthem again?”
Vinnie gave a hearty laugh. “Yeah, that’s a bugger isn’t it? But the bigger picture is the World Cup. It’s only a few months away and I’m not going to beat about the bush—if you play well, you’re in the squad.”
“No pressure then.”
“This is the big one as well. It’s on home soil. I don’t need to tell you how big an opportunity this is. You help England win the World Cup and no-one will ever talk about 2007 again. It’ll be like it never happened. You can forget all about it.”
I thanked Vinnie, and ended the call, already running five minutes late for dinner. Vinnie meant well, but he obviously didn’t know me very well if he thought I would ever forget about 2007. That wasn’t the year I fluffed my lines in the World Cup Final. It was the year Gary died, and no amount of success on the pitch would ever bring him back.
-*-
“Oh. My. God,” Maisie exclaimed, reminding me—and everyone else in the pub who turned to stare—of Janice from Friends. “You’re going to play for England again? This is so awesome. That means you’ll be in the World Cup.”
“You’re going to play in the World Cup too?” Michelle asked. She looked more concerned than excited. I couldn’t blame her. The last time I played in a World Cup it had nearly destroyed me, and I’d acted like a complete prat to Michelle in the process.
“Yep. It looks that way. Hopefully it’ll go a bit better than last time.”
“You have to get us tickets,” Maisie said. “I’d do anything to watch a World Cup game.”
“It doesn’t start until September,” I said. “You’ll be back at school by then.”
“But—”
“I suppose you can take a week off,” Michelle said.
“Really?” Maisie and I asked at the same time.
Michelle laughed. “I’m not that cruel, but it’s good to know what you both think.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Maisie said, practically jumping for joy in her seat. “And Shaun can come see the games as well, right?”
“Definitely,” I replied, sharing a knowing look with Michelle. Maisie had developed quite the crush, but Shaun was a closed book as far as women were concerned. I had no idea what he thought of her, although they did spend a fair bit of time together.
Unfortunately, teenage boys were obsessed with how women looked and while I thought Maisie was beautiful, I knew some people would be put off by the burns on her face. I just hoped Shaun was a better man than I had been at his age.
“You need to make sure you get to the final,” Maisie said. “I want to go to that game. You don’t need to win, just get to the final. Once you’re there you can shank all the kicks you like.”
“Maisie,” Michelle scolded.
I burst into laughter. “Thank you, Maisie. I’ll try to remember that. Don’t shank kicks until the final. Don’t shank kicks until the final.”
We carried on eating dinner, but despite Michelle and I trying to drag the mea
l out, it soon came to an end. Michelle had been trying to say something to me all evening, but each time she opened her mouth she would just ask Maisie what her food was like, or ask Shaun how training was going.
Finally, she looked at me and asked if I would do her a favour. I’d do anything for her right now.
“Of course,” I replied. “Just name it.”
“I have some friends in London,” Michelle said. “They’re studying at LSE and want to meet up.”
“You need a lift?” I asked.
“Actually, I was hoping you would come along. I might have told them that I know a famous rugby player, and we were hoping to get into a nice bar without lining up. Fancy tagging along.”
“Michelle, that’s kind of rude,” Maisie scolded. She didn’t want to miss an opportunity to tell off her older sister.
“It’s fine,” I insisted. “I could use a night out. You two want to hang out at my place?”
“Fine with me,” Maisie said, looking hopefully at Shaun.
“Sounds good,” Shaun said.
“Can we trust you to behave this time?” I said, only slightly in jest.
Shaun nodded. “It won’t happen again.”
“It’s tomorrow night,” Michelle said. “Want to take the train in to London?”
“Sure,” I replied.
I knew we wouldn’t be getting a train anywhere. Michelle’s story about having friends at LSE sounded a little too made up. We’d be heading somewhere local, and this time I was convinced we’d be back at the hotel before nine o’clock.
I shared a look with Michelle, trying to convey that I’d picked up on the real intent of tomorrow night. The story about going into London was just a cover to hide our intentions from the kids and finish up where we had left off before Maisie’s arrest. It couldn’t come soon enough for my liking.
With any luck we might even skip the meal altogether and just get room service. I was done with the pretence and so was Michelle; time to take things to the next level.
“So we actually are meeting your friends, then?” Oliver asked, sounding slightly surprised.
“Yes, of course. I have friends at LSE. I told you about them last night didn’t I?”
“Yes, it’s just… never mind. I’ll go buy some train tickets.”
This evening had taken a lot of effort on my part, but I now felt under intense pressure to make the most of it. I was going drinking with Oliver, and this time we would be in a bar or nightclub where the atmosphere was geared around making sure people could hook up. It had to happen tonight. If not tonight, then when?
I’d posted a few comments on Facebook letting people know I was in London, and Alisa and Sierra quickly got in touch to say they wanted to meet up. That was the easy bit. The tricky part was having Oliver come along in a way that wouldn’t invite too many questions. I couldn’t introduce him as my step-brother because if things went down as I intended then that would look weird.
I dropped hints to Alisa that I was watching a lot of rugby, and then mentioned that my sister was training with a famous player. Alisa had always been a huge football fan back home and apparently that fandom had quickly converted to rugby in the few months she’d been in England. When I told her that Oliver and I were friends, she insisted I bring him along as well.
So far, so good. I’d expected Oliver to pay for a car to take us into the city, but he seemed to have forgotten to call his driver. Instead we ended up taking the train in, but managed to get some first class seats.
“What are these friends of yours like?” Oliver asked. “Did you go to school with them?”
“Yeah. We were pretty close all the way through until the end of high school.”
“What happened then?”
“They both went to college and I didn’t. We still kept in touch, but their lives have been very different to mine over the last six years, as you can tell from the fact that they are studying at LSE.”
“Why didn’t you go to university in the end?” Oliver asked. “I’m sure I remember your dad talking about that entrance exam you guys take.”
“The SATs. Yeah, I took them, but never went to college.”
“Why not? I know you would have done well in the test. You’re the cleverest person I know.”
“You only know athletes,” I pointed out. “That’s not saying a lot.”
Oliver smiled, and I wished we weren’t sat opposite each other so I could snuggle up to him. I used to associate his smile with arrogance, but now it meant warmth and security.
“Fair enough,” he said. “But you could have gone to a good university as well. Why didn’t you?”
“You know why,” I replied.
Oliver looked genuinely puzzled for a few seconds, but then realization spread across his face. “Maisie?”
I nodded. “Not that I’m blaming her,” I added quickly. “That’s not it at all of course. But after Mom lost her job, I had to earn money to support the family. College wasn’t an option.”
“And you blame yourself,” Oliver said. “For what happened that night.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m being irrational. I blame myself, because I was to blame. It’s quite simple.”
Oliver stared out of the window for a few minutes even though it was dark outside and there wasn’t much to see. “I know I need to do more to earn your trust after the way I treated you all those years ago,” he said, still staring out the window. “But where Maisie is concerned, you do trust me, right?”
“Yes,” I replied instantly. Oliver would do anything for Maisie and Shaun. You only had to look at him around them to know that.
“Then trust me on this: what happened to Maisie was entirely my fault.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up his hand to stop me. “I might as well have been the one to throw the acid over her. I am one hundred percent to blame. You need to stop blaming yourself.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I know you think you should have walked us home, but you wouldn’t have been able to stop the attack. Those men appeared out of nowhere.”
“I can’t say. But trusting me means you have to take my word for it, okay?”
I nodded, but nothing he said made much difference. I knew Oliver was trying to help, but he would never be able to take the guilt away. Why was he so convinced it was his fault anyway? The attack had been completely random, as far as I knew. Certainly no one had any reason to attack Maisie or me.
“Let’s just try to have fun tonight,” I said. “No worrying about Maisie and Shaun. I just want to let my hair down.”
“Deal,” Oliver said. “But in that case, let me choose where we go. I know the owner of a nice little establishment near Leicester Square that I think you’ll like.”
I sent a text to Alisa and Sierra telling them where to meet us and they certainly seemed to approve judging by the enthusiastic responses. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone out for a night on the town. I had a feeling this night was going to be a memorable one.
-*-
I met Sierra and Alisa outside the bar. They’d been standing in line, but I pulled them out and said that we could go straight in thanks to Oliver. He’d already gone inside, so when we dropped his name at the door we were escorted straight to a VIP area at the back of the club.
We had our own table, and the section was raised just enough to make us look important, without feeling completely detached from the rest of the bar.
“Ladies, this is Oliver,” I said, making the introductions. “Oliver, this is Alisa and Sierra.”
“We know who he is,” Alisa said excitedly. “I’ve actually been to a few of your games.”
“You’re a fan of West London?” Oliver asked.
“Uh, no, not exactly. But it’s hard to get tickets for the Harlequins games. I’m sure I could be persuaded to switch allegiances though.”
Oliver laughed, then got the attention of the waitress who woul
d be waiting on us tonight. “I guess I can buy a drink for a Harlequins fan still. You’re not all horrible people, or so I hear.” He ordered a few bottles of champagne, and some food to nibble on. Oliver was always eating.
The table was so big that I had to leave a gap between Oliver and me or it would have looked obvious that I wanted to be with him. When the food arrived, I had an excuse to move up closer to him, but unfortunately Alisa did the same thing.
“I’ve been hearing rumors about you,” Alisa said to Oliver, as she ate some of the chips.
“That sounds incriminating,” Oliver replied.
“Oh no, nothing naughty,” she said with a smile. “Although I’m sure you have plenty of those stories locked away as well. No, I heard you were going to get a call up for the England team.”
“Ah. Well, I couldn’t possibly comment on that.”
“I usually cheer for the American team at the World Cup—even though we suck—but I think I could be persuaded to follow England if there is someone of your—” she eyed him up and down “caliber in the team.”
“Uh, thanks,” Oliver replied awkwardly.
Oh Jesus, she’s flirting with him. Nice work, Michelle. You’ve gone and introduced a rugby star to your confident, flirty, rugby loving friend without thinking things through. I was so bloody bad at this.
“Alisa,” Sierra said, standing up. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Okay,” Alisa said, not looking away from Oliver.
“Maybe you want to come with me,” Sierra said strongly.
Alisa frowned but followed Sierra to the bathroom. “Do women throw themselves at you everywhere you go?” I asked, once they were out of earshot.
“Pretty much,” Oliver replied casually.
“Oh.”
“It doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure you don’t go home with every guy who hits on you at a bar.”
“Maybe I do,” I joked.
