by Jessica Ashe
“Good evening, Mr. Cornish,” Carl said, lighting a cigarette from behind a makeshift desk.
I sat down in the empty seat and did my best to look cool and composed. There was another one of his minions in the corner, but at a push I could take the three of them.
I shouldn’t be here. Even being near these people carried a great risk of being implicated in a betting ring that would ruin my entire career. This was how it had started for Gary: innocent meetings that soon turned nasty.
“How is young Shaun doing?” Carl asked. “I hear you’re looking after him at the moment.”
“He’s an orphan now, thanks to you. How the fuck do you think he’s doing?”
“From what I hear, he had a tragic car accident. I don’t see how that’s my fault. If only he hadn’t gone to the police, he never would have been driving that night and never would have crashed his car.”
“What do you want, Carl?” I asked. I couldn’t sit here and listen to his bullshit about Gary. I knew what’d happened. He’d reported the crime to a dodgy cop who had then informed Carl about Gary’s confession. Carl must have sent one of his lackeys out to sabotage the car. I’d never be able to prove it, but I knew what happened.
“You ignored my request,” Carl said calmly, taking a long, slow drag on his cigarette. The shop was a mess, with tools and materials lying around everywhere, but Carl still insisted on using an ashtray to collect his ash anyway.
“You mean your request for me to throw the quarter-final game? Yeah, I must have missed that one.”
“I had a lot of money riding on that game, Mr. Cornish.”
“My Granddad used to gamble,” I said. “My Nan used to give him hell for it, but you know what he said? ‘I only gamble what I can afford to lose.’ Perhaps those are words of advice you should live by?”
“Very good, very good. It’s no problem, anyway. I can recoup it all in the final. I must say, you did a marvellous job of helping England to the final. Phenomenal kicking.”
“Thank you.”
“England are now favourites to win the final. The last thing anyone will suspect is for you to have a bad game. Why, whoever made that bet could win a small fortune, especially with so many people betting on this game.”
“I wouldn’t advise making that bet,” I said. “You’ll only lose more money.”
Carl put out the cigarette even though he’d only gotten through half of it, and leaned forward on his elbows.
“You’re going to make sure England lose the game,” Carl said.
“No, I’m not,” I replied, still sitting back casually in the chair.
“You a family man, Mr. Cornish?” Carl asked.
“You know full well that my mum is under protection,” I said. “I have so many people guarding her that your men won’t get close. That’s why you didn’t do anything after I ignored your last request.”
“What about other family members?”
“My father left before I was even born. If you find him, you’re welcome to him. Tell him I said ‘hi.’”
I heard a phone beep behind me. Carl looked over my shoulder at Wayne, but I resisted the urge to look round. Carl smiled and sat back in his chair again. He’d just received good news.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Mr. Cornish. Imagine my surprise, when one of my men spotted you out and about the other week with a young woman and a girl.”
I sat bolt upright in my chair. So much for trying to remain calm. “You stay the hell away from them.”
“Michelle and Maisie Portman. Cute girls. They’re your step-sisters now, right?”
“I can protect them too,” I growled. “Just give this up, Carl. I’m never going to go along with your scheme. The second I get out of here, I will put every security guard in the country on those two. You won’t get close.”
“Yes, I figured you would. You know, it strikes me that I never properly followed through on my threat for your failure to lose the quarter-final game. No wonder you won’t agree to throw the final. You probably think I’m all talk.”
“I’m not going to let you so much as look at them,” I snarled.
“I don’t think I want to look at them anymore,” Carl said, as a snide grin spread across his face. “Shame too. They were such pretty girls.”
I stood up and reached over the desk, grabbing Carl by his cheap suit and shoving my face in front of his. “What have you done?” I yelled.
Wayne and the other minion, grabbed me by the shoulders and between the two of them they just about managed to pull me off of Carl, who was now laughing hysterically.
“You really shouldn’t let young women walk home alone,” Carl said. “There are some truly nasty people out there.”
I shook off Wayne and the other man, and ran out of the store. I backtracked until I was back in the spot where I’d abandoned Michelle and Maisie, and then ran in the direction they would have taken to get home.
When I rounded a corner and saw the flashing lights of police cars, I realised I was too late.
-*-
I visited the girls in hospital, but I could never stay for long. I couldn’t bare to look at Maisie and see the pain she was in without feeling sick with guilt.
Michelle had escaped relatively unharmed, although she must have landed on her side and badly bruised her arm, because she could barely move it and winced when anyone touched her. Of course, she refused to see a doctor because that would mean leaving Maisie’s side for a few minutes.
I wanted to stay with them, but I had a rugby game to play. I’d have happily missed the final to spend time with Michelle and Maisie, but I didn’t have a choice.
I’d assumed Carl was just a glorified thug, but I’d underestimated him. He must have an entire network of people under his command, and he clearly had access to personal information about me.
I’d specifically not said anything publicly about Michelle and Maisie, but he’d found out about them anyway. I couldn’t take the risk anymore. Who knows what he would do to them next time.
The entire team was nervous before the final, so no one noticed how terrified I was. We were the favourites to win for the first time since the tournament had started, and no one knew how to deal with that label. We all preferred being the plucky underdogs.
The team was on fire. I scored all the kicks that would be considered easy, but I made sure not to score with anything remotely missable. Even without me on good form, we were still only two points behind in stoppage time.
When we were awarded a scrum deep inside the opposition half, I felt the expectancy of the crowd in the stadium bubble to the surface. Tens of millions of people would have figured it out.
All we had to do was get the ball out of the scrum, where the scrum-half would pass it to me, and I would have an easy kick to win the game. The kick was almost unmissable, but that’s exactly what I had to do. For Maisie. For Michelle.
I dropped the ball and pretended to lose balance as I kicked it. I sent the ball straight into the hands of an opposition back who kicked the ball out of touch. We’d lost. England had lost the World Cup Final because of me.
-*-
I treated Michelle like shit over the weeks following the final. I even blamed her for my miss.
I told myself it was all part of getting her out of my life so that she would be safe from Carl, but if I was completely honest with myself, the nasty things I said to her came far too easily.
I didn’t actually blame her for what happened of course, but I couldn’t help but get mad when I saw her. If Michelle and Maisie hadn’t come into my life when they did, I would be a World Cup winner right now. Instead, I was a figure of hate. A laughing stock.
I accused her of being a distraction. That was true, in a way, but she’d always been a positive distraction. She was the one I thought about on the pitch. Other players had their families in the stands, but I had Michelle at home watching on television. That’s what kept me going.
By the time Michelle retur
ned home to the US, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at me, let alone talk to me. She’d had feelings for me at one point, I was fairly sure of that, but now she hated me. I’d probably never see her again, and that thought was far more depressing than anything that had happened on the pitch.
I whispered a goodbye as she walked out the door for the last time. She never even looked back.
It was my idea to go back to the same American restaurant we’d gone to on the night of the attack. Oliver hadn’t liked the idea at first. He saw it as getting too close to the painful events of 2007, but I looked at it in an entirely different way.
To me, being able to go back to the same diner from that awful night was a sign that we had moved on. Once again, Oliver was playing in the World Cup and England were in the quarter-finals. We were within our rights to celebrate.
“We’ve kind of cheated by not inviting Maisie,” Oliver said. “It would have been fun to make her order the kids' meal again.”
“You still remember what we ate that night?”
“I remember every little detail from that night. Do you want to order the same thing?”
“Sure. But this time I’ll have a real cocktail and not that virgin one I had last time.”
“So you remember as well?” Oliver asked.
“I remember being embarrassed at having to order a non-alcoholic cocktail. I’d spent the entire summer pretending to be grown up and mature, but the waiter asked for ID when I ordered the drink. I was so embarrassed.”
“It was cute. Besides, I couldn’t drink either. And I can’t tonight.”
“Well, I’m not a professional athlete, so it’s going to be a Manhattan for me.”
Outside had been a bit chilly, so I had on a jacket and sweater, but once we were inside I quickly warmed up. Oliver eyed my sweater and I knew he wanted me to take it off, but exposing my scar in public was still something I had to ease into.
Once we’d ordered our food, I slowly slipped the sweater off and put it on the empty chair next to me. The second my bare arms were on display, I felt a cold shiver up my spine, and I knew that was the result of nerves more than the temperature.
“You okay?” Oliver asked, placing his hand on mine.
I nodded. “I’ll be fine. Just trying to get used to it still.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you want, I could pay for cosmetic surgery on the arm. It goes without saying that I think you’re fucking beautiful already, but if it really bothers you that much… well, it’s an option anyway.”
“Yeah, I know. But I don’t want it removed.”
“You want to keep torturing yourself with the reminder that you weren’t able to stop the attack? Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that. You know what I mean.”
“It’s fine. You’re right. I do want the reminder there, but not just because of the attack. The burn marks on my arm are part of who I am. Besides, they’re not as noticeable as Maisie’s.”
“Will she want surgery do you think?”
I nodded. “I expect so, yes. We spoke to a doctor about it, but he didn’t want to do the operation while she was still growing. Plus, it’s ridiculously expensive.”
“I can pay for it.”
“I know, moneybags,” I said teasingly. “Thank you.”
The meal was unremarkable and I loved it. No one recognized Oliver all night. Perhaps they assumed such a big star wouldn’t be seen in cheap restaurants.
I’d made a big fuss about not being scared to relive the events of 2007, but I wouldn’t have been able to take the same walk home. Oliver lived in a different direction to his mom, so thankfully we never had to retrace our steps from that night.
“What’s the deal with Maisie and Shaun at the moment?” Oliver asked, as I linked my arm in his. “Shaun still won’t share all the details with me.”
“I think they’re just going to be friends,” I replied. “Maisie likes him, but I get the impression it’s platonic.”
“I was getting that vibe as well. Must say I’m a little relieved.”
“Yeah, that girl is growing up way too fast for my liking. As far as I’m concerned, she should be a virgin until eighteen like I was.”
Oliver laughed. “I’m hoping Shaun follows in your footsteps and not mine in that regard. You don’t even want to know what I was doing at his age.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Nothing half as entertaining as what we do now of course,” he added.
“Good comeback.”
“Thank you. I talked to Shaun the other day about potentially moving to the US.”
“How did that go?”
“Good, actually. I won’t go as far as to say he sounded excited—you know what Shaun’s like—but he didn’t dismiss the idea. He’s not too keen about ending up in Virginia though. In his words, ‘my kind are not welcome there,’ which might be a good point.”
“Virginia’s not too bad,” I said. “We’re only a little bit racist.”
“You should put that on the license plates.”
I smiled. “‘Virginia: not as racist as some other states.’ You’re right though; let’s go somewhere new. Start afresh. Won’t Shaun miss his friends?”
“I think Maisie’s his best friend these days,” Oliver said. “He’ll miss rugby though. That could be an issue, but in a few years he’ll be going to uni anyway and can probably play it there.”
“If you’re going to move to the US, you’re going to have to stop saying things like ‘uni.’”
“Sorry. ‘College,’” he said in a weird voice.
“Was that supposed to be an American accent?”
“Yes,” he replied, looking slightly offended.
“No. Just no. Don’t ever do that again.”
“Sorry,” Oliver said, again attempting an American accent.
“Wanker,” I said, in my best impersonation of his accent.
“Oh dear. Is that how I sound when I do your accent?” I nodded. “I guess we should stop doing that then.”
We went to cross a road, but Oliver held me back even though no cars were coming. “What is it?” I asked.
“Huh? Oh, nothing.”
We crossed the road and kept walking, but Oliver kept looking over his shoulder the entire way home.
Tonight had a lot of similarities with the events of eight years ago, but this one was the most eerie of them all. That night, Oliver had seen something and suddenly disappeared. He’d been spooked and made some excuse about going to a party.
He had that look on his face again, and now I just wanted to get home as soon as possible. If something out there had Oliver worried, then there was a good chance it was something I should take seriously.
It couldn’t be him. I must be imagining things. I hadn’t seen that man in eight years. But it was him. Even with just the glow of streetlights to go by, there had been no mistaking that face. He hadn’t changed much in the last eight years, other than a slightly more modern haircut.
Just two hundred yards behind Michelle and I, was Carl’s second henchman. The one who had pulled me off Carl and laughed as I ran to try and help Michelle and Maisie. I never knew his name, but I’d seen him around Carl a few times before.
Chief Superintendent Hodgson told me she’d got them all, but she’d missed one. Now that man was following us home. He knew I’d seen him, so he just casually walked behind, waiting for me to leave Michelle and go talk to him.
There was no way I was letting Michelle out of my sight until she was safely indoors. Not after what happened eight years ago.
If this man was out on the loose, did that mean there were others? He’d only been one of the bodyguards. The bullies. He certainly wasn’t the brains behind the operation. You could tell that just by looking at him.
As soon as Michelle was indoors, I made an excuse about going back outside to get something from the car. I ran down the drive and found the man there waiting for me.
“Evening,
” he said in greeting. “I’m not sure we were ever formally introduced. My name’s Dave.”
The man held out his hand as if he seriously expected me to shake it. I just stared at him in response. In the end he lowered his hand and laughed.
Dave had an American accent, although I couldn’t place what particular part of the country it came from. I shouldn’t have been surprised; Winston was American. If the dirty cop was involved in this—as I was beginning to suspect—then it only made sense that he had other Americans working with him.
“Why are you following me?” I asked. “You’d better have a damn good explanation, because I’ve already called the police. They’ll be here in minutes.”
“If the police were a problem, I’d have been arrested eight years ago along with the others.”
“Why weren’t you?”
The man shrugged. “Let’s just say I have friends in high places.”
Winston. Maybe he let Carl and Wayne take the blame, while continuing his little operation with Dave.
“Any chance you’ve turned your life around and are now helping little old ladies cross the street?”
“Only if someone’s made a bet on them making it across,” Dave replied. “I’m still working the same trade. Gotta put money on the table.”
“Your boss said something similar to me once. Now he’s locked up, largely thanks to evidence that I provided.”
“No. No, my boss is still free.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think? Carl, got locked up, but Carl was never my boss. He was more of a middle manager. I work directly for the big boss, and that big boss wants a word with you.”
These bloody gangs were like hydras; you chop off one head and another quickly grows in its place. It was a miracle they survived the police investigation in 2007, but if they’d been going strong since then, the group could now be very powerful indeed.
“Whoever your boss now is, he lost he right to talk to me after he ordered the attack on my friends. Two women were seriously injured, and my best friend died. Your boss doesn’t get to talk to me anymore.”
