by Toria Lyons
The house phone rang, shaking her out of her reflections. To her surprise, it was Mike calling from the club.
‘Sarah? I tried to get you on your mobile earlier but it keeps on going to the answerphone.’
‘I had an accident but it should be working now. How may I help you, Mike?’
‘It’s how I can help you. There’s a pair of returned tickets at the club for the England versus Scotland game at Twickenham. You said last week you’re not going to the Wales game in Ireland?’
‘I was tempted but it’s a bit far.’ Sarah also hadn’t wanted to break the fragile peace between her and Tom. A pang of regret ran through her; if only she‘d tried harder.
‘So, do you want them? They’re up in the Gods, the highest tier, so not a great view, but it’s better than nothing.’
Two tickets. A pair. England versus Scotland. The glimmer of an idea began; she realised how she could mend fences and meet with Tom again.
‘Sarah?’
‘Mike, I’d love to have them. I’ll come and pick them up first thing tomorrow.’
After another sleepless night, Sarah collected the tickets from the club. She couldn’t believe that Tom hadn’t been in touch at all, not even a missed call. The calendar month was up on Sunday and she could feel panic rising in her chest at the thought of not seeing him again, not feeling his arms around her.
It took her some time to compose the note to send with one of the tickets.
Tom, I’m so sorry for hurting you so badly. I love you. Please come.
Love, Sarah xxx
As soon as she posted it through the letterbox of his flat, she wanted to take it back. She forced herself to walk away even though her legs were like jelly.
She stared down at the remaining ticket in her handbag. Talk about putting all her eggs in the one basket – what if he didn’t get it? What if someone intercepted it? She couldn’t risk that.
She scrolled down her phone’s contact list, finding the number of the one person who might be able to come to her rescue. ‘Marian? It’s Sarah. I need you to help me just one last time. Please.’
She slept slightly better that night, having received a text from Marian confirming that she’d personally placed the envelope containing the ticket in Tom’s hand. What would he think? Was it enough?
She was still worrying on the Saturday morning. Not a peep had been heard from Tom. Clare had been in touch but Sarah had pretended everything was OK.
It had to be OK. That was all she thought of as she applied her make-up then pulled on a warm but stylish navy dress with a long pair of navy leather boots. Blue for Scotland. For Tom. Swaddling herself in a couple more layers and a warm coat, hat, scarf and gloves, she left for a chilly Twickenham.
Usually, she would have met up with friends at the Cabbage Patch or some other popular pub near the ground. This time, she went alone and was swept up in the vast, talkative crowds from the station, laughing tensely at the tomfoolery of some of the supporters approaching the stadium, appreciating the nervous anticipation of others escalating the nearer they got.
Once inside, she picked up some drinks from one of the bars and made the long trip up to her seat. It wasn’t as bad as she’d expected: on the halfway line just above the middle tier, at the end of a row. Not bad at all. She swallowed her disappointment when she saw the empty space next to her: Tom hadn’t arrived yet.
‘On your own, my dear?’ asked an elderly, England-supporting gentleman one seat further along.
She nodded. ‘For now. Hopefully he’ll be here soon.’ She bit her lip with worry. Perhaps it wasn’t enough; maybe he thought she didn’t care enough?
‘He’ll get here; he wouldn’t leave a lovely lady like you on her own.’
Sarah smiled back politely, hoping the friendly stranger was right and Tom wouldn’t stand her up.
Only minutes later, the teams ran out of the tunnel, to polite applause for Scotland followed by raucous, ground-shaking cheers greeting the white strip of England.
He wasn’t coming.
As the teams lined up and everyone began to stand up for the anthems, Sarah had to move her drinks tray out of the way of some late arrivals. She did so slowly, stalled by the yawning disappointment in her chest. Her eyes began to water. It was over. She ducked her head, scrambling for a tissue.
It was over.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Sarah.’
His soft voice made her look up. ‘You’re here?’
‘I’m here.’ He smiled at her and stepped into the gap beside her. His long, navy coat showed glimpses of a blue Scotland top and a kilt underneath.
She drank him in with her eyes. ‘You’re here.’ She started to grin like an idiot.
Before he could do anything, before the first chords of Flower of Scotland rang out, she grabbed his collar and pulled his face the few inches to hers, placing a long, intimate kiss on his lips. Wolf whistles rang out around them. ‘Oi, save it for later, you two!’ came a loud yell from above.
She broke the kiss, then rubbed her cheek against his familiar chest, inhaling the scent that was uniquely Tom. ‘I love you,’ she whispered, ‘I love you so much. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’ve missed you.’
‘Me too – more than words can say.’ Their arms wrapped around each other, Tom kissed her on the nose, and yet more wolf whistles and playful jeers rang out. He laughed. ‘Your timing isn’t great but I love you too.’
They parted for just long enough to allow Tom to belt out his anthem, still with their arms linked. Sarah joined in, as did many others around them. Then they stayed respectfully silent for God Save the Queen, as the England supporters sang.
Sitting down meant they had to separate a little, and Clare handed Tom the whisky and pint she’d bought for him. She kept touching his thigh, running her hand up and down it, ducking closer to breathe him in and share his warmth. After a few days apart, she felt like she’d returned home. He wrapped an arm around her again as the game kicked off and they both leant forward.
The Scots battled ferociously for the ball from the first seconds, securing it before starting to drive up the pitch. Sarah could feel Tom’s excitement as they made ground before it was passed to the fly half to hoof deep into the English half, towards the try line. As the thunderous Scottish pack approached him, the England fullback fumbled, to groans from the crowd, knocking the ball into pouncing Scottish arms.
Tom roared with delight as the ball was touched down behind the posts. ‘What a start!’
The atmosphere was electric in the first 40 minutes as the beleaguered English fought back from their calamitous start, levelling the scores with a well-worked try and going ahead on penalties. When the whistle blew for half time, the England supporters were relaxing slightly but Tom was visibly frustrated.
‘There’s no penetration: we’re getting ball and wasting it,’ he raged. ‘Plus, there’s a massive gap between the England ten and twelve that I’d love to have a go at.’
‘Do you wish you were out there, if it wasn’t for your knee?’ asked Sarah curiously.
Tom stared at her in shock. ‘Sarah, I’m glad I’m not out there, as if it wasn’t for the accident which damaged my knee, I’d never have met you.’ He hugged her. ‘Come on, grab your stuff; I’m taking you somewhere else.’
‘What?’ she spluttered. ‘And miss the rugby?’
‘Ssh, don’t worry.’ Tom kissed her gently and led her out to the aisle, following the masses going for a loo break or a fresh drink. However, once down the steps and onto the concourse, he had a word with a couple of stewards and they were ushered into the carpeted hospitality area.
‘Of course, you have a box.’ Sarah blushed, embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of him already having arrangements for such an important Six Nations match. ‘I’m sorry I dragged you away –’
‘Sarah, stop it.’ He turned and faced her. ‘I only did it for you, when I thought you’d be with me. Hang on, we need to talk.’
Tom pulled some more strings and they somehow ended up in a quiet corner.
‘Sarah, why did you send me the ticket today?’ He focused on her intently.
‘Because – because …’ She had to take a deep breath and stared at the ground. ‘I did it because I love you and I’m sorry and ashamed I hurt you so badly and I wanted to make it up to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t commit. My parents are so in love still and I never thought I’d have an opportunity to love someone as much. But I do.’
Tom gently cupped her chin, forcing her to look up. ‘That’s a start. I would drop anything for you but you never ask anything of me. It’s as if you don’t want to be in my life.’ He stopped her denial with a finger on her lips. ‘You’re so determined in your work, and my father loves that you stuck to your guns and insisted on your ideas – which, incidentally, were the best for the castle. And you’re wicked in bed. But I had to chase you all the way into the relationship.’
Sarah nodded; she had made it difficult for him. ‘I was just so unsure you wanted to be with me.’
‘I do. I always have. Stop doubting me.’ He kissed her sweetly and they smiled at each other. ‘Now, let’s go and find my suite.’ He led her out of the dead end and guided her along and up several corridors and staircases. ‘You would have to have seats almost opposite the box,’ he teased her. ‘It’s quite a hike.’
Just as they heard a whistle for the match restarting, Tom was pushing open a door marked with the logo of his company. Sarah recognised some of his colleagues making their way out through the opposite door to their seats.
‘Oi, you two.’ He snagged Sarah’s ticket from her bag and passed it, along with his, to a couple of teenage boys standing by the buffet. ‘Go sit in those seats.’
Both disappeared without comment.
‘That was a bit harsh,’ observed Sarah.
‘Not really; I hate seeing empty seats, and they’re far too young to be gorging at a corporate feast. They can’t get into any harm here at Twickenham. Marian’s their grandmother – she keeps them in line.’
Tom led her outside where they sat in the back row, close to the box door. There was a brief flurry of introductions, to a handful of his managers and business partners with their other halves, and to several of Tom’s old school friends with some glamorously dressed partners.
‘Lindsay isn’t here: she had to go back to Scotland to visit her family.’ Suddenly, Tom was sidetracked by a Scottish break. ‘Come on, Brown!’
‘That’s a shame.’ Sarah got distracted by the play too and they settled in to watch the second half.
The Scots’ tackling was immense and the English were having no luck in penetrating their tenacious defence. Slowly, Scotland managed to pin England down in their half and were awarded several penalties until they were level on points. Tom was on the edge of his seat, yelling as the Scottish pushed forward again, securing the ball at the back of a ruck. As the backs lined up, a half-buried white-sleeved arm tried to reclaim the ball. The referee immediately blew up for a penalty to Scotland and the crowd erupted.
‘Shit,’ cursed Tom. ‘How much time’s left? Five minutes? This could be the winner! Right on the halfway line – it’ll need one hell of a kick.’
The Scottish fullback took his time lining up his kick. The crowd fell silent, the odd boo shushed away. No one moved, apart from some supporters covering their eyes or turning away, unable to bear watching either in horror or excitement, depending on their allegiance.
The thud of a sweet kick seemed to reverberate around the stadium, and the crowd gasped as the ball flew towards the uprights, skewing to the left and smacking one of the posts … then it rebounded through them, spinning away and landing among the crowd in the lower tier. The flags were raised, and the Scots in the crowd erupted.
The hoisted restart amid the uproar was claimed by the Scottish pack, despite the frantic dashing of the English. Seconds ticked by as the away team picked and drove the ball slowly up the pitch, not wanting to risk losing possession to the desperate English. The scoreboard ticked over the 80 minutes, the ball was kicked safely into touch – and the crowd exploded.
Tom grabbed Sarah and twirled her around. She laughed at him. ‘Happy with that result?’
He beamed back at her. ‘It’s turning out to be a great day! I can’t believe it. Get the champers flowing!’
They re-entered the box, the Scots grinning wildly compared to the downbeat English. Several bottles of champagne were popped open and toasts proposed for every Scottish player on the pitch.
People began arriving from other boxes, mostly those who knew Tom and his allegiance. Sarah excused herself to go tidy up. Looking in the mirror, she was relieved to see her make-up was still in place. Everything was going well but something was still slightly off: something she couldn’t put her finger on.
She returned from the ladies’ to find Tom surrounded by women. Where they had come from, she had no idea. She picked up a glass of champagne and observed for a while, ignoring a note of panic in her stomach. It reminded her too much of seeing Tom engulfed by women on other occasions.
One of the women, a slender brunette, was, Sarah realised, the girlfriend of one of his friends; she appeared to be the ringleader. They were taking any excuse to touch Tom, petting and cooing over him. The brunette leant into him, whispered something into his ear, and ran a suggestive finger down his jawline.
Sarah felt a red wave of jealous rage sweep over her. He was hers! How dare they?
She strode over to them, using her height to intimidate the women out of the way. ‘There you are, darling. Sorry I had to desert you for a few minutes.’ She ran a hand up his shoulder and pulled him down to meet her in a lavish kiss which expanded into minutes. She vaguely heard the women say subdued farewells and move away.
Tom slowly ended the kiss. ‘What a lovely greeting.’
Sarah became aware that the people around her were watching but trying not to. ‘Well, I couldn’t leave you … on your own.’
‘I wasn’t on my own, but I was lonely.’ Tom tried to keep a straight face but burst out laughing gleefully. ‘I’ve never seen you being territorial before; it’s quite an experience.’ At her disgruntled face, he expounded. ‘I loved it. You usually ignore other women flirting with me, like at that opening.’ He grinned and hugged her to him. ‘At last – I’ve been waiting for this.’
‘You mean you wanted me to do this?’ At Tom’s pleased nod, Sarah’s displeasure passed and she grinned back. ‘You’d better watch yourself, then; I’ll be turning into a possessive bunny boiler.’
‘You can possess me all you like,’ rumbled Tom, his eyes heating up. They shared an intense look and Tom groaned. ‘Oh, for a room to ourselves.’
‘We’ll have plenty of time for that later,’ soothed Sarah, reining in her own burgeoning arousal. ‘I’ll have to let you socialise now: the Harford chairman’s appeared and he looks like he wants to speak with you.’
Tom caught the sleeve of her dress as she went to move away. ‘I don’t know what he wants to see me about; do you know enough people here?’
‘Not a problem, I’ve done this for a living,’ she replied, to reassure him. Then she let the chairman capture Tom’s attention and went to the bar to pick up a fresh glass of champagne.
She vaguely recognised the smartly suited chap with floppy blond hair leaning against the bar. ‘Matt, isn’t it? I’m Sarah; I think we went to university together.’
Matt focused blearily on her. ‘You. I think I remember you. On the same course as I was. Here with Tom, are you? He disappeared off before the anthems.’
‘We sat together in the first half and he brought me here for the second. I met him again at Harford Park, his new club …’ Sarah, realising this was the champagne talking, cut herself off before she said too much.
‘Well, I’m not surprised he came back here, seeing as this is his company’s suite. I wondered where he’d vanished to.’
They both turned to see Tom
fend off the attentions of another woman while talking to the chairman. He grinned at Sarah and shook his head so she didn’t have to go over. Matt raised his glass in Tom’s direction.
‘He’s looking well. I’m surprised he’s back playing. Thought he would have self-destructed by now. His dodgy knee was the only thing which kept him out of the Scotland side, otherwise he’d have had at least a dozen caps. When he stopped playing, he took so many risks he scared the hell out of the business world.’
‘Risks?’ echoed Sarah. ‘From what I’ve seen, Tom’s very cautious.’
‘He wasn’t back then. Made several fortunes, hardly letting anything pass. He had interests all over the place at one stage. No social life, just worked all the time.’
‘I wonder what changed?’ mused Sarah.
The free drink had obviously served to loosen Matt’s tongue. ‘He fell for someone in uni, you know. Someone he referred to as “S”.’
‘Tess,’ said Sarah. A cold shudder ran down her spine as she recalled Tom’s early-morning mutterings.
‘No, it wasn’t. Tess was a cover. She wanted to be on the arm of the star player, he wanted to keep the rest of the girls away.’
‘He was always surrounded,’ confirmed Sarah wryly.
‘Never did anything; there was someone else, someone he kept secret. We all teased him but he wouldn’t reveal her name. He said she wasn’t interested and had a boyfriend already. He took his frustrations out on the rugby pitch. That’s when he got the nickname “Tireless”.’
Sarah laughed hollowly. ‘We always thought that referred to his stamina in bed.’
‘That wasn’t it, but the entire campus thought so. Then, one morning near the end of term, I found myself thinking I’d never seen him so happy and nervous. But by the afternoon, he was tearing his hair out; she’d disappeared and he didn’t know where to find her. He was frantic: he nearly got arrested for hammering on the girl’s door, and campus security had to escort him out of the building. He was on the verge of being kicked out of uni. After a couple of days, he switched off and turned cold. He wasn’t just tireless on the pitch, he was lethal. He’s been like that ever since.’
