Chapter 19
The Shankill Killers didn’t look as terrifying as Kitty had feared. They were a mixed team of five very un-killer-like individuals who were all teachers from the local primary school, most of them bespectacled and seemingly not the fittest of specimens.
The Sandycove Seafarers might actually win, thought Kitty, because they had Tara and Rory. And Tom was pretty fit, and surely they were all enough to make up for her and Shazza.
Once the match began, Kitty managed not to get brained by the football and she even kicked it a few times, but mainly she missed, her foot kicking the air immediately above the ball.
The Shankill Killers were not only deceptively good but they also lived up to their homicidal name. They skidded and slid around, heading balls, slicing through their opponents’ legs, high-fiving each other and screaming obscenities.
The Sandycove Seafarers lost 5-1, the one goal was scored by Rory, who celebrated by pulling his top over his head and running around the pitch like a headless chicken.
In the end, Shazza and Kitty hobbled off the pitch, two broken women, leaning on each other for support, like survivors of the American Civil War making their way home.
‘You need to get in front of the ball,’ said a voice. ‘Think ahead. You’re both reacting. Take charge…’
Kitty’s father, Billy, was walking towards them.
‘Hello, Billy,’ said Shazza.
‘Good evening, Shazza,’ he said. ‘Hello, love…’
‘Hi, Dad…’ The last thing Kitty needed was to be dad-splained to, not when her body ached, and although Billy meant well, Kitty wasn’t sure if he had a right to dad-splain to her, not after all these years. It had been Catherine who had done all the parenting and all the minding. ‘We’ve got to go and have a shower,’ she said, pulling on Shazza’s arm.
But Shazza, always deferential to other people’s parents, turned around. ‘We have to try to get better…’
‘I can go through things with you,’ he said. ‘It’s no bother…’
He had waited thirty years to show an interest in her, but it was too little, too late.
‘We have Tara,’ said Kitty, tugging again at Shazza. ‘But thanks…’
He nodded. ‘You know where I am…’ He smiled at them. ‘Just remember the ball wants to be told what to do…’ he called over, as they walked away. ‘You’re its master…’
‘Or mistress,’ corrected Shazza over her shoulder as she and Kitty went up the steps of the changing room. ‘But thanks again, Billy.’
They showered in cold water and when they came out, towels wrapped around them, turbans on their heads, Tara was sitting, her back against the wall, her legs up on the bench across the way, her eyes closed.
‘Sorry about this evening,’ said Kitty.
‘We were rubbish,’ added Shazza.
‘As in truly awful…’
Tara still hadn’t moved and Shazza and Kitty looked at each other, anxiously.
‘We were woeful…’ said Shazza.
‘The worst,’ agreed Kitty.
Tara’s eyes didn’t even flicker.
‘We’re sorry…’ repeated Kitty.
‘Like, really sorry,’ said Shazza.
‘WILL YOU STOP SAYING SORRY!’ Tara suddenly bellowed. ‘Jesus! I’m just trying to take a minute and you two rabbit on about how fecking terrible we were out there and don’t you think I don’t know? I was there too! I saw it with my own eyeballs…’ She jabbed towards her eyes with her two fingers. ‘I know we were woeful, but you two ninnies being sorry isn’t going to change that.’
‘No, Tara,’ said Shazza, sheepishly.
‘Absolutely, Tara,’ said Kitty, looking down, managing to stop herself saying sorry again.
Tara sighed, leaning her head back, and staring at the ceiling. ‘I’ve realised in life the worst quality to have is to be competitive. People think it’s a great thing, to want to win, to be that person who is always pushing for success, for more and more… but it’s an affliction I could well do without. I wish I was born without it, someone who doesn’t care if we lose. Someone who doesn’t particularly care if we win. Someone who just floats through life on an even current, not bothered about anything much except staying out of trouble.’
Shazza and Kitty stayed silent, listening, both feeling dreadful.
‘It would make my life so much easier if I wasn’t the one who wanted to win the family board games, who didn’t storm out of the room when someone – my brother’ – she gave a little snarl at the memory – ‘was cheating. Or playing hockey in school and the other girls were only there because they got to get out of history but spent most of the time giggling together and making up dance routines at the side of the pitch. Or even at work…’ She looked at Shazza and Kitty. ‘I have my own cleaning company. Offices, homes, that kind of thing. And my standards are too high. I want things better than clean. And cleaner than any other cleaning company. I mean, I can’t sleep at night, my heart’s racing so much, thinking of how I could do things better… how I can win at everything. I can’t ride a bike any longer because I kept seeing every cyclist in front of me as a potential competitor and I raced to catch them up. Same with cars. I scare myself sometimes.’ She sighed again. ‘So don’t say sorry. You’re normal, the two of you… It’s me who’s not.’
Shazza went and sat down beside her. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,’ she said.
Tara jerked her head towards her. ‘Which bit?’
‘When you said I was normal. No one has ever said that to me before. All I’ve ever wanted was to be normal.’
Tara suddenly cracked a smile. ‘Well, congratulations,’ she said, laughing. ‘You’ve won.’
Kitty went and sat beside Tara’s feet, which were still up on the bench, her football boots still laced on. ‘I wish we were more competitive…’
‘You know,’ said Tara, looking at her, ‘it’s nice sometimes… you know, when you’re winning or in flow, when everything is coming together and you know you’ve worked hard and done all the training and you are just in the moment, all you have to do is bring it home… My God, you wouldn’t change that feeling for anything in the world. There’s no greater feeling than being in flow, as though the whole universe is behind you, you are doing exactly what you were put on this earth to do…’ She sighed again. ‘But you’re always chasing that feeling. Always.’
‘We couldn’t have been less in flow,’ said Shazza. ‘It was like a blockage in the pipes, there was so little flow.’
Tara laughed. ‘It’s about learning to live with disappointment, the universe being against you…’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Shazza.
‘Me too,’ said Kitty.
‘And maybe my ban on alcohol is unrealistic. I mean, it’s not as though we are professionals. This is meant to be fun… isn’t it?’
Shazza nodded enthusiastically. ‘We hear you, Tara. We appreciate and love you. But yes, this is meant to be fun. And whether we have a drink or not will have very little bearing on whether we win or not.’ She shrugged. ‘Wish it were more simple.’
‘So do I,’ said Tara, defeated. ‘Anyway, the lads are going for a pint. Shall we join them?’
Shazza and Kitty both nodded. Kitty had been out more in the last week since Dave had left than she had been in years. It was as though she had forgotten that there was a world out there, that people socialised in the evenings, that they went to see films and plays and drank exotic drinks and told jokes and laughed at funny stories and went home feeling full and happy.
‘Last one to the bar, has to get the round in,’ said Shazza.
Tara laughed. ‘Why did you have to make it a competition?’ she said, wriggling out of her clothes. ‘Now I have to win!’