Chapter 26
The old café hadn’t changed since the last time they’d been there, more than twenty years ago now. It was a small, slightly run-down place, far removed from the trendier village cafés, with Formica tables and chairs which scraped across the floor. Now, at this time of the night, there was Ella Fitzgerald on the speakers, candles on each table. A couple were playing an intense-looking game of Connect 4 in the corner, there was a woman on her own, reading a novel and eating a bowl of ice cream, and on the wall were old Sandyfest posters.
‘It’s been a while since we were here,’ Billy said.
‘I used to love it.’
‘Well, now we’ve renewed our acquaintanceship, we should keep up the visits. What do you think?’
Kitty nodded. ‘That would be nice.’ And for a moment they book looked at each other as if thinking about all the time they’d missed. It was both our faults, thought Kitty. We were both to blame.
They talked of her work, and she told him about the Welcome Ireland campaign, and how it wasn’t quite there yet, but she was waiting for inspiration. And he talked about his job as the caretaker at the local national school and how he had bought some monkfish the other day. ‘I was amazed how good it tasted,’ he said, and then, ‘so tell me about this fella of yours. Dave. What’s he playing at?’
And she told him about Dave needing a break, about how much pressure he’d been under and how we all needed some time away from everyday life. Billy listened, taking it all in.
‘You deserve better,’ he said, when Kitty eventually stopped for breath. ‘Far better. You need to value yourself more. Think what you want… I always like to think that life is a game of football. Surround yourself by the right team, people are working with you, who are literally on your side…’ He smiled. ‘And then play for your life. And it’s not actually about winning… because that’s nice… but it’s not what life is all about. Life is about having a goal and if you miss… that’s okay because you’ve learned something. And you try again next time… there’s always another goal. But most importantly, build the right team. You live or die by your team.’ He smiled again at Kitty.
‘I think I’m getting better at that,’ she said.
The looked at each for a moment. ‘I could have been a better father,’ he said. ‘I didn’t understand the importance of teams… off the pitch. I was too busy playing my own game and I’m sorry.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Kitty. And it was. It didn’t matter. We were all trying our best, thought Kitty. All of us tried hard and made our own way and attempted to learn those constant lessons that life keeps teaching you. ‘Why did you stop playing football?’
For a moment, he said nothing, and then, ‘I was injured which is all part of the deal. You play every match knowing it could be over in an instant. And there was nothing special about me, it was going to be me as much as it could have been another lad.’ He played with his teaspoon, running it around the rim of his mug. ‘Took me a few years to get that philosophical, I can tell you.’
Kitty nodded, hoping he’d say more.
‘Football was all I was ever good at,’ he continued. ‘It was like a language I was born speaking. Fluent I was. Talking with my feet and a ball, I could create poetry, I really could. And for all my life, from the age of three or four, people would stop to look at me when I had a ball in front of me. They would watch as I ran past them, the ball wherever I wanted it to be, like a trained dog or something, you know? It was years later that I realised about all the flow and the energy. You’re lucky. You took the shortcut. I told you all my secrets.’
Kitty smiled at him as she was filled with a warm glow of the intimacy and closeness she had craved.
‘Couldn’t do school, couldn’t spell or write and think… everything jumbled up all the time… but what I could do was play. And that got me respect. Loads of it. Even my teachers, the ones tearing their hair out at me in the classroom, would nod and say “Good game” or “You played well out there today”. I remember being at Mass one day with my mam – your grandmother – and the priest, the old dope, was going on and on about gifts from God and how we all have a talent, we are blessed. And there was me going, this is it, this is a blessing from God. Other people can spell or do mathematics and all that craic, but I can play football, you know? And I tell you something, I used to think how lucky I was, that out of all the blessings in the world, I got football!’ He shook his head, smiling, remembering. ‘The best blessing in the world. All the boys envied me. The girls loved me. And I was going places. Sandycove Seafarers, Dundalk United, Shamrock Rovers, and then, when I was twenty, I was sent over for a trial with Liverpool.’ He smiled again. ‘I mean, would you ever believe it? Liverpool! And off I trotted. On the ferry, bag over my shoulder and played my heart out, was in the flow, all that… I was a week there and they were making all the right noises about the lad from Dublin, and on the last day, the Friday, I was tackled by this fella from Newcastle. Huge he was. He slid into my calves, but I heard a crack, it echoed around Anfield. I swear, you would have heard it back in Dublin. My ankle. A lateral ligament injury, to be exact. And I stayed there, in the mud. The pitches were muddy in those days. Not like the green carpets they have now. And I sat there and I knew that was it. I was blessed no more…’ He stopped and gave a little shrug. ‘Long time ago, long, long time ago… but it still hurts, you know? I realise that we never leave who we are behind, you take every part of you along to the next stage, you just keep on gathering memories, experiences and… well, tragedies along the way.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Kitty, finally getting an understanding of her father that had been missing her whole life.
He shrugged again. ‘For years, I thought that the injury stopped me from playing premier division,’ he went on, ‘that it stopped an international career in its tracks. I was angry and resentful. Foolish. Immature, I know now. But I blamed the world. But I probably wouldn’t have made it. I was good. But not that good. And if Liverpool were thinking of taking me, it wasn’t for the first team, it would have been just a sub’s sub, a reserve’s reserve… probably wouldn’t have seen a match ever, just there to assist with training matches. But I think it took a long time for me to pull myself together, you know? I wasn’t a good husband to your mam, or a good dad to you… and I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay…’ Kitty placed her hand on top of his, wishing it was easy to tell him that she loved him. Because she did love him, she always had. It was just complicated. Love wasn’t easy.
Billy patted her hand back and gave her a nod. ‘All right, love?’
She nodded back. ‘Shall we make a move?’
They began walking home.
‘When’s your next match?’ he said.
‘Friday…’
‘What about another training session next week?’
‘I’d love to,’ she said, smiling. ‘And I’ll buy the hot chocolates.’
At Kitty’s house, he put out his arms and she allowed him to wrap them around her again, breathing in his smell of washing powder and soap, an aroma that would be forever him.
‘Whatever you do,’ he said, ‘do it with your heart and soul until you can’t do it any longer… that’s what makes me feel proud. Knowing you gave it everything. If you do something with heart and soul, it doesn’t matter if you don’t have it forever, you have had it enough. No point having something forever that you don’t believe in. See you next week?’