Chapter 46
CHAPTER 46
I woke up on Saturday morning feeling hungry and wretched. Hungry because I was craving pie, and wretched because I didn’t want to get out of bed. I desperately wanted to gaze into a crystal ball and see that a week, a month, a year, ten years from now, all would be okay.
I closed my eyes and visualised Matthew and me together, years from now, happy and in love. Matthew’s gorgeous Paul Rudd looks have survived, as has his full head of hair, though now it’s in shades of salt and pepper. I’m beside him, looking pretty much as I do now, maybe a few kilos lighter. Obviously in later years I join a gym and take to Botox with gusto!
I got up, showered, then stood in my walk-in wardrobe – it wasn’t big but there was enough room to turn around – looking at racks of unsuitable clothes. I had nothing to wear. I know it’s what all women say but it was true. I literally had nothing to wear. My jeans sagged around my backside; my shirts revealed unflattering bulges. As for my jumpers and coats, most were misshapen or faded. I really hadn’t paid much attention to fashion these past few years.
‘Mum, where are you? ’
‘In here, Lexi,’ I said. ‘I have nothing to wear.’
‘That’s my line. Besides, it’s only a soccer game. Please don’t get dressed up like you did last week. It was so embarrassing.’
I winced at the memory. ‘I didn’t dress up.’
Lexi pretended to belch. ‘Sure. Don’t wear heels. Black boots and jeans. That’ll do. Dad said he’s ready to go.’
‘What? I’m still in a towel, no make-up and my hair?—’
‘Mum, I’ve got my own issues. I’m just passing on the message.’
I stood in the cupboard for a few minutes longer before deciding on black pants and a plain navy sweater. It wasn’t going to set the world on fire but at least I felt comfortable.
I waved to Arnaud when we arrived at the soccer field. ‘Hey.’ I hadn’t seen him since the night with Sophie and was determined to act naturally, even though I was still mortified.
‘I’ve got to tell you’ – Arnaud shook his head – ‘the kids are way easier to deal with than the parents.’
‘Mardi giving you a hard time already?’
‘And the rest. Two parents have already complained their boys were rested too long last week. Then Mardi pipes up, I don’t want my Ben pulled off the field at all. He’s the best player. Which he is, but I’m not going to agree with her.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said it is a team game and every player needs to be rotated throughout the match.’
‘Bet they were happy about that.’
‘Not at all. I felt like handing over my whistle and saying, “Here, guys. Go for it.” I don’t get paid for this. I do it because I love the sport, to teach young kids the art, the skills. I don’t have to come here week after week to coach and ref. ’
‘Feel better now you’ve got that off your chest?’
‘ Oui – merci .’
‘Good for you. I think you do a great job?—’
‘Mum,’ Lexi said, ‘you are so sad.’
Arnaud looked embarrassed.
‘Lexi, I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said, my face turning an unattractive shade of beetroot. ‘I meant Arnaud is a great coach.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Arnaud blew his whistle and began rounding up the kids for the start of the match.
‘Dad’s right there, you know.’ Lexi pointed towards Matthew.
I looked to see him wolfing down a sausage sandwich and walking towards us, smiling. He looked kind of cute. He offered me a bite of his sandwich, which I accepted, and the game began.
I was fiddling with my camera, getting ready to take a few action shots, when, barely three minutes into the match, the standard shouting started. Fathers from the opposing team gave instructions like, Tackle him, Tommy! and Ryan, get forward or get off the field , to their sons as they paced like caged lions, up and down the sideline, air-punching and roaring.
Did these people really have so little in their lives that the highlight of their weekend was stamping their feet and beating their chests every Saturday morning at their eight-year-old’s soccer game? And then I remembered. I was one of those parents. I wanted my child to win. I wasn’t any better because I kept those feelings to myself, though I hoped I never got so worked up I’d attack a ref with an umbrella.
Seeing a couple of overbearing dads push aside two reserves from our team to get a closer look at their sporting progeny, Matthew walked up, tapped one of them on the shoulder and said, ‘Guys, settle down. They’re only kids.’
They ignored him and continued yelling .
Just then, a boy from the other team accidentally tripped and fell beside Angus.
I grabbed Matthew’s arm. ‘Is he okay?’
The boy stood, seemingly unhurt, but his father, one of the screamers, yelled, ‘Oi, ref, you fuckin’ tool, my son’s been kicked to the ground. Whatcha gonna do about it?’
Within seconds, the fracas escalated. Arnaud stopped the game, checked on the child, made sure Angus was okay and then walked over to the father who was wildly gesticulating and sweating profusely. Arnaud had barely reached the guy before he punched Arnaud in the face. He fell to the ground, hard.
‘Matthew, help him,’ I yelled as parents and kids began screaming.
Matthew almost tripped over himself to get to Arnaud and, as he reached him, more punches were thrown.
It was verging on an all-in brawl. Hang on – it was an all-in brawl. Parents and officials exchanged blows as mums, dads and grandparents hurled insults across the field while their children looked on in shock. It took over twenty minutes to halt the fight and that was only because someone had the sense to turn on the oval’s automatic sprinklers.
A nose was broken, a cheek shattered, and two wrists fractured. The black eyes and bruised egos were too numerous to count.
‘This is sport, is it?’ Lexi remarked on the drive home.
I brushed the wet hair from Matthew’s forehead. ‘You’re going to have a black eye.’
‘Yeah, probably.’
‘I’m very proud you didn’t hit anyone, though. You only helped Arnaud.’
‘And got punched in the process.’
‘But you did the right thing, Matt. Really, you did.’
In the back seat, Lexi and Angus made up rude songs about soccer hooligans and I stared out the window wondering. Wondering where the distance between me and Matthew had come from. Why did we argue so much? Usually our fights were petty and pointless.
Me: Pick your clothes up off the floor , hang your wet towel back on the rack .
Him: Jeez, Kate, let it go for once, will you? The house doesn’t need to be perfect. The world isn’t going to end because there are wet towels on the floor.
And, of course, he was right. The world wasn’t going to end because the house resembled a tip. But it mattered to me. Once upon a time it didn’t matter so much. Once, I loved Matthew more than anything in the world. More than a tidy house. But grocery shopping, toilet cleaning and changing nappies would get in the way of even the greatest romance, I’m sure.
I didn’t want Matthew to leave. And I didn’t want to leave Matthew either – fighting over visitation rights and whose turn it was to spend Christmas with our kids. I didn’t want it to come to that. And I certainly didn’t want to end up divorced like Mum and Dad, even if it meant we’d remarry later down the track when the messiness of raising our children was behind us. I didn’t want to win that badly. Maybe he had a point when he said I shut him out and didn’t listen to him anymore.
Sitting across from Matt in the car, I thought about all the things we had in common, starting with Angus and Lexi. We both loved spaghetti vongole, Italian being Matthew’s favourite cuisine. Okay, it wasn’t going to sustain a life together but there was more. We both loved hiking, gardening and watching old black-and-white movies. How long had it been since we’d done any of those things? Between work and running around after the kids and making sure there was enough milk in the fridge, it didn’t leave time for frivolity. And it was something I needed to change .
We were stopped at the traffic lights when Matthew turned to me. ‘I look pretty bad, don’t I?’
‘Not at all.’ I smiled. ‘You look rugged, lived in. Does it hurt?’
‘A bit.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Matthew reached over and held my hand. ‘It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be okay.’
From the back seat Angus piped up with, ‘Why do grown-ups do stupid things?’
‘I have no idea, darling, no idea at all,’ I answered truthfully.
At home nursing his black eye with frozen peas, Matthew said, ‘I’ve been thinking about your parents’ nuptial dilemma.’
‘Please tell me you’ve come up with a brilliant plan.’
‘I think so. Why don’t we have the wedding here?’
‘Here, as in our house here?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
‘How can we? The garden’s a mess. Who’d do the catering? Imagine all the furniture we’d need to hire.’
He sat the peas on the coffee table, stood and walked over to join me on the sofa. ‘It’s a few phone calls and would mean the world to Pip. We’re talking about fifteen guests. If you discount Pip, Bob, Robyn, you, me, Lexi, Angus, and my parents, that’s an extra six people. Definitely manageable if we agree that on Christmas Day, we’ll eat leftovers and watch Die Hard .’
‘Really?’ I hugged him. ‘Sounds perfect. You’re really fine with it?’
Matthew took my hand and kissed it. ‘More than fine. Let’s do it.’