Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Lucas
Two nights’ good sleep in a row was too much to hope for. My mind was a storm all night. Partly it’s the sex. It knocked me sideways. It was the kind of sex that lingers in your body for hours afterwards, like alcohol, only ten times more intoxicating. I don’t think I expected it to be so much fun. I feel like we actually got to know each other through it. Not that the best part wasn’t when George banged the hell out of me. But last night was about so much more than sex.
I’ve thought so much about George, missed him so deeply, lied to myself so repeatedly, and worked so hard to move on from him, that the prospect of finally being together was too much to take. Then there’s the minor detail of him moving to America. Throw in the race and my break-up with Amir, and it’s a miracle I got any sleep.
No one appears to have noticed my absence last night. If they did, they haven’t said anything. As I sit down at breakfast and get myself a bowl of Weetabix, I’m convinced someone’s about to call me out on it. Then Tristan sits in front of me and I do a double take. His eyes are bloodshot, his hands trembling. His anger from last night has been replaced with something far more wretched.
‘Fucking hell, Tristan. Have some toast.’
He casts me a haunted look.
‘I just .?.?. can’t believe he’s done this to us. Why did he have to come back?’
As I look back at Tristan, I feel a moment of kinship I definitely wasn’t expecting.
‘You need to get a grip, man. If we all go out there thinking about what George has done to us in the last twenty-four hours .?.?. we won’t stand a chance.’
Half an hour later, everyone traipses to the front of the house where a bus is waiting to take us on the short journey to the King’s College School boathouse. I steel myself as we arrive. The club room is packed. There’s Tristan’s father with his new girlfriend, a sturdy woman his own age. Eleanor is clinging to Tristan’s mother, who looks surprisingly buoyant. All the usual reporters are prowling, relishing this year’s drama. Then I spot my mum and Casey. My mum has gone for a more casual outfit this year, while Casey has defiantly dressed up again.
‘How are you doing, Lucas?’ my mum asks.
‘I’ve had better nights’ sleep.’
Does she know? Can she smell it on me? Is she going to call the wank police?
‘I’m sorry, Lucas,’ says my mum.
‘About what?’
‘Amir.’
Oh yeah. I forgot that I’d texted her and Casey to let them know. I don’t think either of them were too surprised.
‘Is everything OK between you two?’ asks Casey.
‘I think so. I mean, it will be.’
‘That’s good,’ says Casey. ‘’Cos he’s over there.’
I look to where she’s pointing and turn pale. Amir catches my eye, and before I can decide any better, I cross over to him.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, trying not to sound accusatory.
Amir looks at me stiffly. ‘I’m here to support Wilbur.’
I glance across and see Wilbur’s mum chatting to Amir’s parents. Amir’s mum gives me a terse smile. God knows what Amir said to them.
‘I heard about George,’ says Amir.
I tense up. ‘Yeah, can’t believe he didn’t tell me.’
‘Actually,’ says Amir, ‘I think he tried.’
I frown in confusion. Amir looks sheepish.
‘You were at training when the postcard arrived. It wasn’t signed, but it wasn’t hard to figure out who it was from. Took me until today to join the rest of the dots.’
As I process what he’s saying, I can only feel pity.
‘I’m sorry, Amir. I really am.’
Amir shrugs. ‘I shouldn’t have tried to stand in the way.’ He flashes me a smile. ‘But I do hope you beat him.’
Somehow I keep blocking out the fact that I’m about to race against George. Maybe it’s because each time I think about it, I want to vomit. I excuse myself from Amir and go to find the rest of the crew. We gather at the base of the boathouse and unload our boat from the trailer. A TV camera is thrust into my face. I’d managed to forget that every move I make today is going to be captured and broadcast to millions of people. But that’s nothing compared to the thought of seeing George.
Unlike most years, Oxford’s boathouse is right next to ours. I’m pretty sure this was purposefully engineered by the documentary producers for maximum drama. As we carry our boat down to the water, I realise that the Oxford crew are right behind us. I can tell from the crowd’s reaction, hooting and jeering and loving the spectacle. I glance behind me, and there they are in their dark blue kit.
George is right at the front. I barely catch a glimpse of him before looking away, but it’s enough. How am I meant to get through this?
George’s presence is firing up the Cambridge team. I can feel it. As Oxford carry their boat down to the river’s edge, we’re almost side by side. I glance at Tristan. I was hoping he’d have pulled himself together, but if anything, he’s worse.
‘Hey,’ I whisper. ‘You need to focus.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ hisses Tristan.
George glances across at us, and I see the moment he realises the state Tristan is in. He doesn’t look triumphant or anything, but it’s enough to set off Tristan.
‘What are you looking at?’ Tristan shouts.
George smiles at him calmly. ‘Nothing.’
‘Fuck off.’
One of George’s teammates steps forward and holds out a protective arm. George veers away from Tristan, but as he does, he gives him one last look and winks at him.
Something inside Tristan snaps. He lunges across the concrete at George and launches a fist at him. It lands on George’s temple.
I hear a terrible thud. Then a scream.
I look at George, but his mouth is shut. The scream came from Tristan.
He’s crushed his knuckles, and is leaping up and down in pain.
George staggers, but manages to stay on two feet. Both teams swarm towards each other. Everyone is shouting at once. The TV cameras whir.
Johannes leaps into the middle of it, doing his best to stop it from turning into a brawl. Amidst all this, I keep my eyes on George. He’s staring into the distance, trying to come back into focus. It’s a miracle he’s still standing, but I can tell the punch has knocked something out of him. I want to run over to him, but my feet are rooted to the spot. A race steward charges up to the chaos, demanding to know what happened. The Oxford rowers angrily inform him.
‘That is completely unacceptable,’ the steward shouts. ‘The Cambridge stroke is disqualified.’
By this point, Deb is standing right behind him. She looks at Tristan, who’s still clutching his hand in pain. He gives Deb a pleading look. She holds his gaze.
‘Idiot.’
Tristan stares back, so crushed and pathetic that you almost feel sorry for him. I said almost. He looks up at the boathouse, and there on the balcony are Eleanor, his mother, his father and girlfriend. And they thought they knew what bad publicity was.
The rest of us are still in shock. But Deb was made for moments like this. She walks up to our reserve crew and tells Wilbur he’s our new stroke. A few people are trying to argue we should be disqualified as a team, but not the Oxford rowers. They’re pumped up by Tristan’s disqualification – the last thing they want is a walkover.
Throughout all of this, I can’t take my eyes off George. A paramedic is examining him, while Landon pats him on the back. To be fair, I’ve never seen someone take a punch better. It’s too early for a bruise to have formed, but it’s clear the main casualty was Tristan’s hand. Still, there’s something vacant in George’s eyes. Something that concerns me. I edge closer so I can hear the conversation between Landon and the paramedic.
‘I’m a bit worried,’ says the paramedic.
‘He’s fine,’ says Landon. ‘He’s a trooper.’
He glances around, aware he’s being filmed.
‘George, mate, don’t let Cambridge take away your dream. You’ve got this.’
George nods vaguely, and that’s when I see it for sure. He’s not OK. He’s trying to hide it. He doesn’t want to let his team down. And now Landon’s leading away the paramedic and George is preparing to get in the boat.
Without knowing what I’m doing, I stride up to George, ignoring the calls of my teammates. George looks at me in surprise.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ I say. ‘It’s up to you, not them.’
Landon races up and pushes me out of the way.
‘Piss off, you little shit. Get in the boat, George.’
George looks at him tremulously. ‘I don’t feel good.’
‘Don’t be a wimp.’ Landon leans in close and mutters under his breath. ‘Think of the money shot.’
George’s eyes flash with rage. His hand thrusts forward and shoves Landon in the chest. Landon stumbles backwards and falls into the river with a splash.
The crowd gasps. The camera crew rushes forward.
George moves away from the water’s edge. The paramedic snaps into action and guides him towards a waiting ambulance. The spectators are losing their minds. It’s pandemonium. As Landon swims into the side, I feel a surge of optimism ripple through my crew. George is down. Serves him right, is the general feeling. The momentum is back with us. I look up at the boathouse and see Amir with his parents and Wilbur’s family, who are all beside themselves that Wilbur has made the team.
‘We got this, Lucas,’ says Wilbur.
Do we? Got what exactly? I look at George as he’s shepherded into the ambulance. He looks lost and bewildered. I cross over to him.
‘Where are your parents?’
George’s eyes darken. ‘I don’t even know if they came.’ He gives me a stoic smile. ‘Don’t worry about me. Go race.’
I glance over at my crew, who are waiting for me to get in the boat, and suddenly I know what I have to do. I race up to Fran, and pull her into a huddle with Deb.
‘Deb, do you remember telling me I only got my place in the boat because Tristan can’t take orders from a woman? OK, maybe you never said that, but you implied it, and I always felt awful for Fran. We should never have given in to Tristan. But he’s not racing anymore. And even if he was .?.?. I can’t let George go to hospital on his own. I’m sorry, Deb. This matters more to me than any race.’
Deb holds my gaze without the merest hint of emotion.
‘Fine.’
Fran gives me a wry look. ‘You big old drama queen.’
I race back over to George.
‘What are you doing?’ he says weakly.
‘Room for one more?’ I ask the paramedic.
‘No, Lucas,’ says George. ‘One of us needs to win this.’
‘I don’t care about winning. I’m coming with you.’
‘Why?’
I look at him and swallow the lump in my throat.
‘Why do you think? I love you.’
George looks so bowled over that I worry I’ve knocked him out cold. Then a smile fills his face. For a moment, I forget about the cameras and it’s just us two. Behind me, my teammates are in uproar. They can’t understand how I can throw away a whole year’s training, right on the verge of victory. But that was never the real prize. He’s lying right here on a stretcher, making me sick with worry. I get into the ambulance with George.