Chapter 47
Rhiannon
Iwoke up on this way-too-dreary-to-be-summer Tuesday morning resolved not to play in tomorrow’s preseason game.
My head’s not in it. Every time I think I’ve got myself together enough to step onto the field, I find myself staring at my phone wondering where the fuck he is, what he’s doing, and why he’s not reaching out to talk to me.
I’m still hunkered down in my house, but at some point, I’m going to snap, step outside, and then he’s in for it. I swear.
Except, part of me is afraid to face him, in case it confirms every suspicion I have about the situation, our relationship, and worst of all, myself.
Matthew eventually convinced me to take a breath and not burst out into the warm July air at three in the morning to beat down Robert’s door. Apparently, that’s a surefire way to make sure you stay in the headlines, instead of getting my name out.
He’s getting one more day to do whatever the hell he’s doing, then I’m sitting outside his house until he lets me in and talks to me about this. Dad keeps messaging me about what an absolute bollocks he is, how he’s destroyed our family yet again… so, that’s fun.
Part of me still can’t believe Robert would do this, and the more I read the article, the more I’m not sure he did.
Yes, his name is on it, and yes, pieces of it sound like they were written by him, but…
I don’t know, something about it is off.
And if he’d pick up the damned phone, we’d be able to talk it out like grown-ups.
It’s early, and the predatorial reporters haven’t arrived yet. I drive past Robert’s house, but his car isn’t there, and there’s no sign of life. I knocked, but either he’s not awake yet or he’s not there. And I don’t know where the rest of his family lives.
Just as well. At this rate, I’m going to end up on a list somewhere.
Instead of sitting in my car drawing the attention of Robert’s neighbors, I took myself out the road to Carnfunnock rugby pitches.
I figured coming back to my roots, where I first found my love of the game, learned I could be strong and capable on the pitch, might help me figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.
Since I stood up at the altar in Ballygally Castle, I’ve tried to find myself, to become someone. But I don’t think I’ve done particularly well at that, because I feel even more confused than I was.
Tomorrow, I’m meant to take to the pitch repaired, healed from the damage of my ex, and ready to command the team.
The fly-half is supposed to lead, be the general on the field.
How the hell am I supposed to make decisions on behalf of the team when every decision I’ve made this summer has been a complete and utter disaster?
I try to practice some conversion kicks, but there’s a disconnect between my brain, my foot, and the ball, because I score one in five.
Shit. I’m a wreck. How the fuck am I going to play tomorrow?
I’m supposed to be an accurate kicker, someone who is also ice cold under pressure. And instead of being ice cold, I’m in a fucking puddle on the pitch, my kicking leg doesn’t work, and my head’s a mess.
Giving up on getting game ready, I head down to Dock of the Bay to drown my sorrows in a hot chocolate. I’d love to say I’m simply angry at Robert for the story and his words, but the more time that passes without hearing from him, the more rejected and downtrodden I feel.
They say not to jump from one relationship into another, but can I really have fucked things up so badly that the first guy cheats on me and the second abandons me over a scandal he created?
It would be laughable if it didn’t needle a nerve.
Halfway from my car to the coffee truck, I spy Robert’s mum, Maryann, and before I can screech to a halt on the gravel, she waves at me.
I’m stuck. There’s no escape.
When I get closer, it’s clear the woman has been crying. She’s got red-rimmed eyes and a sad smile on her face. She leaps to her feet and pulls me into a tight hug. “Oh, love. Isn’t it awful?” She flexes her arms around me before she stands back. “What an absolute mess.”
Yes, if you mean your son writing about my relationship with my father and my career sport in a national publication, and then ghosting me… I’d say that’s quite the mess. Yes, indeedy.
It’s not what I say, but it’s on the tip of my tongue.
“He won’t talk to me. Won’t talk to our Emma. Won’t talk to anyone.” She shrugs. “Have you had any luck with him?”
I snort.
She gives my hand a squeeze. “Last I heard he was trying to get them to print a retraction.”
“Of his own article?”
She makes a noise that doesn’t sound too unlike my snort. “He didn’t write that bollocks.”
Something stirs in my chest as she confirms my suspicions. “He didn’t?”
Maryann meets my eyes with an intensity I’ve seen from her son.
“No, love. He didn’t. But he should be the one to tell you himself.
” She shakes her head. “Chicken shit, just like his father. Couldn’t face a confrontation if his life depended on it.
Disappears into the sand when things get even the slightest bit stressful.
” She wags her finger at me. “Don’t you let him away with it, Rhiannon.
You have my full permission to go throw a rugby ball at his thick skull until he talks to you.
” She mutters something about how the world would dissolve if men had to endure periods.
It feels good to laugh. “I hadn’t thought about throwing a ball at him.”
“I’m sorry you have to chase him down. I swear I raised him better than this. He’s like a deer in headlights when things don’t go the way he expects them to. He comes around eventually, but…” She pats my hand again. “It’s not exactly fair on you to make you wait either, is it?”
I shake my head, a lump springing to my throat and tears filling my eyes.
She gives a firm nod. “Go kick his arse, love. And once you’ve done that, clip him ’round the ear and tell him to answer the phone to his poor mother.
” She digs around in her bag and pulls a key off a key ring.
“You’ll need this. Sully said he’s not answering the door. Not even for a food delivery.”
I stare at the piece of metal. “I think it’s breaking and entering.”
“You have a key.” She shrugs. “Wellness check. And if he wasn’t being such a ginormous chicken shit and faced his problems, we wouldn’t need to take such drastic measures.”
I’m not sure she’s being entirely fair to her son.
He has historically suffered from mental health issues, and once even tried to commit suicide.
Now that she’s said he’s been quiet, withdrawn, and not talking to anyone, there’s a sinking feeling in my stomach about the man, who under all my bluster and anger, I love.
Is he okay?
“I think you’re being too hard on him, Maryann.”
She waves her hand. “I don’t know about that, love. I understand he suffers from depression, but he’s been doing better. He can’t just bury his head under a blanket every time something happens in life that he doesn’t like.”
I like his mum; I like her a lot. But she and I definitely don’t see eye to eye on matters of mental health. There’s a reason it’s called a silent killer.
Fuck. I’ve spent the last couple of days pissed at Robert for ghosting me after using me for his big news story, for pulling away because I’m toxic, for being the cause of the problem and leaving me to fend for myself… but what if it’s more than that?
“I’m going to go pay him a visit.” I wiggle the key at her. “I’ll bring him some hot chocolate and see if I can’t get him to come back into the world.”
She makes another comment under her breath as I make my way to order drinks at the counter. I grab a couple of traybakes too, just in case he hasn’t eaten and needs a quick sugar hit.
I have no idea what I’m going into as I drive back down the coastal road to Robert’s. I can only hope with every breath I take that he’s still breathing when I get inside the house.
I almost slam on the brakes, swerving my car at the thought. I’d love to say it’s not where my mind goes, but panic drives me forward faster and faster as my heart trips over itself to keep up. He wouldn’t have hurt himself, would he?
A sob lodges itself in my throat as I pull up outside Robert’s house and abandon my car like it’s stolen. Sully’s sitting in his car, parked up on the footpath with a surly expression on his face. Gone is the usual jovial, upbeat jokester, replaced by a concerned best friend.
“No joy?”
He shakes his head. “Won’t come out, won’t let me in, won’t talk on the phone. Total shutdown.” He swallows, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “I’ll be honest, I’m scared he’s going to do something to hurt himself.” He grips the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you know but…”
“I admit, I have a similar fear. But he told me to trust that he knew his limits. He’d speak up if he needed help, right?” Right?
He gives me a grim nod. “I hope so, Rhiannon. I know he’s still alive. He told me to go fuck myself about three minutes ago when I told him I’d climb up the drainpipe into his bedroom window like fucking Romeo.”
Relief floods my veins like a bucket of ice-cold water. “I’m glad you waited for me to get here so I can record that.”
His smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s not for me.” He gestures to the paper cups in my hands.
“You’re right, they’re not. Maryann’s out at Dock of the Bay if you feel like company though. I’ve got him. Go on ahead, sure.”
There’s reluctance in his eyes. I know if it was me, my sisters wouldn’t leave the driveway either. “You don’t have to. You want to come in with me?”
He shakes his head. “I’m good. I think he’ll feel ganged up on if we both go in. Just… let me know he’s okay please?”