Chapter 9
James
“Right, guys, it's not the Six Nations, but I’ll be damned if those fuckers from St. Mary’s are gonna beat us.” Phil tries to chivvy us along, but half the team are nursing hangovers from hell, and the rest of us are closer to forty than we’d like to admit.
The damp changing rooms smell like musty gym bags, with dim fluorescent light bulbs flickering overhead. I stand, patting him on his back and turning to address the rest of the team.
“Guys, our nans, our friends, our neighbours, could be in that hospice, and they need money to keep doing the amazing work they do every day. So, let’s put on a good show, and we’ll go round with the donation buckets after the match. If we win, the first round is on Phil.” I quickly
Yes, Miss
duck away, laughing as Phil tries to cuff me round the head in retaliation.
We jog onto the field, and I’m taken aback by the size of the crowd. The hospice must have really gone to town with sharing the event on their socials.
As captain, Phil shakes hands with the other team’s captain, the coin toss deciding it’s St. Mary’s to start.
Their captain takes the ball as we all find our places, and his drop kick sends the ball flying upfield towards our posts.
As a defensive player, I’m running, trying to block their advance when my sight is drawn to a beautiful woman.
She is chatting away with a short, petite woman who looks like she stepped out of a vintage film, and I realise it’s Isabelle and a friend of hers. They're laughing, clutching take away coffee cups, and Isabelle looks stunning.
Her hair flows down over her shoulders covered by her hoodie, her jeans fitting tight over her hips, but the most noticeable thing is her smile. It’s simply radiant.
I’m snapped away from watching Isabelle as an opposing player knocks me into the ground, the ball flying overhead as their team scores a try but fails to add more points with their conversion attempt.
“Bit fucking rough that, mate!” I shout at the St. Mary’s player as he helps me up.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
“Eyes on the game, not the pussy!” he laughs, running back to the centre to start the next play.
Half-time couldn’t come sooner. We’re all shattered, but we’re only two down, so we can pull it back. I brush clumps of mud off my shorts as I stand at the sidelines, grabbing my bottle off the side.
A familiar woman’s voice grabs my attention. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”
I whip around to see Isabelle and her friend. My stomach flips, and I’m an awkward teenage boy again.
“Isabelle, I didn't expect to see you here.”
“How could I resist thirty rugby players for a good cause?” A cheeky smirk crosses her lips.
“Or maybe one particular player,” her friend mutters, coughing to try to cover what she said. Isabelle jabs an elbow into her side.
“This is Victoria. My friend from back where I trained. Please ignore her. She is a grade A shit stirrer.”
I do my best to stifle a laugh. I like her friend already. But what has she been saying about me? Has she said she likes me? Oh God, what if she actually does? This can’t go anywhere; she was my student and now my colleague. But to think she might, it’s a boost to a man’s self-esteem.
Yes, Miss
“It’s nice to meet you, Victoria. I’m James.
I work with Isabelle.” I hold out my hand, but we both quickly realise it’s covered in dirt, so I shrug and pull back.
“I’m afraid the second half is about to start.
Do you fancy helping with collecting donations later?
I’m sure there’s a bucket with your name on it somewhere,” I joke.
She looks as if she’s about to say something when cheering starts, the teams gathering on the pitch once more as we prepare to face down St. Mary’s and try to claw back a win. I hate that I have to leave her, but I rejoin the group.
The kick-off ends with our team with the ball, and the crowds start screaming. As our offensive players run to the posts, I can’t help but glance in Isabelle’s direction. A tall, dark-haired man stands chatting with them both as they laugh at something he says, and my gut twists.
Isabelle’s hand lands on his arm as they laugh, and an unsettling sensation washes over me.
A feeling that I have to prove myself in some way, to show I’m better than this guy.
An attacker from St. Mary’s gains possession of the ball, and as they run upfield towards us, I don't even think.
My feet carry me into action, and I launch myself in their direction.
My body slams against his, pain radiating throughout my shoulders as I bring him to the ground.
My muddy hands grasp the ball from his grip, and I twist before I land, wrapping myself around the ball.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
There’s a loud grunt, and I’m honestly not sure if it’s me or my opponent, but I scramble up and run.
I run faster and harder than I have before, my lungs burning with the exertion.
This didn't seem so difficult when I played at uni, but then I was fifteen years younger.
I see Phil open up, and I hurl the ball to him as he runs towards the opposition's posts.
I bend over, gripping my knees and drawing in gasps of breath as hoots and hollers erupt around the pitch.
Looking up, I can’t help but let out a massive cheer as Phil scores a conversion, winning the match for us.
I look to the sidelines, my gaze drawn to Isabelle like some magnetic force, and I see her jumping and cheering.
My face draws up into a grin as her eyes find mine, and she waves, sticking her thumbs up.
Pride fills my chest, and my face hurts from smiling so much.
Shit. She’s got me hooked already. I just know I want to see that smile every day and know I put it there.
The teams congratulate each other as we all leave the pitch, collection buckets in hand to work the crowd for donations.
Isabelle and Victoria take a bucket each, and I watch them from a distance as they talk, laugh, and make their way through the crowds, charming the spectators and wringing every penny out of them.
“So, is this a new woman then?” Phil’s voice startles me from my reverie.
Yes, Miss
“No, Phil, she’s a teacher at my school.” I shake my head, focusing my attention on my team captain. He crosses his arms, the coins in his bucket rattling with the movement.
“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? She single?” he asks.
“Piss off, Phil! You’re a married man,” I growl, irritation flooding me.
“Just checking…” He chuckles. “There’s a few guys on the team I’m sure would love to take her out.” I turn to glare at him, and he lets out a belly laugh. “Yeah, as I thought…” He jogs away to the hospice manager, handing in his bucket.
I turn back to watch Isabelle, but there’s no sign of her, and my heart sinks. She’s already left without me being able to talk to her again. My shoulders sag as I make my way to hand back the bucket and head home.