Epilogue
Henry
“We’ve trained hard for today, lads. All the sweat, tears, and discipline will pay off.
When you go out there now, I want you to look around and remind yourselves that you’re representing this school, the team spirit.
” Mr. Cormack’s eyes sweep over us. “Today, we’re not playing for our own sake.
We’re playing for the whole school. We’re playing for your parents, brothers, and sisters who’ve come to watch.
You’re going to make them proud. I’ve no doubt about that.
So keep calm and focus. We’ll build up the pressure right from the start, and then we’ll get a result from this game. ”
Mr. Cormack steps back, and Valentine launches into the team chant. The words echo off the changing-room walls, and they’re transformed into pure adrenaline, coursing through my veins. There’s a tingling in my fingertips as we finally run out onto the pitch.
It’s February, the last match of the season, and the time since Christmas has flown by.
I’ve been allowed to train again for a couple of weeks now, and my shoulder isn’t bothering me anymore.
Luckily, I was free of the sling in time for the New Year Ball after the holidays. It feels like half a lifetime ago.
I breathe in the cold air and breathe out little clouds of white.
The last few days have been frosty, but the temperature’s risen a little in time for the match.
The pitch is no longer frozen, and the game can go ahead.
Despite the cold, every last seat in the stand is filled.
The sky is blue, the sun is shining, and there’s music blaring from the speakers as the spectators cheer and we run out.
I don’t know if I’ll play today. Mr. Cormack’s keeping me on the bench for the time being, but who knows what will happen? He got Dr. Henderson to tape up my shoulder in advance so that I’ll be ready to go on at any time.
The others slip off their tracksuit tops, and I join the lads on the bench. I glance over to the crowd. It’s not easy to find Emma among so many people. But then I spot her. She’s toward the front with Tori and Sinclair.
Emma’s wearing a navy-and-white school scarf and matching gloves.
When we kissed earlier, a few strands of her blond hair were peeking out under her cap with the school crest on it.
When she sees me looking over, she forms her hands into a megaphone and joins in the chants of encouragement. It makes me smile.
Theo and Harriett are here too, standing on the sidelines with a few other old Dunbrigonians.
They came just to see the match, but Theo checked that I was OK with that.
I’m more than OK with it. It means the world to me that he’s here for me, and maybe that’s why I’m hoping a tiny bit more that Mr. Cormack will let me play.
Omar and Gideon are on the pitch with the rest of our boys. Hollington are not to be underestimated, but we’ve got the home advantage and we’re off to a good start. It doesn’t take us long to grab the lead, and for all of us to have jumped up off the bench.
I forget the icy temperatures. I forget everything as I yell the others on. The ref is fair, and by halftime Hollington are still miles behind.
“That was a strong first half, but we can’t sit back now,” Mr. Cormack urges the team as we form a circle. I look into red, sweaty faces. “We have to do the same thing again. Build pressure, stay patient and wait for our chance. Don’t let them get into their stride, everyone clear?”
Mr. Cormack doesn’t bring me on. I’m not sure whether he doesn’t want to unsettle the others or whether he doesn’t have confidence in me to play yet, but it frustrates me more than I’d been expecting.
The team is what counts, not me getting to stand on the pitch, I know that, but Theo’s here and I want to make him proud.
I want to prove to myself that I can do better than last time.
Gideon limps off with a nasty injury, but Mr. Cormack still doesn’t bring me on. I’m itching to my fingertips to get a chance, especially when we miss touch from a penalty and Hollington catch up further. Twenty minutes from the end, they’re in the lead.
Mr. Cormack comes over to the bench. “How’s the shoulder, Bennington?”
“Fine, sir.”
He eyes me. “Good. Warm up, then. You’re going on for Ward.”
“For Val?”
“Aye, he’s done for today.” Mr. Cormack nods toward Valentine, who’s breathing heavily, both hands on his knees. “We want to focus our attacks down the left. Hollington are weakening, and they haven’t got anyone left to bring on. You can do this, Bennington.”
Val’s not going to like this—since his uncle left the school, he’s been worse than ever. Hardly surprising, I suppose, as he’s lost his personal tutor to coach him through his exams in a few weeks.
Tori and Sinclair cheer as I run on. Emma copies them, but less enthusiastically. She’s worried, I know, but everything’s kind of different this time. My head is here, on this pitch, and I’m ready to give it my all.
I run till my body’s glowing and go through my stretches.
Then Mr. Cormack sends me on. Valentine glares at me as we high-five.
Hollington have extended their lead with ten minutes to go, but there’s no way we’re giving up.
The others are tired, that’s clear to see, but I make a clean break down the left touchline and score a try.
The crowd cheers, but Hollington are still ahead, and now I’m on their radar.
This time, they’re spreading their defense wider.
They manage to get the ball off Omar and score a drop goal.
I’m buried under three Hollington players, the commentator’s voice is ringing in my ears, and my shoulder is throbbing slightly.
The ref says play on, which gets him booed, but luckily, he awards us a penalty for an infringement at the breakdown.
Omar misses. I suppress a groan and clap him on the shoulder as we line up once more.
Hollington don’t score again, but there are only two minutes left, and they’re still in the lead.
I hold my breath as the forwards bind on.
I have to stay alert as they tussle for the ball, which isn’t easy, watching for it to emerge from the scrum.
We keep possession, and I start to run as it’s passed to Omar.
My heart is pounding, the crowd is screaming, and I’ve got space.
Omar sees me, throws a fast, hard pass through the gap; I catch it, I’ve got the ball, and there’s nobody in front of me.
There’s nobody in front of me.
So I run.
Emma
I’ll never understand how it’s possible to pass that ball so fast and so precisely from one player to the next.
I feel dizzy just watching. The rules of rugby are still a mystery to me, but I’m getting the sense that whatever is happening right now, it’s a good thing.
Dunbridge are still three points behind, and the clock is ticking down the last thirty seconds of the match.
A cheer goes up as the ball whizzes through a gap from Omar to Henry. The other team starts running, but Henry is faster. Bloody hell, he’s faster.
I don’t notice myself jumping up. Screaming my lungs out like everyone else. We clap and roar as Henry runs as if his life depends on it.
Tori screams and grabs Sinclair’s arm when they almost tackle Henry to the ground. One of their players dives at his feet, the tackle makes him stumble and slip on the muddy grass, but he keeps his balance. They’re gaining on him, but he doesn’t waste even a second looking back.
I feel like this stand is going to collapse at any moment, with all the jumping up and down.
I yell. Tori and Sinclair yell as someone catches hold of Henry’s jersey just short of the line.
My heart is pounding as they fall, images of Henry in the sick bay flash before my mind’s eye, but this time, everything’s a bit different.
It’s Henry holding on to the ball and breaking away before the two of them hit the ground, right on top of the line, and I can’t tell if he made it.
The referee blows his whistle. Everything happens at once, yet at the same time, it’s like it’s in slow motion as he awards the try.
Five points.
Five more points for Dunbridge Academy.
At the edge of the pitch, Theo throws his arms into the air, then picks Harriett up and spins her in a circle. The Hollington players sink to their knees, speechless, faces in hands, desperate glances at the scoreboard, which will prove, any second now, that we’ve won.
I’ve never experienced anything like it.
The euphoria and community spirit. The whole school yelling, screaming, hugging, cheering.
And my heart pounding as I see Henry pick himself up and look up at the scoreboard as it ticks over to show “32–30.” He’s just getting back to his feet when Gideon, Omar, and the rest of the team pile in and bury him again.
I squeeze past Tori and Sinclair and run through the crowd.
I see Mrs. Sinclair standing beside Dr. Henderson and jumping for joy, then seeming to remember who she is.
I see Ms. Barnett and Mr. Ringling clapping, Mr. Cormack saying something to Henry and slapping him on the shoulder.
I see Grace, celebrating with everybody else.
At that moment, Henry’s gaze roams across the pitch to the sidelines.
To his brother, who’s beaming with pride.
Taking in the benches and the school buildings behind in the last rays of the sun.
I see Henry panting for breath as he puts his head back and looks up.
I only realize I’m crying when the tears blur my vision.
But I keep running. I stop at the edge of the pitch, just for a moment, but then Theo gives me an encouraging nod.
I hear the shouting and cheering, and I get goose bumps as I step onto the grass.
I run as fast as I can. The way I ran at Frankfurt airport.
Crashing into Henry, falling in love with Henry, laughing with Henry, crying, falling, finding, growing, and feeling more than I’ve ever felt in my life.
I run as fast as I did in Glasgow. Away from my dad and from the knowledge that we wouldn’t have the kind of happy ending you get in films. Although maybe there’ll be a different one, sometime, when I’m ready for it.
I run, the way I ran with Henry in the pouring rain, before sinking to the muddy woodland path where I could feel the bitter sobs shaking his body.
I run because it’s the thing I can do best of all.
But I’m not running after anyone who doesn’t have room in their life for me.
Henry lowers his head and looks straight ahead, toward me, and although there are tears shining in his eyes, he’s smiling as he spots me. He pulls away from his teammates, clears a path through the hands reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. He doesn’t take his eyes off me; he raises his hands.
And I run, I run.
I run to him.