Chapter 33
33
A week later, Tony and I haven’t talked about the sex situation, because God forbid we behave like emotionally competent humans. I’m in the friends and family box, watching Tony play in the pouring rain. And I keep thinking, how can he read LeMar’s mind, but have no idea what’s going on in mine? There’s a lovely give and go between the two of them. It should end in a goal but Tony pulls up short. I’d have sworn it was nothing major but Tony goes off for treatment, and it’s not long before a text pings through from our senior physio, Mark. ‘Could you get down to the physio room asap? I’ve got a bit of a situation.’
I reply instantly, ‘On my way.’
Hurtling through the maze of corridors leading to the back-room area of the stadium, I keep telling myself this will be something administrative. Tony hobbled off like it was a hamstring injury, it can’t possibly be anything really serious. But when I knock on the physio room door, Mark comes out, pulling the door closed firmly behind him. He takes my elbow and draws me far enough away that a low-voiced near-whisper won’t be audible to Tony inside. From his expression, I know he’s going to tell me something awful.
‘How bad?’ I ask, trying to keep my face professionally concerned. Only there must be at least a hint of panic because Mark becomes apologetic.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to make it sound life or death.’
I wave my hand impatiently, trying not to show I’m massively relieved. ‘So, what is it?’
‘Hammie. Not too serious, I think, but bad enough he can’t go back on now. We can MRI tomorrow. But I could do a quick ultrasound now, get an initial picture.’
He stops and looks at me expectantly. I’m confused. ‘Sorry, Mark. Do you need me to set up a car, get an appointment?’
Mark shakes his closely shaven head. ‘No. Look, Genie, this is a weird one. Tony, he’s agitated, very insistent he wants you. And I don’t think I can get him scanned and sorted until he’s calmed down. Do you think you could work your magic?’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Could you give us a minute?’
Mark nods and drifts towards the end of the hallway.
I knock on the door but open it before I get an answer.
Tony’s on his feet, leaning both hands on the physio table, neck bent. He raises his head to me without speaking. And just like when he’s happy, he’s the world’s happiest person, now he’s the picture of utter misery. I walk across to him, talking gently, like he’s a spooked horse.
‘How are you doing? Feeling sore?’
He nods, biting his lip.
I put my hand between his shoulder blades. ‘Poor Tony. This isn’t very sensible though, is it? Let’s get you sitting down, shall we?’
I coax him over to a chair and pull another round, for keeping the leg elevated. Once I’ve hunted out an icepack and wrapped it in a towel, I place it where the swelling’s starting at the back of his thigh. ‘Mark said you were a bit upset. Do you want to tell me about it?’
He looks at me, kneeling next to him, then ducks his head away. ‘This one, it’s bad.’
His voice has a break in it. That’s, well, odd. It’s not unusual for young players to freak out over something minor, convinced it’s career-ending. But Tony’s experienced enough to know the drill. And I’ve seen him furious he’s not allowed to keep playing after he’s been knocked out or while he’s actively bleeding. So, presumably, this isn’t about the pain itself.
‘Mark doesn’t seem to think so.’
Tony looks away but not before I see the tears starting. ‘I felt it go.’ He wipes his eyes with his forearm. ‘Fuck it, Genie, sorry.’
I perch on the table, pulling his head into me and rubbing his back. ‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all right. I know it hurts.’
‘It’s not that.’ His voice is muffled by my sweater.
‘Then can you tell me? So I can try to make it better?’
He shakes his head without lifting it, and I can tell from his breathing, he’s still crying.
‘That’s OK. We’ll just stay like this for a bit, shall we?’
He nods into my jumper and I kiss his hair, still damp from the rain. Mark pops up at the window in the door, but I shake my head and he disappears. I keep stroking along Tony’s spine, like he’s woken from a bad dream, then scratch at him gently with my fingertips, trying to bring him back to me. ‘You’re getting cold. Shall I find you a blanket or something?’
274 ‘No, don’t go.’
‘OK, it’s OK. I’ve got you.’
Gradually, his breathing changes from uneven gulps back to slow and steady and he stops pushing into me quite so hard. I relax my arms, letting him decide when he’s ready to break away. And when he does, it’s sudden, like he can’t bear to be touched. Tony sniffs hard and lifts his arm to wipe his eyes, keeping his face turned away from me. I get up to find tissues and a spare dry top he can change into. It seems like that makes it easier, my back to him. Because he says, in something close to his usual voice, ‘Sorry. You must think I’m such a wetwipe.’
I turn to him, holding out tissues and a towel. ‘Of course not. You’ve been playing so well. Having to be out for a bit, it’s only natural to be disappointed.’
He takes the towel and begins drying his hair. ‘It’s not that I’m disappointed over.’
I have this horrible feeling he’s going to say Covenly doesn’t suit him, he’s tried really hard, but it hasn’t worked out here, just like we don’t work. And that’s not me jumping to the worst-case scenario, out of nowhere. It fits with being so upset. Tony’s been insanely good all season. If he wants a transfer, the only thing that might put a buyer off is an injury. But even if that’s true, he needs someone to listen.
‘Isn’t it?’ I ask, making my voice as open as I can.
‘You know it’s not.’ There’s an undertone of anger that I wasn’t expecting.
‘I’m sorry, Tony. I’m not sure I understand?’
‘Yeah, you do. Cos it’s you who’s disappointed.’
I look at him questioningly.
‘Like I’m supposed to be showing you can trust me, and this is what you said’d happen. Buy an overpriced has-been, and watch ’em spend half the season out injured and the rest on and off the bench. Cos there’s no chance they’ll do ninety minutes. That about right?’
I kneel to his eye level, turning his face to me with a finger under his chin. ‘No, Tony. You know I never meant that, even when I said it, not about you. I was just being horrid because I was annoyed.’
‘Doesn’t mean it weren’t true.’
‘Except it wasn’t. I was talking like this would be your last season, but you’ve got at least another three or four, probably more. Lots of time to tick off those last few wins you want to add to the collection, I promise.’
‘It’s not even about that though. Not really.’
I hold his gaze and wait.
‘I wanna like pay you back for helping me, being kind, all that. And now, my hamstring’s fucked again, and you’ll be thinking you’ve wasted your time.’ His voice is thick, like he might cry again any minute.
This feels like we’re back to the academy evening. And I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. Because it must be something, or we wouldn’t keep treading water, would we? About this, or sex, or anything else.
I try speaking slowly, as if I’m explaining something to a child. ‘No, Tony. That’s not how it works. If you hadn’t put the effort in, hadn’t shown up for us, then yes, I’d be thinking that. And that I couldn’t trust you, because you’d have been telling me one thing and doing another. But that’s not true, is it?’
He shakes his head.
‘No, because you’ve done everything perfectly, from the minute you arrived. Being injured, that’s not your fault. And whatever I said when you first got here, that’s not how we treat people. Like they’re performance cars, or something that can just be discarded as soon as there’s a problem. I care about you, so does Mark, so does Chrissie.’
‘Cos you’re paid to.’
‘You must know for me, it’s not that. Maybe, to begin with, I didn’t show you properly, but I thought I’d stopped hiding it. If I haven’t, you must’ve guessed how much I love…’ I stop myself, just in time. ‘Being around you.’
He does look at me, but his eyes are sulky. ‘I don’t want you saying stuff like that cos you feels sorry for me.’ There’s a quick glance at the ceiling, biting down on his lower lip, then an emphatic chop of the hand. ‘I want you to be fucking proud of me. Like I am of you.’
‘Except that’s not always true, is it?’
‘Yeah, it is. Course it is.’
‘No. We both know, there’ve been times when you’ve been lovely to me, not because you think I’m great, but because you wanted to make me feel better.’ I stroke his sleeve, where a captain’s armband would sit. ‘And you’re always telling me, I’ve got to get better at accepting that. So, how about leading by example?’
He reaches for my hand and kisses my fingers. ‘’Cept I can’t get enough of that off of you. So, I should be able to win you some stupid trophy in return, shouldn’t I?’
‘I don’t care about trophies.’
‘Yeah, you do. Or I hope so, anyhow. Cos your thing about midfielders has been my main motivator all season, I can tell you.’
I laugh, the relief of feeling wanted again bubbling through. ‘But Tony, what if I don’t want the Premier League one? Then you’re getting all upset over nothing, aren’t you?’
He almost smiles. ‘So, which one do you want? And don’t say the league cup, cos I don’t like being patronized.’
I pull away so he can see my face is exaggeratedly arch. ‘Oh no, darling. Obviously, I want the Champions League. After all, if I’d been ready to settle for anything less than the absolute best, I wouldn’t be free to cuddle with you now, would I?’
That does make him laugh, a quick short burst, despite himself. ‘Well, yeah, obviously I’d like to get you that one, not least cos I reckon there’s no limit on what you’d do for me afterwards. Only, Genie, my beauty, it might not be realistic, not first season anyhow. But if my leg’s not fucked, I’ll give it my best.’
I smile more softly. ‘That’s all I can ever ask. And seriously, Tony, I do care about you. You, not your stats or your minutes played. And if this is a bad injury, we’ll all help you get back. But I don’t get the impression Mark thinks it is, so why don’t we let him take a look?’
Tony nods. ‘Yeah, OK.’ He looks away again, and I think there’s a last tear, because his arm is up at his face again. ‘Genie?’
‘Yep.’
‘You’re really nice, you know? Like I’m not just into you for your looks, I like properly likes you. You get that, right?’
I don’t look at him, because I don’t think he’d welcome it.
‘I like you too,’ I say, heading for the door.
When I beckon to Mark, he mimes closing the door and I walk to meet him.
‘All sorted?’ he whispers.
‘I think so. He just panicked that it’d be like last season, with him out for ages.’
Mark gives me a long look. ‘If you say so. Come with me, will you? While I do the scan?’
When we walk in, it’s obvious Tony’s got himself together, because he’s back to looking like the room belongs to him. He makes a play of being shamefaced. ‘Sorry, Mark, mate. Got myself in a bit of a state.’
Mark shrugs as he gets the ultrasound ready. ‘No worries. Let’s take a look see.’
Tony reaches for my hand. I can’t believe Mark would say anything to anyone, so I take it and let Tony squeeze down on my fingers as the probe pushes into the injured muscle.
Mark scans back and forth, then looks up at Tony. ‘I’ll run the images by Chrissie after the game, and she’ll maybe want the MRI to be a hundred per cent sure, but it looks like a grade one, maybe borderline two to me. So, probably two weeks out max.’
Tony laughs like a slightly embarrassed lion. ‘I look a right idiot now, don’t I? Crying like some snotty-nosed kid over a minor tear. I just, you know, like felt it, and it seemed worse.’
Mark makes polite noises as he begins placing a compression bandage. I squeeze Tony’s hand and he looks up at me. ‘Any excuse to get time up close and personal with you, hey?’
I laugh but Mark looks distinctly disapproving. ‘God, Tony. It’s to be hoped Monica’s insurance covers sexual harassment claims.’
Tony grins up at me. ‘I confine it to Genie, cos she understands me. Don’t you, love?’
I grin. ‘I’m not sure I’d go as far as that, and really, I am only hanging around to watch you change your shirt. So, can you get on with it, or I’ll miss the end of the second half?’
Tony pulls off the damp shirt slowly, stretching each muscle. I smile my most lascivious smile. Mark laughs, so I think he buys the back and forth between me and Tony being at least ninety per cent play-acting.
Tony starts hobbling out. ‘I’d best be getting back out on the bench myself. Don’t want it all over the papers tomorrow that I’m seriously crocked again.’
I go to leave too, but Mark gestures for me to stay. He waits until Tony’s out of earshot. ‘Genie, I’ll have to pass this on to the coaching staff.’
‘Pass what on?’ I ask warily.
‘How he was before you came down. The leg might not be too bad, but psych wise, something’s not right for him to be getting like that.’
I sigh. ‘Honestly, it’s not a big issue. What he said to me, I won’t go into the details, but I think he’s feeling like he’s got something to prove.’
Mark shrugs. ‘Well, yeah, he has.’
‘But not to us. Or it shouldn’t be, anyway.’
‘Family till we die, or they transfer out for bigger wages,’ Mark says, his face ironic.
‘Or we push them out because they’re not performing or they’re injured.’ I know I sound snappy but I don’t feel apologetic.
Mark shakes his head. ‘You’re too soft-hearted, talking like they’re racehorses off to the dog food factory. If Tony crashes and burns here, he’ll go to Saudi or the States and get a massive pay-out for doing nothing.’
‘Except that’s not what Tony wants. And the last thing he needs is everyone watching to see if he’s about to crack up. So, couldn’t you just pretend today didn’t happen?’
‘Genie…’
‘Please?’
He grimaces. ‘All right, if it means that much to you. But be careful, OK?’
‘Don’t worry, I know, he’s a huge asset.’
‘I meant careful of him, not with him.’ His hand brushes my elbow. ‘Look, I know it’s not my business, but there’s been talk about you and him, and him and that model, or whatever she is. And honestly, I just think you deserve better than that, second time around.’
If he’d said that yesterday, it might’ve bothered me. But how Tony was just now, I trust that a hundred times more than club gossip.