36 #2
Jack’s side was loud chaos – encouragement shouted in every direction, with high-fives that were given out like candy.
He ran drills that immediately dissolved into laughter, the kids copying his movements with wild enthusiasm.
When one boy tripped and skidded across the grass, Jack dropped to the ground beside him dramatically.
“And that,” he declared, “is why we stretch. It’s only going to get worse as you get older, kid.”
Noah walked among the kids, adjusting hands on the ball, gently redirecting feet. When they ran drills, they actually resembled something like rugby. Passes connected. Lines held, briefly. When things unraveled – which they did – Noah reset them with patience instead of volume.
“Again,” he said simply. And they listened.
At one point, the ball rolled loose toward the sideline. Claire stepped forward instinctively, stopping it with her foot and scooping it up. A few kids noticed her immediately.
“Doc!” Miko shouted. “Are you playing?”
She laughed, tossing the ball back toward Miko. “I think the insurance forms would explode.”
Miko caught it easily. Noah watched.
“I can help you, Doc!” Toby yelled over with a big teasing smile.
Jack glanced over from the end of the pitch, noticing the exchange, then smirked. “Careful, Toby, we don’t want the good doctor to get hurt in rugby.”
Noah didn’t look away from Claire.
The scrimmage that followed was predictably unhinged.
Two teams of children surged toward the ball like a school of fish, feet tangling, voices overlapping.
Liam refereed with exaggerated whistles and dramatic hand signals that meant absolutely nothing.
Noah ran alongside his kids, offering short instructions, catching one child before she face-planted, lifting another back to their feet like it was second nature.
Claire found herself tracking Noah without meaning to. The way he moved instinctively, how gentle he was despite his size, how the kids gravitated toward him without fear. Leadership, she realized, didn’t always need volume.
Claire noticed along the low fence bordering the pitch, the elders had gathered.
They sat on folding chairs and overturned crates, hats pulled low against the sun, thermoses and takeaway cups clustered at their feet. What started as casual observation had, at some point, evolved into something far more organized.
Mere was the first to produce a notebook. It was the clinical ledger, already half full of tidy handwriting. She clicked her pen thoughtfully as the kids scattered across the field again, jerseys twisted, shoelaces undone.
Claire scoffed at the sight of her administrator using the clinic ledger to hedge bets against children.
“Right,” Mere said, peering over her glasses. “How long do we think this lasts before someone cries?”
“Under five minutes,” Hemi, another elder, replied without hesitation. “That one there already looks emotional.”
“That’s because he’s on Jack’s team,” another elder said dryly. “Too much talking. Not enough footy.”
They chuckled.
Mere scribbled something down. “Five minutes it is. What about score?”
A long pause as they watched a child sprint in the wrong direction, clutching the ball triumphantly.
“Does it count if they score on themselves?” someone asked.
“Absolutely not,” Mere said firmly. “Over or under six tries total.”
“Under,” Hemi said. “They’ll get distracted by something before that.”
A small boy tripped near midfield, popped back up, and immediately tackled his own teammate.
“That’s a penalty in real rugby,” one elder noted.
“Not today,” another replied. “I don’t even know if we can call this rugby.”
“Hey, at least they are active,” someone added.
They all nodded in agreement.
When the whistle blew, Mere checked her watch and made a satisfied sound. “Three minutes forty-two seconds.”
“I told you,” Hemi said smugly.
Across the pitch, Noah crouched to talk to his team, patient as ever, while Jack attempted to corral his players with exaggerated arm motions that looked suspiciously like interpretive dance.
“Oh, I like the tall one,” Mere said, watching Miko. “Good with children. Calm.”
“They’re all tall, Mere,” a woman said.
“Too calm,” someone countered. “I like the ones with spirit.”
“Spirit doesn’t help when half your team is chasing a butterfly.”
Mere wrote again, then looked up, eyes twinkling. “Next round. Same bets?”
They all leaned forward as the ball was tossed back into play, murmuring predictions like seasoned professionals.
Behind them, the kids’ laughter rang out over the grass, the game already unraveling in spectacular fashion.
And the elders of Leigh, pens poised and bets placed, watched with the seriousness of people who knew this was the finest sport the village had seen all week.
When the final whistle blew, Liam declared Jack’s team the winner.
“Oh my God, thank fuck.” Claire heard Toby say under his breath.
Parents applauded from the sidelines. Someone passed around fruit and water.
Noah jogged over to where Claire was standing on the sideline, breathing easily, sweat darkening his shirt. “You survived round two,” he said quietly.
“So did you,” Claire replied. “Though I think Jack burned more calories talking than running.”
Noah huffed a laugh. “That tracks.”
They stood there for a moment, watching the kids argue about who won, both teams claiming victory with absolute certainty.
“The kids’ kind of love this, I think,” Claire said softly, surprising herself. “What you’re doing. It will matter to them in the long run.”
Noah nodded, gaze still on the pitch. “It’s easy to forget why you started playing.” He glanced at her then. “They’re still young,” gesturing to the children.
Claire felt that familiar tightening in her chest, the one that came when something felt both simple and complicated at the same time.
Across the field, Jack threw an arm around Toby’s shoulders, already telling an animated story to a group of parents. Laughter carried on the breeze. The village felt alive, stitched together by grass, sunlight, and the sound of children who believed this was the best day they’d had in a long time.
Claire knew this wasn’t just outreach.
It was connection through rugby. She watched the money exchange hands between the gaggle of people by the fence, and Claire laughed at the sight of it, all the way back to her little flat in Auckland.