Chapter Fourteen #2
Dad chuckled as Bill blushed, and then took pity on him. ‘Want a beer?’
‘Only if I’m not interrupting. My folks are out for the night. I was just on my way for a quick pint and bite at the pub.’
‘Say no more. What’ll it be, I’ve got some Old Speckled Hen, Brains SA Gold, Greene King . . .’
Dad led him out to the utility room where we had another fridge that was always well stocked. I came from a long line of lushes.
Mum shook her head. ‘Poor boy. Shame Kate was never interested. Just as well she’s gone.
Give him a chance to forget about her. Debbie Meakin, the new barmaid at the Pea and Hen’s been casting eyes at him.
And she’s not your normal run of barmaid.
Speaks as if she’s been at Cheltenham Ladies’ College. ’
I concentrated on cleaning up the oil, which had left nasty slicks around the sink and had already seeped into my T-shirt.
Debbie whatever-her-name was couldn’t possibly be a match for Kate, but sadly she was here and my sister was over 10,000 miles away.
Surely there must be some way of getting Kate to contact Bill?
* * *
Bill ended up staying for pizza. Dad’s hope of talking match tactics for tomorrow’s game was dashed by the re-emergence of Ben who was star-struck and insisted on talking England rugby. The rest of us weren’t much better and soon joined in.
‘Wow, Bill. Sounds great,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘Who can you introduce me to?’
Dad is nothing if not generous with the wine, I’d had far too many glasses.
The conversation degenerated even further when Mum and I started to dissect the team one by one assessing availability, looks and arguing about who had the best bum. Mum was very concerned about Bill getting cauliflower ears until Bill kindly explained that players wear protection these days.
* * *
Dad and Mum disappeared at around eleven, leaving me, Bill and Ben at the table with another bottle.
When Ben nipped out to the loo, I felt bold enough to say to Bill, ‘Have you heard from Kate?’
He looked startled and hopeful at the same time. ‘Not recently,’ he answered warily.
‘She . . . she told me you’d seen her in Australia,’ I ventured.
‘Yeah.’ Bill sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. ‘I’m such a muppet. She’s not interested. Not flash enough for her.’
I leaned over and put a hand on his forearm. ‘Don’t be so sure about that.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘What if she’d had a change of heart?’
He looked up, hope flaring in his eyes.
I carried on. ‘What if she’d made a mistake?’
The sparkle faded and he shook his head. ‘No. To be honest I was surprised she even agreed to have dinner with me, let alone what . . . well . . . you know. Anyway, if she had changed her mind, she’s been home for weeks, she’d have called.’
Not if she’d just discovered she was pregnant and his selection for England had just been announced, I thought but couldn’t bring myself to say anything. With Kate’s previous indifference, would the timing have looked suspect?
‘Stupid thing is. I bloody love her. I really do. First time I met her, I knew.’ Bill sank his head into his hands again.
I felt for him. He and I had more in common than he knew.
‘Bill . . .’ I stopped, pausing to wonder whether I was doing the right thing. ‘She’s not happy out there. Australia’s just running away. She’ll be back. Don’t give up on her.’
‘Really?’ He looked up.
‘Well, I don’t know for sure. She’s not said anything but . . .’
Being the middleman is so hard. I wanted to give Bill hope but I didn’t want to let Kate down. After all, what if my last conversation with her was just the hormones talking?
* * *
I woke up in a shaft of sunlight, the golden beam slanting through the dormer window. A cloudless, blue sky heralded perfect cricketing weather.
Despite all my good intentions, a little voice in my head reminded me that today I’d see Daniel. Last night’s banter on the phone had given me hope that I could maintain a friendship with him.
I’d also see Bill again. Had I done the right thing last night, giving him hope? Maybe I should have told him that Kate was pregnant.
My thoughts were disturbed by a horrible screech from outside. Something was being dragged across the patio below. It must be Dad getting organised.
He and Mum were both horrifically early risers but with very different routines.
He liked breakfast with the radio in the kitchen while Mum preferred to stagger down to her studio at the bottom of the garden, coffee in hand and not talk to anyone for an hour.
This arrangement suited everyone. Dad was far too perky at that time — and Mum was vile before her first cup of coffee.
Drifting downstairs in my favourite, faded pink dressing gown, I spotted Dad in the garden wrestling with trestle tables. After making a mug of tea, I went out to join him.
Perched on the patio wall, I watched as he washed down the tables and brought me up to speed on who was due to play. He was feeling hugely optimistic, although God knows why. His team was verging on the geriatric.
‘Experience, love,’ he said, when I pointed this out. ‘Wisdom over youth.’ I gave him a sceptical look.
‘And . . . a couple of ringers.’ He gave me a gleeful grin.
I bit back a smile. His glee might be short-lived. Ben had been hinting last night that Daniel had recruited a few ringers of his own, but I wasn’t going to spoil Dad’s fantasies.
By mid-morning, the tables, picnic chairs, cool boxes, and several large Tesco carrier bags filled with sandwich-making provisions, were loaded into the cars.
As a past master of teas, I knew what I was doing.
The only thing I had to worry about was doing battle with the prehistoric urn, which had a mind all of its own.
* * *
After a week left to its own devices the clubhouse had a unique smell that hit you the minute you stepped inside: slightly damp and musty with an overtone of sweaty socks.
Ted, the trusty groundsman, whose shoulders were so stooped they were almost level with his knees, was striding around the field planting the boundary flags with enthusiasm.
I gave him a wave and in response he pointed to the sky and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. The well-trimmed grass looked perfect and a testament to his devotion to the club.
Armed with her bottle of Dettol, Mum insisted on washing down every reachable surface in the kitchen before I could take anything in.
‘No food in here before I finish,’ she insisted, frantically scrubbing away as I stood in the doorway my arms lengthening by the second with the weight of the carrier bags.
‘Mum, Dad and Ben eat here most weekends. Neither of them has died of food poisoning yet.’
‘There’s always a first time,’ she replied, attacking the Formica surface with renewed relish.
‘Morning, Mrs Middleton. Olivia,’
I turned to see Bill looking surprisingly fresh.
‘Hi, Bill. No hangover?’ I wondered if this morning he might regret his love-struck ramblings about Kate.
He grinned sheepishly. ‘Bit slow this morning. Must get changed. See you later.’ He ambled off to the changing rooms.
With three quarters of an hour to go before the match started, final preparations for the game were underway. Half-dressed players were padding about in socks (no wonder the place smelt the way it did) and Ted was giving the square one last roll.
Dumping the bags and leaving Mum to it, I slipped out onto the white-fenced veranda which ran the across the front of the clubhouse.
Today it offered cool shade from the sun, which was getting hotter.
Studded boots clattered past me on the wooden boards as the two teams trooped in and out of the pavilion.
Bill and my brother were over in the nets practising with a couple of other players.
At every turn I was greeted by familiar faces.
‘Olivia! Haven’t seen you here for a while? How’s life treating you?’
‘Home for the weekend, are you?’
‘Wotcha. Seen Ben?’
‘Where’s your dad, love? The umpire wants a word.’
‘Go on, make us a cuppa.’
Some were contemporaries of Dad’s, others, mates of Ben’s and all were accompanied by wives, girlfriends or children armed with blankets and rugs, deckchairs and cool boxes. The ground was filling rapidly.
‘Olivia! Wait up.’
It was Daniel calling from the car park. I waited on the veranda as he strode over.
There was an odd expression on his face.
* * *
He could see her standing on the pavilion steps as he got out of his car.
She looked relaxed and happy, not like the last time he’d seen her.
Talk about guilty face, wrapped in a bathrobe peering round the door of the hotel suite.
He smiled grimly to himself. Bet she’d had a near heart attack with an unexpected knock at the door.
Although she was probably used to it. Was that what it was like when you had an affair, in constant fear of being found out or spotted where you shouldn’t be?
Some people, he supposed, got off on that kind of thrill .
. . although he didn’t see Olivia as the type.
And now he was about to give her the really bad news. He couldn’t believe it. No one had heard from Mike for bloody years and then out of the blue, one of the other players dropped out and asked Mike to step in for him. The worst thing was going to be breaking it to her.
There was no easy way to do it.
He caught up with her just outside the kitchen.
‘Olivia . . .’ He paused loathe to tell her. ‘Porn Star Mike—’
‘What about him?’ Olivia looked blank.
‘He’s . . . coming . . . today. Sorry.’
‘Mike?’ Her voice pitched up in disbelief.
He nodded.