Gold Medal Hero

by Jena Petrie

  Damn him! With one hand Connor pounded the steering wheel, but had to jerk it around to take a corner.

  Shit, that was close.

  Loving Bailey had come on so gradually he hadn't noticed, yet had been as inevitable as his blisters the first day of training. Her lovely appearance, the way she looked after him with her ready meals, healthy breakfasts and clever fingers, her soft voice that always soothed his frustration after a crappy row, and the interest she showed in his rowing, all contributed to the way he felt.

  Interest in his rowing? Ha! Hadn't shown any when she organised this interview in Whangarei.

  Around another corner a new smell filled his nostrils. Ah, there it was—the familiar, unique tang of salt and sand coupled with the sounds of gulls squawking, fighting over a scrap of food. With no plan, he merely followed the main road through the town then turned off around the inlet, drove over the bridge and along to the end of the road.

  From the car park he gazed at the kids playing on climbing frames, swings and other equipment, their shouts and squeals an annoying interruption to his goal that lay beyond them, beyond the car-park, beyond the grass.

  Dark sand lay under his bare feet; black, depressing, and not a bit like the sand at home. But other aspects were the same; noisy kids digging, building, planning, laughing, and parents, looking on.

  Such a familiar scene that his hands clenched into fists as the best memories from his childhood overwhelmed him.

  This was what he'd come for.

  The happy times when Mum had taken him on a summer picnic. Back then he'd often needed a respite from the rigors of his controlled life to unwind, and the fine white sand of Oreti Beach on a sunny day had been ideal. He'd built sandcastles, hunted through the kelp for any surprises captured from the sea, played in the sand dunes, jumped the waves, and run.

  Always, he'd run.

  Along the firmer wet sand that stretched for miles until his mother appeared like a speck in the distance. Exhausted, he'd walked back, knowing she'd complain when he joined her but always glad he'd gone. The freedom he felt had kept him going until next time, determined that this controlled life wouldn't last forever.

  And yet now, controls were what haunted him, taunted him and constantly challenged him. Without them and the guidance of his coach and crewmates he'd be like a jellyfish adrift in the sea, floating alone in no particular direction.

  It had been the strict routines of rowing that had helped him grow into the man he was, yet still he needed support. When his mother ceased to fill the role by attending his major regattas he'd felt lost, abandoned, and unsure about anything. Bailey, his happy genii, had turned up at just the right time and saved him from depression after the euphoria of the Olympic win had faded. She'd inspired him to keep going and made his goal seem achievable after all. With her support, he'd have done it, but now?

  Now everything was up in the air again. Nothing sure, nothing planned. Nothing, without Bailey, worth the effort.

  So, in rejecting his plans and needs and putting herself first, she'd proved she didn't measure up. Damn lousy surprise. Without her at Nationals, how could he row well?

  An arched footbridge stretched across the inlet to the town but shops and cafes weren't what he'd come for. Nor had he come for the entertainment of watching young kids running along the bridge to its highest point and jumping off, to the accompaniment of noisy, excited shouts and squeals.

  With a curse under his breath he stepped over gaudy beach towels and around brightly-clad holiday-makers turning a dangerous pink from the sun's damaging UV rays.

  Dickheads.

  Away from the sun-bathers further on he broke into a run and soon reached the edge of the inlet where it met the main harbour. There, he turned left towards the ocean and negotiated around more bodies.

  Like views through fog on a chilly winter's day the sounds turned fuzzy as he left people behind.

  Minutes later a strange sensation made him look down. Water covered his bare feet. Sneakily, the wave slid away, scouring out sand from under him. Like his life right now, with Bailey eroding the foundations of his carefully-laid plans for the future. Disgusted, he abandoned the sand pinnacles and walked on.

  How could he go back to her?

  Would he go back?

  At least he'd had the presence of mind to bring his gear for the afternoon's training. He'd go straight to the lake, buy a snack and drink on the way and p'raps later, buy a meal and creep into the house after dark, too late to talk.

  Too late to argue.

  How could Bailey put her writing ahead of Nationals? Frustration made him kick at a stick protruding from the sand. Again he kicked, again and again, until finally the thing flew into the air, landing in the sea with a soft 'plop' and upsetting the soothing rhythm of the water.

  Although bigger here, at least the waves moved in the same reliable way as those from his childhood and he stood still for awhile, safely clear of the water as he watched the regular pattern; crash, slide, pause, back. Crash, slide, pause, back.

  Rather like the rhythm of rowing; catch, legs, body, arms. Catch, legs, body, arms.

  Calming, that sequence, but because it was expected, or familiar?

  A chorus of angry, high-pitched squawks broke out amongst the sand dunes up the beach as a couple of seagulls fought over a scrap of food. Although the newcomers broke the previous tranquillity, Connor merely glanced in their direction before breaking into another run.

  Further on, a group of young guys walked towards him, surf boards under their arms, hair and shorts dripping water, torsos glistening in the sun. To avoid them Connor altered course, heading away from the sea onto drier sand.

  "Hey!" the tallest one called from twenty feet away. "Aren't you one of the Olympic gold medallists? I saw you on TV." Suddenly they were in front of him, crowding his personal space with their keen faces as they demanded answers to their numerous questions.

  "What you doing here?"

  "Still rowing, huh?"

  "What's your name again?"

  "Gonna try for another gold medal?"

  And the worst of them all. "Can I have a selfie with you?"

  He didn't need this; not the recognition, the accolades or the attention. What he did need was privacy, time alone to work out what to do next. "Yeah, yeah, still rowing. Just here for a visit between training sessions. Change of scene, you know?" When they nodded, he changed the subject. "Surf any good today?"

  He'd left them way behind before it hit him; he'd broken free of the guys and run. How had he dismissed them? Comments like, 'lip', 'face,' 'barrel', and 'duck dive', resurfaced. Must have got them going, talking about the day's experiences amongst themselves, allowing him to slip away. Good one, Free-bee.

  Tiring at last, he slowed, glancing at his watch. Time to leave. Time to return to his normal life of training, eating and sleeping.

  And Bailey, whose support lay within reach, yet remained as illusive as a night-time dream.

  ***

  Bailey jumped at the sound of the unfamiliar chime. The doorbell! Dropping the muffin in her hand she rushed to open the door.

  "Lauren!" She grabbed her friend in a tight hug. "Oh, Lauren, am I glad to see you!"

  Her friend extricated herself from the hug and stepped back. "Have you missed me?"

  Bailey forced a laugh. "You have no idea." Backing away, she made room for Lauren to enter the house and led her into the living room.

  "Is Connor here? I'd like to meet him."

  "Oh. Right. There wasn't time for that when he came for the club dinner, was there?"

  "No time?" Lauren's eyebrows rose. "I got the impression you didn't want us to meet, although I couldn't understand why. I would never have taken your boyfriend away from you."

  "You thought that?" Bailey laughed again, but the sound came out insincere and forced. "No. I just wasn't sure he and I would have a future together, and if we didn't, there was no point you meeting."

  "So I hope you're goi
ng to correct that mistake today?" Lauren settled into Connor's big chair and looked around.

  "'Fraid not. He's away." Bailey lowered herself onto the sofa. "Won't be back till... later. Oh. You want coffee?" She jumped up and hurried into the kitchen. "You'll be desperate for a drink. How long since you had a break from driving?"

  Lauren had followed her into the kitchen and now looked around. "Stopped off in Hamilton."

  "Oh." Bailey paused in the middle of transferring muffins from the oven pan to a plate. "Guess you're not hungry or thirsty."

  "Don't you believe it, with that smell wafting towards me," Lauren grinned. "Anyway, I had lunch first and then took some time for a look around. It's ages since I visited the CBD."

  Electric kettle in her hand, Bailey paused. "So, does that mean you're both hungry and thirsty?"

  "You bet. And I don't want to arrive home hanging out for either, although no doubt Mum will insist on feeding me up the moment I walk in. Dad, though–"

  "You'd rather be refreshed before you arrive so you can face him," Bailey guessed. She dumped the still-empty kettle on the cook top and covered her friend's hand with her own.

  Lauren gave a brief nod. "You're a good friend, Bailey."

  "So are you. Remember when I first arrived in Mosgiel? I knew no-one, but you introduced me to your friends, and even suggested I take up rowing as a cox'n. One of the best things I've ever done."

  "Talking of which, you could take me to the lake so I could meet Connor there."

  "Nice idea, but it won't work." Bailey rearranged the muffins on the plate. "Sorry. He hates being disturbed once he's focused on the session."

  "I can wait." Lauren dropped her chin into her hands and leaned elbows on the divide. "It's only another twenty minutes to my parents' place from here so I've got time."

  "Time to stay and chat with me." Bailey turned in a complete circle, her palms up, elbows bent. "Now, what was I doing?"

  "Making me a coffee, with luck. And talking about how long since we saw each other."

  "Oh. That's right. Ages, isn't it?" She lifted a cup from the cupboard above but it slipped from her fingers and banged onto the bench. "Jee, I can't believe you're going to be living so close. What did Gemma say when you told her your plans to move?"

  Lauren grinned. "Didn't seem too worried, but she'd just got back from holiday."

  The coffee jar lid refused to come off in Bailey's slippery fingers and she dumped it down. "Oh, the stupid thing!"

  "Use a tea towel," Lauren suggested, and thank God, that worked. "You mean..." Bailey retrieved another mug. Holding both by their handles, she paused. "She's been away? Who with?"

  "Her brother, like she told you." A frown had appeared across Lauren's forehead.

  "Oh? I don't remember."

  "They went to Stewart Island." Lauren had used her familiar schoolteacher tone and as usual, it sent shivers up Bailey's spine.

  Looking around, she grabbed the cups, filled them with the coffee, and added milk. "What's his name again?"

  "Wayne."

  "Quite good-looking, isn't he?"

  "We've only her word for that."

  "No sign of a boyfriend yet?"

  "Not that I've seen or heard."

  "What about yours? I thought from Gemma's emails that you'd found someone of interest."

  Lauren pulled her cup towards her, turned it around, and wrapped her fingers around its hand-painted design of, Awesome Me. "This Connor's?"

  Bailey walked into the living area and sank onto the sofa. "Gave it to him last Christmas."

  Her friend's eyes brightened as she sat opposite. "What did he give you?"

  "It's in the cupboard."

  "Something sexy?" Lauren laughed.

  "Oh! Muffins." Bailey dumped her cup down so suddenly the coffee almost spilled. Trust Lauren to think of intimacy at the first opportunity. To her, a cup labelled Little Miss Sunshine would hardly cut the mustard. In the kitchen she grabbed the plate and returned to her friend.

  Lauren selected a muffin but instead of eating it, she spoke into the silence. "We haven't heard much from you lately. Why don't you give me an update?"

  Bailey pointed to her bulging cheek while Lauren, blast her, waited in silence.

  "Connor's training takes up a lot of time," Bailey eventually explained. "He eats frequently, both snacks and big meals, which I usually prepare and cook."

  "And what about you. What have you been up to?"

  "Looking for work." Bailey lifted her cup, but her fingers shook so much it almost dropped back onto the coaster.

  "In your spare time," Lauren grinned. "I get it. You've obviously fallen completely in love with your dream guy and now you devote your whole existence to his comfort. Well, good on you. Well done and good luck with the next stage of your journey. I," she stressed, "will be leading a very different life and it's time to head home and face the music."

  Bailey clung to the door frame as her friend headed outside to her car. "Let me know how he is?"

  "Sure." Hand on the door, Lauren turned to add, "Might need you some more, my friend."

  "Course." Bailey's answer spilled automatically from her mouth. Couldn't even keep her own damn life in check. She'd be useless at supporting Lauren with her sick dad and overbearing mother.

  ***

  "Come on, Freeman! Pick up the pace!" Jeff only called them by their surname when their misdemeanours were over the top or he'd already been in a crappy mood when he arrived at training. This time he'd yelled, for the second time today.

  Always, it happened during a period of reminiscing about Bailey and today Connor had accidently gone over their fight, as if he needed the mental torture to push himself along. Apparently his brain's stupid tactic hadn't worked.

  "You guys are supposed to keep time and the stroke's supposed to be leading. That's you today Freeman, except you're acting like an eighty-year-old gondolier!"

  Ouch. Connor glanced at the others, and gulped. From the rowing machines opposite, two pairs of eyes stared at him out of worried faces and beside him, Ken frowned.

  Damn. Should have kept his eyes on the display except it hadn't been a pretty sight either. They must all be wondering what the hell was going on. If he didn't concentrate on these exercises there'd be hell to pay afterwards and a mountain of shit thrown at him. At the end of it all he'd be lucky if he managed to wriggle out of revealing the argument because after this, he'd have to come up with some excuse for this less-than-top performance.

  Finally they finished on the ergs. Only the weights training to go.

  Of course his crewmates crowded around him the moment the trainer called a halt to the session and walked away. Why couldn't his mates just let him be? Connor glanced at each in turn, and huffed out his frustration. "Look, I was a bit distracted, that's all. Happens to everyone at some time, doesn't it?"

  "Happens to you, Free-bee, not to any of us," Ken pointed out, disappointment dripping from every syllable. "And we don't want it happening again. Got that?"

  "Yeah, yeah, alright." Connor tried to push past them but the wall of bodies closed in, preventing his escape.

  "Best tell us why it happened." At least Pete's voice sounded softer and more sympathetic than Ken's.

  Still, Connor couldn’t prevent the growly tone when he replied. "What's it to you?" He'd never been able to get his head around this expectation to reveal his problems to these rowing mates. Why couldn't they just accept that he was having a shitty day, for God's sake?

  "Now that, mate, is a dumb question." Aaron nudged him in the ribs. "Come on, fess up. You know we'll keep you here till you've let it all out."

  "Let what out?" Stupid to act the innocent with these guys. Been here before, hadn't he?

  "Your anger, frustration, whatever the hell it is that stopped you from concentrating today." Ken shoved at Connor's chest, pushing him backwards against the wall.

  "Not good enough, Free-bee." Aaron had edged to the front. "You're part of our crew and a c
rew can't function without full co-operation from all members."

  "Have a fight with Bailey, did you? Always seems to be about Bailey, these problems, don't they?" Pete had turned to the others for confirmation and damn it all, both nodded.

  Bailey. The girl who should be his most loyal supporter. "Not coming to Nationals," he admitted, head down and mumbling the words. "And yeah, we argued about it. Going north instead to interview a guy who's almost dead. You'd be pissed off too."

  A measure of their shock was in the silence that followed. At least he managed to use the lack of opposition to push past and head for a shower. Just a bastard he couldn't wash away the resentment along with the sweat.

  ***

  That sounded like Connor's car. At least he'd come home. Bailey pulled the roast from the oven. Cooking such a big hunk of meat had been a gamble but once she'd discovered only Connor's training gear had left with him she'd started preparing this for a surprise. Nationals might not be in her plans but she'd make darn sure Connor knew what he'd miss if he left for good.

  Spearing the rolled lamb she dumped it on the chopping board, then scooped the roast vegetables into a casserole dish and returned them to the oven to crisp.

  "Smells good." Standing with his hand still on the doorknob Connor appeared awkward, unsure of whether to stay or go.

  "You left without taking your usual snack for afters so I thought you'd be hungry, or did you get something on the way?"

  "Had a muesli bar in the car." His sports bag dropped and he turned towards the fridge. "That was enough."

  "A pathetic little muesli bar, enough for you since this morning's pasta?" She shook her head. "Not a chance. Not the way you consume food. What you really mean is, our fight put you off eating."

  He shrugged as he yanked the fridge door open. "Whatever." Grabbing his bottle of water he drained it in two seconds. "When's dinner?"

  "Um... About ten minutes?" He'd better not use the time to pack his belongings.

  "Fine. I'll..." He hesitated, rocking back on his heels and chewing the inside of his cheek.

  "Look, I can't pretend I'm happy about you not going to Nationals. I was counting on having you there. Looking forward to your support. I'm quite sure your presence would inspire me to push harder. Row better. Remember, younger rowers look up to me for inspiration and encouragement so I need to do well for their sakes too, as well as prove myself to the squad selectors."