Just for Fun

by Rosalind James

  “Really?” Zack asked doubtfully.

  “Course they do,” Nic smiled down at him. Ignored his father’s snort of disgust and lay down next to Zack. “I’m knackered, though. Ready to give it a rest here.”

  “Because it’s a long way,” Zack said. “From Safa.”

  “Yeh,” Nic gave Zack’s back a bit of a rub. “You remembered, eh. It’s a long way.”

  Zack really was exhausted from the long day, he saw. Within a few minutes, he was breathing peacefully.

  Zack made it through the night without further mishap, to Nic’s relief, though they did have to make an early-morning dash for the toilets.

  “Eggs for breakfast,” George said when they returned, having started the gas cooker. He seemed to have recovered his good humor, Nic saw with relief. “And I’ve got the water on, make us a cup of tea. D’you drink tea?” he asked Zack. “Or d’you like cocoa better? Milo, maybe?”

  “Yeh,” Zack said shyly. “Cocoa, I mean. Please.”

  “Think I have a bit of that, in my camping box,” George told him. “Have a look, will you, mate? Get your da—Get Nic to help you.”

  They were soon working on their camp breakfast of eggs and streaky bacon, accompanied by jam donuts from the Pak ‘n Save bakery that Zack seized on eagerly, but Nic refused.

  “Watching your figure?” his dad asked with a raised brow.

  “Training,” Nic said. “I’ll make another couple eggs instead. Semis in two weeks.”

  “A donut or two couldn’t hurt, surely,” George objected.

  “Got a nutrition plan,” Nic said evenly. “Worked out specially. And it doesn’t include jam donuts.”

  “Huh. Probably for the best. Saw you missed a tackle the other night, handed the Cheetahs that try.”

  “And made five,” Dan put in, taking another jam donut. “Plus a try of your own. Well done,” he told his older brother. “Get to miss out on the quarterfinals, do you.”

  “Yeh,” Nic said with gratitude. Trust Dan to accentuate the positive. “Let the niggles settle a bit. And play the semis match at home, which is always a bonus.”

  “Surprised you kicked that one back, in the fifty-third minute,” George put in. “What were you thinking? Had some room to run, offload to Koti James. He was in the clear. If you’d scored then, that would’ve put the boot into them. As it was, you left it late, didn’t you.”

  Nic thought about explaining, changed his mind. “Strategic decision,” he said instead.

  “Bloody unstrategic, you ask me.”

  “We’ll see what the coaches have to say,” Nic said. “If they didn’t like my choice, they’ll let me know, no worries.”

  Dan jumped in with a question or two, and the moment passed off. “Who’s for fishing?” George asked when they’d washed up, stacked the pan and camp mugs to dry on a tea towel. “Tide’s running strong this morning. Reckon we could get a couple snapper before we go home.”

  “Do I have to go in the boat?” Zack asked Nic quietly.

  “Nah,” Nic told him. “We’ll see how we do from the rocks. I know a spot.”

  Zack held his rod obediently for a while, then began to shift back and forth. Sat down with a thump, began to wiggle the rod absently, watching the line play in the water. “Does it take a long time to catch a fish?” he asked presently.

  “It can do,” Nic responded. “Patience is part of it.”

  Zack sighed, and silence reigned for a while longer.

  “D’you think they all went away?” he finally asked.

  “Who?”

  “The fish. D’you think maybe they swam someplace else?”

  “Nah. Just wait. We may get one yet.”

  The jerk, when it came, was on Zack’s line, not Nic’s. By that point, Zack was holding the rod with one hand, using the other to pick up pebbles, and the tug of the big fish pulled it straight out of his lax hold. Nic turned at his yell, only to see the rod slide and bounce across the rocks and into the sea.

  “Shit!” Nic yelped. “Stay here,” he instructed Zack. “Don’t move.” He bounded down the steep, boulder-strewn bank and dove into the sea, caught up with the rod, swam back with it and clambered out over the boulders again. Reached the spot where Zack stood, anxiously hopping from one foot to the other on the topmost rock, and finished reeling the big fish in. A couple kilos at least, he saw with satisfaction. He took the hook out of the gaping mouth and gave the head a smack on a rock to put a quick end to the animal after its ordeal.

  “You killed it,” Zack said with shock. “It’s dead. Isn’t it?”

  “Yeh,” Nic said, shivering now that the adrenaline was leaving him. “That’s the idea. And you’ve got to hang onto your rod better than that.”

  Zack’s eyes welled with tears. “I didn’t know we’d have to kill it.”

  “Where did you think fish came from?” Nic asked in exasperation. “It’s alive, you catch it. You kill it and you eat it. And if you didn’t want it to suffer, you shouldn’t have dropped your rod. If I hadn’t gone after it, that poor fish would’ve had to drag it about till it died of exhaustion.”

  “Sorry.” Nic’s lip was trembling again, and Nic was suddenly overwhelmed with frustrated impatience. “Never mind,” he said curtly, shoving the fish into the chilly bin he’d brought for the purpose and snapping down the lid. Took the bin in one hand, the two rods in the other. “Come on. I need to get changed.”

  Zack lagged behind, and Nic cast a couple glances to make sure he was following. He dropped the rods and bin outside the tent, then went in and jerked off his wet things, replaced them with the change of clothes he’d luckily brought with him on account of the rain. Then took a few deep breaths, bundled the wet clothes away, and climbed out of the tent again.

  Zack was sitting at the picnic table, his back to him, head bent, picking at the wood with one finger.

  “Mate.” Nic sat down across from him with a sigh. “It’s OK.”

  Zack shook his head without raising it. He was crying, Nic realized. “I need your help,” he told the boy. “Come help me clean this fish. It’s caused us enough grief today. We may as well get a good lunch out of it.”

  Zack wasn’t too squeamish about the cleaning, at least, Nic found with relief. His fascination with the fish’s disgusting innards seemed to divert his mind from his misery, and he watched Nic’s preparations with interest.

  “And now we get to eat it,” Nic told him when they arrived back at their campsite again. “Which is the point of the entire exercise.”

  “We had fish last night, though,” Zack said doubtfully.

  “Because we’re fishing. That’s what you eat, on a fishing trip. Fish.”

  “All the time?”

  “Well, yeh. We didn’t have it for brekkie, though, did we? Now, trout, that’s a lovely brekkie. With some eggs, of course.” The fish was frying in the pan now, turning a golden brown amidst the lavish slatherings of butter Nic had added.

  “D’you have to go in a boat for trout?”

  “Nah. Stand in a stream with your waders on, though. Gets a bit cold.”

  “Does it take a long time?”

  “It can do. Not too keen on fishing so far, eh.”

  “I thought it would be fun,” Zack admitted. “But it isn’t so much, is it?”

  Nic smiled. “Relaxing, that’s what it is. Takes a bit of getting used to, maybe.”

  “I don’t think I like relaxing,” Zack said seriously. “Not as much as footy.”

  “Well, not as much as footy, no,” Nic agreed. “Reckon footy’s the best thing of all.”

  Chapter 16

  The trip home was just as miserable as he’d expected, Nic found. Worse, maybe, as all that fish that had gone down was now coming back up again, and his father’s mood at the delay was even worse.

  “Going to be late getting back,” he grumbled. “I was counting on seven.”

  “And it’ll be seven-thirty,” Nic snapped back. “What’s the bloody difference?�
�� He could see his father’s surprised, angry glance in the rear-view mirror. He didn’t normally offer a retort. But his last nerve was frayed by now.

  He pulled at last into Emma’s driveway, relief and guilt warring for pride of place within him. Zack had been quiet on the drive back from Thames, worn out with carsickness maybe. At least Nic hoped that was it.

  He pulled on his own anorak, ran around the car and opened Zack’s door, feeling the rain soaking any part of him that might have stayed dry during all those spewing stops.

  “Here.” He helped Zack into his anorak, picked up the booster seat and grabbed the rest of his gear, slammed the car door. Followed behind as the boy ran around the side of the house to his flat and dashed through the front door.

  “Hi,” Nic said, setting down his burdens. Emma didn’t seem to notice him in her haste to pull off Zack’s anorak, help him out of his gumboots, before finally pulling her son into a fierce hug.

  “You smell terrible,” she told him, smoothing his hair back. “Were you sick?”

  “Yeh,” he said, burying his face in her side. “It was a really windy road, Mum.”

  She looked up at Nic at last. “How’d it go?”

  “Could’ve been better,” he admitted. “We had a few dramas. Didn’t realize the road would make him so sick.”

  “It happens sometimes,” she said. “It must have been worse because he was nervous. I should’ve given him something, but it can make him so sleepy and grouchy. Was it really bad?”

  “Well, yeh. A few times. And it rained, which wasn’t the best. Zack caught a fish, though, didn’t you, mate?”

  “Nah. I dropped it.” He hung his head, fingered his mother’s skirt. Wouldn’t meet Nic’s eyes.

  “A bit of drama, like I said. But the best part of a trip like this, sometimes, is coming home, getting warm and dry again,” Nic said to Zack. “And now you’re here with your mum again, and you can do that. I’ll see you next week, OK?”

  “OK,” Zack said, still not looking up.

  Emma glanced down at him, then up at Nic again with a puzzled frown. He smiled awkwardly at her. He’d ring her later, he decided. Explain.

  “Thanks,” Emma told her landlady 45 minutes later. “I really, really appreciate it. An hour, I hope. Hour and fifteen minutes, max.”

  “No worries, love,” Lois said comfortably. “Makes no difference to me if I sit down here, or up in the house. Gives me a chance to look at all your lovely bits and bobs.”

  The rain was really coming down now, Emma realized as she left the flat. She debated going back for her umbrella, but she didn’t want to take the time. By the time she got to her car, she was regretting the decision. Too late now. She was already wet. She turned up the heat on the drive to Nic’s house, glancing down at every stoplight to check the map she’d printed out, then peering out again as her windscreen wipers tried and failed to keep up with the sheets of water streaming across them. Finally pulled up the sloping drive to Nic’s house, parked outside the garage. And was engulfed by rain again the moment she stepped out.

  She dashed across to the front door, stood in the shelter of the vestibule, and rang the bell. Then rang it again, impatient at the delay. After all this, he wasn’t going to be home?

  A third ring, and the door opened a bare twenty centimeters, a dark-haired woman glancing around it at her, then opening it reluctantly wider.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to talk to Nic.” Emma’s hair was plastered to her head, her sweater and jeans soaked.

  “He’s just out of the shower,” the woman—Claudia, obviously—objected.

  “I don’t care if he’s just off the boat from Siberia,” Emma said furiously. “I need to talk to him about Zack.”

  “I suppose you’re Emma,” Claudia said with resignation. “You’d better come in.”

  Emma stepped into the entryway, all white walls, dark stone floor, and frosted light sconces, as Nic appeared in jeans and T-shirt, feet bare, rubbing his wet head with a fluffy white towel. “Who was it?”

  He stopped, arrested, at the sight of her. “Emma. What are you doing here? Is Zack . . . Is something wrong?”

  “Something’s wrong, all right.” She was shivering now, her teeth beginning to chatter. “And it’s you. You’re wrong.” She was barely coherent in her rage. “Nobody asked you to get involved in his life! Nobody wanted you! Why’d you do it? Why hurt him?”

  “Hang on. Wait.” Nic gestured helplessly, looked at Claudia. “Come inside. Let’s talk.” Claudia didn’t echo the invitation, merely stared at Emma with the detached fascination she might have shown towards a wreck at the side of the motorway.

  “No! I’m going to tell you right now. Do you know how excited he was? How much he was looking forward to this trip? He came back so quiet. So . . . so defeated. How could you do that to him?” She was crying now, shaking with cold and rage, the tears mingling with the rain soaking her. “Well, you’re not taking him again. You aren’t seeing him. This is it, do you hear? This is it.”

  “Suits us,” Claudia said at last. “Now, if you don’t mind . . .”

  “Claudia, no,” Nic said. “This is between Emma and me. She can have her say.” Claudia looked at him for a long moment, then turned on her heel and left.

  “Emma,” Nic told her, coming forward at last. “Stop. Please. You’re freezing, and you’re too upset. Come on in, and we’ll talk.”

  “No,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to talk to you. I changed my mind. Just . . . go away. Leave us alone.”

  “Come on,” he urged again. “You’re here to tell me. But you’re too cold, and too wet. Come inside and talk to me. I stuffed up, and I know it. Come in so we can find a way to make it better. For Zack’s sake.”

  That snapped her out of it, he saw. She nodded reluctantly, sniffed, wiped her hand across her face. He handed her the towel. “Come into the kitchen, have a cuppa. Warm up.” He took her beyond the dividing pillar and into the great room, across the expanse of wood floor to the breakfast bar. “Sit and dry off,” he told her. He put the electric jug on, then had another thought. “Hang on a tick.” He ran upstairs, came back with a charcoal gray fleece dressing gown, tossed it to her. “Put that on.”

  She pulled it around herself, too cold to protest. She really had the shakes now. She huddled in his dressing gown, rubbed the towel over her hair and face, attempted to blot the water from her sodden sweater and jeans while he made the tea.

  He waited until she had both hands around the mug and was sipping the hot beverage, and he saw the shivers dying down. Though she wouldn’t be really warm, he knew, until she got out of those wet things. He couldn’t suggest that. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I stuffed up, I know it. And let my dad say some things—” He broke off. “But I’ll make it better.”

  “How?” she demanded. “How are you going to make it better?”

  “Where is he now?”

  “At home.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. Of course not. What kind of mother do you think I am? My landlady’s there with him.”

  “I’ll come home with you now,” he decided. “Talk to him.”

  “You can’t. He’ll be asleep.”

  He shrugged in frustration. “Tomorrow, then. Bugger. I have a sponsorship commitment after training. But I’ll come after that, in the evening. Take him to dinner, talk to him.”

  “No. Not alone.”

  “What, then?”

  “Come to dinner,” she said reluctantly. “So I can be there, hear what you say. Help him.”

  “Right. I’ll be there. Six? Want me to bring a takeaway?”

  “Yeah. Because I don’t feel like cooking for you. But shouldn’t you ask Claudia first? I don’t think she’ll be thrilled.”

  “I’ll tell her. I don’t keep secrets from Claudia.”

  “So,” Nic said to Zack the following night. The three of them were sitting around the little table, working on the Thai food Nic had brought. Not
too spicy, per Emma’s strictures. “Our camping trip wasn’t one for the books, eh. Didn’t work out quite as well as we’d planned.”

  Zack looked up at him warily, but didn’t answer. “Pity it rained,” Nic went on. “That didn’t help. And that you got sick. Not your fault,” he went on hastily. “Can’t help it when your tummy decides to go crook like that.”

  “And we had to stop too much, and come back in the boat,” Zack volunteered at last. “That made your dad really angry.”

  “Aw. He gets angry anyway. Nothing new there.”

  “He didn’t like me, though,” Zack said, his voice small. “He said I had to harden up.”

  “Know how many times he’s told me to harden up?” Nic asked. “Heaps. That’s how many.”

  “But you’re strong. You’re a grown-up.”

  “I wasn’t always. I was a kid, just like you.”

  “You prob’ly didn’t ever cry, though,” Zack said, making a little pile of rice with his fork, then aimlessly stabbing at bits of meat.

  “Yeh, I did,” Nic corrected him. “Not in front of my dad, it’s true. But in our room, mine and Dan’s? Heaps of times.”

  “Really?” Zack asked, eyes wide.

  “Just ask Dan. He’ll tell you all my guilty secrets. Anyway, camping’s bound to be a bit rough the first time. Specially if it rains. And you’ve never fished before.”

  “Specially if you spew,” Zack said.

  “Yeh. Specially if you spew.”

  “I was thinking we could try again,” Nic told Emma later, after Zack was safely in bed. “Not fishing,” he went on hastily. “Or camping. But what would you think about my taking Zack to the beach next Saturday? I asked Claudia to come along as well, so there’d be a female influence. Thought that might ease your mind.”

  Emma’s brief experience of Claudia left her unconvinced. “I don’t want you to take him without me,” she said. “Not till I see for myself that things are better.”

  “Right,” he sighed. “Come with us, then.”