Just for Fun

by Rosalind James

  He sat at the kitchen table as she took a seat opposite him. He scrolled down, found his contact number. “How the hell d’you do your speed dials,” he muttered. “Oh. Got it.” He looked up as Zack came back into the kitchen, in the All Black pajamas again.

  “Need to get you some of those in the right size,” he told the boy as his mother reached out automatically for the rolling-up routine.

  “I like these,” Zack protested. “They’re my favorites.”

  “I know. And they’d be even better if you fit them. Come here, mate.” He reached around Zack as the boy came to stand next to him where he sat at the small round table, felt him easing towards his knee. His heart melted at the trust in the gesture. He cleared his throat, opened Emma’s phone again. “D’you know how to do speed dial?”

  “Course,” Zack nodded. “Mum has Auntie Lucy on that. She’s #2. I just hold it down to ring her.”

  “OK, then. And d’you know how to do 111?”

  “Mum taught me,” Zack said. “I’ve never done it for real, though. Only pretend. Only if there’s a real emergency, she said. Like a fire. Or blood. Bad blood.”

  “That’s probably #1 on here, right?”

  “Yeh,” Zack agreed.

  “Well, now there’s #9. This button at the bottom. That’s me.”

  “I know which one’s a 9. I know numbers. I’m six.”

  “Right. But now you know, nine’s an N, right? N for Nic.”

  “OK,” Zack said. “So if I want to ring you, I can do 9.”

  “Yeh. And if your Mum’s ever in trouble again,” Nic told him seriously, pulling him closer. “If anything even worries you. You ring me. Push the 9. N for Nic. And I’ll come straight away to help.”

  “Nic,” Emma protested. “You’ll scare him.”

  Zack wasn’t listening to her, though. He twisted around to look at Nic. “Really? You’d come? Even if it was in the night? Even if you were asleep?”

  “Even if I were asleep,” Nic assured him. “Straight away. I promise.”

  Zack exhaled, shoulders seeming to relax. “OK. But I still want the bat.”

  “What bat?” Emma asked.

  “A cricket bat,” Zack informed her. “Just in case.”

  “In case what? Oh.” Emma looked from Zack to Nic. “Oh, no. You don’t need to worry about that, sweetie. I told you.”

  “You’ll get the bat,” Nic promised him. “Just in case. But you don’t need to worry about that bloke. He’s not going to be bothering your Mum again.”

  When they’d got Zack off to bed and were alone together, though, she objected again. “I appreciated what you said to him. I would’ve thought it would make it worse, but you’ve clearly eased his mind. But it’s not realistic, Nic.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “That Ryan’s not going to bother me again. I work with him, remember? I could hardly face him today,” she said with a shudder. “I’m doing his work. And it just makes me sick. He looked at me like I was . . .” She swallowed. “Dirt. Worse than dirt. And I’m afraid of what he’s going to say.”

  “He should be afraid of what you’re going to say,” Nic pointed out.

  “At work, though, it’s almost all men. And I know it’s wrong, but there are plenty of them who’d agree with him. That I was leading him on. And anyway, what could I say? That he kissed me too hard, and I didn’t like it? He didn’t actually do anything.”

  “He did enough,” Nic said grimly. “And it doesn’t sound like he was planning to stop.”

  “There’s nothing I can do, though,” she insisted. “Because there’s nothing there, really. I have a bruise that he didn’t even put on me. And a pretty strong dislike of him, which he obviously reciprocates. And that’s all there is to it. Another thing to get through. When you’re going through Hell, just keep going. Another one of those.”

  He stared at her. “That’s it? That’s your philosophy?”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted. “Days like today. It has to be. Just getting through till I get to something better.”

  “Ryan something. Don’t know his last name,” Nic told the young receptionist. “An engineer. D’you know who I mean? And if he’s still here?”

  She was a bit flustered, he saw, on recognizing him. He gave her a reassuring grin. “I could use your help here. Ryan?”

  “Ryan Aiken,” she smiled back, the flush mounting on her cheeks. “He hasn’t left yet, I don’t think. Do you want me to ring him?”

  “Please. And have him come meet me out here, will you?”

  He felt a twinge of impatience as he saw her finally pick up the receiver and punch in the extension, her eyes moving to his as she spoke his name. He’d have been here sooner, if he could’ve been. Two days was more than enough for Emma to deal with this.

  “Nic. It’s a pleasure.” The bloke was wasted in engineering, Nic thought with contempt as Ryan came around the corner and extended his hand. Should’ve been a salesman.

  Nic kept his own arms firmly folded across his chest. The intimidation pose. Saw Ryan drop his hand uncertainly at the lack of response to his friendly gesture. “Ryan Aiken,” Nic said, unsmiling. “Come outside a minute with me.”

  “What’s this about? D’you want to chat to us about a house? Need some foundation work, do you? We could do that. Or anything else you need,” Ryan said as they rode down in the lift. He was getting nervous at the continued silence, Nic saw. Good.

  Nic led the way out through the historic building’s double glass doors with their heavy brass hardware, onto the wide Commerce Street pavement. He ignored the stream of passing foot traffic, forcing pedestrians to detour around him. Turned at last to face Ryan.

  “Emma,” he finally said.

  “Emma?” Ryan looked at him blankly. “Emma who?”

  “Have you attacked more than one woman named Emma recently?”

  “Attacked? Me? Hang on,” Ryan protested. Nic saw his eyes dart to the doorway. This kind of bully was always a coward in the end, Nic knew, when it came to someone his own size. His own lips twisted with contempt and he folded his arms again, to keep himself under restraint as much as to intimidate the other man.

  “Attacked,” he continued levelly. “Friday night. She’s got a hell of a bruise on her.”

  “I didn’t do that,” Ryan objected. “I didn’t touch her that way. Didn’t do anything but what she was asking for.”

  Nic held himself back with an effort. “Because a woman goes out with you, she’s saying she’ll shag you?”

  “If she invites me in, she is.” Ryan was gaining confidence now. “And dresses like that. Bloody hell, mate. You know how it is.”

  “I’m not your mate,” Nic ground out. “Ever hear of consent?”

  Ryan flushed, one last bit of bravado. “Come on. Women like a man with confidence, someone who takes what he wants. They want it too. They just want us to do the running so they can feel overpowered. So they can say they weren’t responsible.”

  Nic stared at him. “What kind of sick bastard thinks like that? That’s rape.”

  “What’re you?” Ryan sneered. “The White Ribbon ambassador?”

  “I’m Emma’s friend. One who’s going to beat the hell out of you if you touch her again.” Nic saw the other man’s gaze shift uneasily under his own hard stare. “Find somebody else to do your bloody drawings. Don’t talk to her. Don’t talk about her. Got it?”

  “No worries. I’m not interested. Wouldn’t have been interested in the first place, if I’d known what she was like. Frigid bitch.”

  Ryan muttered the last under his breath, but Nic heard it. He went still inside. His voice was ice now. “You’re one word away. One more word.”

  Ryan took a step back at last. He didn’t get the message easily. From women or men, it seemed. “This is rubbish.” His eyes moved from side to side like a trapped animal’s, but he was still trying to salvage his pride. “I’m not staying here to listen to any more.”

  Nic reached
out fast, grabbed the other man’s arm just above the elbow. He’d resisted touching him, but now he allowed his hand to close hard. Enough to let Ryan feel the force of it, the anger behind it. “You’ll leave her alone from now on. Say it.”

  Ryan looked down at the hand gripping him, then up at Nic’s face again, read the expression there. “Nobody else is as good as she is, though,” he objected weakly. Nic glared at him, increased the pressure. To anyone walking by, it’d look like one man reaching for another’s arm in friendly enough fashion. But there’d be some pain now. He squeezed a bit harder. Made it hurt a little more. Enough to leave a bruise to match Emma’s.

  “OK,” Ryan got out, fear and pain piercing the armor of his self-satisfaction as he realized his danger at last. “I’ll get somebody else.”

  “And shut your gate about her at work,” Nic prompted, keeping up the pressure.

  “Yeh. OK,” Ryan gasped, the last bit of resistance crumbling.

  Nic let go of Ryan’s arm, watched his hand go up to rub the spot. Letting Nic see that it had hurt. Soft.

  Nic nodded curtly. “That’s it, then.”

  Ryan shot him one more frightened look, scurried toward the glass doors. Nic watched him go, then turned to walk back to the carpark. That was one thing Emma didn’t have to cope with alone, anyway. Not this time.

  Chapter 22

  Emma had vacillated about taking Zack to the Super 15 final. The Chiefs and the Blues would be playing in Hamilton for the title, and she’d wondered about the advisability of driving two hours in traffic each way, and the late night it would mean for Zack. And, especially, about whether she could rely on her car, if she hit a long stretch of stop-and-go. She had it scheduled for service the next week, but it had been showing a dangerous tendency to overheat lately. An invitation to drive down with Jenna and the kids, though, provided the perfect solution.

  “Are you sure you want to go right now?” she had asked Jenna dubiously.

  “What, because I might have the baby? That’s why I want you there. It’d be a pretty slim chance that it would happen right then. It feels like it’s never going to happen, to tell you the truth. But just in case, I’d have you to drive my kids home then, wouldn’t I? Plus, that’s about the only way I can make sure Finn’s there for the birth, to go along with him wherever he’s playing. As long as I don’t have to talk anyone into letting me on a plane, that is. I think that would be a hard sell.”

  “All right, then,” Emma decided. “That sounds perfect.” Her less-than-reliable little car was parked safely now at Jenna’s house in Mt. Eden, and she and Zack had traveled in luxury in the Range Rover.

  She was almost wishing now, though, that they’d stayed home after all. The tension was almost too much to bear, here in the packed Waikato Stadium, every one of its nearly 26,000 seats filled for this ultimate event of the season. They were down to the final ten minutes now, and the usually sedate Kiwi spectators were anything but tonight. Surely there must be other Blues supporters in the stands, but what Emma heard was a home crowd in full cry for its team after a try and missed conversion that put the Chiefs up 22 to 20. A lead, but such a slim one.

  She leaned forward, her hand gripping Zack’s, as the Chiefs kicked off after their scoring try, and Nic took the kick at the 22. She saw one of his wingers falling in behind him, supporting him as he made his run up the left side of the field, the other staying back to cover the rear. Nic saw the tackler coming, passed to the wing but stayed with him, received the ball again in a lightning pass as the other player was going down in a tackle. A quick sidestep, and Nic was off.

  Emma and Zack, together with the rest of the crowd, were on their feet now, the Blues supporters roaring their approval as Nic hit another gear and exploded down the field. Then the groan as a Chiefs player slid into him, hooking an ankle with his foot. The instant loss of momentum as Nic took an awkward hop on his left foot, then fell in a heap. He attempted to rise, but sank back to the turf again, and the referee ran in, blowing his whistle.

  “Tripping,” Jenna said grimly on Emma’s other side. “Yes,” she hissed with satisfaction, watching Finn wade into the mix, straight into the player who had brought Nic down, before he was grabbed, held back by members of his own team. The trainer was on the field with his bag now, bending over a prostrate Nic.

  “What happened?” Emma asked in confused worry. Zack was leaning against her, eyes wide. She pulled him automatically into her arms, watched Nic rise with the trainer’s help and limp off the field. “He’s OK,” she told Zack, the relief overwhelming. “He’s up. He’s OK. He’s hurt his leg, that’s all.”

  “What’s happening?” she asked Jenna again, watching Nic’s replacement run out, and the Blues line up so Hemi could take a kick at the goal.

  “Tripping,” Jenna said again. “Penalty kick.” The stadium erupted as the kick went over, and the score went up, 23-22 in favor of the Blues. The giant screen showed a slow-motion replay of the offense, even as the teams took their places again for the Blues to kick off, only a couple minutes left on the clock now. Emma’s attention was all for the action on the screen, the Chiefs player’s body slowly sliding forward, his foot clearly coming out to hook itself around one of Nic’s own flying feet, the sickening turn of the ankle at the unforeseen and sudden stop to his momentum.

  “That’ll be reviewed,” Jenna guessed. “That was deliberate.”

  The Chiefs had the ball secured and were getting some momentum down the field, the crowd cheering its team on. Until a huge, punishing tackle from Finn forced the ball from the player’s hands, and left the man lying on the ground for a moment before he clambered to his feet again.

  “Yes!” Jenna breathed.

  “Was that OK?” Emma asked doubtfully.

  “Oh, yeah,” Jenna said with satisfaction. “That was the guy who tripped Nic. Finn’s not only made him turn the ball over, he’s delivered the message too.”

  “And that’s good?”

  “He’s delivered the message,” Jenna repeated, her eyes not leaving the field. “That’s his job. You didn’t want to see that guy get away with that, did you?”

  “No,” Emma decided. “No. I sure didn’t.”

  The Blues with the ball now, clearly determined not to let it out of their control again as the clock ran down. And, at last, the referee’s whistle, ending the match with a Blues win of the final, and Zack and Emma hugging each other in relieved gratitude.

  “How are we going to know if Nic’s OK?” Zack asked as they made their way through the stadium, Jenna and Emma each keeping a tight hold on their tired children in the crowd.

  “I texted him,” Emma told him. She’d thought of it as soon as the game had ended, had pulled out her mobile even before they’d left their seats. She didn’t know when he would see it. She hoped Nic would realize how worried Zack—and she—would be about him, and would answer when he could.

  She heard the ding of the text when they were pulling into Jenna’s garage, two hours later. “Baby,” she said, a catch in her throat, reaching into the back seat to give Zack’s knee a squeeze. “Time to wake up and get into our car. And I just heard from Nic. He says it’s a sprain, that’s all.”

  “Good news,” Jenna said with relief.

  “What does that mean?” Zack asked sleepily.

  “It means his ankle’s hurt, and he won’t be able to play for awhile,” she explained.

  “Does it mean he can’t play with the All Blacks?” Zack asked, anxious again.

  “I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll be out for a bit. But we can ask him on Monday.”

  “Thanks for cooking for me,” Nic said on Monday evening. He had an ankle propped on a pillow atop the coffee table in Emma’s flat, wrapped in one of the collection of cold packs he’d brought with him. “Because this is the boring bit.”

  “How long do you have to keep doing that?” she asked.

  “Meant to be 72 hours, so until tomorrow evening. Ten minutes on, ten off. Only so mu
ch All Black game film a man can watch, eh.”

  “That doesn’t sound boring,” Zack chimed in. “That sounds fun.”

  “Yeh,” Nic smiled down at him. “It’s a good treat. Not so much as a steady diet, though.”

  The buzzer went off on the oven, and Emma moved into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with two plates that she set before Nic and Zack. “I hope this is OK,” she said. “I wasn’t sure steak and mushroom pie was on your diet plan, but it sure is tasty.”

  “A double slice of that, with the green beans and salad?” he said. “Works for me. I’m allowed a wee bit of indulgence anyway, just now.”

  “How long is it going to be?” she asked when she was settling herself with her own plate.

  “A good five weeks till I’m on the field again,” he said with a grimace. “Depending how the rehab goes, of course.”

  “You mean you don’t get to play?” Zack asked. He and Emma were sitting on the floor, eating from the coffee table, and Nic smiled at the picture they made, before Emma hopped up to switch out his icepack. He could get used to this, he thought, shabby carpet and all. It was so snug and warm in here, and he loved looking at both of them. His son, and his . . . his son’s mum.

  He realized Zack was looking at him expectantly. “Pardon?” he asked. “What did you ask me?”

  “You don’t get to play with the All Blacks?” Zack repeated.

  “Not for a bit,” Nic said regretfully. “I’ll miss the first two games, anyway. The road trip to Safa, then the Wallabies game back here. Hope I’ll be fit for that second game against the Aussies in Melbourne, but we’ll have to see how I go.”

  “What do you do to get better?” Zack asked.

  “Whatever they tell me.”

  Nic accepted Finn’s help to put away his dumbbells, then leaned down from the weight bench to grab his crutches from the floor. His workout range was limited just now, but he’d been going stark staring mad sitting around the house, and had greeted the invitation to meet Finn at the gym with relief. Thank goodness the big No. 8, always so disciplined about fitness, was seeking out extra workouts as well during this downtime before All Black training started up. Nic just wished he could be out there with the rest of the boys next week. He knew he’d be pushing his rehab to the fullest extent allowed by the training staff. When he did return to the squad, he meant to come back as strong as he could possibly be.