Just for Fun

by Rosalind James

  “How’d the Captain’s Run go today? Are you guys ready, with the jet lag and everything?” she asked. “Are you all the way over it?”

  “Yeh, it’s been enough time now, and we feel pretty good. With the day you gain coming over here, it turns out that it’s a long week. Coming back, losing the day, that’ll be tougher.”

  “How do you win, though?” she wondered. “When you have been traveling, and you’re playing in the other team’s home stadium, and everything? Why does it work?”

  “Because we’re a bit better, maybe?” he asked with a smile in his voice. “No, seriously. A lot of it’s conditioning, being fit enough. And good coaching, everyone being on the same page, doing his part on the pitch. And something you’d think would be a disadvantage, like travel, can work for you too, in a funny way.”

  “How? How could that be?”

  “What really loses you footy games,” he explained, “assuming you’re fit enough, that you’ve trained enough together, that you have the players and the coaching, is looking past the week. It’s not thinking it’ll be hard, it’s assuming it’ll be easy. Do that, lose that mental edge, and you’ve lost the game before you’ve even started. The difference at the international level isn’t that much. It’s maybe five percent that separates teams. When you’re talking about a few of the teams, the Boks, the Welsh, the French, the English, it’s less than that. And any team can sting you, if you’ve let your guard down.”

  “So if you know it’s hard . . .”

  “Right. If you know it’s going to be hard, if you’ve been traveling for three weeks, you can lift to overcome that. Never assume, that’s the trick. And that can be hard to do, when everybody else—the journos, the public—thinks it’ll be easy. Out here on the sharp end, we know it’s never easy.”

  “It never looks easy to me,” she objected. “But then, I’ve seen you afterwards a few times now. So you aren’t just a . . . a pinball out there. Not to me.”

  He laughed. “Glad I’m not a pinball. And it’s good to know that you’ll see me after this one, too. Just a few more days.”

  “I miss you,” she sighed. “I can’t wait to watch you tomorrow, but I miss you now.”

  “That’s good. Because I miss you too.”

  “You do? You aren’t too busy? Or just used to it?”

  “You’re joking, right? That’s the hardest part of all, specially this trip. Leaving you and Zack, just when I want to be with you most. But that’s what’s better this time too. It’ll be so different flying back, knowing I have the two of you to come home to.”

  “When are you back?” she asked, warmth filling her at his words.

  “Tuesday noon, about then. And it’s off to Wellington again on Friday, ready to play the Wallabies next Sunday. It’ll be a short week, like I said, which means they’ll be rotating the squad a fair bit during both games. I told Zack I wouldn’t be starting tomorrow, so he won’t be disappointed. But can you bring him over after work Tuesday? Can the two of you stay, those few nights there before I’m off again?”

  “Of course we can, if you want us to.”

  “Oh yeh,” he said with a little laugh. “I want you to.”

  Back and forth, then. The surging happiness when he came home, spending those paltry three nights together, then seeing him off to Wellington, welcoming him home a few days later. A brief Sunday afternoon before the workweek began, and then he was off again, to Dunedin this time, to play the Springboks once more. Then, finally, the Championship won, and having time stretching before them at last.

  “Seems funny, doesn’t it,” Nic said. They were sitting in the spa, decorously clad in their swim togs in deference to Zack, who’d spent a bare five minutes with them before declaring it “too hot and boring” and heading back into his tower to begin to put together the new Lego set Nic had brought him from Dunedin.

  “What does?” Emma asked, lifting her legs to lay them on top of his under the bubbling water.

  “Being so glad to have two weeks with you. Like our non-honeymoon, but in reverse, eh. You’ll be going to work, and I’ll be training, but just knowing you two will be here with me until I have to leave again for England . . .” He trailed off, picked up a foot in his hands and began to massage it. “That’s pretty special.”

  “Mmm,” she agreed with a blissful sigh. “I’m happy about it too. But you should let me do the foot massaging. You’re the one who needs it.”

  “What I need,” he corrected her, “is to put my hands on you. And since this is as far as I can go till tonight, I’m going to do this, for now.”

  “Do you have Reka and Hemi’s address?” she asked him later that afternoon. “I finished their baby present, and I want to send it off tomorrow.”

  “Course.” He pulled out his phone, read off the address as she copied it down on the big mailing box. “Let’s see how it turned out, then.”

  “Sure, if you really want to. It’s the same as what I made for Jenna,” she said, opening the gift box and carefully removing layers of tissue. “Pretty simple.” She pulled out the little hat and sweater with their pink ribbon trim, the tiny matching booties.

  “Aww,” he said. “Those are really cute.”

  “The cream color’s a bit problematic, of course, but at least spit-up’s white. We’ll just cross our fingers about the baby poo.”

  “They can’t get poo on shoes, surely,” he objected. “Or sweaters.”

  She laughed. “Trust me, they can get it on everything. Even the hat may not escape. You’ve never seen a diaper disaster, I guess. But it’s washable. Plus, with cream, I can just switch out the pink ribbons for blue and change the buttons from these flower ones, if they need it. Though Reka swears this is it. She says she’s tired of having babies and Hemi not being there for them.”

  “Yeh, and four’s a lot,” Nic agreed. “But I wouldn’t take any bets on that, all the same, because he’s likely to be around after this. I know he’s planning on retiring. Everyone wants to be part of the squad that wins the World Cup for New Zealand twice in a row, touch wood. He’s held on for that these past four years, along with a fair few of the older fellas. But at some point once you’re past 30, your body’s telling you that enough’s enough. So, yeh, Hemi’s had a good run, but I think it’s coming to an end.”

  “And besides,” he went on practically, “they’re Maori. Even if they do decide to stop at four, there’s bound to be a cousin to pass these on to.” He ran a finger over the seed stitch pattern on the edge of the tiny sweater. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, baby things are easy. Everything’s so small, it goes fast. And you can use better yarn, too, because it doesn’t take much. This is cashmere, merino, and silk. Doesn’t it feel nice?” she asked, fingering the sweater herself.

  “Yeh, it does. I’m sure Reka’ll love it.”

  “Thanks.” She placed the little items carefully back in their box, wrapped the tissue paper around them and put the lid on again. “And thanks for indulging me and asking. I know it’s a little estrogen-rich for you, admiring knitwear, talking about babies.”

  “I like it, though,” he objected. “I like your girly things.”

  “You do?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Course I do. My life’s pretty blokey, you know. I’m not interested in having a woman I can arm-wrestle, who’s trying to prove she’s tougher than me. I tried that,” he admitted. “It didn’t work out so well, for me. I’ve decided I quite like indulging my soft side a bit. Especially when it wins me sensitivity points,” he added with a grin.

  “That makes it sound like you want me to be weak,” she said slowly.

  “That’s not it,” he hurried to explain. “I’m just saying you’re different from me, and I like that. Because, you know, competition’s for out there.” He gestured toward the windows. “When I’m holding you, or kicking the footy with Zack, it’s not about being tough, then. It’s about the other side of me.”

  He sh
rugged with frustration. “I’m not saying this right. What I’m trying to say is, I like being with you. I like the way you look, the way you smell, the things you talk about. You remind me about that other side. And you make me feel good.”

  She reached up for him, pulled him down for a soft kiss. “I’m glad. Because you make me feel good, too.”

  “D’you remember?” he asked while he was still holding her close, late that night. “When I told you I loved you, in Fiji?”

  “Yes,” she said simply, lifting her head from his chest to look up at him. “I remember.”

  “I thought I know what that meant, then,” he said slowly. “How much I loved being with you, making love with you. How you made me laugh, made everything so much fun. Turns out I didn’t have a clue.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I’d felt then the way I feel now, I’d never have been able to leave you the way I did. Because it’s so much more than that, isn’t it?” He stopped, went on again slowly. “It’s wanting to hang the wallpaper border for you, hold you when you cry. Having something funny happen at training, and thinking, I need to tell you about that. Wanting to come back to you when I’m gone.”

  “Bloody hell,” he finished in exasperation. “I can never say what I mean. And this would be a good time to tell me you love me too.” He scowled down at her. “I’m twisting in the wind here.”

  She reached out to trace those curved lines at the side of his mouth. Lines that had been faint, back then. Were etched into his skin now by time, and work, and the countless hours of training in the sun and wind, and smiling. Smiling, most of all.

  “Of course I love you,” she said, her eyes shining with tears. “I did then, and I’ve never stopped. And you said it just fine. You said it perfectly. But it was more selfish back then for me too. You’re right about that. Some of what I thought was love, was me looking for someone to . . . prop me up. To keep me from having to grow up by myself in the scary world. Maybe to keep from having to grow up at all. And now I know I can be in the scary world by myself, if I have to. But it’s so much better with you.”

  “And if I haven’t told you,” she finished, “well, that’s because the boy’s supposed to say it first. Everybody knows that. But I love you, and I’ll tell you so. And I need to hear it from you too, if you can manage it.”

  “I can manage it,” he promised. “To love you, and to tell you I do too. Count on me for that.”

  Chapter 34

  “Sorry I wasn’t ready,” Emma apologized, stuffing a final pair of shoes into her suitcase and fastening the zip. “I had a little trouble getting dressed.”

  “Needed help, did you?” Nic asked. “Pity I wasn’t here, then.”

  She laughed. “You’re not the least bit helpful when I’m putting clothes on, and you know it. But seriously. Is this OK, for meeting your parents?”

  He inspected the flouncy little flowered skirt, fine-knit cardigan, and tights that she was wearing with her low boots. “It works for me,” he said. “Makes me want to unfasten some buttons.” He reached for the sweater.

  She slapped his hand away. “That’s not the reaction I’m hoping for,” she complained, a smile trying to escape her would-be stern expression. “Does it look . . . suitable?”

  “Yeh,” he said. “It looks suitable. You look pretty. I can’t help it that everything you wear makes me want to undress you.”

  “All right,” she said, blowing out a nervous breath and smoothing a hand down her side. “Zack, baby!” She ran lightly up the stairs, calling to him. “Time to go!”

  “Are you ready, Mum?” Zack asked, coming down the staircase holding the banister with one hand, his Lego T-Rex in the other. “All the way ready?”

  Nic laughed. “I think she’s ready at last. C’mon, mate. Help me get this stuff to the car. You take this bag of . . . whatever this is, and I’ll do my best to stagger out with your mum’s suitcase. Good thing I’ve done some training.”

  “It’s wine,” Emma cautioned, unable to keep from laughing herself. “In the bag. So be careful, sweetie. And some chocolates as well. It’s all I could think of to bring for your mum, Nic.”

  “She’ll love them,” Nic assured her, hefting her suitcase with a groan that had Zack giggling.

  “Is your dad really my grandpa?” Zack asked from the back seat when they were on the motorway. “My real grandpa?”

  “Yeh,” Nic assured him. “And my mum’s your granny, too.”

  “I already have a grandpa and grandma, though,” Zack pointed out. “So how can they be, too?”

  “Everyone has two sets, baby,” Emma explained. “Your mum’s parents, and your dad’s parents, remember?”

  “Oh,” Zack said. “Because Nic’s my dad?”

  “Yeh,” Nic said with a smile for his son in the rear-view mirror. “That’s it.”

  “We were expecting you an hour ago,” were the first words out of George’s mouth when they arrived in Tauranga two hours later, both Nic’s parents hurrying out of the house at the sound of the Toyota pulling into the driveway.

  “My fault, I’m afraid,” Emma said. Nic gave his mum a quick kiss, then went to pull out their bags.

  “Hi,” Emma said, holding out her hand with a sunny smile. “I’m Emma, and this guy here is Zack.”

  Nic’s mother took her hand in both her own and gave it a warm squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m Ellen, and Nic’s dad is George. But you knew that, didn’t you?” She laughed. “Sorry. I’m so excited, I barely know what I’m saying.” She bent over, her hands on her knees, and smiled at Zack. “D’you know who I am?” she asked him. “I’m your granny! And do you know, you have such a look of your dad, when he was a little boy. I’ve got a photo of him that’s so like you, you wouldn’t believe it!”

  “I brought his baby book,” Emma told her. “Nic thought you might like to see it.”

  “Wasn’t that thoughtful of you,” Ellen said, her pleasure evident. “I’ll love having a look at that. I’ll pull out those old photos of Nic, and we can compare them.”

  “Not the one of me naked in the bath, Mum,” Nic said with exaggerated pain.

  “Oh, we especially want to see that,” Emma said. “Don’t we, Zack?”

  He giggled and nodded, and Ellen laughed again. “Come on into the house, then,” she urged. “We’ll have a lovely cup of tea, and get to know one another properly.”

  His mother was a much safer landing spot for Zack than his dad, Nic thought with relief as he carried their suitcases inside. “We’ve put you in your old room, of course, Nic,” his mother explained. “And we’ve popped Emma and Zack into Dan’s bedroom, as it has the two beds.”

  Nic caught Emma’s eye behind his mother’s back and made a disappointed face that had her stifling a laugh in response. “Better plan on sleepwalking tonight,” he murmured in her ear.

  “When you’re settled, come out and give me a hand with the garden, why don’t you,” George suggested.

  “I don’t mind,” Nic said with relief. Working with his dad was the most congenial way to spend time with him, he’d long found.

  “You two do that,” Ellen said. “Emma and Zack are going to come have a chat with me while I make a pudding for tonight. And maybe you’ll want to lick the bowl for me, eh,” she told Zack with a conspiratorial smile.

  “Yeh!” Zack agreed enthusiastically. “That’s my favorite! What kind of pudding will it be?”

  “Sticky date. Because that’s your dad’s favorite. Come into the kitchen with me and help me get started, then.”

  “When’s Dan coming?” Nic asked his dad, heaving Emma’s suitcase onto one bed and dropping Zack’s little satchel onto the other.

  “Dinnertime,” George replied in some disgust. “I asked him to come by earlier and give me a hand, but he’s off somewhere with a mate.”

  “Good job I’m here, then,” Nic said. “And you’re not allowed to run off with my brother,” he told Emma. “Because he’s the
handsome one.”

  “I think I already know which one I like better,” she said, smiling back at him.

  “Good. I’m holding you to that. You OK if I leave you with my mum for a bit?” he asked, taking hold of one of her curls and rubbing it between his fingers.

  “Your mum doesn’t seem too scary. You go ahead and help your dad. I’ll be fine.”

  He gave her a quick kiss and reluctantly left her to it. “What did you have in mind?” he asked his father when they were in the big, neatly arranged garage.

  “Time to cultivate the vegie garden,” George said. “I borrowed Geoff Harris’s tiller for the weekend. Hope you’ve brought your work boots.”

  “Yeh, I did. Let me get them out of the ute. I’ll be glad of the loan of a pair of gloves, though.”

  One thing you could say about his dad, Nic decided a few minutes later, having hauled the rototiller into the garden and looking over the vegetable bed, he did keep a tidy garden. The expanse of grass extended into the neighbors’ plots on either side, which had given him plenty of room to practice kicking as a kid, but the row of hedges at the back was as neat and regular as ever. Closer to the house, trees, ferns, and flax plants existed in harmony with the rhododendrons and azaleas his mother loved.

  He bent his attention to his task, setting the choke and starting up the heavy tiller, enjoying the exertion of working his way down the length of the plot and back again. Meanwhile, his dad took the wheelbarrow and hauled bags of soil amendments from the shed, began to rip them open and distribute the contents over the areas Nic had tilled in preparation for the second go.

  They worked in harmony for an hour or so, conversation brief and limited by the roar of the machine. Finally, though, Nic pulled it to the side of the big plot and shut it down. His dad handed him a hand cultivator, and they set to work breaking down the larger dirt clods left by the machine.

  “Looks like you’re getting on well with Zack these days,” his dad said after they had worked in silence for a while.

  “Yeh. They’ve both been staying with me, whenever I’m home. And they’re nice to come home to, I’ll tell you that.”