Just for Fun

by Rosalind James

  “Seems like you got involved with Emma pretty fast, after the break with Claudia,” his dad pointed out.

  “A month or so,” Nic agreed, willing himself to stay calm. “But then, I fell in love with Emma a long time ago. Falling in love again wasn’t too hard at all.”

  “I can see she’s a good time,” George said. “But it takes more than that, you know.”

  Nic had never come closer to hitting his father. He turned away, walked a few steps toward the back of the garden, still clutching the cultivator. Stood staring unseeingly at that neatly trimmed hedge, took some deep breaths, deliberately loosened his grip on the tool. And finally turned to face George again.

  “If you ever say something like that again,” he told his father, his voice quiet, “that’s the last you’ll see of me.”

  “What?” George asked in genuine surprise. “Just trying to give you the benefit of my experience.”

  “I’ve had more experience than you could even dream of,” Nic told him bluntly. “I sure as hell don’t need the benefit of yours.”

  “You’ve gone potty on this girl, that’s what it is,” George argued. “I would’ve thought that by now, you’d know how to avoid the ones who’re looking for a sportsman with a bit of lolly. Now, Claudia—”

  “I think I know which of the two of them was more interested in my money, and what being with me could do for her,” Nic said, his expression hard. “Who wanted to be taken to flash restaurants. Who insisted I buy that house that’s too big for me, then spent all that money doing it up. Who walked out on me the minute she was asked to front up, as soon as things stopped being comfortable. So don’t talk to me about gold-diggers,” he said, talking straight over his father’s attempt to interrupt. “Because my experience in that area is the same as in the other. A hell of a lot more than yours.”

  They’d finished the rest of the job in silence, Nic glad of the opportunity to take his frustration and anger out on the dirt clods. But even the largest garden plot eventually got tilled. His father made a few gruff remarks as they put the tools away, and Nic went inside to shower and change, then sought refuge in the kitchen with the rest of his family.

  Fortunately, Dan put in an appearance before too long and, as always, his easy, laughing presence helped dissipate the tension between his father and older brother. Nic found himself relaxing over dinner, encouraged to share stories about training in rugby-mad Argentina and playing before the raucously enthusiastic crowd in La Plata.

  “I looked up when we came out of the tunnel,” he said with a grin. “And I saw all these blokes holding oranges. I thought, good on them for eating such healthy snacks. Didn’t realize they meant to chuck them at us.”

  “They threw them at you?” Emma asked with shock.

  “Didn’t hit us,” Nic said. “Splattered around a bit, that’s all. But they’re good buggers. They support their own team, and they’re passionate about it. They could give a few lessons to those polite En Zed crowds. But all the same, they stood up and gave us an ovation for our performance when we came off the field. They’ve been chuffed to play in the Rugby Championship, to get the chance to lift their own game. And they may not be at the top level yet,” he said seriously, “but you discount them at your peril. They’ll give a good account of themselves at the World Cup. Because they play, like they say?” He thumped his chest with a fist. “Con corazón.”

  “Emma and I’ll do the washing-up, Mum,” he said when his mother stood at the end of the meal to clear plates. “Least I will,” he said with a glance at Emma. “Maybe I shouldn’t be volunteering you, eh.”

  “Of course you should,” she smiled back at him.

  “We’ve got quite good at it,” Nic told his mother. “Become a team, haven’t we, as she doesn’t have a dishwasher.”

  “Oh, that takes me back,” Ellen said sympathetically. “I can still remember when I first got one. And the old days without it, when it seemed like I spent half my life with my hands in the suds.”

  “Well, it isn’t that bad,” Emma said. “It’s just Zack and me. And Nic, sometimes, but he helps, so that doesn’t count.”

  “Hope you don’t mind,” Nic said when they were alone in the cozy kitchen, filling up that same dishwasher and scraping out serving plates.

  “Of course not,” Emma said. “It gives me a chance to talk to you. Your mum’s really nice, but I can’t help being a little nervous about what she thinks of me, after Claudia.”

  “You’d never get her to compare,” Nic said, “but if you could read her mind, I’ll bet any money that you’d win.”

  “Really?” Emma asked doubtfully.

  “Really,” he smiled down at her. “Besides, you come with a ready-made grandchild, don’t you. Contest’s over right there.”

  She laughed. “You could be right about that. You’ll notice Zack’s perfectly happy to be left with her.”

  “He’s no fool,” Nic agreed. “Bet he’s getting an extra chocolate out of her right now.”

  “And one more thing,” he said when they’d finished and were wiping down surfaces. He brought his dishcloth around to her side of the room, stealthily wiping closer and closer. Finally gave up the pretense, set it down, and put his arms around her from behind, pulled her into him. Bent his head to the side of her neck and kissed her there. “Have I mentioned that you’re pretty?”

  “Mmm,” she said, leaning back into him. “I don’t think you have. Maybe you could tell me now.”

  “Yeh,” he sighed, turning her around and pulling her close for a proper kiss. “You’re pretty, and you look so cute twitching round in that little skirt. If we weren’t quite so well chaperoned, I’d be flipping that skirt up right now and showing you a thing or two.”

  He was working on telling her a few more things when the kitchen door opened with a bang to admit Dan. “Whoops,” his brother said with a laugh. “I didn’t realize there was so much action in here. I’ve clearly been in the wrong room.”

  “What d’you want?” Nic asked, turning his head but not releasing Emma. “I’m busy here.”

  “Yeh, bro. I see that. Came for a beer. And one for Dad as well.”

  Nic stepped away from Emma reluctantly, opened the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. “Here. Go.”

  “Geez, Nic. Have a heart. Let me at least talk to her. Some of us poor lonely blokes don’t even have a girlfriend, never mind a hope of landing one this pretty. What could possibly have interested someone like you in this ugly bugger?” he demanded of a laughing Emma. “When there are so many better choices out there, like, say, me?”

  “Get your own girl,” Nic told him with a mock-scowl. “This one’s mine.”

  “Afraid so,” Emma said, her eyes dancing. “Nic was right—you are the handsome one. Too bad he’s got me under his wicked spell.”

  “Tell me you have a sister,” Dan begged.

  “I have a sister. And she has a partner too. So I’m afraid my family’s out. It is a pity that you don’t have any looks or charm of your own to rely on. I guess you’re destined to remain lonely forever.”

  Dan heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Well, if he doesn’t treat you right, you know where I live.”

  “Sorry. I make it a point these days not to fall in love with more than one brother at a time. I find it makes my life so much less complicated.”

  “Out,” Nic said sternly, opening the door and giving his brother a shove. “Let me finish kissing my girlfriend in peace.”

  Pity he couldn’t do that for the entire evening, Nic thought. Luckily, Dan stayed another hour, and kept the conversation lively. At last, though, he got up to leave.

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Nic told him. He waited while Dan said goodbye to Emma with a brotherly kiss on the cheek and a laughing glance in his direction. Emma took the opportunity to whisk Zack off for a bath, and the two brothers walked out to Dan’s car.

  “Thanks for coming by,” Nic said with real gratitude. “I already had a moment today w
hen I was ready to load everybody up and head back to Auckland. You saved me for another day. Wish I could laugh it off like you do, but . . .” He shrugged. “Can’t, that’s all.”

  “Yeh, nah,” Dan said, leaning against the car and tossing his keys in his hand. “It’s easier for me, that’s why. All the expectation’s on you, isn’t it. He’s so proud of you, that’s what makes him push so hard.”

  “Is that it,” Nic said wryly. “And here I thought it was the opposite. Seems like nothing I do is ever good enough. If I score a try, he wonders why I didn’t score two. Good job Drew’s got the captaincy locked up, and they’d never select a back anyway, or he’d be wondering how I’d failed at that.”

  “I don’t know why he thinks he has to keep on like that,” Dan agreed. “Not much further for you to go, is there.”

  “Yeh,” Nic said. “Anyway, good to see you.”

  “I’ll be barracking for you, next couple months, you know that,” Dan told him. “Good luck over there. You’re a bloody hard act to follow, but you’re not bad as a brother, all the same.”

  “Cheers,” Nic said with a grin.

  “And all joking aside,” Dan added. “Zack and Emma? You’re a lucky man.”

  “All joking aside,” Nic said, “I know it.”

  “When’s the announcement of the squad for the Cup?” George asked the next morning as they sat over a cup of tea.

  “Tomorrow,” Nic answered.

  “Has Pete talked to you?” George pressed.

  “Yeh. Anyway, I’m in form. I wasn’t expecting to be left behind. Doesn’t mean I’ll be starting every game, though.”

  George grunted. “I would’ve felt better about it if you hadn’t started from the bench those first two matches after you came back.”

  “Resting my ankle,” Nic explained. “Giving me a chance to ease back in. I wasn’t the only one rested, and I won’t be the last. It’s a matter of rotation, giving the new caps, and the boys without much experience, a chance to get a feel for the pace of test footy, in case they’re needed. The World Cup, on top of the Championship—that’s a big ask. You’ll see the Skipper rested, is my guess, during one or two of the pool games, the ones against the minnows. And that almost never happens.”

  “Want to go into the back garden, kick the ball a bit with me?” he asked Zack, changing the subject. He was feeling tense and edgy, the way he always did after a day with his dad. It was even worse this time, because he could tell Zack was feeling the same way. He was subdued this morning, and had been slow to eat his Weet-Bix at breakfast, a sure sign of distress. Running around would help both of them.

  “Yeh,” Zack said with relief.

  “Run get a warm jersey on, then,” Nic instructed, getting up and putting his teacup into the dishwasher. “Want to join us, Emma?”

  “No thanks,” she smiled. “I think my kicking’s beyond hope. Anyway, your mum thinks she can teach me to make an apricot slice. I’m not much of a baker, but I’d like to learn.”

  “I’ll come,” George said, wiping his mouth and standing up from the table. Ellen whisked his cup away, and Nic wondered for the thousandth time if it would kill his dad to help out a bit around the house. And then realized with dismay what he’d said. So much for his plan to get himself and Zack out from under that critical eye for a bit.

  “Run on down to the end of the garden,” Nic instructed Zack once they were outside. “And we’ll give you a bit of work under the high ball.”

  “Your technique’s looking a bit dodgy off the right foot,” George commented after watching a number of Nic’s easy kicks back to his son. “I was noticing it looked different, these last games.”

  “I’ve changed it a bit,” Nic agreed. “Lets me get the ball away faster.”

  “Sure it’s a good idea to change up now?” George asked.

  “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be doing it,” Nic answered shortly. Despite his best efforts to control it, his temper was beginning to fray.

  He called Zack back. “Passing practice,” he told him. “Want to help out here, Dad?”

  “I don’t mind,” George decided. The three of them set off, tossing the ball behind them, then letting the ball carrier run ahead to pass back in his turn. All went well for a while, until Zack’s pass to George went awry. The older man reached for it, but couldn’t pull it in. He stopped running with a curse, went back for the ball. “Got to look where you’re passing it,” he snapped to Zack.

  “Sorry,” the boy said, looking chastened at the tone.

  “Never mind,” Nic said. “Start again.” This time, Zack was the one who missed George’s pass, which had been a bit high for his six-year-old frame.

  “Focus!” George barked. “Watch the ball! Watch my arm!”

  Zack’s lip was trembling, and Nic quickly started him running in the opposite direction, caught his wobbly pass with ease, then sent it back to him again. If his dad was going to be that much of an arsehole, he could just stay out of it. Zack, though, was thoroughly rattled by now, and his return pass to Nic was far off the mark. Nic got a hand on it, but couldn’t pull it in, had to jog over to pick it up out of one of the flax plants at the edge of the wide expanse of grass.

  “Thought you’d been working with him,” George accused. “You had a more accurate arm than that by the time you were five.”

  “You’ve got him doubting himself, is why,” Nic shot back.

  “He needs to harden up, then,” George insisted, “if a suggestion or two can do that to him. Because he’s bloody useless this morning.”

  “Dad. He’s right here,” Nic warned.

  “So?”

  “So quit telling him what he’s done wrong, or to harden up!” Nic snapped, completely exasperated now. “You’re not helping!” He put an arm around Zack, who was openly crying by this time.

  “Big kids like you don’t cry,” George told his grandson. “And why shouldn’t I coach him, just like I did you? I try to give you both the feedback you need, and all I get is agro for it. When did you get so soft that you couldn’t take a bit of criticism?”

  “Right. That’s it. That’s enough,” Nic decided. “Mate,” he told Zack, handing him the ball. “Go on back inside and see your granny. Maybe she’ll give you a bit of that apricot slice, when it’s done.” He reached a thumb down, wiped the tears from Zack’s eyes. “Oi,” he said softly. “It’s OK. Just give me a sec, and then I’ll be coming in too.”

  Zack nodded and trudged off with the ball after one final scared look at his grandfather. Nic turned back to his dad. Time to put him right. Well past time.

  “When I’m out there on the paddock, under the high ball,” he began. “That’s a pretty lonely place. I have to back myself. The last thing I need out there is doubt. I have heaps of people to give me advice. I don’t need an earbashing from you after every match. Or to have your voice in my head every time I miss a tackle, telling me I’m not good enough.”

  “Watch how you’re talking to me,” George began to bluster.

  “Nah, Dad.” Nic interrupted his father again. He’d never done that before this weekend, and now he wondered why not. Because it felt damn good. “Watch how you’re talking to me. And how you talk to my son, if you want to keep seeing either one of us.”

  “I spent half my life with you telling me to harden up,” he went on. “Right, now I have. And if I think Zack needs any help learning how to be a man, I’m here to give it to him. He doesn’t need your criticism. He doesn’t need your disapproval. What he needs is your love.”

  “What kind of a pussy are you trying to make him?” George asked incredulously. “How’s he going to turn out with that kind of soft attitude?”

  “Like a decent man, I hope. A good New Zealander. A loving son to his mum. A good mate. And yeh, he’ll harden up. Heaps of time in his life for him to learn that, and for me to teach him. It’s not your job, and I’m not going to let you do it. Because the way you do it hurts. And I’m not going to let you hurt my s
on.”

  “You’re telling me I hurt you? That’s your gratitude for everything I’ve done? If it hadn’t been for me pushing you, you’d never even have made the Super 15, let alone the All Blacks. Have you forgotten all the times I worked with you? How many hours I spent practicing with you?”

  “Nah, Dad,” Nic sighed. “I haven’t. And I’m grateful for it. Just like I know that you did the things you did, said the things you said, because you thought I needed to hear them. That you were trying to make a man of me.”

  “Too right I was,” George grunted, barely mollified.

  “But I am a man now,” Nic went on. “Time for you to see it. I’m a pretty damn good footballer, too, and I know a hell of a lot more about rugby than you do. And I’m a father as well. I can take care of myself, and I can take care of my family. I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life, how to do my job, how to choose a woman to love, how to raise my son.”

  “I want you in my life, Dad.” He saw the danger signs, the vein bulging in his father’s temple, his face reddening, and plowed on regardless. “I want you in Zack’s life. But it’s going to be on my terms, or it’s not going to happen. And here’s what they are. You’ll treat Emma with respect. Not asking you to love her, though I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t. She’s a bloody fantastic person, and she’s done a damn good job of raising her son, without any help from me. The help she should have had. I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to her. Because she deserves it.”

  “And Zack. You can either be a decent grandpa to him, or you can not see him at all. Your choice. No telling him to harden up. No suggestion that he isn’t good enough, strong enough, tough enough for you. If he needs any criticism, or any discipline, that’ll come from his mum, or me.”

  “You’ve got a hell of a nerve,” his father said, his face purple with rage now.

  “Yeh, I have,” Nic told him levelly. “Finally. I’ll say goodbye to Mum, and we’ll be off. We won’t be staying for lunch. Let me know what you decide.” He left his father standing there, staring after him. Turned and walked back to the house without another word.