Chapter 13
She had carefully avoided all media about the Yarraside Wolves for almost a month, but on that Saturday morning, news of the team reached her anyway. She had driven up to her parents’ farm on the Friday night to spend a rare weekend at home. She was having breakfast outside under the old peppercorn tree when she looked up to see her father walking towards her. He was waving a copy of the Tribune.
‘Have you seen this, Merise?’ he asked.
‘I haven’t seen the paper today. What is it?’
‘Yarraside. They got slaughtered last night.’ He held up the paper and she saw the headline:
Wolves Humbled by Rampant Rovers. Premiership Hopes Falter.
Merise tensed. She had known they were playing the night before, but hadn’t listened to the radio as she drove up from Melbourne. ‘Really?’ was all she said, trying to sound uninterested.
‘Yep, lost by sixty points. When was the last time they took a thrashing like that? Don’t know what’s happened to them. They say here McCoy played the worst game of his career – two possessions in the first quarter with zero efficiency.’
‘Gosh!’ She swatted a fly away from the toast. ‘Want some tea?’
‘Yes, thanks, love. I tell you what – that’ll be the Wolves out of the top four if they keep on like that.’
But she was only thinking of Cal. He would be destroyed by this, and her heart, despite her head, went out to him, across the two hundred kilometres that separated them.
‘I think they must be missing you, love,’ her father quipped. But she only laughed dismissively and said, ‘Let’s go and look at the horses. I want to see the new foal.’
The Yarraside players had gathered in their lounge area in the Hartley Centre for a routine signing of jumpers and other memorabilia that would be sold off to raise money for charity. Cal sat at the table signing photo after photo, adding one or two words to personalise each copy. He was engrossed in the task when someone slipped into the chair beside him. He looked round to see Paige Gorton smiling brightly at him.
‘Hi, Cal,’ she said in a voice designed to sound like a purr. It was a voice that irritated him.
‘Hi. Do you need these now or something?’
‘Oh no!’ she said lightly. ‘So long as they’re all finished by this afternoon. I’ll just check this report while I’m here,’ and she took some papers out of a portfolio and began to glance through them.
He grunted, got back to work. But Paige sat on. He was uncomfortably conscious of her, and it wasn’t just the cloying smell of her perfume. He had always felt there was a shallowness, a meanness about her that he couldn’t overlook.
Every few minutes Paige would make an inane remark, which Cal would ignore. At one point he glanced up to see Tom Rivers watching him from across the table, his eyes dancing with laughter. Tom knew how much Cal disliked Paige, and he knew that it never deterred that determined little woman.
When Paige interjected again with, ‘I’ve been trying to get tickets for that Michael Bublé concert next week, but they’re impossible to find,’ Tom risked a quick grin at Cal. Everyone knew by now that Cal had received two free tickets to the concert the day before. His was one face publicists always wanted in the front row.
‘You should have mentioned that to Cal yesterday,’ Tom said. ‘He gave his tickets to Gary – his wife loves Michael Bublé. If he’d known, you could have gone with him.’
Paige looked stricken, but Cal said dourly, ‘I don’t go to concerts during the season. Now shut up and keep signing, Rivers.’ Tom could hardly contain his laughter and had to leave the table on the pretext of getting a cold drink.
A minute later Paige cleared her throat. ‘Guess who I saw the other day?’
‘No idea,’ said Cal, wholly uninterested.
‘Merise Merrick.’ Ah! Now he understood what this little chat was about. But he said nothing. He waited for Paige to continue. He knew she would.
‘Yes, at the Fairfield Boathouse of all places. She was looking very well.’ Still he didn’t bite.
‘I was really surprised, because she was with Andy Carew, and I didn’t realise she knew Andy. He’s an old friend of my brother’s – a doctor, and the most gorgeous man. So clever, and such a good family. The Carews are Melbourne royalty, you know.’
Cal’s jaw hardened, but his pen never faltered.
‘They were having lunch together, then they went off into the bush – so romantic. And who can blame her? Andy is positively irresistible. He could have any woman he wants.’
At that Cal quickly stood up, pushed back his chair and walked away without a word. Tom, coming back to the table, was surprised and alarmed to see the captain stalk furiously out of the room. Tom looked at Paige, who smirked back in a smug way. He couldn’t think what she’d said, but whatever it was, he knew it had been something negative.
Paige’s gossip about Merise and Dr Perfect had thrown Cal. Paige was a pain, but he’d never known her to be a liar. What was Merise’s relationship with this guy? He couldn’t stop brooding over it, and unfortunately he carried that distracted mindset into the game with him on Friday night, and while Yarraside again found a way to get over the line, he knew it was no thanks to him.
Merise was at Erica’s flat two days later, helping her clear out her wardrobe and packing boxes for the local op shop. Merise had just explained that she wouldn’t be seeing Andy again. Erica simply couldn’t take it in.
‘But I just don’t get it,’ said Erica, baffled. ‘Why ever not? He’s sweet, he’s hot, he has a brain – he’s terrific.’
‘Yes, but I . . . I can’t explain it, Erica. I know he’s lovely —’
‘You bet!’
‘And he’s a really thoughtful guy.’
‘Exactly, and how often do you meet someone like that these days?’
‘Do you want to keep these jeans? They’re too baggy on you.’
‘No. Don’t change the subject. Forget the jeans. What about Andy? He’s an absolute gem.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘It’s not as if you didn’t get on or anything. You said you had a good time together.’
‘We had a great time. And if you’d described him to me, I’d have thought he was the man of my dreams. But it just didn’t feel right.’
‘What I don’t understand is why you’re ruling him out – just like that – after one date.’
‘I’m happy to have him as a friend, Erica, but that’s it.’
‘How can you tell that after a single evening? How could you possibly just —’ At that moment Erica jumped up from where she’d been sorting shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe and looked sharply at Merise. ‘Unless there’s someone else.’
Merise pushed past her with a large cardboard box and said, ‘Rubbish! Hand me those belts. Why do you buy so many accessories that you hardly ever wear?’ And she began throwing belts and bags into the box.
‘I love them, but I can’t be bothered putting them on. Merise? Merise! Stand still. Turn around. Look me straight in the eye and tell me the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’
‘What are you going on about?’ Merise looked at her, then quickly looked away again.
‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’
Merise could feel the colour mounting from her neck into her face. She swallowed, started folding scarves while Erica stared silently at her, then said very softly, ‘Oh, Merise – it’s him. It’s Cal McCoy, isn’t it?’
Merise suddenly burst into loud sobs, and Erica leapt across the bed and threw her arms around her and burst out crying in sympathy.
When they’d calmed down and Erica had made a pot of chamomile tea and brought out the chocolate digestive biscuits, because it was an emergency, they sat together on her battered old sofa.
‘I’m so sorry, Merise. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been such a pushy matchmaker. I just thought that maybe you fancied Cal a bit. I didn’t know how deeply you felt for him.’
‘And how long have you felt this way about him?’
Merise blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘I think . . . I think maybe from the first time I met him, but I just didn’t realise it. Now I love him so much, it’s affecting my whole life.’
‘Geez, Merise . . . and you kept it all to yourself. Not that I didn’t suspect. Remember that night at the theatre when I asked you if you fancied him, and you denied it?’
‘I hadn’t even admitted it to myself then.’
‘So it crept up on you? That’s so romantic! Do you think he knows?’
‘No. Well, he might think I fancy him, but he probably thinks every woman fancies him; I don’t think he really suspects the truth. He’s so preoccupied with his footy, I doubt he’d even think about anything like that.’
Erica was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ she said at last. ‘Remember that photo of you two at the casino? The way he was looking at you? He looked pretty far gone in that shot.’
‘Nonsense! He was just posing for the cameras.’
‘Geez, if that’s true, then he’s a much better model than you are.’
Merise only smiled sadly. That was a lovely thought. But it couldn’t possibly be the truth, could it?
The media attacks on Cal continued. Every day, two or three opinion pieces would dissect his game and Merise couldn’t help but read them all avidly. Just seeing his name in print made her feel a little closer to him, and she knew she’d have to settle for such crumbs in future. A few days of reflection had settled her mind after the outburst at Erica’s. The idea of Cal being mad about her was a nice fantasy, but that’s all it was. His only fantasy was about winning a flag, and the Wolves’ chances of doing so this year seemed to be diminishing with every bad game Cal played.
He was the talk of Melbourne again, but for all the wrong reasons. The headlines ran:
‘McCoy Out of Form, Wolves Out of Flag Contention?’
‘McCoy Carrying Injury – Rumour’
‘McCoy’s Poor Game Sours Wolves’ Win’
And every radio presenter and call-back contributor had their opinion too.
‘No doubt about it, McCoy’s not been nearly as damaging as he usually is over the past few weeks.’
‘I’m tellin’ ya, they need to drop him. He needs a week or two in the reserves, mate.’
‘The number-one player in the game going back to the twos? Give me a break!’
‘Yeah, but he’s not the number-one player any more, is he? He’s pretty ordinary these days.’
She hated to hear things like that, and she prayed that it wouldn’t affect Cal too much. But with his current form slump, it couldn’t be helping.
Erica caught up with Merise as she walked through the university campus. ‘Guess what?’ she cried.
‘What?’
‘I got you a present.’
‘Oh! Lovely! What is it?’
‘Let’s just say you’ll have to get out your Wolves scarf. We’re going to the game this weekend!’
‘What?’ Merise looked dismayed.
‘I’ve got us two tickets. Prime seats, too – ground level, right on the wing – that means the middle of the ground, dear. So, what do you say?’
Merise was looking more thunderous than grateful. ‘Why, Erica? Why would you do that?’
‘Why? So you can see Cal. What else?’
‘Erica! I can’t. I’m not . . .’
‘Merise, listen to me; you seriously need to stop running away from this. You’re making yourself miserable, and there’s no need for it. If he’s not interested, then the sooner you get over him, the better, and the best thing to do is to see him and make it . . . a normal thing – no big deal.’
‘No big deal? But it is a big deal. It’s a mammoth deal.’
‘Yeah, but it won’t be after a while. What is it Jane says about Mr Bingley in Pride and Prejudice? Something like, “After a while we’ll be able to meet as common and disinterested acquaintances.”’
‘Erica! Stop! This is real life, not a Jane Austen novel.’
‘Aren’t you the one who keeps telling me that Austen was a realist and not a romantic? Anyway, if he’s interested, he’ll see you at the game, and —’
‘What do you mean? How could he possibly see me at a game?’
‘Um, actually, I got us seats right in the front row, near where they have the TV cameras. They’ll have your gorgeous face on the big screen in a flash.’
‘Erica! I . . . I could —!’
‘I’ve got it all planned. Cal will see you there supporting him and his beloved Wolves – that’s crucial – and he’ll realise that he can’t live without you, and he’ll be on the phone before we’ve managed to squeeze out of the MCG after the game.’
Merise didn’t know whether to laugh or yell. ‘I should seriously strangle you, Erica. And I’d suggest you forget about a career in physiotherapy – you should be writing corny romances instead.’
‘And the Wolves are playing the Dingoes – last year’s premiers. It’s going to be a massive game. Anyway, I’ve been feeling sorry for Cal. He’s been absolutely taken apart in the media over the past couple of weeks. He must be under loads of pressure. I thought we could just go and show some solidarity with him.’
‘Don’t worry about Cal McCoy, he’s well able to look after himself.’
‘You’re being very ungrateful, Merise. You know, people would kill for these tickets. I had to call in a big favour to get them.’
‘You’re a good friend, Erica, but I just can’t go.’
‘Geez, you make such a big drama out of everything. You say you love him; any man would be nuts not to be in love with you, so you’re already off to a good start. Why all the angst?’
‘Because we’re not off to a good start at all, Erica. We totally rub each other up the wrong way.’
‘Oh, that’s nothing.’ Erica airily dismissed this with a wave of her hand. ‘That’s just the old black magic between you.’
‘No, it’s about the fact that we don’t get on; and it doesn’t help that I’ve mortally offended him over that bloody Windrush business.’
‘I’m sure he’s forgotten all that by now.’
‘You don’t know him. He’s a brooder.’
Erica wouldn’t be deterred. ‘Look, I doubt anyone will even notice you at the game, to be honest. There’ll be too many people there. You know, it’s not all about you,’ she added teasingly.
Merise smiled. ‘That’s a relief.’
‘We’ll do our best to get lost in the crowd. And since we’ve got our reserved seats, we won’t have to turn up until the last minute. Come on, Merise, just this one last time.’
Merise said nothing for a moment. But part of her really, passionately wanted to see Cal again. She relented. ‘Well okay, but just to please you.’
Erica was such an innocent, Merise thought as she walked home alone. She was so sweet and kind-hearted, but she couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be for Merise to turn up to that game; even to be in the same public space as Cal would be an ordeal. But, she reasoned, that was a feeling she’d just have to get over if she ever wanted to be able to get on with the rest of her life. So yes, she’d be there; she’d put on a brave face, and no one but Erica would ever know the truth.
Chapter 14
It wasn’t like Cal’s mother to ring him so late at night unless there was a problem, and he couldn’t remember her once giving him advice on his football, but that’s what she did when she rang him at eleven-thirty the following Friday night.
He woke from his sleep, checking his alarm clock as he grabbed the phone.
‘Hello, son. It’s only me.’
‘Mum? What’s up? Is it Dad?’ He sat up now, alarmed.
‘No, everything’s fine. You father’s much better. He sends you his love.’
‘Mum, I’ve got a game tomorrow,’ he protested after she’d reassured him that n
othing was wrong. ‘I have to get to sleep. Actually, I was sleeping. You woke me up.’
‘Cal, this is important or I wouldn’t have bothered you.’
‘What is it?’ He sounded as baffled as he was frustrated.
‘You’re playing rubbish football,’ she said baldly.
Cal did a double-take. Had he heard right? Had his loving, supportive mother called him in the middle of the night – well, just about the middle of the night – to have a go at him about his footy, like some internet hero who abuses players from the safety of a false Facebook identity? Was he dreaming or what?
‘Sorry, did you just say I was playing rubbish footy?’
‘Yes, son, I did. And I know why.’
She knew why? He’d spent the past three weeks in discussions with the coaching team, the leadership group, the club psychologist and, reluctantly, a bunch of professional motivators, trying to work out why the hell he was off his game; and his mother knew?
‘Do you? If I’d known that I’d just have called you up in the first place.’
‘But I didn’t know until today, son.’
‘Why, what happened today?’
‘I wheedled the truth out of your father.’
‘What truth? What are you talking about, Mum? Look, it’s late. I really need to get back to sleep.’
‘The truth about that girl.’
There was a silence. No point in pretending he didn’t know who she meant; he could never lie to his mother. She would see right through him, even on the phone. He just said quietly, ‘What about her?’
‘You need to get her back in your life. You’re pining for her.’
‘Pining?’ he spluttered. ‘No I’m not! I’m concentrating on my work. I’m one hundred per cent focused on my footy.’
‘God forgive me, Cal, but that’s bullshit!’
Cal almost dropped the phone. He’d never heard his mother swear in his life. He was utterly staggered. ‘Sorry?’ was all he could squeak.
The Reluctant Wag Page 15