by Mandy Baggot
Emma stood in front of the glass, looking down at the pitch. She’d never seen Guy play a full game of football. Not a proper one. Ever. He’d been good at the campsite but what did she know? To be where he was today, a star at Finnerham and playing for his country, he had to be better than good. He had to be one of the best.
‘Want a drink?’ Chris offered, putting his arm around her shoulders.
‘No. I’m fine,’ she said, moving out of his embrace and approaching Dominic.
‘D’you think I’ll play for Finnerham when I’m older, Mum?’ Dominic asked. He looked up at her, waiting with bated breath for her response.
‘Is that what you want?’
‘Footballers earn loads of money. I could buy you and Chris a bigger house and some new cars,’ he said, grinning.
‘Money isn’t everything, Dom. It’s more important to be happy,’ Emma replied.
‘Wouldn’t a new car make you happy?’ He smirked.
‘She’s too attached to the old one, Dom. That’s the thing with women. They get emotionally attached to everything. I’d have a new car though and a holiday villa… Italy I reckon. You could actually set your sights on Inter Milan,’ Chris suggested.
Emma turned away. Today was going to kill her.
*
Despite telling Daniel he didn’t need anything to see him through the game; he’d taken on board three energy drinks. Now he was buzzing. This would be the game where everything came together. He would earn the respect of the team and the fans, justifying the price Finnerham had paid. He had to focus. He had to clear everything else from his mind and concentrate on the match.
‘Right! Listen up!’ The manager prepared to give his team talk and Guy was all ears. He’d listen to everything that was said and he’d replicate that and more. He was going to end the day a winner if it killed him.
*
‘All that food in the suite and he wants a pie,’ Chris said. He shook his head and nudged Emma’s shoulder. Dominic was digging into a meat and potato pie with brown sauce using a flimsy plastic fork.
‘It’s the experience. Dad took him to the greyhounds once. He ate three hotdogs, a tray of chips and a bag of pick and mix,’ Emma replied.
‘Pick and mix. That brings back memories,’ Chris said, nodding.
‘They’re coming out!’ Dominic announced, his excitement clear for all to see.
Emma looked to the tunnel and both teams, led by the referee and his assistants, began to emerge onto the pitch. The roar of the fifty thousand plus crowd started to heighten until it turned into a frenzy of excited cheering, clapping and singing along to the tune they’d started running out to this season, ‘Hall of Fame’ by The Script.
Dominic was juggling with his pie, desperate to get his scarf in the air. He was out of his seat, jumping up and down as the Finnerham players ran onto the grass, applauding their fans and warming up.
Emma didn’t see anyone but Guy. He was in the middle of the line of Finnerham players running out, clapping the crowd’s vocal appreciation. Her heart soared to see him. She didn’t know exactly what was going on but he was here and he was OK enough to play. Something in her settled slightly and she realised just how worried she’d been. They were three rows back, not close enough to jump the barrier but near enough to feel connected. The game was a sell-out. So many other people in the stadium, it would be impossible for them to share anything. And they shouldn’t.
Just as that thought passed through her mind, Dominic started calling.
‘Guy! Guy!’
‘Dom, he won’t be able to hear you,’ Emma said, touching his arm.
‘Yes he will! Guy!’ Dominic carried on.
*
He thought he could hear his name being called. It wasn’t unusual. Fans called for photos and attention all the time, but this voice he recognised. He turned to the stands and saw Dominic. The boy was leaping up and down, swirling a scarf in the air and waving, his other hand holding a cardboard container. He was yelling his name.
Then he saw Emma. She was wearing a pretty pale pink T-shirt, her hair pushed back behind her ears. He felt his chest contract at the sight of her and the guilt that he hadn’t responded to her messages coursed through him. Dominic yelled again and he raised his hand, waving with enthusiasm.
The referee blew his whistle, indicating which way the teams were kicking and Guy gave a final wave at Dominic before he jogged off to get into position. Seeing the boy so animated gave him another boost. Dominic was another reason to get things right.
*
Despite not being a football fan, being so close, Emma couldn’t help but get involved with every second of the match. Within ten minutes, Finnerham had gone one goal down. A free-kick just outside the box had resulted in the Irwell winger delivering a powerful shot that flew into the top corner. But the shock of losing the lead so early had spurred Finnerham into action. Just before half-time they had drawn level thanks to a penalty Daniel had slotted home.
Dominic had been a ball of energy the whole way through. He had drunk two bottles of Coke and had another meat pie and now, just five minutes before the end, he was asking for more sweets.
‘Chris,’ he begged.
‘No, Dom, there’s five minutes left. I know what will happen, I’ll get to the counter and I’ll miss a goal. Shit! That was close!’ Chris exclaimed as a Finnerham shot fizzed past the post.
‘Language,’ Emma told off.
‘Sorry. Sorry, Dom, don’t repeat that,’ Chris said, putting his fingers to his mouth and chewing his nails.
‘I can’t watch,’ Dominic said. He hid his eyes in his scarf as Irwell set about an attack.
*
He knew time was running out. He’d clocked the scoreboard. Four minutes remaining, plus perhaps two minutes added time for injuries. There’d been a slight delay when one of the Irwell players was treated after a heavy tackle. It was now or never and the team were getting tired. They’d played well but Irwell were strong. That was why they were top of the league.
Josh made a run and Guy saw nothing but space in front of him. Screaming from the bottom of his lungs he sprinted off, heading for the penalty area.
The cross came over and he leapt up into the air. His head made contact with the ball first then the elbow of the Irwell defender. As the crowd screamed with joy and the ball shot over the line, past the stranded goalkeeper, everything in Guy’s world went black.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dominic and Chris’ cheers were echoing in her ears but her heart was throbbing. She’d seen what had happened, seen the blow to the side of his head and then him falling, landing like a dead weight on the grass. She watched as the physios from both teams raced onto the pitch, armed with their medical bags to assist. He was unconscious. He was injured. She didn’t know what to do.
‘What’s going on? Is he hurt?’ Chris inquired. Most people had been too elated at Guy scoring the winning goal; they had taken a minute to realise their new number eight was lying on the floor knocked out cold.
‘He isn’t moving,’ Dominic stated.
Emma’s insides lurched at his explanation and she wrung her hands together, feeling so useless. Just get up. Just come to and get up. Let me know you’re OK.
‘Well, this isn’t such a great end to the game, is it? Cracking goal though,’ Chris said cheerily.
‘He is going to be OK, isn’t he, Mum?’ Dominic asked, looking up at Emma.
‘Yes. Yes, of course he is,’ she said immediately. What else did you say to a child, even if you weren’t really convinced?
The seconds seemed to tick by. More and more of them passed. The wait felt endless but finally there was movement. Guy was moving his upper torso and seemed to be coming round. As quickly as they could, the physios got him onto the stretcher and began to take him from the field.
Both sets of supporters began to cheer his departure from the game, clapping to acknowledge the goal and his whole eighty-six-minute performance. Before
she really thought about what she was doing she was moving.
‘Emma?’ Chris noticed her as she moved to leave her seat and the stands.
‘I’m desperate for the loo. Can’t wait. I’ll meet you back in the suite,’ she called as she shifted past other fans towards the steps.
‘Can you get sweets, Mum?’
She was quite certain that at any moment she would be collared by a member of staff and put in a room wherever they kept football-player stalkers. She had no idea where she was going. The place was a labyrinth of corridors and rooms, but she just kept following signs mentioning ‘players and officials’ and ‘restricted area’.
She turned a corner and caught sight of the group. Half a dozen people were making their way down the corridor carrying a stretcher.
‘Guy!’ she called. How desperate she must sound but then wasn’t she desperate? Absolutely desperate, and needing to find out for herself if he was really alright.
Two men dressed in polo shirts in the Finnerham colours turned their attention to her.
‘You can’t come down here. It’s team officials only,’ the first man said.
‘I…’ she started, taking another step forward.
‘Are you lost?’ the other official asked.
‘No. I need to see Guy. Guy!’ she shouted. Now she was sounding close to deranged. Soon they’d be calling security.
‘Emma? Please, let her through.’
Guy’s voice calling for her soothed her panic. The two men in her way looked at each other then parted like the Red Sea. The stretcher moved on, turning at the bottom of the corridor, Emma in pursuit.
‘Emma,’ Guy said, trying to sit up.
‘I’m here,’ she assured, rushing forward.
‘You must lie back, Guy,’ the physio said, guiding the stretcher-bearers into a clinical-looking room.
‘Emma, stay. Please,’ Guy begged.
‘I will. Of course I will,’ she responded.
What started out as half a dozen people in the room soon became whittled down to just the three of them. Guy, Emma and the club doctor, Colin.
‘I’ll be back to take your blood pressure in half an hour. You sit quietly and if you start to get any headaches or if you feel faint, you press the button,’ Colin told him.
‘I am fine now,’ he responded.
The surly-looking Scotsman didn’t look convinced but went towards the door anyway and left.
Emma reached for Guy’s hands and held them in hers.
‘I saw you go down on the ground and I was terrified,’ she said, the tears falling fast.
‘I’m OK. I was unconscious only a few minutes,’ he assured. He brought her hands to his lips, grazing the skin with them.
‘What’s going on, Guy? You called me. You were crying… then nothing,’ Emma began, brushing his damp hair with her hands.
He shook his head, let go of her and began toying with the blanket covering his legs.
Emma took a moment and watched him. He couldn’t meet her eyes now. He had dropped them to the blanket, his long, tanned fingers picking at the polyester.
‘I couldn’t tell Chris.’
The words sliced through the atmosphere, acting as another barrier between their emotions.
He nodded, as if he had been expecting it.
‘I wanted to… I tried but…’ Emma started. She felt pathetic and seventeen again. She always made decisions quickly, decisively, why was this so different?
‘I have not told Madeleine.’
Emma closed her eyes as her stomach dropped. She wasn’t the only one who hadn’t kept a promise.
‘I wanted to but… something happened and…’
‘You don’t have to explain. I understand,’ Emma said. She did understand. They were both in an impossible situation. Whatever they did was going to have an impact, either on them or the people they cared about.
Guy made a frustrated noise and tossed the blanket to the floor.
‘I cannot go on like this… without you. Now I’ve found you,’ he stated.
‘I know,’ she whispered.
‘I do not know what to do,’ he admitted.
He looked at her at last. Those bottle-green eyes radiating frailty. He appeared frightened and vulnerable, just as he had that day in France, in the barn, covered in bruises. That was a memory she would never forget.
She took his hand and brought it to her mouth, echoing his earlier gesture. Her pulse was racing, watching his reaction, wanting to convey the depth of her feelings for him. He closed his eyes, giving in to her caress and everything it meant.
‘I love you, Guy. I never stopped loving you,’ she blurted out. She was admitting that to him and to herself for the very first time. Yes, he had hurt her, torn her heart in two. But even while broken, her heart hadn’t let her forget. She’d tried to hide her feelings away like the special items in the box under the stairs, but love didn’t always let you put a lid on it.
He kissed her then, furiously, desperately. She felt his eagerness to share the closeness, how keen he was to express everything he felt. She wrapped her arms around him, tracing her hands along the contours of his back. She longed to touch his skin, remember the velvety smooth texture.
He broke away, holding her face in his hands.
‘Come away with me.’
‘What?’
‘Come to France with me. I have a game, an international game next weekend. It’s one match. We have the rest of the time together,’ he elaborated.
‘Guy, I can’t. I have Dominic and there’s Chris and…’
She needed excuses. She needed hundreds of them because her heart was in danger of skipping out of her chest just from the idea of it.
‘We can stay at my house. We can take the train,’ he continued, gesturing, animated.
‘I can’t,’ she said again, ignoring all the things her body was telling her.
‘We can be together there. Like before.’ He kissed her lips, pressing her mouth with desire.
‘I have to go,’ she said, looking at her watch.
‘Back to him,’ Guy said harshly.
‘That’s not fair,’ Emma responded.
‘This is not fair. We are meant to be together. You know that. I know that – we’ve always known that.’.
She was crying again. These days it wasn’t taking much. She needed to be strong. She could be strong. She’d done it before and survived and survival was what mattered.
‘I have to go,’ she repeated with a little more force. She let go of his hand, moved to the door and taking one last look at him she left.
*
As the door closed he broke. He felt as if his world was collapsing. It had come crashing down a long time ago but he had picked himself up so well and held it together so competently that no one would know he was constantly fighting an internal battle. Now he was going through it all again. He drew his arms into his chest and wrapped himself up as he sobbed. The pain in his head from the blow of the Irwell defender was nothing compared to the savagery going on inside. He was not good enough for her. He had never been good enough for her. He was a bad, dark person.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
‘He’s eaten at least two rounds of sandwiches and he sprayed the goalie with pastry from a sausage roll when he congratulated him on the penalty save,’ Chris informed.
Emma nodded although she hadn’t really heard what he’d said. She was watching Dominic and, periodically, the door to the function room they were now in. The players and officials were filtering in, all showered and changed into smart casual clothes befitting of a window of H&M.
‘He’s having a blast, isn’t he? He’s spoken to the youth manager already. I said I’d take him for a try out,’ Chris continued, following Emma’s gaze.
She didn’t respond.
‘Is everything alright?’ Chris asked.
She turned to face him. He was giving her the full concerned face, complete with soulful eyes. He’d looked that way when he’d
ask her out the first time.
‘I’m fine.’ That was becoming her stock answer for everything lately.
‘Want some nosh? There’s salmon on those cracker things.’
‘No thanks.’
‘How about a drink then? Wine?’ Chris offered.
‘Wine. Yes, red. A glass of red would be nice,’ Emma decided. She needed something, if only to keep her hands busy.
‘Coming right up,’ Chris said, getting out of his seat. He headed to the bar and she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Just having him here felt stifling. There was just too much going on. And the longer the situation continued the more she felt like her whole world was going to cave in.
The door swung open and there he was. His hair damp from the shower and flicked across his forehead, he was dressed in dark trousers and a pale blue shirt. He was showing no signs of having been unconscious just a short time ago. He just looked perfect. She looked away, tried to concentrate on Chris who was doing battle at the bar. But she knew he was heading towards her. She could feel it.
Without waiting to make contact first, he pulled up a chair and sat next to her, placing a bottle of water on the table.
‘You cannot keep walking away,’ he stated.
‘Guy, please don’t do this. Not here. Chris is there and Dominic is…’ Her voice came out panicked.
‘There are things I have to say,’ he continued. All confidence had dropped from his tone.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Why you called me the other night?’ she asked.
He took a breath and clasped his hands together.
‘I wanted to tell you… back then but… it was easier to let go,’ he admitted.
She could see he was hurting and every fibre of her being screamed for her to reach out and make a connection. But she couldn’t.
‘It’s about the past?’ she whispered.
He managed a nod and picked up the bottle of water.
‘We agreed not to talk about it. We said a fresh start.’