Easy

by Donna Alam

  I often wonder if this knowledge has had some kind of subliminal effect on my choice of medicine. No matter.

  This will be my problem alone—and it’ll end with me. I’ll die eventually, of course. There just won’t be anyone waiting and wondering if they’d be better off smothering me to end their own misery. Because I’ll probably turn into my father, who spite seems to keep alive. That and the fact that he’s been pickled in whisky and fine wine. Our relative longevity is another family curse, though usually aimed at those around us.

  All in all, I’ll be doing the world a favour by wiping out the Travers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  SADIE

  ‘It just doesn’t seem like your kind of sport.’

  Sunday morning, I beat Will to the car door, closing it with a thunk as I eye the sports field in front of me with doubt.

  ‘I’m not sure where you’re going with this,’ Will says, coming around to my side of the car. He slings his arm around my shoulder purely just to peer down at me, I think.

  ‘You just seem like more of a tennis man, maybe.’ I wriggle out from under him, my feet sliding a little on the weed strangled gravel, the ground beneath my feet slippery from a bout of overnight rain. The man is handsy, for sure; even though I’m conscious of those boundaries, he keeps smushing them flat.

  ‘Don’t let this pretty façade fool you, love. Under all this gorgeousness beats the heart of an animal.’

  I don’t doubt it. The stalking, the extreme confidence—this man’s spirit animal is definitely some kind of big jungle cat. And as the morning sunlight crests his face, I decide there’s definitely something golden and leonine about him. But I don’t say any of that, going with instead, ‘Isn’t it really violent?’

  ‘Only on a good day.’ He turns his head to the sunlight dappling thorough the leaves on the branches of a large oak tree. Like a cat in a patch of sunlight, soaking up its rays.

  ‘That was kind of an odd answer.’

  ‘He’s kind of an odd man,’ says a friendly voice from behind.

  ‘Keir!’ Will calls delightedly, turning to face the man walking towards us. Jeans and a blazer, the man looks more like he’s ready to step onto a private jet rather than a muddy playing field.

  ‘I thought that was your scrawny arse I was looking at,’ his friend says in a smooth Scot’s accent as he suppresses a grin.

  ‘My arse is spectacular, isn’t it, Sadie?’

  I frown back at him, but it has the usual effect. Yep, none. ‘If your ass was as big as your head, you’d be in trouble,’ I grumble.

  ‘I see you’re well acquainted wi’ him.’

  Will doesn’t give me a chance to answer as, ever the gentleman—ha!—he begins with introductions.

  ‘Sadie, I’d like you to meet Keir. Keir, meet my new friend Miss Sadie.’

  ‘We’re not really friends,’ I say, taking the man’s hand. His eyebrows almost hit his hairline, a look I interpret well enough. ‘I’m not one of his clients, either. I just thought I’d take the opportunity to clarify.’

  ‘Aye, sure.’ His Scot’s accent deepens, and he begins to rub the back of his neck as he pulls away. Then, in a motion I can’t really be sure of, his eyes flick quickly down to my crotch.

  A Pavlovian response? The tales this man could probably tell. My eyes slide to Will, who appears to be very satisfied by something currently. But, yep, I just bet he kisses and tells.

  Will begins to chuckle, tightening his arm around my shoulder again, this time pulling me in to kiss the crown of my head. ‘You are so entertaining.’

  ‘And I say again, you are so odd.’

  Now a trio, we turn and start walking in the direction of the green playing field. On two sides of said field, bleachers stand, greying and open to the elements. There are a couple of dugouts ahead along with some floodlights. It’s not a professional stadium, by any means, but it’s still pretty slick for what’s essentially an amateur league.

  ‘How often do you train?’ I ask, tipping my head to better look at the man currently causing me to stagger drunkenly, squished to his side.

  ‘Twice a week. And games are on Sunday.’

  ‘Some of us train twice a week.’ Keir’s tone is a little snarky. ‘While some of us turn up whenever they feel like it.’

  ‘I’m committed to my profession,’ Will says, defending his . . . career? ‘Mine is not the kind of job where I can just up and leave halfway through, is it, Sadie?’

  ‘No,’ I answer, as a shot of something dark green and twisty shoots through my insides. I imagine that would make for some pretty pissed-off customers. Not that I’m thinking about it. Or them. Or him and them. Gah! I fix a bland expression on my face as I add, ‘I think that would be very bad for business.’ As well as Will’s health.

  Stiletto-Ninja throw, anyone?

  ‘Sadie here was just asking what’s attractive about rugby.’

  ‘It’s in the blood,’ the Scotsman says. ‘Like whisky for the Scots—bred in the veins, eh, Will?’

  ‘You’re not Scottish.’ I twist my head to get a better look at Will. I wouldn’t have thought so, but that distinct hint of something in his accent seems to be getting heavier right now.

  ‘He’d better be,’ answers Keir. ‘This team of ours is called the Dissidents. It’s an all Scots team, even if some of us are a wee bit more mongrel.’

  ‘I’m half Scottish,’ Will replies carefully.

  ‘Aye, the good half.’ Keir snorts.

  ‘You mean he has a good half?’

  Keir then sets off laughing. ‘A woman who hasn’t yet been dazzled by your wit and charm? You must be losing your touch, William.’

  ‘Charm?’ I reply, cutting off Will’s response. ‘You mean he has some?’ I pretend to search for it on his person but come back up with a shrug.

  ‘A rare woman you have here.’ Keir’s taunting gaze slides to Will, then to me. ‘I’m told some find his dazzling good looks and posh boy façade . . . fascinating.’

  ‘Man, I need to pay more attention. See if I can find some of that.’

  ‘Though he might not be so pretty when he comes off the field today.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask, genuinely perplexed.

  ‘You’ve never watched a rugby game before?’ Keir sounds surprised.

  ‘I guess it’s not a popular sport back home. We play football, not the soccer kind—’

  ‘She means the kind with the helmets,’ interrupts Will.

  ‘I’m no’ daft. I do have a TV, you know. And helmets are for . . . helmets.’ Both men snigger, so I guess that was a dick joke?

  ‘Have you ever seen a game of football?’ I ask, feeling defensive of a sport I usually have no opinion of or affinity to. ‘It’s pretty tough.’

  ‘I watch the proper kind. The one with the regular shaped ball,’ says Keir dismissively.

  ‘That must be novel for you,’ Will replies, whip sharp. ‘It’s been a while, as I recall.’

  ‘What are you bletherin’ on about?’

  ‘Just that I expect you’ve forgotten what regular balls look like, seeing as yours are wrapped in all that cellophane.’

  Keir’s responding look is pure fuck you with a side of snark.

  ‘Talkin’ about my balls. And in front of the lady.’ Keir tsks, shaking his head disapprovingly.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to it by now,’ I tell him. Used to his teasing, at least.

  There is a fork in the path ahead, and we take the route leading in the direction of the bleachers, the other fork leading to a pair of squat, flat roofed buildings. I notice a couple of men disappearing through the door of the building closest with sports bags thrown over their shoulders. That makes them changing rooms, I suppose.

  ‘Watch this one,’ Keir says suddenly. His tone is light, but there’s something of a warning in his expression. ‘He’ll corrupt you.’ He shifts the large sports bag in his left hand, positioning it higher over his shoulder, and I think he’s going to speak again.
Instead, he casts his gaze in the direction of the playing field. It’s strange, but I can’t help but hear the truth in the words he doesn’t actually say.

  ‘Who’s corrupting who, here? The feminine voice from behind bubbles with laughter, and as I turn, Will’s arm slides from my shoulder. ‘And why are you cluttering up the path up with your manly selves?’

  ‘Juno, my sweetness!’

  My smile slips, until I realise Will’s effusive greeting isn’t for the dark-haired beauty behind us, but for the tiny bundle he takes from her.

  ‘Thank you, Will.’ Smiling, the woman shakes out her arms. ‘She’s getting to be so heavy.’

  ‘She must get that from her da,’ says Keir, leaning in with a quick hello kiss as Will comically covers the baby’s ears.

  ‘Don’t say such things. She’ll get a complex. Pay no attention to the mean man, darling,’ Will coos. ‘You’re nothing like your father. He’s a great oaf, not a great beauty.’

  The sight is a little disconcerting, I’ll admit. I mean, I like babies. At least, as far as I can tell, but who would’ve thought Will would be interested in any female under the age of at least eighteen.

  ‘Ella, how are you?’ With his free arm, Will pulls the woman in for a quick kiss and a one-armed hug. Ella happens to be a babe, too. Classically gorgeous with Mediterranean looks and dressed in tight jeans and a flowing t-shirt, she somehow manages both demure and sexy. Meanwhile, I’m dressed in yellow sundress and a bolero cardigan. Will hadn’t mentioned the possibility of mud.

  ‘Get your mitts off my wife,’ growls a deeper voice. Dark and—wow—large, the man walking towards us holds the hand of a little boy in his meaty fist.

  ‘Mac.’ Ignoring the unfriendly tone, Will nods in the man’s direction, immediately turning his attention back to the baby, which he then holds in the air with both hands. The little one’s arms and legs start to thrash with excitement, her round, pink face revealing a two-toothed smile. ‘I’m glad to see the women in this family still appreciate me, at least.’

  Mac glowers darkly in Wills direction as a little boy breaks free from his hand, throwing his arms around Will’s knees.

  ‘I still ’preciates you, Uncle Will.’

  ‘And that’s why I pay you pocket money, my little man.’ Tucking the baby between his arm and torso, Will ruffles the little boy’s hair. ‘Comment ça va?’ He speaks French? Oh, Lord, that’s such a turn-off . . . said no woman ever.

  ‘I’m very well, Uncle Will. Now gooder still!’ His eyes sparkle as Will slides a five-pound note out of his pocket and into the little boy’s hand.

  ‘You spoil the lad,’ grouses Mac before he shouts, ‘and don’t buy too many sweeties wi’ that!’ as the boys runs off towards the field.

  ‘Mac, this is Sadie, Will’s friend,’ Keir says.

  ‘My commiserations to you,’ he grunts, helping Ella fasten a baby carrier.

  ‘Pay him no attention, Sadie,’ Ella says kindly. ‘Mac has his game face on.’

  ‘It’s a pity Mac doesn’t have any other face to put on.’ Something tells me Mac would like to wipe the grin of Will’s face. A theory confirmed as he growls again, taking the baby from Will’s arms. Yet his hard expression melts as he takes the little one into his arms.

  ‘That’s your exposure therapy for the day. Remember, Juno; strange danger,’ he says, tucking chubby denim-covered legs into the carrier.

  ‘We aren’t strangers, are we, wee Juno?’ Will leans over to feed his index finger into her pudgy fist, but Mac smacks it away, mumbling something about him being too close to the goods.

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’ Ella sighs protractedly, her ample chest rising and falling along with the breath.

  ‘Am not,’ his voice rumbles back, stepping back but not exactly moving away.

  ‘And it’s stranger danger, not strange,’ she says, placing her hand on his cheek.

  ‘It’s not just strangers who can be dangerous. She needs to learn to differentiate and understand.’

  ‘Go . . . ’ Ella purses her lips as though searching for the right words. ‘Bash someone on the opposing team.’

  ‘Aye,’ he affirms. Taking her hands in his, he presses his lips against her forehead, smiling as he inhales deeply as though her scent is a balm to him.

  The tender moment makes me feel uncomfortable. Like witnessing this kind of bond seems sort of wrong—like I’m a voyeur to their intimacy. But as I look around, no one else seems to be paying their affection and actions any mind.

  ‘Sweat dries,’ Ella murmurs, her dark eyes warm on his. ‘Blood clots, and bones heal.’ He returns her loving smile as the babe’s arms and legs begins to imitate a starfish between them.

  ‘And chicks dig scars,’ he replies in a gruff tone.

  ‘Oh, they do. But not cauliflower ears.’ Her smile turns sweet, her arms stretching out between them as he pulls away, each reluctant to release the other’s hands, right until their fingertips.

  ‘Sickening, isn’t it?’ From behind me, Will bends to place his lips to my ear.

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ Mac grunts. His eyes slide from Ella’s as he turns, his gaze touching mine for the briefest of moments, before sliding over my shoulder to Will.

  I see a question in that look. I have no idea what it was, but I’d sure like to know the answer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SADIE

  The menfolk head off to change as Ella leads me to a “sweet spot” on the front row. Baby Juno is still strapped to her front, and the little boy, Louis, sits on the bench between us. As well as the possibility of mud, Will also forgot to mention the possibility of splinters from the aged seats, so I stand.

  The game begins, and I can’t say I understand the rules at all. There’s lots of stop and start, bursts of activity, followed by moments of nothingness. There are moments when the players all seem to pile onto the ball. A ruck, I think it was? And there’s violence—so much force in each tackle, and the fact that the ball is supposed to move backwards, even to go forward. A touchdown is called a try, which just seems silly. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to call a winning “try” something like a “success”?

  Maybe I’m wrong—what I know about sports in general could be written on the back of a stamp—but I’m not a fan of the bone-crushing collisions of man against man. The sound of bodies impacting in such a vicious way. But what I can get behind is a man in a pair of tiny shorts.

  Given the chance, literally.

  Football—the stuff back home—is okay, and the uniforms not too shabby. An athlete wearing skintight pants? Hell to the yes. But these guys currently throwing themselves around in the mud?

  So. Much. Thigh. On. Display!

  Not that I’m looking too hard or anything. But let me just say, along with those broad shoulders, Will has thighs that make my knees feel a little weak. His body is built for impact in the most delicious of ways.

  ‘So you’re a teacher?’ Ella stands, bouncing gently to placate the baby strapped to her chest. We’ve chatted amiably as well as two women who don’t know each other can. I like her. She’s warm and funny, and sort of wholesome looking in the very pretty sense.

  ‘Have you known Will for very long?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Her responding bright smile is a little off. ‘I’m just here on vacation. Well, actually, I’m dog sitting for my friend’s cousin—’

  ‘I have a dog!’ interjects Louis, Mac and Ella’s son. ‘He is stinky, and his name is Charles.’ His pronunciation renders the word Sharles, which makes me curious as to why their son’s accent bears a touch of French, while theirs does not. Not that I’d ask.

  Ella smiles down at her son’s bent head as he concentrates on his iPad.

  ‘Is that how you met Will? Did he accost you while you were walking your charge?’

  ‘Walking the dog? No.’ How strange.

  ‘Will loves dogs, as well as babies and small children,’ she says by way of explanation as she allows Juno to wra
p her grabby hands around her index fingers, as though to remind me or prove a point. ‘There are plenty of men who are willing to show their affection for canines, but not so many who’ll show their unabashed attention to children. Especially those not sprung from their own loins.’

  And I have no idea where she’s going with this.

  ‘There’s something inherently good about a man like that, I feel.’

  Oh, so that’s where this is going. Ella’s on Team Will, obviously.

  ‘I really don’t know him very well. I mean, I can see he’s good with kids—and dogs—but we really don’t know each other well. It’s just a case of me staying under Will at the moment. Wait. That sounded . . .’

  ‘Fun?’ She quirks a mischievous brow. ‘Not that I’d know, or anything,’ she’s quick to add.

  No, she definitely doesn’t look like the type to sleep with a male escort.

  Shit. Does that mean I do?

  ‘It’s just, when you said under him, it looked like you thought it’d be fun.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I reply, knowing full well the colour in my face reads like a big red sign. Liar! Liar! Pants on fire! Or maybe it isn’t like that really. I mean, it’s not like he’d charged for the sex we almost had.

  ‘Daddy, Mummy said that being under Uncle Will is fun.’ Both Ella and I look up to find Mac standing on the other side of the low barrier. ‘Do they play tickle games, too? Like you and Mummy do.’

  That expression he’s currently wearing? Foreboding doesn’t even cover it.

  ‘That’s not what—’

  ‘Pay no attention to grumpy pants,’ Ella says, laughingly cutting off my words. ‘He knows there’s only one on the tickle team for me.’

  But her reassurance isn’t very reassuring, especially as he turns his head, his gaze finding Will like a missile. It appears to be half-time or something. Anyway, both teams are inactive except for the stretching of muscles and the heaving of chests.

  ‘Don’t do anything silly!’ Ella calls after Mac as he stalks away.