Undefeated

by Reardon, Stuart

  “I opened them.”

  Nick frowned.

  “You’re overdrawn at the bank, you know that, right?”

  Nick shrugged, finding it hard to care.

  “All the money you got from the Minotaurs went on paying the fine and your operation. There’s nothing left. You won’t be able to pay next month’s mortgage.”

  A cold trickle of fear made him sit up straighter and lancing pain shot through his leg.

  “I didn’t realise it was that bad. I could sell my car, but that would only help for a few months then I’d be back to square one.”

  “Mum and Dad said that they’d . . .”

  “No!” Nick’s voice was sharp. “I’m not having them using their savings. This is my problem.”

  Trish’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  “I told them you’d say that. I’d help you if I could . . .”

  “I know that, sis.”

  He reached out and held her hand, and she gave him a watery smile, squeezing his fingers.

  “So,” she said after a long pause, “I talked to an estate agent. He said that it’s not a good time to sell . . .”

  “Fuck.”

  “But he thinks you’d do better renting out the place. It would cover your mortgage—just. There wouldn’t be anything left over. What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t have any choice,” Nick said tiredly.

  Trish’s smile was brief.

  “Okay, well, I’ll help you get that sorted. You’d better get some rest. And, um, maybe make an appointment to go to the Job Centre and . . .”

  Nick’s heart missed a beat.

  “Go on benefits? No.”

  Trish grimaced.

  “Don’t rule it out.”

  Nick closed his eyes. If he had to apply for welfare now . . . he felt Trish’s hand on his arm and looked up to see the sympathy and love on her face, the pain that matched his.

  She didn’t need to tell him that his family cared about him, he could see it in everything they did.

  Trish cleared her throat.

  “I’ve brought my laptop up in case you want to watch Netflix or anything later.”

  She turned to leave the room, but he stopped her.

  “Thanks, Trish. I mean it. Thank you.”

  “You’re my brother,” she said simply.

  Life carried on for everyone but Nick.

  No one came to see him. During two months of drinking, he’d pushed away all his old teammates, the whiskey and paranoia making him feel as though he couldn’t trust them. He suspected some of them of having known about Ken and Molly. He had no proof of that, so maybe in truth he was just too ashamed to see them.

  A few of the lads had been in touch, the ones he was closest to, but now they were getting on with their lives, training hard, and he wasn’t part of the team anymore.

  When Nick stopped answering messages, the calls became fewer and fewer.

  So, when his parents were out at work and his sister was doing data entry in the kitchen, the radio playing softly in the background, Nick was utterly alone.

  He’d deleted his social media accounts and had to change his email address. The media interest in him had died down, thank God, and there’d only been one short article about his operation.

  The parole board had given him a month before he had to start his community service. He’d told them that he’d still be wearing a surgical boot, but they’d promised to find him “something suitable”, whatever that might be.

  The thought rolled over and over in his head: what if this is it? What if my rugby days are over? Trish had asked him what he’d do and the choices were bleak. He could probably go back to the paint factory, a thought that he could hardly bear. He couldn’t imagine trying to go to evening classes—he’d hated school the first time around. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do.

  Mark Lipman had been working hard, keeping his ear to the ground, finding out if anyone was looking for a new Fullback next season. But no club would touch Nick—no one was willing to take a risk. Either on his fitness . . . or anything else. He’d pleaded guilty to assault: club managers looked at their insurance policies, then looked away; publicity departments stamped any potential interest with a big fat NO.

  “I’m sorry, son. I’ll keep looking. It’ll be a different story once you’re fit again, but . . .”

  “What is it?”

  “I won’t be able to get you anything nearby. If you’re prepared to travel . . . there are clubs in the south that might take you, or what about France? Italy, perhaps?”

  Nick sighed.

  “I’ll take anything,” he admitted with humiliating honesty.

  Alone with his thoughts, Nick stared at Trish’s laptop. And he remembered something she’d said before, about him thanking the people who’d helped him.

  She was right: there had been a few people who’d stood up for him. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

  He balanced the laptop across his thighs, thinking about what he wanted to say. He stared at the blank screen for a long time, and then he started to type.

  1st March 2015

  Dear Anna,

  Can I still call you Anna? If not . . .

  Dear Dr. Scott,

  I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get in touch. Everything has been . . . well, you know. But I wanted to thank you for speaking up for me in court. It meant a lot to me and I was really sorry that the other lawyer was such a douchenozzle to you.

  ANNA SMILED AS she read Nick’s email. He’d remembered that she’d used that term to describe Jonathan.

  She’d been surprised to hear from him three months after the case. She’d wondered about him, read in the newspapers that he’d been in hospital again, but after that—nothing. She was glad he’d had the operation; she could only hope that it had been successful.

  She continued to read, curious as to what he might have to say.

  He was bang out of order and I wanted to punch him, but that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea as the magistrate looked like he wanted my guts for garters. (Is that a saying Americans use?) Er, he looked like he wanted to take me outside and have me flogged. Luckily, that’s not allowed these days.

  You’ve probably heard the verdict by now, but I hope you know that I’m not really like that. I don’t have any excuse and part of me isn’t sorry for trashing Ken’s house. But the stuff they said about me in the papers isn’t true. Molly knows the truth of what happened that day, and she knows it was an accident. But it doesn’t change the fact that I did hurt her, and I’ll have to live with that.

  I had to pay to replace Kenny’s windows and TV, but otherwise it’s not too bad. I don’t mind the community service. They’ll probably have me painting park benches for the first couple of sessions, but I’m going to ask if I can work with schools. I don’t know if they’ll let me, but something sport-related would be good. (Remember that kid who wanted to start a girl’s rugby team? She was a mad sort—funny, as well.) But I don’t care if they make me sweep the streets. I’m not going to prison so anything else is fine by me.

  It was a real surprise to see your receptionist in court. (Sorry, I can’t remember her name—Linda?) Please say hi to her and thank her for coming. It was good to have a friendly face there.

  Thank you, Anna, for everything that you said, and for all the stuff before. It really helped me, and if I ever get out of this effing plaster cast/surgical boot and get a job in rugby, I know it will come in handy.

  Even if I don’t make it back on the rugby field, I’m going to use what’s happened to try and make myself a better man. Or at least a work in progress.

  Thank you for speaking up for me—it means more than I could ever say and more than you’ll ever know.

  Best,

  Nick

  She read the email three times, then started to type.

  2nd March 2015

  Dear Nick,

  May I call you Nick, or should I call y
ou Mr. Renshaw, or maybe even Prisoner 7435? Well, thankfully not that last one.

  I was happy to receive your email. It seems your sense of humor is intact, if not your foot. Steve Jewell spoke very highly of your surgeon, so I’m crossing my fingers and toes that the operation went well. Are you jealous that I can cross my toes? Scratch that—gloating is never nice.

  I know we’ve talked about this, but Achilles tendon injuries are not career-ending. I’ll repeat that because you never seemed to hear me when I said it before: Achilles tendon injuries are not career-ending. You have every chance of coming back and picking up your career where you left off. Visualize it, believe it, make it happen.

  You’ve been through a really tough time, but it will get better. I was happy I could help a little in the court case, but I only said what I knew to be true.

  I have a mantra that I used at a low point in my life. I think you might like it.

  When your world crashes down . . .

  When they all say you’re out . . .

  When your mind is broken . . .

  I will rise . . .

  I will return . . .

  And I will be undefeated.

  Catchy, huh? Although since you’re returning from injury, you might want to substitute ‘body’ for ‘mind’. Anyway, I hope it helps you.

  Think positive, Nick.

  Kind regards,

  Anna

  Nick smiled as he read the first part of her email, but his smile faded when he came to the mantra. He read the words, feeling the pain that Anna must have felt to have written them, reading the determination to survive, the refusal to be destroyed.

  He wondered what had happened to her. Was it something to do with the douchenozzle?

  He looked up at the mirror in his bedroom, studying himself.

  He looked like shit. He’d lost weight and a lot of muscle tone. His hair was getting long and curling wildly, and his beard was thick and bushy.

  He wanted a drink. Badly.

  It was a struggle each day and sometimes the need to disappear into a bottle of whiskey was overwhelming. But he was trying.

  He stared into his own eyes, repeating the words she’d given him.

  “I will be undefeated.”

  He wanted to believe it. He needed to.

  29th March 2015

  Dear Anna,

  I’m using your mantra. I really like it, although my sister thinks I’m a nutter. She’s afraid I’m about to run off and join a cult. Not that I can run anywhere right now. But you said I have to think positive so I’m trying to do that.

  I’m trying, but I can’t help thinking that I won’t play professionally again. I’ve seen injury end more careers than guys retiring and hanging up their boots. I know no one goes on forever, but I’m 27 and I thought I had another five or six years, so it’s hard.

  If I don’t have rugby, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m not all that brainy and I didn’t do well at school.

  Sorry, didn’t mean to dump all that on you. I got used to talking to you when I was with the Minotaurs. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.

  It turns out I’m going to prison after all. Yeah, that’s not a joke, but not as bad as it sounds. They wouldn’t let me work with schools for my community service, but they did say I could coach a bunch of kids in a Young Offender Institution. I’m a bit nervous about it. Hopefully I’ll have a couple of prison officers with me, or maybe ten. Do you think they’d beat up a guy wearing a surgical boot?

  I did a couple of weeks in a charity shop first, working with some really sweet older ladies. It was okay, sorting out charity clothes and that, but in the YOI, I’ll be able to do something that’s more me, if you know what I mean.

  I’m actually looking forward to it. Trish, my sister, says it’ll be a laugh. But then again she laughs at all the gory bits in ‘Game of Thrones’, especially when someone gets a sword through them. I’m glad that magistrate didn’t meet her—it would have been like a rematch of ‘Alien Vs Predator’.

  How’s work going? Okay, I hope. I heard that Steve Jewell got the boot (that sounded funnier in my head). It’s a bummer for him. He was a good guy. I reckon he’ll get a new club soon. We need blokes like him in the game.

  I saw Dave Parks on TV scoring a try last Saturday. I heard he was seeing a really great sports psychologist. Who knew that hocus pocus really worked? (kidding!)

  Anyway, hope you’re well. Say hi to Belinda for me (I looked up her name on your website).

  Cheers!

  Nick

  3rd April 2015

  Hi Nick,

  How are you? Did you get rid of the boot yet? Maybe it’s a little too early, but soon, I think.

  You can tell me whatever you like. Just because you’re not my official client now, I’m still a doctor and still a sports psychologist, so if talking to me, or typing it out helps, then please do.

  It’s hard for a sportsman not knowing what’s next, when all you’ve known finishes, or when injury makes you think life isn’t worth living, never mind all the bullshit you’ve had to deal with, the court case, negative publicity and accusations.

  But let’s look at this objectively.

  I really take issue with you saying just because you don’t have qualifications you’re not smart. You’re very wrong. You think deeply on many subjects and have some really great ideas. Smart is not about qualifications, it’s about the ability to learn from mistakes.

  So let’s look at this. If you can’t play professional rugby again, you could coach, right? I think the thought of leaving it all behind completely would be really hard for you anyway. But it would also give you time to work out what you want to do.

  Or you could easily get the certification you need to be a personal trainer. I think you’d get a lot of satisfaction from helping people to attain fitness goals. Just something to think about.

  Anyway, how did it go with the young offenders? Did you survive? (If I don’t get a reply to this email, I’ll assume that you got shanked during a tackle. Is that funny? Ugh, not really. Sorry, I’m so tired. Busy work stuff.)

  You might like to know that I heard from the headteacher of the high school we visited. She’s managed to find another school who want to start a girls’ rugby team so they’re going to be working together to make that happen. She asked me if I’d pass on the good news and to thank you for your support and encouragement. She says the kids still talk about you—especially Eloise!

  Dave did great and I’m really proud of him. YES! The ‘hocus pocus’ does work!! And if you say anything else, I’ll put a spell on you—and not in a good way.

  Gotta run. Stay positive!

  Anna

  4th April 2015

  Hi Anna,

  No, I haven’t got rid of the boot yet, but it won’t be much longer—maybe another three weeks. Each week my physio changes the angle to stretch the tendon. It’s murder, but he says it’s improving so I have to trust him. I want to believe the op worked this time, but it’s not always easy.

  Thank you for what you said. I really appreciate it. And I’ll think about it. Promise!

  That’s really great news about the girls’ rugby team! It feels good to think I had something to do with that, although it was your idea to visit in the first place. I wish I could go over there and say hi, but I’m still keeping my head down.

  Yes, I went to my first coaching session with the youth offenders. They were a tough bunch but I think they enjoyed it. Mouthy, you know? Maybe you don’t—you were probably a good girl!

  The newspapers are leaving me alone now and Molly’s already told everyone her ‘story’. I’m going to try and put it all behind me.

  My agent is also telling me to keep positive, so between you and him and Trish kicking my arse, I think it’s starting to work. Maybe.

  Why are you so busy at work? Lots of new clients? Just remember, all work and no play makes Anna a dull girl. (I don’t think you’re dull, by the way.)

  Nick


  17th April 2015

  Hi Nick,

  Sorry for the delay in replying. I haven’t been in the office that much lately. I know that’s not a very good excuse when our cell phones make us all 24/7, but I’ve been super busy. And yes, lots of new clients which is great, but the main reason is that I’m opening another clinic in London!

  It was a bit slow going when I started in Manchester nine months ago, but then it really took off. I’ve hired a keen young guy to run things with Belinda up here, and I’ll be in London setting up the new office. I’d love to take Belinda with me, but she’s settled ‘up north’ and couldn’t take the journey. Really? You Brits don’t travel much. It’s only two hours by train—you’d think I was asking her to fly to the moon. But yeah, I get it. She has family here and doesn’t want to spend all her time commuting. A friend told me that the difference between Brits and Americans is that the British think a hundred miles is a long way, and Americans think that a hundred years is a long time. Anyway, she’s going to help me set up the new office and hire a Belinda #2. I’m happy to let her handle that. Fingers crossed she finds me someone as great as she is.

  Keep going with the physio—it sounds like he knows what he’s doing. You can’t rush these things.

  Anyway, hope you’re well, and that your family are well, too.

  Anna

  17th April 2015

  Congratulations! That’s fantastic news. I’m a bit jealous that the players down south (and it is a long way south of the Watford Gap) appreciate you. They’re lucky to have you. Do you know which teams you’ll be working with yet, or doesn’t it work like that? Or do you help whoever needs you (like the Gryffindor Sword)?

  I’m really glad to hear from you. I thought I must have said something to annoy you. That’s what I hate about text and emails—you never know if you’ve been a dickhead. Not you, obviously. I meant me.

  I’m surviving ‘prison’. That’s what the kids call it even though officially it’s a ‘Youth Offender Institution’. It’s turning out to be pretty interesting. They’re so crazed with boredom that anything new is appreciated. I think they just liked having someone from ‘outside’ to talk to. I’d go mad locked up in a place like that. I feel sick when I think I could have been one of them. Well, the adult version, which is probably way worse. It’s been life-changing, Anna. I was so down that I ended up drinking too much and passing out, more than once. Trish made me clear up the vomit the next day—not my finest hour. But I’ve decided that I’m not going to let this break me. (I’m still using your mantra—it helps . . . even though Trish laughs her arse off when she hears me.)