He remembered her, remembered the day he met her. Visiting the high school had been Anna’s idea. She’d accused him of being jaded, and thinking back, she’d been right.
Being with the kids and watching their excitement and passion for the game had given him the kick he needed at the time.
And even though she didn’t know it, little Eloise had given him another kick today. He could see her in his mind’s eye, thundering up and down the field, legs like tree trunks, looking as if she’d run right over anyone who got in her way given half a chance, and then she’d smiled so big when he’d praised her speed and drop kick.
Nick’s mood was determined.
It had been a month since he’d spoken to Anna, a whole month since her father’s funeral. She’d looked so fragile, so broken and nothing he’d done had helped. He’d wanted to be with her, to support her. He loathed those stupid, cruel bail conditions that meant he couldn’t. Nick couldn’t even hold her when she needed him most.
He knew Brendan had heard from her but was under strict instructions not to pass anything on to Nick. In desperation, he’d phoned Anna’s mother. She’d been distant, polite, but had made it very clear that his call wasn’t welcome.
He’d almost believed Anna when she said she wished she’d never met him. Almost, but the emptiness in her eyes had been betrayed by a quiver in her pale lips, a convulsion of her hands as if she was reaching for him.
As soon as the police realised that she’d told the truth, he was going to her, he’d force her to listen.
Fury darkened his vision and he fought to bring his breathing under control. Fucking up was not an option.
The police case was dragging on, and although the Press interest had died down, Nick felt like he was living on a knife edge. The nude photographs had continued to crop up on different websites and although the police had filed his complaint, they didn’t hold out much hope that anyone would ever be prosecuted. They’d wearily informed him not to keep ‘private’ images on his phone anymore. That horse had bolted, jumped a fence, and won a couple of derbies since he’d locked the stable door on the police’s advice.
Sim Andrews had benched him for two games for breaking the no-fraternization clause and fined him £5,000, but since then, he’d been allowed to play again. Not that he cared about the money, but he did care about the damage he’d done to Anna’s reputation. It had been reported with relish by all the newspapers that her licence to practise had been revoked. Without that, she seemed to have given up. At least, that’s what Brendan said. She’d also been forced to pass all of her business and few remaining contracts to the man who’d taken over her Manchester branch. He’d also taken over her lease on the office building and apartment, and had kept Brendan on, too.
To everyone else, it was as if Anna had never existed, and Nick hated that. Hated that everything she’d done, all her work, all her hours of helping teams and different players appeared to have been forgotten and erased. She’d been airbrushed from the Club’s history.
But Nick’s aching loneliness was sharp and painful. He forced himself on, forced himself each day to choose the path that would make her proud, even as he died a little inside.
He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen in love with her, he was only sure that he had. Each smile, every hour he’d spent with her—they’d been the best of his life. Although he hadn’t really fallen into love. It hadn’t been a wild tumble, a jump over a cliff; it had been a slow, sweet warmth stealing through his body, like the rising sun.
He hated that Molly had won. Whatever her twisted game had been, she’d ruined Anna’s life, nearly destroyed Nick, and then waltzed away with money in the bank, a new career as a reality TV ‘star’, and a squeaky-clean image as a woman betrayed. The fucking irony.
But Nick wasn’t destroyed and he wasn’t defeated.
He’d achieved his dream—he was representing his country, he was playing for England. Today should have been one of the best days of his life. But the woman he loved more than his next breath was 3,000 miles away and a world apart.
He had a message for her.
All across Britain, millions of people were tuning in their TVs to the BBC’s World Cup coverage.
[Rugby World Cup: Titles and music, cue VT of England team]
BBC Studio Head: We’re going live in five, four, [gestures: three, two, one]
Jimmy Smith:
Welcome to Rugby Today! We’re here, live, at Twickenham along with 82,000 fans, and it’s a big day for England’s rugby team as they begin their World Cup bid against a strong team fielded by the Irish. The sun is out but it’s a frosty day. It’s not stopping the fans though, and we can hear them singing from the commentary box. To talk us through the match, I’m here with a man who’s been there himself, known as ‘the Rocket’ when he played for Bradford Bulls, and he’ll know exactly how the players are feeling right now. Stuart Reardon, you were a professional player for sixteen years, notably with the Bulls and AS Carcasonne, and you were capped for your country fifteen times. Stuart, welcome.
Stuart Reardon:
Thanks, Jimmy. It’s good to be here.
Jimmy Smith:
You must have a lot of memories at Twickenham.
Stuart Reardon:
Yes, some of the best days of my life have been on match days here. It’s the home of rugby.
Jimmy Smith:
So, Stuart, talk us through England’s chances today. They’re a young team with a new coach. I think we need to talk about Eddie Jones’ choices for the team. As a new manager, he obviously wants to put his stamp on things, but eyebrows have definitely been raised by his choice of Fullback, Nick Renshaw wearing the number 17 jersey. This time last year, Renshaw was on a long-term injury list, then he was dropped by his club, and he’d never played in the Premiership. True, he’s had a terrific run this season with the Finchley Phoenixes, but is it enough to make him a useful part of the England team? Talk us through what Eddie Jones might have been thinking in picking Renshaw?
Stuart Reardon:
Well, Jimmy, I think Eddie Jones must have seen something in Nick a while back. He watched him coming up as a young player. Although he’s not had much Premiership experience, it could well be because he had chances to move up the leagues in the past, but chose to stay loyal to the club where he started.
He’s had a tough injury, but he’s been determined to come back. Before the injury he was outstanding for Rotherham, easily the best player, year in, year out. Everyone deserves a second chance. He’s fully fit now. I like what I see in him and it’s a new club, new start. He’s in a good headspace so it’s a prime time to give him a chance. I like his style of play; he’s very fast, sees openings, so I don’t think Eddie Jones sees it as a gamble. He thinks Nick Renshaw can show us what he can do. This is the Coach changing things up, he wants to see them playing his way. Bringing in new players is how you do it.
As you know, Jimmy, anyone can get injured in this game, and many of them come back stronger and tougher than they were before because they’ve been through the pain. And don’t forget, a lot of teams sign up players coming back from injury because they can get them a little cheaper than what they would have gone for otherwise.
Jimmy Smith:
That’s a bit cynical, Stuart.
Stuart Reardon:
It’s just the way it is, we all know it. It’s a tough game. And there’s no reason that Nick Renshaw won’t play amazing today and in the rest of his Premiership season.
I know Eddie Jones personally and I’ve spoken to him about this. I know there’s been a lot of media speculation. Eddie Jones rates Nick as a player and has followed his career for years, that’s why he’s given him a shot as starting Fullback—they’ve got a good bond.
Jimmy Smith:
Nick Renshaw’s personal problems have been all over social media lately. Will that affect his game?
Stuart Reardon:
He’ll be putting all that out of his head and concen
trating on what he’s got to do today. When you’re in a match situation, you can’t let anything else mess around with your head. He’ll be getting in the zone, making sure he’s in the right head space.
Jimmy Smith:
Well, we certainly wish Nick good luck. Now, how do you rate England’s chances against the Ireland team?
Stuart Reardon:
The ground looks frosty, so there’ll be slippery conditions. It’ll change the way they play: they’ll keep the game tight, keep the passes short. The team that keeps the mistakes down to the minimum and controls the ball will win the game. We must complete the sets, which means it’s more of a Forwards game when the field’s frosty or there’s wet conditions. It makes it a tighter game, rather than a free-flowing, passing game. [smiles big ] Yeah, we’ll beat the Irish easy!
Nick was focussed and intense as he followed his teammates out onto the field. A great roar went up and it felt like walking into a wall of sound, so loud he couldn’t hear Jason speak, even though he was standing next to him. Half of the stands were shamrock green and the other half were white and red, the flag of St. George waving everywhere.
Nick knew what he had to do. A sense of calm descended on him and he barely saw the fans singing and yelling in the stadium.
As the National Anthem rang out, he stood tall and proud as he sang the dignified words, determined to prove himself—to his teammates, to his Club, to his country, to himself. And to Anna. He had to prove himself to Anna. He had to prove his love.
As the words died away and the roar of the crowd shook the air, Nick jogged into position, his heart thundering as the whistle blew and he flew forwards, as fast and direct as an arrow.
“The young guns in the back have a lot to prove, but look at Nick Renshaw go! He doesn’t know that this match is 80 minutes long! He thinks he’s got to win it in the first minute! Look at him go! And he’s scored a try with just 32 seconds on the clock! I’ve never seen anything like that. Do you think he’ll crack a smile? Not today! Jason Oduba makes a conversion from that amazing run. The try-scorer calls for the re-start and takes it.
“The set pieces are going to be important. If you can’t get the line-out right, Ireland will be in trouble. They’re going to struggle. Dylan Hartley, his first throw. Danny Care, to Farrell, a chance here for England! Johnny May coming up his left wing. Holt passes. Dan Cole, the Prop, takes the inside left . . . it’s loose! Hartley scoops it up . . . well picked up. Farrell again . . . that’s what they want the powerful number 8 to do, take out two defenders. Farrell . . . good pass away to Renshaw. Another chance for Renshaw in his first capped game. Renshaw’s passing to . . . no, he’s faked it, he’s going to run, he’s going all the way . . . he’s going to make it . . . no, the Irish defence is . . . yes, he’s through, he’s going all the way! Renshaw scores his second try! And the crowd are on their feet! England are in the lead! They’re in the lead!”
Later, Nick would only remember flashes of the game, but he didn’t put a foot wrong and England won 47–23, putting them through as one of the qualifying countries for the World Cup.
He only looked up to acknowledge the crowd at the end, raising his hands in the air and applauding them as they yelled his name.
His white kit was streaked with mud and the red rose, the symbol of England, had taken a battering. Sweat soaked his body but the myriad aches and pains were something he’d only feel later.
The BBC commentator strode forward with a microphone in his hand.
“Nick Renshaw! Man of the Match, three tries and a dropkick goal! You must be feeling pretty good about now!”
Nick turned to gaze at the interviewer whose wide smile matched his excited expression. Nick drew his eyebrows together in a small frown. Then he turned his head to stare straight at the camera . . .
“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.”
The TV presenter stared dumbfounded as Nick walked out of camera shot.
“Um, well, that was Nick Renshaw, Man of the Match, and clearly a man of few words.”
“You know, Jimmy, that must be the strangest post-match interview since Eric Cantona said in a press conference, ‘When the seagulls follow the trawler, it’s because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea’.”
“Yes, Roy, it’s definitely up there.”
Three thousand miles away, Anna gasped, her heart pounding as she watched the match on her mother’s laptop. Because she knew exactly what Nick meant—it was a message to her. It had to be!
He was telling her not to give up, and that he still loved her.
Anna’s mother lowered her book and peered at Anna over her glasses.
“What was all that about?”
Anna closed the laptop, her face flushed.
“You remember what I was like after . . . after Jonathan?”
Her mother raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“Of course I do.”
“Yes, sorry. It’s just when I was trying to put my life back together, I came up with a mantra, words that meant something to me; something to remind me that I’m stronger than I think I am.” She turned around to meet her mother’s eyes. “I shared those words with Nick when he was at a low point in his life. He liked them. But I didn’t know . . .”
Tears glistened on her long lashes as she dropped her gaze.
“I didn’t know that he’d remembered them.”
She wiped a stray tear and glanced up at her mother.
“Anna, honey, come here!”
Willingly, she went to her mother, kneeling at her feet and wrapping her arms around her mother’s waist, just like she had when she was a child, drawing comfort from her mother’s softness and warmth.
“Oh sweetheart, it’s been so wonderful having you here. I couldn’t have done all of this without you.”
“You don’t have to, Mom. I’ll be here and . . .”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Having you here has helped more than you’ll ever know, but it’s time for you to go home now.”
Anna’s head shot up.
“What are you talking about? I am home.”
Her mother stroked her hair.
“No, sweetheart, you’re not. Home is with your young man, not here.”
Anna’s eyes widened in shock.
“But . . . but you don’t even like Nick!”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” her mother asked, bemused.
“You and Dad, you were so disapproving!”
“Well, of course we were! Your contract made it impossible for you. But you made your choice and you chose him, not your work. And he’s made it very obvious that he cares deeply for you. Very publicly, in fact.”
“I . . . I can’t go back to London!”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have a job! I definitely don’t have a reputation! I don’t even have an apartment anymore. What would I do?”
“You’re a bright young woman, Anna. You’re my daughter and your father’s daughter. You can do anything you want. But I think you’d be miserable if you don’t find out if things could work with Nick first. And I know there’s nothing else stopping you.”
That was true.
Anna had received a short email from her solicitor explaining:
“The police do not consider that you have reached the threshold test for prosecution. Therefore you are not being charged. There is no case to answer.”
At the bottom of the email was an invitation by the Metropolitan Police to come and retrieve her cell phone, iPad and laptop.
After all the heartache, all the worry and angst, it had boiled down to their ability to check her old texts and emails. She wasn’t exactly innocent in the whole mess, but she wasn’t guilty of perjury, and that was all the police cared about.
With no po
lice case hanging over, she could do what she wanted. Well, she could do anything but work; anything but have her old life back.
Anna bit her lip.
“I can’t leave you here by yourself!”
“And I can’t expect you to stay. Sooner or later I’ll have to figure things out for myself. I can’t and won’t stop you from living your life. Having you here has been wonderful, but now it’s time for us both to move on.”
Anna’s lips trembled.
“I don’t know how to do that.”
Her mother’s eyes turned glassy.
“Neither do I. I miss your father so much!”
They held each other and cried: tears for the past, what had been; tears for the fear of the future.
“I’ll come visit you in London,” said her mom at last. “We’ll go to Harrods and Liberty’s and Selfridges!”
“Mom, I hate shopping!” Anna laughed and cried.
“I know you do, but I love it, and I’m your mother!” she smiled, wiping her tears. “And I’m looking forward to meeting your young man.”
She cupped her hands around Anna’s face.
“You’re so much like your father. He wasn’t a quitter either. Now, go be with Nick.”
March 2016
THE STUDIO LIGHTS were unbearably hot, but Nick didn’t appear to notice them. He sat upright, his long legs crossed at the ankle, his gaze distant.
He hadn’t heard from Anna since his very public declaration, but it had sent the media into a frenzy: there was nothing they loved more than an enigmatic hero and unrequited love. Besides, Nick was flavour of the month after the way he’d helped the England rugby team to a comprehensive mauling of the team from Ireland.
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