Undefeated

by Reardon, Stuart

  Nadia:

  And you weren’t allowed to, what’s the phrase, fraternize with the players?

  Anna:

  No.

  Nadia:

  But you did.

  Anna:

  Yes.

  Ruth:

  Why risk it?

  Nadia:

  Have you seen him? He’s gorgeous! Well hot!

  [LAUGHTER]

  Anna:

  We were both single, we liked each other. I think maybe we were both a little lonely, too, as we’d both recently relocated to London. My original contract was for six weeks, but it got extended. So we had to keep hiding. We hadn’t planned on falling in love.

  Ruth:

  How did the Club find out?

  Anna:

  We went to Nick’s family for Christmas. I had a wonderful day with lovely, wonderful warm people, and then in the evening we went for a walk after dinner. Unfortunately, we bumped into his ex-fiancée. They’d broken up when she cheated on him with his best friend while he was recovering from surgery. They’d been broken up for months before Nick and I became a couple. But she saw us, and put two and two together and got five. I’ll always remember what she said: “You won’t get away with this.”

  Colleen:

  And she told the newspapers.

  Anna:

  [PAUSE] I don’t know. Someone did. It was trial by social media. I had to delete my Facebook and Twitter accounts because the abuse was so bad. And then I was arrested for perjury. I had my phone, iPad and laptop seized, and I was taken away in a police van. The police had been wrongly informed that I’d been in a relationship with Nick at the time of his court case and that I’d lied about it. My conditions of bail meant that I wasn’t allowed to see him. For three months. While all this was going on my father died. It was the lowest point of my life. Within a few weeks, I’d lost my job, my reputation, the man I loved, and my own dear father.

  Ruth:

  [PAUSE] I can only imagine how traumatic that must have been.

  Anna:

  Thank you. It was . . . difficult. And then while I was at home in New York with my mother, my lawyer emailed to say that the police had found no evidence that a crime had been committed: there was no case to answer. But I’d already lost everything, so I didn’t care.

  Colleen:

  Those personal images of you with Nick—that must have been hard.

  Anna:

  The police told me that hackers get into ‘phones of interest’. Apparently, at that point, I became a victim of a crime, which is kind of ironic. They did try to follow it up, I believe. It was looked into by the police’s hi-tech crime unit, Cy-Comms, but, well, once the images are out there, it’s a struggle to take them down.

  Colleen:

  And no one was ever prosecuted for that?

  Anna:

  No.

  Nadia:

  And there was that ex-boyfriend of yours, too. The one you had an affair with . . . the married man.

  Anna:

  Ah, yes, the married man. Well, I was young and he was my supervisor for my PhD thesis. I fell for the oldest line in the book, that he was going to leave his wife for me. But . . . I did know that he was married, so I have to take some of the blame, I know that . . .

  Nadia:

  What happened?

  Anna:

  When the university authorities found out, they discussed expelling me, but I was so close to finishing my PhD that they let me work from home. He was given a slap on the wrist and sent on a sabbatical. He was back teaching within a year. What no one ever mentions was that it wasn’t the first time he’d had an affair with a student.

  Nadia:

  So you’re saying he was just a dirty old man?

  Anna:

  I’m saying that I wasn’t the first naïve woman who’d believed his lies. When the truth came out, he couldn’t drop me fast enough. I felt so stupid, so humiliated. I couldn’t cope, couldn’t function . . . that’s why everything that happened this time makes it so . . . so . . .

  Nadia:

  Crap?

  [LAUGHTER]

  Anna:

  Yes! Definitely that! Nick was single, I was single—neither of us cheated. I know that his club had a no-fraternization clause in our contracts. We should have come clean at the beginning. Nick wanted to, but I was scared I’d lose the contract, scared I’d lose my job. Pretty ironic, huh?

  Ruth:

  When did you get back with Nick?

  Anna:

  [SMILES] I saw what he said after the England versus Ireland match. I was watching it in New York on my mom’s laptop.

  Colleen:

  About that, what did he mean?

  Anna:

  He was telling me not to give up. Not to be defeated. It was very personal. He knew it would mean something special to me . . . and it did.

  Ruth:

  And then he gave that very emotional interview.

  Nadia:

  That was so romantic! And to do it in public like that! Wow! What did you think?

  Anna:

  I didn’t know about it until I was in London. I’d already planned to come back. When I got off the plane at Heathrow, I saw a newspaper headline. It was . . .

  Colleen:

  You must have felt very emotional.

  Anna:

  Oh, definitely.

  Linda:

  What do you feel about the people who accused you?

  Anna:

  I don’t feel anything.

  Nadia:

  After what they did to you? How they ruined your life?

  Anna:

  The death of my father . . . it puts things into perspective. Nick and I are together again, that’s more important than holding onto any bitterness.

  Colleen:

  I’d be madder than a snake! Don’t you want to make them pay? Not even a little bit?

  Anna:

  No, they’re not worth my time. I’m going to look to the future now.

  Ruth:

  And what does that look like?

  Anna:

  [LAUGHS] I have no idea. I’m not allowed to be a sports psychologist anymore—I had my licence revoked. Maybe I’ll write self-help books about how not to screw up your career!

  Ruth:

  Thank you for talking us today, Anna. It’s been a pleasure.

  Anna:

  Thank you for having me.

  As soon as she’d started the interview, she felt calm. It was almost like talking to a group of girlfriends. Yes, she’d conveniently omitted to mention her fireside inferno with Nick, but that was private and no one would ever know. But now that she was off-camera, her hands shook as she unclipped the microphone from her shirt, and she couldn’t remember a word that she’d said.

  Brendan swept her into a hug.

  “You were magnificent, Annie!”

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

  Knocked it out of the park. Love you, babe. X

  Two days later, Anna got an email from one of the tabloid newspapers who’d printed the lies about her. They wanted to offer her a job as a regular columnist, writing on self-help and personal advice. She laughed when she read the email.

  She stopped laughing when she saw how much they offered to pay her.

  “What do you think, Nick?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want to be an agony aunt?”

  “It’s advice columnist! Maybe, yeah. I like that I’d be able to help people.”

  “Even if it’s working for one of those newspapers?”

  His lip curled as he spoke.

  “I’m not naïve, Nick. I know how these people work. But newspapers? They’re just the vessel—as good or as bad as the people working for them. Maybe I can even it up a little.” She sighed. “It’s not like I have anything better to do. And they’ll pay for me to hire an assistant for a few hours a week—I could ask Brendan. I miss that crazy guy.”

  Nick pulled her into his arms and kissed he
r thoroughly.

  “Anything you want to do is okay with me, babe.”

  “Anything?” she asked silkily.

  “Yeah. Especially when you’ve got that look in your eye.”

  She shrieked as he slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and headed for the stairs.

  “Mio Dio!” said Giovanni as he walked in through the front door. “What is it I should say? Get a room!”

  “That’s what we’re doing, mate,” Nick called over his shoulder.

  “I think we’ll have to get our own place, sooner rather than later,” Anna said breathlessly as Nick carried her up the flight of stairs.

  “Jealous bastards,” laughed Nick.

  He had several things on his to-do list: getting their own place was just one of them. But for now, it could wait.

  Seven months later ~ Saturday 29th October 2016

  Rugby World Cup Final, Twickenham: England V Samoa

  NICK HAD BEEN awake for two hours, his brain churning. Sleep was far, far away. Unfortunately, so was Anna.

  Although it was probably just as well. If she’d been lying next to him, he’d have wanted to do more than wake her up.

  He cringed and tried to push the thought out of his head. It just wasn’t appropriate given the person who was currently sleeping a few feet away from him.

  Jason snorted loudly and Nick rolled his eyes. He’d shared a room with his teammate enough times to know that the guy was a snorter—one of those people who didn’t really snore, but every now and again, let out a rip-roaring snort like a constipated warthog. It was irritating and very hard to ignore. Other people on the England team wouldn’t room with him anymore, so Nick was stuck.

  He didn’t mind. Much.

  Deciding he couldn’t stay in bed any longer, he rolled free from the sheets and did a few stretches, recognising the familiar jangle of nerves. Generally, he was a pretty laidback bloke, even on game days, but this was a World Cup match, and it was the Final. The last time England had won was more than a decade ago. Expectations were riding high for a repeat after all those years.

  He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to think about what that meant, what it had taken to get to this point, this moment: the sacrifices, the effort, the years, the many disappointments, the injuries, the successes. And Anna. Without Anna, he wasn’t sure he’d be here at all.

  She must have been thinking of him as well, because his phone vibrated with an incoming text.

  My darling Nick,

  I know you’ll be great today. Whatever happens, I’m so proud of you.

  And I’ll never stop loving you.

  Think it.

  See it.

  Believe it.

  Do it.

  Your personal sports psychologist and inamorata ©. Ax

  He smiled. That was so typical of her, using twenty words when just three would do. He grinned and snapped a picture of himself giving a thumbs up next to a sleeping Jason.

  Her reply was brief and made him laugh.

  Are you trying to make me jealous?

  It’s working! Still love ya! Ax

  He smiled to himself, thinking of her at home in the little house they’d recently bought together. Given the chance, she’d have taken up the whole bed last night, sleeping like a starfish. Maybe she was making coffee now or maybe putting out some nuts for the birds in their tiny backyard. He was proud that even with London prices, they’d been able to afford some outdoor space: a patio and small square of grass with a spindly aspen tree that they’d planted together.

  Or maybe she was reading the news on her laptop and deciding what to put in her column on Monday.

  Maybe she was thinking about starting the self-help book that she’d been talking about writing.

  No, she was probably making pancakes for breakfast and talking to her mother who’d flown across for the Final.

  Jason grunted and rolled over.

  “W’s goin’ on?”

  “Nothing, yer mad sort. Quick game of rugby then off to the pub.”

  “’kay.”

  Jason rolled away and went back to sleep. Incredible.

  Nick shook his head. The guy was something else.

  He picked up the hotel’s phone and called room service for porridge, fruit and coffee, deciding he’d have poached eggs with the team later on. Then he downed some vitamins with a glass of water and headed for the bathroom.

  He’d just stepped out of the shower when there was a knock at the door. He wrapped a towel around his waist and pulled it open.

  An older man in a waiter’s uniform was pushing a breakfast cart, loaded with fresh fruit, a carafe of coffee, two cups, and two bowls of porridge kept warm under insulated lids. Also, somewhat incongruously, there was a vase with a red rose in it.

  “Good morning, sir. It’s a beautiful day, no sign of any rain.”

  “Great, thank you.”

  The waiter pushed the trolley inside, situating it by the window and pretending not to see the naked form of Jason who was only just stumbling to the bathroom.

  “Eh, sorry about that,” said Nick, rubbing his freshly shaven face.

  “Nothing to apologise for, sir. If I could just ask you to sign this.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Nick signed for the food and fumbled in his wallet for some change for a tip.

  “No, I really couldn’t accept anything, sir,” the waiter said with a genteel wave of his hand. “It’s my pleasure. And may I add, every one of the kitchen staff wishes you their best of British for today,” and he gestured toward the red rose in its vase, the same as the logo stitched onto Nick’s Team England kit. “We’ll all be watching you on the telly later. And, ahem, I’ve got five quid on you to score the winning try.”

  “That’s really nice of you. Thank you very much.”

  The man pushed a small notebook in front of him.

  “If I could just get your autograph, sir. For my daughter.”

  “Sure, no problem. What’s your daughter’s name.”

  “Ah, well, if you could just sign it, that would be lovely. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “I don’t mind,” Nick smiled. “What name shall I put?”

  The man’s cheeks reddened.

  “Barry.”

  Nick’s eyebrows shot up, but he did as he was asked, signing his name with a flourish then adding the date.

  To Barry, best regards on Cup Final day.

  Nick Renshaw, 29.10.16

  The man held the little notebook as if Nick had just given him the recipe for turning lead into gold.

  “Thank you,” he said reverently, tucking the little book in his waistcoat pocket then bowing himself out of the room.

  Nick smiled to himself. It felt good to give pleasure to a fan, although Barry was a funny name for a girl.

  Oddly enough, the strange encounter had settled his nerves, and he decided that the red rose was coming home with him later. Anna would like that.

  He ate his porridge with some dried fruit and nuts on top, then two bananas.

  Jason slumped at the table a few minutes later and inhaled his food eagerly. Neither of them felt like talking, already turning inwards and preparing themselves mentally.

  Then they both dressed in their Team England suits, crisp white shirts and team ties, with polished black dress shoes. They were representing their country, and tracksuits wouldn’t cut it today.

  Finally, they packed up their bags and headed for the team bus.

  It had been decorated overnight, and hung festooned with red and white balloons and the famous St. George’s flag draped across the engine block.

  Photographers milled around at the front of the hotel, along with several hundred fans who cheered them as if they’d already won.

  Nick signed a few more autographs then climbed into the bus, sitting next to Paul, one of the other Backs.

  “Big day,” he said.

  Nick grinned. “The biggest.”

  He thoug
ht back to his old club up in Rotherham, where a capacity crowd was fewer than 2,000 people. It was so different now, and he felt the weight of responsibility to those fans, the ones who came out and cheered in all weathers.

  Today they were blessed with sunshine, surprisingly warm for October, one of those perfect afternoons of an Indian Summer. The sky was a solid blue with only the palest clouds high, high above.

  The drive to Twickenham should have taken just a few minutes, but all along the route, St. George flags decorated the streets of redbrick Victorian houses, and good luck banners hung from windows and lampposts everywhere. For a few weeks of the World Cup year, everyone was a rugby fan.

  The streets were lined with men, women and children dressed in white and, red and waving flags, cheering as the bus drove past slowly.

  All of the players grinned and waved back, feeling their spirits rise with the fans on this special day.