by C F White
Seb admired Jay’s motivation. He did. And he was exceptionally proud of him. But he also couldn’t wait for these qualifiers to be over.
Although, if they won and were through to Brazil, then Seb had to expect another year of having a knackered, stressed, and falling asleep on him whilst they attempted to watch television, Jay on his hands. He had hoped they would have some time together before the baby came.
Winchester felt like a lifetime ago.
So as Jay ransacked their room for his gear the day before his last qualifying match at Wembley, Seb watched him from the doorframe and hoped that, come tomorrow evening, Jay might not have so much weight pressing down on his shoulders.
“How you feeling?” Seb asked, biting his thumbnail.
“Honestly?” Jay fell on the edge of his bed to pull on his socks. “Shitting myself.” He glanced up. “Home crowd. Wembley. They’ll be expecting a win. And goals.”
“And you’ll give them.”
“Ain’t as easy as that. Especially with a visiting crowd. Remember what Tony said?”
“Fuck Tony. I have every faith in you, and every faith in humanity. You got through Ukraine without a peep. Everyone was impressed with how you handled it over there. Plus, I’ve never seen you looking fitter.” He winked, if only to lighten the mood away from all the nastiness that was having to contend with uncultured football fans.
Jay stood, grabbing his bag from the floor by his feet. “Seb fit and match fit ain’t the same though.”
“Then Seb fit is the only fit that should matter.”
“Yeah, after this, it will.” Jay met him by the door and kissed him. “What’s your plans?”
“I have furniture being delivered for the next room along today.” Seb angled his head to indicate the nursey. “Then tomorrow I have the Fitzgeralds around to watch the match.”
It had been deemed in everyone’s best interest, which meant that Jay’s agent had said it, that Seb not come to Wembley to spectate along with the other wives and girlfriends. Tony’s views were becoming the only ones listened to at present, but Seb was used to being cast aside as someone who didn’t know what he was talking about. Tony had suggested that a foreign crowd with an out gay player on the pitch might cause that unnecessary unrest he’d previously spoken about but had yet to emerge. Seb wasn’t too bothered. Of course, he’d love to watch Jay run out in his England kit in the flesh, but he was more than happy to stay in the warm to do it. Besides, he was all about taking care of Ann at the moment. He couldn’t rely on Noah to be feeding her the nutritious diet beneficial to their baby.
“Not redoing the decorating after you and your old man’s attempt then, nah?”
“I like the distressed look.”
“Fair enough.”
“Knock ‘em dead, Champ.”
“Plan to. Or if not dead, then out the park.”
“Love your little puns.” Seb kissed him then watched as Jay trundled down their stairs, the front door slamming to a close after and tyres grating on tarmac.
That was Jay gone for the rest of the day, the night, the next day, then the match. Apparently, even though Jay could drive himself to Wembley, the manager preferred to keep the team together for twenty-four hours before a game. Seb supposed that made sense. He, Martin and Noah always played better when they’d been rehearsing together each night up to a gig. And that thought formed a heaviness in his heart that the Drops’ hadn’t played in a while. He’d have to get the band back together as soon as he could. So, on that note, he closed himself off in his in-house studio to attempt to write a new song.
The rest of the day was pure boredom. He even went to bed early and couldn’t even be bothered to have his usual wank when there. So the next day he threw himself at building the flat pack furniture that had arrived the day before so he could show Ann what a fabulous father he was going to make.
When she arrived at six p.m. that night, looking as knackered as Jay had been of late, Seb shrugged her out of her coat and placed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You okay?” he asked.
“Just tired.” Ann hobbled past, clutching the small of her back. “Never had this back ache with my lot. Guess Jay’ll always be a pain in my arse.”
Noah handed over a bottle of wine to Seb and rolled his eyes.
Closing the door, Seb checked the label. “Nice. Not sure this is the correct accompaniment for such a match, but I like it. Wrote a new song yesterday. Will have to get Martin round to have a bash at it.”
“Sounds good. I need a reason to get out from under her feet.” Noah angled his head toward Ann.
Seb ushered Noah into the lounge where Ann already had her feet up on the coffee table and munching away at the sweet chilli coated peanuts.
“These are not near spicy enough,” she declared through mouthfuls.
“Are you allowed to eat those?” Seb asked, settling down beside her and switching the wall mounted TV on. Up came the usual waffle on before a match. Seb grabbed a handful of nuts himself and shovelled them in.
“I ate them through my pregnancies, turned out okay.” Ann squirmed, chucking the cushions scattering the curved sofa across the room. “Fuck me, Seb, how many of these things do you need?”
Seb arched an eyebrow to Noah behind him. He held up his hands, giving a don’t ask look and stepped around the table to fall down beside his wife.
“She’s been like this all fucking week,” he said. “I almost said to cancel the babysitter and I’ll stay at home ‘cause she’s doing my head in.”
Ann thumped him, hard, on the arm. Then she cried. “Sorry,” she sniffled into Noah’s shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t meant to. I’m just all over the fucking place.”
Noah hugged her, then rolled his eyes at Seb over her head.
“What’s going on?” Seb asked, draping his arm over her too. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she sniffed. “No. I don’t know. I’m just tired. I guess I didn’t plan for the emotional strain this was gonna give me.”
Seb dragged his arm away and gripped his knees poking out the designer rips on his jeans. “Are you having second thoughts?” he asked, carefully and cautiously.
Despite Ann having had many counselling sessions with the fertility clinic before being able to go ahead with the surrogacy, there was always that niggling concern that she might change her mind. That she might believe the baby was hers. Perhaps if they had used her eggs, it could be the case. But with those attempts having failed, using a donated egg had taken away any of her rights to the baby’s maternity.
“Course not,” Ann said, and the relief spilled through Seb like a tidal wave. “This baby is yours. Yours and Jay’s. I have mine and I couldn’t be happier. How about you show me the nursery?”
Seb smiled, then helped her up from the sofa. “Get the drinks, Noah,” he called over her head. “There’s some sparkling Elderflower for this one.”
“Fuck off,” Ann spat. “Sparkling Elderflower? Even if you put that shit in a champagne flute it still tastes like soap. Get me a decaf coffee.”
Seb nodded to Noah who huffed and slammed off to the kitchen. He then led Ann up the stairs to the door at the end that had a ready and waiting sign hanging on the front in the shape of a guitar. As soon as they named the baby, they’d stencil it on the front in strings. “Ready?” he asked, as he gripped the handle.
Ann pursed her lips, nodding, and her eyes welled. Maybe it was the hormones. Seb opened the door, awaiting the reaction on baited breath. Ann gasped, flinging her hands up to cup her mouth.
“Seb,” she breathed out. “It’s…not, fucking, finished!”
Seb laughed. “I know. I don’t know how to put that fucking shit together.” He waved a hand indicating the dozens of wooden slats and metal screws and everything else he’d emptied from the delivered boxes then given up at the first hurdle. He’d read the instructions, but they might as well have been in French.
“You dick head.” Ann laughed, swiping a hand over
her eyes. “Why don’t you ask Jay’s dad?”
“I can’t ask John. Not again. Can you imagine him seeing this room? He’s a painter and decorator. For a living! Plus he’s at Wembley with Bryan.”
“So, what, you’re just going to leave it like this?”
Seb pressed a finger to his lips, dragging the door to a close. “Voila.” He waved as if magicking the problem away.
Ann laughed. And Seb grinned at being able to get her smile back.
“It’s not like it needs to be done now,” he said. “It can wait until Jay’s home.”
“Match starting!” Noah hollered up from downstairs.
“Speaking of the sexy devil himself. Come on.” Seb angled his head, pressing a hand to the small of Ann’s back and steered her away from the disaster of a nursery. “Let’s go watch daddy play football.”
“God, I hope you’re talking to the baby.”
Seb laughed, but as they reached the top of the stairs, Ann paused suddenly and Seb’s smile faded at the discolouration on her face. “You okay?” he asked, skin prickling.
Ann didn’t respond. She just keeled over, clutching under her belly and through gritted teeth, ground out a frightening, “Ow.” She grabbed the banister, sucking in a fierce breath that she held in as tight as she did the handrail.
“Ann?” Seb urged, sliding a hand up her back.
“I feel…” Ann’s words were slurred, and voice hushed, “a bit…faint—”
Then, as if in slow motion, her foot slipped on the last step and she twisted at an odd angle. Through nauseating horror, Seb managed to grab her before she tumbled down the stairs. Clutching her limp body to his chest, he fell to the floor and screamed a desperate, “Noah!”
Noah appeared at the bottom of the stairs, gaping up at the scene, then lurched two steps at a time up to the landing where he crouched beside them both.
“Ann?” Noah pressed a hand to her cheek. “Ann!”
Seb’s stomach clenched, his chest tightening. He didn’t even want to acknowledge the stain on his cream carpet and, numbed, watched Noah scramble for his phone.
* * * *
Lining up in the tunnel ready to be led out onto the pitch, Jay bounced on the spot shaking off his antsy energy. It was deafeningly loud. He’d played at some of the biggest stadiums in the U.K., but a Wembley Stadium filled with English fans was a novelty he hadn’t prepared for. The visiting crowd were boisterously vocal even though they barely made up a quarter of the seats. This was a moment in his career he’d never forget and, as he took in the three lions stitched to his chest on the all-red shirt, he switched his mind off from everything but getting onto that pitch and scoring for his country.
Led out to the grass, Jay drew the atmosphere into his lungs. He couldn’t bring himself to glance around at the fully seated stadium. He had to keep his mind on the game. He was already a bag of nerves and could hear the chants—both excitable and angry—from all angles. Tony had said this could happen. At home, on England soil, the visiting fans might have a go at getting him off his game.
He closed the thoughts off and, after the formalities, he kicked off the match. It felt different to how they’d been in Ukraine. They were slower. Their pace lethargic. As though his teammates were hesitant to make a gallant stride. The whistles from the stands should have been enough of a motivator, but still the ball kicked from one boot to the next without anyone making a shot at something. Jay hovered around the quarter line, waiting for a pass to attack.
The match went on that way for the first twenty minutes, until Ronnie screamed at them from the sideline to make a play. Jay took that moment to holler for the ball. When he saw it sail over to land at opposition feet, Jay hurtled forward and went in for the tackle, gaining the ball and his momentum. He had a shot, and he went for it, stuttering his feet around the defenders before slamming the ball forward and it bounced off the woodwork, into the goalkeeper’s hands.
“Fuck!” Jay yelled to the heavens.
A whistle blew, piercing and loud, stopping the goalkeeper from taking his kick to play on. He cradled the ball and Jay glanced around, fading out the unrest in the stadium. On the sideline, the fourth official held up an illuminated sign, his shirt number blinkering in yellow lights. He was being subbed.
Benched! First half. What the—
The crowd roared with many applauding the decision and singing for Rutters to get off the pitch—for the poof to poof. Jay rolled his eyes at the childish chants and hands on hips, dug heels into turf and refused to move.
“Ruts!” Bruno hollered as he jogged his way. “You gotta get off the pitch, mate.”
“Why?” Jay threw his hands in the air, his frown no doubt being caught on every camera zoning in on his face. “It’s first half. I got time to turn this around. I ain’t been any more shit than the rest of ya.”
“I dunno, mate. But the Gaffer’s made his orders.”
The other players all hung around in their spots, some using the moment to take a drink from the side, or stretch out their legs, others watching on at Jay’s continued bolshy rebellion.
“This is bullshit!” Jay kicked the grass. “They ain’t gettin’ to me!” He screamed over to his gaffer, gesturing at the crowd whose chants were merging from playful singing to full on homophobic chaunts.
The referee blew his whistle again, gesticulating furiously for Jay to get off the pitch. Jay’s stubbornness wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It wasn’t as though the ref was going to say play on and ignore Ronnie’s demand to make a substitution. If anything, Jay would end up getting a red card for his defiance and taken off the team altogether. World Cup well and truly out of his grasp.
Still, he stood there. Incensed at the injustice.
Eventually, after a fierce spit to the ground and shaking Bruno’s hand from his shoulder, he marched off to heckles and cheers. The crowd had got their way. Get the poof off the pitch. He shook his head, glaring at Ronnie as he reached the sideline and Berkley, the centre forward sub, ran on.
“Jay!” Ronnie was calling to him but Jay marched past, not bothering to find his seat among the other subs and headed toward the tunnel. He was prevented from getting to the dressing room when he was grabbed from behind and Jay twisted to find himself face to face with his manager, Tony hovering behind. “Jay, wait.”
“Fuck off,” Jay spat. “Just fuck right off. Both of ya. I paused my life for this, and what? You yank me off after a shit start and a bit of heckling.”
“You didn’t tell us you were expecting a baby,” Ronnie said, his voice soft but firm.
“’Cause you’d tell me I couldn’t.” Jay clenched his fists. “And what’s that gotta do with anything?”
“It’s Ann,” Tony said. “Seb called me. She’s been taken to hospital. It’s serious.”
Jay’s heart thumped and his body coiled. “Her or the baby?”
Tony sucked in a breath. “Both.”
Jay didn’t wait for anything else and he ran, studs clapping against hard flooring, to the exit, leaving a stadium full of football fans and an England team behind him.
Chapter Fourteen
Downbeat
Seb sat in the waiting room, head in his hands, thinking he might explode. He kind of wanted to. He pulled at his hair and called himself a number of expletives under his breath. None of them were harsh enough for what he deserved. Noah paced in front of him, his stamping boots pushing Seb to the edge of his self-restraint. He couldn’t tell him to stop it. Not when it was his wife currently fighting for her life and it was all Seb’s fault.
Ann was in theatre. And he and Noah had been told absolutely nothing.
“I blame you.” Noah’s eerily quiet voice pierced through the oppressive silence and landed like a dart to Seb’s already battered heart.
Dropping his hands on his lap, Seb couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. He’d been expecting it. He agreed with it. He deserved it.
“I blame you a whole fucking lot. And you
r boyfriend.” Noah dragged a hand over his closely cropped hair. “And if she doesn’t come out of this, then I don’t know what that means for us—”
Seb stood. “She will. She’s tough. We can’t jump to conclusions. We have no idea what’s happening.”
Seb held Noah’s gaze. Not gaze, his glower. His contemptuous glower that pierced through Seb’s resolve. Having not been told anything, nor either allowed in theatre with her, they’d been left to formulate their own opinions of what had happened and was happening to Ann. Seb hated himself that his thoughts were more filled with the potential fate of his child rather than that of his band mate’s wife.
“I told her not to do it.” Noah gritted his teeth, almost snarling. “I said you two could pay for a surrogate.”
“We would have done. It was her choice, Noah. And she’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that.” Noah’s anger suddenly faded before Seb’s eyes and his body wilted, chin quivering through the mumbled, “Oh, fuck, God, Seb. What if…I can’t do this alone. I can’t. I can’t lose her.”
Seb grabbed Noah’s neck and hauled him forward into a hug that Seb was sure they hadn’t ever done in their entire ten years of semi-friendship. Regardless that Noah blamed him, that Seb felt responsible, he couldn’t leave a man to cry alone. Noah dropped his forehead onto Seb’s shoulder and the noises coming from him after were as feral as they were gut wrenching. Seb stroked a hand up Noah’s neck, into the fuzz of his hair and all he could think to do was shush and rock him as though he were soothing a baby. The way he had soothed Martin’s baby. As he did, he fought back his own sobs, the painful lump in his throat choking him as he wondered then if he would ever soothe his own child.