Just for Fun

Text copyright 2012 Rosalind James

All Rights Reserved

The Blues and the All Blacks are actual rugby teams.
However, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

Nic Wilkinson wasn’t looking to change his life. He just
wanted to go home. Instead, he quit watching where he was going, stepped in a puddle,
and swore. It had rained the night before, and this part of the field was still
muddy. The hundred or so boys gathered for the last day of Rob Euliss’s rugby camp
weren’t helping a bit. They’d churned up the grass good and proper this week,
Nic saw with disgust as he felt the water squelch inside his shoe. This wasn’t
his idea of a fun way to spend a Sunday morning during a rare bye week. The
kids were OK. He wasn’t always too keen on the parents, though.

But Rob was a neighbor, and a mate. Anyway, when a legendary
former All Black asked a favor, you didn’t say no. So here he was, trying to
avoid the rest of the muck around the edge of the enormous field that made up
the North Harbour Rugby Club, and preparing to do his duty.

He squinted around the clusters of boys playing their final
matches of the Easter-week camp under the watchful eyes of volunteer coaches
and a sprinkling of dads who’d been pressed into service. He finally spotted the
still-imposing figure of Rob, issuing impatient instructions to a hapless dad,
and made his way toward the pair.

“Get them to stay onside,” Rob was barking at the
harassed-looking volunteer, intimidating the poor bloke with his trademark volcanic
frown. “They know better.”

Nic waited until the chastened dad took himself off, then
offered, “Morning, Rob.”

“Nico. You took your time,” Rob grumbled. “I said ten.”

“Sorry. Claudia wasn’t rapt about my plan for the day. Where
do you want me?” Nic could see a few of his Blues and All Black teammates, each
surrounded by a little knot of starstruck boys, their parents hovering close.
“I’ll help out here, if you like.”

“Don’t want to meet the mums, eh. Don’t blame you. Stay with
me a minute, then. I’ll find a spot to pop you into.”

They fell silent, watching the boys in front of them play.
“Second year?” Nic asked, watching as a pass fell uncaught at a small pair of
feet.

“Yeh. Six,” Rob answered briefly.

“That one’s good,” Nic remarked as a boy from the opposing
team picked up the ball, made two defenders miss with his abrupt changes of
direction, then passed the ball accurately behind him to a teammate who dove
across the line for a try.

“Yeh. Got a boot on him, too. Can’t use that in Rippa, of
course. But he’ll be making his mark in a few years,” Rob said. “Hell of a
kick.”

“Some talent there,” Nic agreed as the boy darted in, on
defense now, and ripped an opposing player’s flag from his belt. “Fast-twitch
fibers, I reckon. Reminds me of someone. Somebody’s kid?”

Rob looked at him oddly. “You. Who he reminds you of, I
mean. Good pair of hands, reflexes. And a boot as well. They usually aren’t
much chop at this age, but he’s different. Been watching you, I’d say. Got your
moves. Even has a bit of a look of you. They’re about done here. Stay here and
you can see for yourself, when you do your meet and greet.”

It was on them soon enough. The boys crowded around,
offering up mud- and grass-stained backs for autographs. Nic signed jerseys
with the Sharpie Rob wordlessly handed him, offered a bit of chat to the kids.
The boy with the skills, he saw, hung back a bit, waiting for the crowd to
thin, his eyes on Nic. A good-looking kid, straight dark blond hair getting a
bit long over the forehead and at the back.

The boy came forward at last, turned his back. “Can you sign
huge?” he asked. “I want yours to be the biggest.”

“Can’t turn that down, can I,” Nic answered good-humoredly.
“There. Straight across. Nobody’ll miss that.”

“Thanks.” The boy stood aside as Nic signed the jersey of a
boy with a comical, mobile face and a mop of wild red curls.

“I saw you hurt your leg last week,” the blond boy offered
as Nic finished. “Has it got any better? Will you be able to play in South
Africa?”

“Not too bad,” Nic assured him. “Bit of a crocked thigh,
that’s all. Be right as rain by Saturday.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but it
was the kind of niggle you expected, midway through the season.

“Would you run, though, normally?” the boy asked
hesitatingly. “When you have a bye like this, I mean? If you weren’t injured?
On your days off?”

“Yeh, I would,” Nic answered.

“See, Graham. Told you,” the blond boy said triumphantly to
his redheaded friend. “Graham said you just rested. But I said you have to keep
training, if you really want to be good.”

“You’re right,” Nic said. “Plenty of blokes with talent. You
have to have more than that, if you want to make it to Super level. Takes a
fair bit of discipline. Do you do some training yourself, then? You’re pretty
good.”

The boy flushed with embarrassed pride. “Yeh. I run before
school, lots of days. With my mum. She likes to go too,” he hurried on to
explain. “Not because she has to take me.”

“Good on ya. You’ve got a pretty fair boot, too, Rob tells
me. What’s your name?”

“Zack. Zack Martens.”

“Good to meet you.” Nic shook the offered hand. Manners, he
saw. “And who’s this?”

“Graham MacNeil,” the redhead said, offering his own hand
and turning a violent shade that clashed with his carroty hair.

“Well, Graham, your mate’s right. Do all the running you can.
You boys better get off and get some more signatures on those jerseys, though.
Ben over there looks like he’s about to pack it in.”

“C’mon, Zack,” Graham urged.

“Thank you for signing,” Zack said politely. Dark brown eyes
fringed with long, thick lashes looked shyly up at Nic’s own before the boy
turned to run off with his friend.

“Nice kid, that Zack,” Nic told Rob a bit later from the
middle of another group of kids.

“Got a nice mum, too,” Rob said, nodding toward a group of
parents on the sideline. “Quite pretty. Think she’s single, too. Most of them don’t
show up without a dad, the last day.”

“You old goat,” Nic chided him. “Lucky I don’t tell
Rebecca.”

“Still got a pair of eyes, haven’t I,” Rob countered. “That
one there, see? Kind of blonde. The small one. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Nic looked where Rob was gesturing. Suddenly his sodden feet
seemed to be sending a chill straight through his entire body. He saw Zack
again, excitedly showing off his newly collected autographs to the slim,
graceful figure bending towards him. The honey-blonde hair was shorter now, but
her curls still fell around her face in the way he remembered. She straightened,
turned. And stood stock-still at the sight of him.

He wasn’t more than twenty meters away, but she moved fast.
With a quick word to Zack, she’d melted behind the group of parents and was
lost in the taller crowd within moments.

Nic stood, gobsmacked. He recovered his wits as another group
of boys crowded around him. Signed jerseys and rugby balls mechanically,
offered encouraging words. But kept an eye out all the while for that slight
figure. He didn’t see her again, though. And to his frustration, by the time he
could look for her properly amidst the thinning crowd, she was gone.

Rob was issuing more instructions to the volunteers who were
helping to round up equipment. He turned, though, at a hand on his elbow.
“Still here, mate?” he asked in surprise. “Thought you’d left with the rest of
them.”

“Need to ask you a question,” Nic said. “I need to know
something about that kid. Zack.”

“Rightyo, then.” Rob was surprised, but agreeable. “Hang on
a tick while I finish up here. Or better yet, give us a hand.”

“Now,” he said fifteen minutes later, packing file folders
into a carrier bag inside the Rugby Club’s office. “What did you need? Are the
Blues scouting them that young now?”

“Zack Martens.” Nic brushed the joke aside. “You said he was
six. When’s his birthday?”

“Why? You planning on sending him a present? Too late, I
reckon. He’s one of the young ones. Just turned six, I think. That’s what
surprised me about the skills. They usually can’t even offload worth a damn
that young, let alone kick like that.”

“His birthday,” Nic insisted. “When is it?”

Rob sighed. “Hang on, then.” He pulled a ring binder from
the bag he’d been loading, found the sheet. “February 15
^th
. Barely
made it under the cutoff. Happy now?”

Nic felt his mouth go dry as he subtracted in his head. Saw
those dark eyes again, raised to his own. The way they turned down at the outer
corners to give him a sleepy look, fringed by lashes his mum had always said
were wasted on a boy.

“I need his mum’s address,” he told Rob.

“Mate. You know I can’t give you that.” Rob was puzzled now,
and a bit alarmed as well. “What’s this all about? Better not be something
about you I don’t know.”

“Don’t be bloody stupid,” Nic said impatiently. “I need his
mum’s address. Emma’s address. Because that’s my son.”

E
mma pulled the
parking brake with a jerk and pressed the button to unlock the doors. The
ancient Nissan seemed to be running a little rough, she thought worriedly. She
really couldn’t afford a repair bill, not this month. But that bit of
hesitation wasn’t going to improve by itself. And she didn’t need a breakdown
on the Harbour Bridge.

 “Can you grab a grocery bag, please?” she asked Zack. She
didn’t like having to stop again after picking him up from childcare, when they
were both tired. But she hadn’t realized he’d eaten the last of the bread until
she’d gone to make his sandwich this morning. It seemed like he ate more all
the time, and he was still only six.

She’d been too distracted yesterday to notice the state of
her pantry, that was the truth of it. Had Nic got a good look at her? She
didn’t think so. It didn’t matter anyway, she reminded herself firmly. He’d
made his feelings clear a long time ago. He’d sure taken his time chatting to
Zack, though. Her son and Graham had talked of little else during the drive
home the day before. Nic hadn’t realized who Zack was, obviously, or he
wouldn’t have bothered. Or, more likely, would have taken himself off in the
opposite direction, as fast as those speedy legs could carry him.

She gathered her purse, gym bag, and the remaining groceries
and finally stepped away from the car, shifting the heavy load and feeling the lumpy
green fabric bags bang against her knees. Zack struggled along with his own
backpack and bag as they climbed the steep driveway together in silence. Until
Zack stopped dead at the sight of the tall, dark-haired figure perched on the
steps leading to the main house.

“Nic.” Emma stared at him stupidly, unable to process his
presence. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see you.” None of his famous self-possessed good
humor was visible as Nic rose to his feet. The well-formed mouth was grim, his
expression set. No humor in the dark eyes that stared into hers.

“Cool,” Zack breathed. “D’you want to see our flat?”

“Yeh.” Nic looked down at the boy, his face relaxing a bit.
“Yeh, I do.”