The Reluctant Wag (15 page)

Merise said nothing for a moment. But part of her really, passionately wanted to see Cal again. She relented. ‘Well okay, but just to please you.’

Erica was such an innocent, Merise thought as she walked home alone. She was so sweet and kind-hearted, but she couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be for Merise to turn up to that game; even to be in the same public space as Cal would be an ordeal. But, she reasoned, that was a feeling she’d just have to get over if she ever wanted to be able to get on with the rest of her life. So yes, she’d be there; she’d put on a brave face, and no one but Erica would ever know the truth.

It wasn’t like Cal’s mother to ring him so late at night unless there was a problem, and he couldn’t remember her once giving him advice on his football, but that’s what she did when she rang him at eleven-thirty the following Friday night.

He woke from his sleep, checking his alarm clock as he grabbed the phone.

‘Hello, son. It’s only me.’

‘Mum? What’s up? Is it Dad?’ He sat up now, alarmed.

‘No, everything’s fine. You father’s much better. He sends you his love.’

‘Mum, I’ve got a game tomorrow,’ he protested after she’d reassured him that nothing was wrong. ‘I have to get to sleep. Actually, I was sleeping. You woke me up.’

‘Cal, this is important or I wouldn’t have bothered you.’

‘What is it?’ He sounded as baffled as he was frustrated.

‘You’re playing rubbish football,’ she said baldly.

Cal did a double-take. Had he heard right? Had his loving, supportive mother called him in the middle of the night – well, just about the middle of the night – to have a go at him about his footy, like some internet hero who abuses players from the safety of a false Facebook identity? Was he dreaming or what?

‘Sorry, did you just say I was playing rubbish footy?’

‘Yes, son, I did. And I know why.’

She knew why? He’d spent the past three weeks in discussions with the coaching team, the leadership group, the club psychologist and, reluctantly, a bunch of professional motivators, trying to work out why the hell he was off his game; and his mother knew?

‘Do you? If I’d known that I’d just have called you up in the first place.’

‘But I didn’t know until today, son.’

‘Why, what happened today?’

‘I wheedled the truth out of your father.’

‘What truth? What are you talking about, Mum? Look, it’s late. I really need to get back to sleep.’

‘The truth about that girl.’

There was a silence. No point in pretending he didn’t know who she meant; he could never lie to his mother. She would see right through him, even on the phone. He just said quietly, ‘What about her?’

‘You need to get her back in your life. You’re pining for her.’

‘Pining?’ he spluttered. ‘No I’m not! I’m concentrating on my work. I’m one hundred per cent focused on my footy.’

‘God forgive me, Cal, but that’s bullshit!’

Cal almost dropped the phone. He’d never heard his mother swear in his life. He was utterly staggered. ‘Sorry?’ was all he could squeak.

‘You heard me,’ his mother shot back. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself with this stupid attitude about footy coming first. Your father says he tried to talk to you, but men are so stupid about these things. And your father always goes the long way round. Now listen to me: you need that girl in your life, and you need her now, Cal; not after September – now!’

‘Mum —’

‘You love her, don’t you?’

No point holding back the truth from the feral mother. ‘Yeah. I . . . yes, I do.’

‘Right. Good. And how does she feel about you?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure. Sometimes I think she hates me.’

‘That’s claptrap!’

‘Then other times I think maybe she feels the same way. I mean, I think she’s attracted to me, and at times we get on really well, but —’

‘Of course she’s attracted to you. She’d be an idiot not to be crazy about you. You’re the sweetest, most thoughtful, handsomest boy, and any girl would fall for you.’

He couldn’t help but see the funny side of it. ‘But you’re a tad biased, Mum.’

‘I’m still a woman, and I’m not stupid, and I’m not blind. Now get the game over tomorrow and then go straight away to see that lovely girl. She’d be perfect for you.’

‘Would she?’

‘Yes, and I want grandchildren; and I don’t want to wait until you’re thirty-five.’ She banged down the phone and Cal was left sitting up in bed, staring stunned into the dark.

Merise was oddly nervous before the game, even with Erica by her side for company, and felt positively alarmed when she saw that their seats were right in the middle of the front row.

‘Get lost in the crowd, eh?’ she hissed sarcastically as they made their way down the steps towards the front.

‘No one cares,’ Erica said happily. ‘They’re just here for the footy.’

As Cal led the team out onto the ground and ran through the banner to the roar of the crowd, he got that familiar feeling of excitement he always felt just before a game. He had a last word with a couple of the younger players to steady them, then turned around to see Tom Rivers staring fixedly into the distance.

‘Come on, mate,’ Cal jostled him good-humouredly. ‘Get into it. This is a big game.’

‘Look,’ was all Tom said in response, and Cal followed his gaze and saw Merise sitting prominently on the wing. In an instant his heart lifted, as if a massive burden had been taken off him. It was something about the way she was sitting there in full view, not hiding away, but showing her beautiful face. She’d come to see him play. He just sensed it, somehow. It wasn’t to do with SMO or the publicity or anything else. It was just between them. ‘Come on,’ Cal said, beginning to jog, ‘let’s get a bit closer.’

As they headed towards the boundary his mind seemed clearer with every step. He’d been an idiot! He couldn’t pencil her in his diary for the end of the season. He couldn’t organise his heart, he couldn’t postpone his feelings, and more importantly, he couldn’t play with hers. She deserved better. Sure, it would be hard; but he was used to challenges, and Merise was nothing if not a challenge. But he couldn’t push her, and he couldn’t corner her. She’d hate that. He’d have to handle her gently. He’d have to let her come to him; and maybe, by being here today, that’s exactly what she was doing.

On the other side of the vast ground Erica tracked the pair as they approached while Merise rummaged in her bag for the little radio she took to the footy to hear the commentary. For her it was a way of learning about the finer points of the game.

‘Mer, don’t look now,’ said Erica out of the corner of her mouth, ‘but guess who’s heading our way. I think he saw you.’

‘Did he?’ asked Merise, flustered, and she pretended to be busy tuning her radio.

‘Yeah. Almost certain. Yep, here he comes, right this way.’

The men were now at about the middle of the ground. ‘It’s her all right, isn’t?’ said Tom.

‘Yeah, it’s her,’ Cal said, and Tom immediately detected the thrill in his voice and felt a sudden relief. He sensed Cal’s spirits lifting, and that could only be good. ‘Hey, who’s that babe beside her?’ he asked.

‘Her friend.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘I’m not sure. Elaine or Lisa or something.’

‘Okay, mate; just don’t leave here until you introduce me, right?’

Cal looked at him and a smile spread across his face. ‘Chancer,’ he said, ‘but okay. After the game.’

‘Right,’ Tom thumped him affectionately on the back, ‘it’s a date.’

At that moment the siren sounded and Cal made his way to the centre square for the coin-toss.

‘Wow!’ breathed Erica.

‘What?’ Merise still hadn’t dared look up.

‘He’s with this gorgeous man with black wavy hair and a really handsome face. Gosh! He’s a bit like Mr Darcy. Who is he?’

Merise glanced up for a second and was relieved to see Cal running with his back to them.

‘Him,’ said Erica, pointing, ‘with the huge brown arms. Be still my heart!’

‘That’s Tom Rivers. He’s a real sweetie. Not a bit like Cal.’

‘Sweet as well? And to think I wasn’t interested in the Wolves! This is going to be the best game ever,’ crowed Erica. ‘You watch Cal and I’ll watch Mr Curly-Top.’

The Wolves took the ball away at the first bounce, fed it out to Tom, who kicked it directly to Cal, who turned, ran and kicked straight for goal. The Yarraside crowd was on its feet in an instant. It was the statement they wanted from their captain and they were exuberant. ‘Seventeen seconds and bang!’ someone behind them yelled out for pure joy and Merise felt ridiculously happy.

The Wolves played a thrilling first half and were forty-seven points up at half-time. Cal made sure he was close to Merise at the moment the siren sounded. As the Wolves crowd rose to applaud their players, Cal ran past close to the boundary line, looked straight at Merise and blew a kiss. The crowd erupted with delight as the gesture was flashed on the big screen and Merise, unable to help herself, burst into laughter.

As the players left the field, Erica squeezed Merise’s arm with excitement and whispered, ‘You see? Told you! He fancies you like mad.’ And she went off to get two cups of coffee while Merise donned her sunglasses and hat, sank into her seat and prayed that people would stop casting conspiratorial grins in her direction.

When he blew that kiss – in front of eighty-five thousand people, and about two and a half million TV viewers – what was he thinking? What did it mean? Was it just showmanship? Was he just excited because he’d played out of his skin for the first time in weeks? Or had he actually intended to blow the kiss to the barrackers en masse? No, it couldn’t be that: he’d been looking straight at her at the time. And hadn’t she – she went red at the memory of it – hadn’t she leant forward and smiled right back into his eyes? Had she exposed her true feelings for everyone to see? Had he? And would she find out after the game? She couldn’t bear to wait, while another part of her never wanted this game to end.

It was deep into the final quarter and the Wolves were up by ninety-three points. Cal had played brilliantly. Merise was still listening to the radio through her earphones as she watched, and she rejoiced in the positive things being said about him. ‘McCoy’s been an inspiration to the Wolves today. Prolific in the midfield, and very dangerous in front of goal. He’s back to his damaging best.’

It was only ten minutes from the final siren and Cal was right in front of her when it happened. A Wolves player had bombed the ball high towards the boundary line when Cal went up to mark it, leaping high off the ground, his hands stretched out well above his head. At the same second, an opposition defender rose off the ground right next to him, also intent on grabbing the ball. As they leapt, their big bodies collided hard in midair and they both fell heavily to the ground. Merise and Erica looked on in dismay as the other player, who had landed on top of Cal, now gingerly got to his feet, clearly dazed. But Cal didn’t move. He was lying out cold. For a few stunned seconds there was a deathly silence in the great arena as the crowd saw Cal’s prone figure on the giant screens. Then all at once the boundary umpire was signalling for help, players were running to the spot and behind them a phalanx of club officials and medical staff. After one look at Cal’s still-white face and the blood on the arena’s concrete edging, the doctor yelled, ‘He’s hit his head on the concrete. Get an ambulance – now!’

Somehow, a split second later, Merise had clamped her hands on the boundary fence and had started to heave herself up and over it. She wasn’t thinking; it was an automatic reaction. She had to get to Cal. She had to be with him. He was so close – if she could just . . . But Erica grabbed her and pulled her back.

‘Merise! Stop! You can’t invade the pitch. You’ll get fined!’

‘But . . .’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw, but didn’t really register, her own face on the big screen nearby. She only whimpered, ‘Erica, I’ve got to go to him.’

‘There’s nothing you can do, Merise. The doctors are with him. Look – there’s the cart coming for him now. They’ll take him down to the rooms.’

She didn’t wait. She pushed past Erica, stumbled into the aisle, raced up the steps and turned in the direction of the players’ rooms. As she flew through the cold, concrete concourses that ringed the huge seating area, time seemed to slow and the distances she had to cover seemed to stretch interminably. All she could think about was how she would feel if Cal wasn’t in her life – if she never saw him again. She knew now, she understood with perfect clarity that she wanted him, she needed him; and that without him, her life would be bleak and barren. At that moment she didn’t care about her writing or her future career – none of that would compensate for his absence; and she didn’t just want to be another fan watching him on TV, or from the stands once a week. She wanted to be with him, close to him all the time – she wanted to be part of him, just as surely as he was already part of her.

She didn’t notice Erica on her heels, or the cameramen following her, didn’t pay attention to the club official who was calling her name, and didn’t hear the MCG security man protest when she breached the sanctity of the rooms during the game. Cal was hurt, seriously hurt, and she just had to get to him – now.

By the time she got there he was already in the rooms. He was lying on the stretcher table, surrounded by doctors and physios. The club president was rushing in from the other entrance. A dozen people stood around in hushed silence, their faces tense, waiting.

Merise saw no one, heard nothing, except the panting of her own breath as she pushed her way through to Cal. Those around him looked up in surprise, but no one said anything. Time stood still as she looked down at his face – white and immobile and completely changed. She’d never seen him look so young or vulnerable. On an impulse she took the hand that was dangling off the table, raised it to her heart, leant towards him and whispered, ‘Cal. It’s me, Merise.’

‘Please, miss!’ someone said sharply. ‘Stand back. Give him air.’

Ashamed, and suddenly realising how outrageous her behaviour must seem to all these club people, she dropped his hand, stood back and turned away to hide the tears filling her eyes. But as she did so a familiar voice – but more feeble than usual – croaked, ‘What’s the score?’

She turned as everyone present gasped with relief, and saw that his eyes were open. She rushed back to his side, threw herself across his chest, tenderly laid a hand on his cheek and her lips close to his ear she said, ‘The score? You idiot! The score is – I love you.’

He looked up at her, still dazed, then gave a little smile. ‘I know.’

‘You know?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, his voice wavering.