The Reluctant Wag (16 page)

She wondered if he was
compos mentis
. But just then the doctor eased her off to one side. ‘Excuse me, please. I really need to examine him, miss.’

Still dazed, Cal looked up at the doctor. ‘Did we win?’

‘Got a few minutes to go, but we’re home okay. They won’t come back now. Now please lie back, Cal – you’re probably concussed. You’ll need to take it easy if you want to play next week.’

Cal closed his eyes again and sank back down.

‘Is he all right?’ Merise asked, alarm rising again.

‘He will be.’

‘Is . . . he . . . in his right mind? I mean, is he delirious?’ she whispered. But Cal heard. His head was beginning to clear.

‘I’m fine,’ he protested, ‘and I knew you loved me before you knew it. You fell for me the first time you saw me. How could you help yourself?’ He struggled up on one elbow.

‘Lie down!’ commanded the doctor who was taking his pulse.

‘Took your time realising it, didn’t you?’ Cal went on. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’ve finally admitted it, Merise, because I love you, too.’

‘What?’ She stood there stunned, surrounded by trainers, coaches, security officials and medical staff, with the media clamouring for entry to the changing rooms. At that moment she didn’t care if she had to spend the rest of her life under the floodlights of the MCG with every camera in Australia trained on her; she just needed him to say that again. All she saw was his dear face, and all she heard was those words, ‘I love you, too.’

He was kept in hospital overnight for observation, but the doctors expected to release him the following day. Merise sat by his bed all evening. He’s sent away all his other visitors and well-wishers. Now he held her hand in a tight grasp and wouldn’t let her go.

‘I can’t believe you tried to jump the fence,’ he laughed as they watched the extensive footage of the incident and Merise’s reaction to it on the evening news.

‘Nor can I,’ she said, mortified. ‘I can’t even remember it clearly.’

‘Good thing the cameras captured it all then. Shame about the collision. That was some mark I was taking – if that klutz Duncan hadn’t barrelled into me. Anyway, it looks like you’ve thoroughly compromised your future as a serious journo now,’ he teased her, ‘with such irresponsible behaviour. But I suspect you’d get a gig at
Celebrity Watch
. You’ll be infamous.’

She didn’t take the bait. None of that mattered now. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her. All that mattered was that she could stay beside him like this forever, even if the whole world was waiting just outside the ward door.

‘Whatever happens,’ she said, leaning over to adjust the bandage that was slipping over his eye, ‘just keep in mind that I don’t want you getting in the way of my career.’

‘Yeah, ditto. My first loyalty is to the Wolves.’

‘Fine. And when I have my own column in the
Times
, don’t expect me to write favourable reviews unless you really earn them.’

‘Reviews? Reviews? You don’t write “reviews” of footy games, darling airhead, you write reports.’

‘I knew that.’

‘As if! You’d better stick to the arts; no one would ever pay to read your comments on footy. A few months ago you didn’t even know what a mark was, or a possession for that matter.’

‘Yeah, but I’m a quick learner, boofhead. I’ve learnt a lot in my time as the public Face of the Yarraside Wolves.’

‘Okay, what position do I play?’

‘Position? Um, hold on . . . well, you run around a lot, so maybe a midfielder, or a winger, is it? You also score a lot of goals, which is more of a forward’s thing. And you’re pretty good at tackling and generally thumping people, so you could be a defender. Actually, I’d say you’re confused and not a little conflicted. It’s a wonder you can get a game at all.’

‘Oh shut up,’ and he grabbed her and stopped her mouth with kisses. When he finally released her he looked down at her, cupped her chin in his big hand and whispered, ‘From now on I’ll have two loves in my life.’

‘Just remember that when your hamstrings turn brittle, your shoulders won’t stay in place, and footy doesn’t want you any more, I’ll still be here. I’ll still love you even when you’re no longer a big hero.’

He smiled easily. How he loved just looking at her face! He’d been so stupid. What had made him think that he could ever do without her? That his life would hold any interest if she wasn’t at the heart of it? He knew now that she wouldn’t get in the way of his ambitions; her support, her love would only help him achieve them. And when the end finally came, however tough things got, he’d always have her to go home to.

They sat quietly for a moment, holding one another, then Cal said, ‘You know, all my life I’ve been dreading the day when I’ll have to hang up my boots. I couldn’t imagine that there would be anything to live for after footy. There’s always the media work, but that doesn’t seem enough. But now I’ve got you, and that’ll be enough for the rest of a lifetime.’

Merise’s heart turned over. She had never seen him in such a tender mood and it thrilled her. But she only said playfully, ‘You might get sick of me.’

‘No. Never!’ he said firmly. ‘Age won’t wither you, nor custom stain your infinite variety.’

‘Oh, Cal!’ she said in her best bimbo voice, ‘I just love it when you mangle Shakespeare!’

Cal had said he’d call for her after her last lecture of the day, and at three o’clock he picked her up and headed out of town on the Eastern Freeway.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, covering the hand he kept on the gear-stick with her own.

‘To look at some property I’m thinking of buying. A possible development site.’

She didn’t really care where he took her, just as long as they were together.

Ten minutes later, Cal turned into a road that looked more like a country lane than suburbia and drove for about a kilometre. He finally pulled into a gateway and followed the winding drive until they turned a corner and found themselves in front of the most impressive house she’d ever seen. It was a modern architectural masterpiece in glass, steel, wood and stone.

They got out of the car and stood admiring the house from the outside.

‘It’s absolutely stunning,’ Merise said enthusiastically. ‘It’s a wonderful house. Do you know who the architect was?’

‘It’s a Susannah Burrows house,’ said Cal, referring to one of Melbourne’s leading younger architects.

Merise nodded. ‘I’m not surprised. She’s won so many awards. I’d love to see inside one of her houses.’

‘I don’t think the owner’s here at the moment. He’s selling the twenty acres behind the house to pay for the new build. Let’s go and have a look at the land, shall we?’

As they rounded the corner of the house, the vista opened on to broad paddocks and she realised that the land was beautifully elevated. On one side there was a magnificent view of the Kinglake Ranges and on the other, Melbourne’s striking city skyline; and there, behind a new post and rail fence, stood six miniature ponies.

‘Oh! How utterly adorable!’ Merise cried. She ran over to the fence and the tiny horses trotted towards her and began jostling for a pat. She scratched their heads as she looked out over the rich pasture that ran down to a broad strip of bushland. She could just glimpse the river between the gum trees.

‘Is that the Yarra?’ she asked.

‘Yes. This place has absolute river frontage. It’s a real find.’

‘I’ll say. Isn’t it perfect?’

‘I think so,’ he said. ‘It should be very appealing to buyers at the upper end of the market – people who want a quarter-acre block for a pool, tennis court, triple garage. And there’s plenty of room for a couple of blocks of luxury townhouses over there by the river; maybe a boutique retail development with cafés, restaurants and a health club. There may even be enough space for a central park. We could squeeze a playground in where the ponies are now.’

She turned to him, horrified. ‘What! You can’t be serious! You’re thinking of developing this place? Of ruining paradise? Having McMansions and apartments and cars and . . . and dirty great tin sheds and people tramping all over these tranquil paddocks? I can’t believe it. How could you?’

‘Easy. I’d make a lot of money on a deal like this, and people have to live somewhere. You’ve got to be realistic, Merise.’

She looked utterly forlorn. ‘But it would be such a shame to spoil a place as perfect as this.’

‘Yeah, I thought you’d like it.’ He paused for a minute. ‘I remember you telling me once that you wanted to live close to the city centre, but in a bushy setting, beside the river, with lots of land, and . . .’

‘And a herd of miniature ponies,’ Merise added. She scanned his face for a moment, then asked quietly, ‘who actually owns this place Cal?’

He turned and a slow smile spread across his face. Then he leant down towards her and said softly, ‘I do, actually. But I was hoping it might be ours – all of it – house, land, your little ponies . . .’

‘Cal!’ she gasped in delight. ‘Really?’

‘Now don’t go interrupting me, Merise, let me finish what I have to say. I’ve had to work myself up to doing this.’

‘Sorry,’ she said with mock contrition. ‘Go on, say your piece. I’m listening.’

He cleared his throat and looked gravely into her face. ‘I thought, if this place pleased you, that we might come and live here; that is, if you wouldn’t mind marrying me.’

Her lips parted and her heart thumped in her chest. She took in a shallow breath and expelled a long sigh of mingled delight and relief. But all she could get out was, ‘Oh! Oh really? You mean it? Honestly?’

‘I do. What do you say?’

‘I . . . I . . . um, well . . . ‘

‘Come on, Merise,’ he bantered, ‘you’ll have to be a bit more articulate than that if you want to make it in the Melbourne media. I’m going to need some help paying off the mortgage on this place.’

In response she threw herself into his arms and they stayed there, locked together until he said, ‘One more thing.’ He put his hand in his breast pocket and took out a ring. It was a magnificent oval pink diamond surrounded by white diamonds in an art deco setting. ‘The minute I saw it, I thought it was made for you,’ he said. ‘It’s unique, very beautiful and utterly precious – just like you, my darling.’

Merise looked at it, tears brimming in her eyes, but she was determined not to be overcome. She wanted to enjoy every second of this day.

‘Come to think of it,’ she said as he slipped the ring on her finger, ‘I wouldn’t at all mind being your wife! I’ve started to quite enjoy my newfound notoriety. And I can’t seem to help myself – I love you so very much. So by all means let’s live here. It’ll be the perfect lair for my wild Yarraside Wolf.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’

‘For the supporters?’ she asked with a challenge in her eyes.

‘No,’ he growled, as he pulled her to him again. ‘For each other.’

The End

Mary Costello is an Irish-Australian freelance writer, and despite living most of her life here, she hasn’t lost her accent, or the sense of being somewhere exotic. She lives in Melbourne’s bushburbs with her husband of many years, who, oddly, bears no resemblance whatsoever to a romantic hero. They live with a flock of recovering battery hens and their two daughters, for whom Mary aspires to arrange advantageous matches to men of large property.

Mary’s first book,
Titanic Town, Memoirs of a Belfast Girlhood,
was published twenty years ago, but she only recently turned her pen to Romance, inspired by the heroics of the men of Aussie Rules footy. Through the thrilling nexus of footy and love, she hopes to fulfil her romantic Destiny, and keep on writing.

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eISBN: 978-0-85797-375-7