Chapter 25
“WHERE’S Declan?”
Having had the life squeezed out of me, I managed to pull away from Fran and gain my breath enough to say, “He’s in Hobart. It’s a home game week. And it’s good to see you too, Franny.”
“Oh, you know that goes without saying,” she chided me over the sounds of a flight from New Zealand being announced over the speakers.
Roger pushed her aside to have his turn at me. “Hey, mate.”
“Jesus, is that a tan?” I asked in shock.
“The amount of time she made me go for walks in the sun, it’s a good thing I didn’t come back with a melanoma.”
“Who’s ‘she’?” Fran protested. “The cat’s mother?”
Fuck, I had missed them. It was the first Christmas I had ever had without Roger, and though you would have thought I would be distracted having my first Christmas with Declan, my best friend’s absence was a sore spot.
“It’s good to see you guys,” I said sincerely.
“Oh God, he’s getting sentimental,” Fran said, hugging me again.
“We were only gone for ten weeks,” Roger reminded me.
“It was eight weeks too long.”
“You didn’t miss us the first two?” Roger looked hurt.
Fran’s lips brushed against my hairline. “For someone who missed us so much, you were shit at keeping in contact.” She began ushering us down to the baggage carousel.
“I texted you!” I said defensively.
“Text,” Fran muttered dismissively.
“I think I spoke to Dec more than I did you,” Roger said.
“Yeah, well he’s Mr. Perfect isn’t he? You can make him your best friend.”
“Someone’s cranky.”
I sighed, watching the bags start to spill out onto the rubber tracks. “I got jumped by the press in the car park.”
Roger’s eyes widened. “Was there a rumble?”
Fran hid her smile behind her hand.
“Yes, there was a rumble. Luckily this cute blonde girl came out of nowhere and staked them for me.”
“Are they still following you guys around?” Fran asked.
I shrugged. “Sometimes. And sometimes they’re just lucky and catch us out and about. But it’s kind of increasing at the moment now that the preseason has started.”
“But Declan isn’t playing, right?” asked Roger.
“That’s only increasing the interest,” I grumbled. “Everybody’s like ‘when’s he gonna play’, ‘why are they keeping him off the field’, ‘has he not recovered from the operation’, blah blah blah.”
“You were playing his nursemaid.” Fran grinned. “I’m sure he recovered well enough.”
“He was a shit to deal with, though.”
“You must have hated having the competition, then,” Roger laughed.
I whacked him, but missed as he moved off to grab one of their bags.
Fran grabbed my arm and squeezed it affectionately. “So when do we get to see his new apartment?”
They had left before Declan had gotten to move in properly. “He’s already talking about dinner as soon as he next gets up from Hobart.”
“You know me,” Fran said. “Wherever there’s food, I’ll be there.”
“Did someone say food?” Roger reappeared, a bag in his hand. “Only one of them so far.”
“There better be presents in that,” I warned him.
“There might be a snow globe.” Roger shrugged.
“So is Declan really better?” Fran asked. “There’s only so much information one can get via text from you, he was being a bit secretive about it whenever I spoke to him, and I didn’t want to believe anything the nets were saying.”
I grimaced as I remembered how often I’d had to help him change his gross and bloody bandages. Along with mopping his fevered brow and feeding him chicken soup.
“He’s getting there,” I said in a low tone, looking suspiciously at the other disembarked passengers and their greeters around us. “But the real test will be when he gets into a game. Especially because the other players won’t be easy on him.”
“What, because he came out?”
I shrugged. “It’s the game. Could be a factor, but—”
“Go hard, or go home!” Roger said, a bit too enthusiastically, causing everybody around us to stare.
I automatically shrank back against Fran as my paranoia led me to believe that a glimmer of recognition began to register collectively in the group’s eyes. “Yes,” I said. “That.”
“Bloody stupid game,” Fran muttered.
“You just don’t get it,” Roger countered.
“Go look for the bags!” she ordered, and he skulked off. “Honestly.” She turned her attention back to me. “And his family? How are they dealing with everything?”
“This is starting to feel like the start of one of those show starters. Previously, on Simon and Declan….”
“Give me a break. I haven’t seen you for ages. You have to tell me everything. And then later on you’ll have to tell me in greater detail.”
That last few months had flown by in a barely discernible blur. Just after Fran and Roger left and I was feeling lonely, Declan introduced me to the scary reality of his overprotective siblings. They had all been eager to let me know just how much they cared about their brother and how I was a threat to his safety and happiness.
“They threatened to bury me where I would never be found if I did Dec wrong.”
Fran giggled. “Did they speak in country song cliché all the time?”
I smiled. “They’re actually pretty cool. They love him.”
“What’s not to love?”
“Careful,” I growled.
“I’m married!” She laughed. “Not dead.”
“What?” Roger asked suspiciously, dragging another bag behind him.
We just smiled. “Nothing.”
“She’s going on about how hot she thinks Declan is, isn’t she?” Roger demanded. “Sure, she’s allowed to do that kind of thing, but if I look at one girl on an Italian beach then you’re suddenly capable of having an affair.”
“He’s overreacting,” Fran told me apologetically.
“You kicked me in the balls!”
“I kicked you in the shin, you big baby!” Fran scowled. “And the difference is there’s no chance of me getting with Declan.”
“I don’t know,” I drawled, loving to add fuel to this little fire. “I think he has got a little crush on you.”
“Really?” Fran asked, giving Roger a huge sickly sweet smile. Her eyes widened as she noticed one of their bags sailing by. “Be right back!”
Roger sidled up to me. “That’s not really true, is it?”
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Declan having a crush on Fran.”
“Who wouldn’t have a crush on Fran?” I asked rhetorically.
Roger turned to watch his wife hoist a large bag off the carousel with ease. “Yeah.” He smiled. “She’s pretty cool.”
“The coolest,” I agreed.
“That’s it!” Fran cried as she joined us. “Let’s go!”
I was glad to get back out into the open air as we crossed over the bridge that led to the car park. The photographers who had jumped out at me earlier were nowhere to be seen. They had probably spotted far more newsworthy prey within the airport getting off another flight. On the other hand, if Dec had been with us….
“Are Dec’s folks treating you like the son they never had?” Roger asked as we loaded the bags into my car.
“Isn’t it about time I got some stories about your trip?” I tried to deflect.
“It’s not as interesting as this,” Fran said sweetly.
I sighed and unlocked the car. We got in and automatically groaned at the heat.
“Dude, it’s about time you got a grownup car with air conditioning,” Roger grumbled.
“‘Dude’?” I asked.
“Get your sugar daddy to buy you a new car,” Roger pushed.
“Shut up,” I seethed. “I like my car.” And I didn’t want to admit that Declan had offered to buy me a new car, but I refused.
“So, Declan’s parents?” Fran repeated.
I pretended to concentrate on the road as we merged onto the freeway.
“Simon!” Fran whined.
There was no fighting them. Just like it had been hard to fight off Dec’s family when he finally took ownership of his apartment at the Docklands (unfortunately Cate Blanchett was not his neighbour as I had hoped), even more so when he had his operation just before Christmas and was holed up within it. You would have thought he had been left to fend for himself on an ice floe in the Antarctica the number of times they showed up unannounced, despite the fact I had moved myself in there with Maggie in tow during his convalescence.
Christmas had been a strange time, as it was the first where I had a partner I wanted to share the season with properly as a couple; before, if I had had a boyfriend around the festive season, I avoided any possibility of doing the family thing with them. But there was no escape this time round; my family had adopted Declan, in spite of what he may have wanted, and Declan’s family made every effort to include me as well. I found myself in the strange new position of having in-laws and also having to watch my parents put in that position as well. Declan was surprised by the fact this seemed so foreign to me and that I tried to resist it; he was extremely close to his family, although you could question the irony of that fact because he had never told them about his being gay until he was splashed on the front cover of the Herald Sun kissing his boyfriend.
“It’s kind of weird,” I admitted. “It still doesn’t seem real yet, like everybody’s still on their best behaviour. They’re always really nice to me, but I feel like I’m waiting for the real family drama to begin.”
“You always have to be the pessimist,” Fran said. “They probably can see how serious you guys are. After all you went from dancing around each other in the throes of early love to old married couple in only a couple of months.”
“Is that a compliment?” I asked.
“Well, you think we rock,” Roger pointed out. “And we’re an old married couple.”
“Like I said, is that a compliment?”
“If you weren’t driving, I’d hit you.”
“And VicRoads salutes you for responsible motor vehicle management,” I said in all seriousness.
Fran groaned from the back seat. “Is it too late to go back to Italy?”
I ACTUALLY did take it as a compliment, because Declan and I were so comfortable with each other. It was new for both of us, and I think we were being careful in protecting it because we didn’t know a relationship could be that way. It was true it was also because of an us-against-the-world attitude resulting from the continual intrusion of the press into our personal lives, although it was nowhere near the fever pitch it had been when Dec had first come out.
Looking back, I think we were just living in a state of suspended bliss that came to an end when Dec had to start shuttling back and forth between Melbourne and Hobart in order to start preseason training. The honeymoon period was over, what with interest in him ramping up again as the press, the club bosses, and the fans waited to see how his knee worked in anticipation of the season to come. Dec tried to stay out of the limelight as much as possible, but he couldn’t. Even though he wasn’t speaking to the press, they couldn’t stop talking about him.
His coach had decided to make him sit out the preseason, which only intensified the speculation about his eventual return. Whenever I spoke to him on the phone, me at home in Melbourne and him in his apartment in Hobart, he sounded pretty miserable. I flew over a couple of times when I could get away from work, but it really didn’t cheer him up any. He was itching to get back out onto the field.
The first game of the season was an away one for the Devils. They would be playing against Carlton at Etihad, and it was at a press conference leading up to the game that Scott Frasier finally gave the press and the public what they were waiting for: The Return of Declan TylerTM. Sitting beside his coach on the podium, Declan looked as unflappable as he always did. Nobody would have ever guessed how petrified he was.
“They kept me away for too long,” he told me, when I met him at his apartment on the Docklands later in the afternoon.
“We’ve been over this before,” I told him. “They haven’t. The minute you get out onto the grounds, it will be like you’ve never been away.”
“You don’t know that,” he said grumpily. “You have no idea.”
It was true. I didn’t. I mean, I could relate what he was feeling to the way I felt in situations in my own life, but Declan’s would always be different. I would never know what it felt like to be a player; I would only ever have the fan’s perspective of the game.
I didn’t know what it was to be thought of as the team god, its saviour, and also its scapegoat if anything went wrong. Throw into that the whole rigmarole that went with being a celebrity, a role model, and the new poster child for gay rights, I guess the man was entitled to be a little bit emo every now and again. Frig knows he did the same for me a hell of a lot of the time.
I pulled him down onto the couch beside me and tried to hold him. He sat rigidly, like he was passively resisting a cop at an antiglobalisation rally. Eventually he sagged into me, and I held him tighter.
“I want to ask you something,” I said.
“What?” His voice was muffled against my T-shirt.
“Do you mind if I came to the match?”
He sat up and looked at me earnestly. “You would?”
“Of course I would! I wanted to tell you I was coming for ages, but I thought maybe you didn’t want me to.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to?”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
He groaned. “I thought we were going to get better at communicating.”
“Okay, so communicate. I’ll tell you why I didn’t, if you go first.”
“Chickenshit.” Declan grinned. “But okay. I want you to come to the game. But I thought maybe with me being such a stressed-out prick lately that it would be the last thing you would want to do. Plus the press attention will be huge. And they’ll probably focus on you as well if you came. I didn’t want to put pressure on you. Your turn.”
“Almost the same,” I replied. “I figured you had enough to deal with without me being there. Especially if the media got involved. I thought all of it would distract you and put you off your game.” I brushed my lips against his hairline. “I want to be there and support you.”
“This is why we should talk,” Dec said, gently rubbing his thumb against my cheek.
“We’re a team. The team of us.”
“You schmaltzy bastard.” He laughed. “I love it. And I love you.”
“Now who’s being schmaltzy?”
We kissed, and it was one of those moments where I felt perfectly assured that even though at times it seemed to be us against the world—the team of us—we would prevail.
“You’re going to need someone to show you the ropes though,” Dec said.
“The ropes?”
“Yeah. Someone who has been through all of this before and knows how to handle being the football wife.”
“You did not just call me a football wife,” I said, punching him in the gut. “Never do it again!”
He grabbed my fist, uncurled it, and fitted his own inside it. “You know what I mean.”
“So, someone to be my Yoda?”
“Yeah. Or, your Yoda someone should be. And I know who.”
“I’M SO glad I have a fellow freak to hang out with,” Lisa declared, hugging me madly.
“Freak?” I echoed.
She kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t take it personally. But that’s what the WAGs think we are. In fact, you’ve probably taken my crown away.”
The WAGs were the Wives And Girlfriends. Bad acronym I know. And not very gender-inclusive, now that I was around.
“Oh,” I said, and then I asked in surprise, “Why would they think you’re a freak?”
Lisa stared at me, trying to figure out if I was being serious or just merely dumb. “Uh, because I’m the only Asian in a swarm of Anglos? Any time I first introduce myself to one of them, they have trouble hiding the fact they’re surprised I can speak English.”
Lisa sounded more Aussie than even Roger and could drink Abe under the table; I thought it was much more likely the other girls were intimidated by her.
“They’re that cliquey?” I asked.
I must have looked worried, because Lisa immediately began to backtrack. “No, not really. Well, a little bit. They’re scared of difference. But then, so am I. I don’t feel comfortable around—”
“Normal people?”
Lisa laughed. “Normal? They’re hardly normal themselves.”
“Most people would think they were.”
“Let’s just say that we got on the wrong foot with each other. I was already nervous about dealing with them; they made a couple of stupid, but probably well-intentioned comments, and I got pissy.”
“That doesn’t sound like anything I would do at all.”
Lisa had seen me in social situations too many times to be able to treat that as a joke. “Don’t worry. Once they’ve associated you with me, you’ll be a social pariah. They’re probably expecting some guy who can discuss shoes and Sex and the City with them, not someone who wants to discuss the meta-existentialism of David Lynch.”
“Is Sex and the City still popular?”
“With them, yes. And you don’t know a wedge heel from a stiletto.”
“I know stilettos are good for stabbing people with.”
Lisa grinned. “Be sure to slip that into the conversation.”
We began crossing over from Harbour Esplanade towards Etihad, where a crowd was already milling for the game.
“We should have gone for a drink first,” I moaned.
“You can buy me a beer once we get inside.”
“Are you kidding? I have a mortgage. I can’t afford game-price beer.”
I wasn’t sure if I was being paranoid, but I felt like I was being recognised as Lisa and I walked through the throng of people. Not by everybody, but there seemed to be a few people who nudged each other and looked in our direction. I had been the subject of more articles (and the press liked to slip in a mention of me whenever Declan was being discussed) than any normal person would have liked. I had never in my life wanted to be a celebrity, much less a celebrity by default.
At the gate, Lisa showed our passes, and we were whisked through to the players’ box. There was already a small group of who I guess were the WAGs in there who stopped talking as soon as we entered. It was as comfortable as it sounds.
“Well, girls,” Lisa said cheerily, but with a tone of falseness that I had never heard in her before. “Here we are, the start of a new season.”
“And not all girls,” one woman said, pointedly staring at me.
“I know! There’s a penis amongst us!” Lisa said in mock horror, linking her arm through mine. “I’m sure you already know, but this is Simon.” She made sure that all attention was on her before unnecessarily adding, “Declan’s partner.”
That word and all its connotations, provoked a reaction of repressed smirks and sideways glances between the Aussie remake of the Footballers’ Wives.
“Howdy,” I said, sounding far more confident than I felt, although there was a part of me who was also enjoying it purely from a sadomasochistic viewpoint.
There were some faint murmurs of greeting, and Lisa’s grip on me tightened. “They’re being shy, Simon. Don’t worry, they’ll get used to you. Why don’t you grab us some seats, and I’ll get some beer.”
It was the equivalent of throwing me into the lion’s den. I squeezed past some of women in the second row and grabbed two at the end. I lowered the seat and sank into it, wishing it would swallow me whole. I looked up and offered a faint smile to the woman sitting closest to me; she just stared back.
“Are you enjoying the attention, then, are you?” she suddenly demanded, and once again, silence fell between everybody.
“What?” I asked, my tone edgier than I would have liked.
“You seem to like getting your face in the papers,” she accused me.
I stared her down. “I don’t invite it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I bet you like it, though.”
“Well, no, I don’t.” And I didn’t know why I was attempting to justify myself to her.
She snorted. “You could’ve fooled me.”
“Are you playing nice, Rachel?”
I breathed with relief and hated myself for it when Lisa appeared at the end of the aisle with two plastic cups of beer.
“Just getting to know our new friend here,” Rachel lied through gritted teeth.
“It sounded to me like you were accusing him of being a fame whore,” Lisa said as she made her way around the other women in the seats, who were of course drinking in every word said between us.
“Not at all—”
Rachel screamed and leapt out of her seat as some beer sloshed out of one of the cups and landed on the front of her blouse.
“Sorry,” Lisa said, sounding anything but.
“You bitch!” Rachel spat, wiping at herself. “You did that deliberately!”
“Nah,” Lisa said dismissively, “I’m just clumsy. But I’ll make it up to you, and give you the ten bucks so you can go to Supré and get a replacement.”
If we had been in a film, someone would be snapping their fingers and drawling “oh no she di’n’t!”, but everybody stared at their feet so as not to provoke the beast. Rachel glared at Lisa one more time and then stormed off in the direction of the toilets. Or at least stormed off as best as she could while having to navigate between rows of crammed-in seats.
Lisa sat beside me and handed me one of the cups. “Waste of good beer,” she fumed.
I smushed my cup against hers in celebration. “Nah, I think it was sacrificed for a worthy cause.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
One of the girls in front of us turned around in a gesture of friendliness and said, “I can’t believe she called you an attention whore when she was the one who went to the Brownlow in a backless low-cut gown with a diamante thong!”
Lisa snorted. “Glass houses, Jackie. Your boobs fell out of your dress when they were serving dessert.”
Jackie smiled fondly, lost in memory. “Yeah, that was a great dress. So, Simon, what will you be wearing to the Brownlow if you and Declan are still together by then?”
Lisa and I both stared at her for her lack of tact, and I slowly said, “I don’t know. Clothes, I guess.”
Jackie laughed politely, but looked bewildered. “Sure.” She seemed glad that the whistle blew and the players from Carlton began running onto the field so that she could start ignoring us with the best excuse in the world.
Lisa nudged my thigh with her own and smushed our cups together again. “You’re one of us now. There’s no escape.”
I gulped down my beer and hoped Rachel would fall down the loo so I wouldn’t have to see her again.
UNFORTUNATELY the toilet didn’t eat Rachel, but she seemed happy to pretend we didn’t exist from that moment on. The feeling was more than mutual. Some of the other girls thawed to us, but Lisa assured me that was about as good as it was going to get so I didn’t expect anything more. It seemed like it was going to remain Lisa and me in one camp and everybody else in another. Unless, of course, someone deemed just as freaky as one of us infiltrated the group, hence supplanting my role as newbie and thereby doomed to come and increase the numbers of the dark side.
It was only six minutes into the first quarter when all hell broke out on the field.
Declan had just had a handball delivered to him, and he was making his way towards the Devils’ goal posts when he was tackled by Fraser Johnson of the opposing side. They went down in a flurry of legs and arms, tumbling over each other, and when they got to their feet Declan immediately shoved Johnson away from him. I watched the action play out on the big screen; Declan looked furious. Johnson was obviously mouthing off at him because Declan came in a second time, and Johnson immediately shoved him back. It was only seconds before both teams came pouring in to the centre of the field, anxious to start blueing with one another. The panicked referees threw themselves into the fray, calling for calm as Lisa and I grimaced while watching from above. She pointed out Abe pulling Declan back from another confrontation with Johnson; he was almost foaming at the mouth. Their coach called for a suspension of play and brought Declan back into their camp for a debrief. After a few heated moments it appeared he wasn’t getting anywhere, and the coach sent on another player to go back on instead. The whistle blew, and one of the referees threw the ball back into play.
“Shit,” Lisa groaned. “What do you think that was all about?”
I didn’t want to say, although I had my suspicions. Luckily Rachel was there to take it upon herself to clear it all up for us.
“Are you dense, or has that beer already gone to your head?” Rachel drawled. “Johnson obviously slagged off the boy toy here.”
“I’m not this team’s fucking Yoko Ono, so can it,” I growled.
Rachel snorted. I’m not even sure if she got the reference, although she got the intent.
“They’ll be fine,” Lisa said, although whether she was saying it to reassure me or herself I couldn’t tell.
“If he gets reported, he’ll have blown his chances for a Brownlow on his first game back,” Rachel said.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll shut you up,” Lisa threatened her.
“Hey!” I yelled. “We don’t need a brawl in here as well!”
Lisa rolled her eyes but patted me on the knee.
“Is it always this entertaining in here?” I whispered as we all drew our attention back to the game.
“Only if Rachel’s around,” Lisa replied.
“Is she ever not around?” I asked hopefully.
Lisa shook her head.
“Great. Maybe we should just buy our own tickets next time.”
“We can’t. The media would love it if they could publish stories about infighting amongst the partners, and us not sitting here would only fuel them further. We’re here to support Abe and Dec, that’s all we can think about.”
“Man, you’re such a good footballer’s wife,” I said mockingly. “Did you get that from the guidebook?”
“Shut up, you’re one of us now.”
I shuddered. “They better not think I’m turning up to the Brownlows in a dress.”
“I’ll go in pants if you go in a dress,” she challenged me.
I laughed. “No way. I’m not that stupid.”
Lisa sighed. “Pity.”
THE rest of the game passed without incident, although there seemed to be a tense atmosphere to the whole thing. Once the Devils left the field, all of the WAGs rose as one entity and exited the box.
“Stepford, party of one,” Lisa murmured. She slapped me on the thigh. “Well, you survived. How do you feel?”
“Fine. Just wanting to know how Dec is after all that.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I’m just glad Abe didn’t throw a punch.”
“Well, he’s mellowed in the past couple of years,” I said, remembering vaguely that he used to be known for being a wee bit volatile.
“Only because Dec and I made him. We’re pretty convincing when we gang up.”
“I bet.”
We watched the crowds below us trickle out of the stadium, and when there seemed to be less of a crush, we made our way downstairs.
Which was when I really started feeling nervous. Meeting the footballers’ wives had been enough of a frightening prospect, so coming across the footballers themselves seemed even more daunting. I would have tried to escape and meet up with Declan later if Lisa hadn’t kept a tight rein on me.
Down in the bowels of the stadium we found a seat a little way from the WAGs and waited for the footballers to emerge. When they did, they were a sorry-looking group. A fight on the field that involved both their captain and the vice captain plus a loss to the other team meant that they were sullen and silent. No cooing from their supportive partners lifted their spirits as they left in pairs like a Prozac-ridden Noah’s Ark. As they filed past where I was sitting with Lisa some of them looked stony-faced at me, obviously recognising me. Although a couple nodded, the rest ignored my presence.
Except for Rachel, of course, who couldn’t help but smirk.
“Man, I hate her,” Lisa said confidentially. Redundantly.
“Really?” I asked, just as redundantly. “I couldn’t tell.”
“You hate her too,” she continued in a singsong voice.
“She’s not my favourite person, no.”
The door to the change rooms swung open again, and Declan and Abe emerged.
They looked even more drained than the rest of the team. Lisa jumped up and immediately hugged Abe. I hung back, not knowing what to do, and unconsciously jammed my hands in my pockets.
Abe nodded at me and turned to Declan. “Drink?”
Declan shook his head, and it looked as if it took too much effort for him to do so. “I’ll give it a miss tonight, mate.”
Abe nodded again, knowing not to press it. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
Lisa looked at me sympathetically, knowing we were in the same boat. She gave me a quick hug good-bye, and then she and Abe were gone, leaving Declan and me alone in the concourse.
I moved towards him and gave him a hug.
He stood still against me, unresponsive, and I pulled back.
“Oh, now you’ll hug me?” he asked.
“Sorry, I didn’t know what—”
He sighed. “It was only Abe and Lisa. You haven’t worried before.”
The same old argument again. I remained silent.
Declan stared at me, then realising he wasn’t going to get an answer from me he started walking towards the car park.
I followed him. Even though Declan only lived a short distance away, walking distance, really, during games he had decided it was better to drive home than risk having to put up with fans milling around the Docklands area afterwards. Especially as they would have had time to drink between their exit and the players’. It was just common sense for any footballer.
“Are you going to tell me what happened out there?” I asked, referring to the fracas at the beginning of the game.
He looked at me briefly, but continued walking. “Nothing to say.”
“Ah, so that was just a friendly bustup, then?”
“Just drop it, Simon, okay?”
Wow, I had been told. Starting to fume a little myself, I kept quiet so I wouldn’t explode.
We didn’t say a word until we pulled into the car park at his complex. Declan turned the ignition off and sat there for a moment.
“Look,” I said, my voice sounding a little rusty ever since I had forcibly kept it shut. “I’m just going to let you stew and go home tonight.”
Declan turned and looked at me. “Don’t. Just come up.”
“You’re pissed, and you’re not talking to me.”
“I’m not pissed, and I will talk to you.”
“Wow, that sounds really inviting.”
“Simon, please,” Declan said tiredly.
I took his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back.
We were silent in the elevator, but there wasn’t the weird tension between us this time. As the doors opened upon his floor, I surprised him by taking his hand. His grip was strong but comfortable as we slowly walked hand in hand to his door.
Inside, Declan threw his bag in a corner and slumped upon the couch.
“Okay,” I said, sitting beside him. “Talk to me.”
He groaned.
“Come on, you know what my imagination’s like. I’m probably thinking it’s something ten times worse than it actually was.”
“What do you think it was?”
I lightly scratched behind his ears like I did for Maggie and was rewarded with a smile. “Doesn’t take a genius to guess you were sledged.”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
“The usual. Well, not the usual. It was all new.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, I’ve been sledged before. It’s just that this time there was new ammunition to use against me.”
A little niggling thought began to form at the back of my mind, influenced by Rachel’s little dig at me before. “Like you said, sledging isn’t new, and you’ve probably been sledged a hundred times before.”
“More, probably.”
“Okay, you’ve been so calm about everything that’s happened to you since you came out. Why did it get to you today?”
“It just did, that’s all.”
Again, that niggling feeling, combined with the fact that he wouldn’t look at me. “It was something about me, wasn’t it?”
“Christ, Simon. Not everything’s about you!” he snapped.
I let my hand drop away. “Okay.”
Declan covered his face with his hands and rubbed at it tiredly. “I’m sorry.”
“Just tell me, Dec.”
“Yes!” he admitted finally. “He sledged you.”
I reached over and pulled his hands down so he would have to look at me. “You should have ignored him.”
“You don’t get it. There’s an etiquette. You don’t sledge the family or the girlfriends.”
“Well, that’s it, then,” I said, trying to make light of it. “He didn’t think he was doing anything wrong, because I’m not your girlfriend. A technicality, sure—”
“You know what I mean,” he growled. “And you’re family.”
That made me kiss him madly. And he responded, finally seeming like Declan again.
“Wow, I’ve never had anybody defending my honour before,” I teased.
“He knew what he was doing.”
“Dec, you should have just let it go.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You don’t have to defend me. For fuck’s sake, Dec, if they put you on an official reprimand you’ll be out of Brownlow contention.”
“Fuck the Brownlow,” Dec muttered.
“Fuck the Brownlow?” I asked in shock. “What kind of footballer are you?”
He studied me and grinned when he realised I was mocking him. “One with integrity.”
“A true white knight,” I admitted.
“What would you have done?” Dec asked. “If it had been you on the field?”
“If they had sledged you?” I asked. “I would have made them pay.”
Declan laughed and flung himself upon me. Crushed, I fell back against the arm of the couch, and once again the team of us closed itself against the world.