Chapter 27
“SO, HAS he called you yet?” Fran asked.
“You know I would have told you by now if he had,” I told her, nursing my beer.
She frowned and then her look turned sympathetic. “Simon, have you tried calling him, or are you being stubborn?”
I wanted to pretend that I was being my usual self, all aloof and confident despite the fact everybody close to me saw right through it anyway, but I was too tired. “I’ve tried. Too many times to even count, actually.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the background noise of The Napier take over in lieu of conversation. Finally, I asked her what I had been wanting to ever since I sat down. “Have you spoken to him?”
She looked at me sadly and shook her head.
“Oh,” I said, defeated. “He must still be… calming down… then.” But I fired up again. “He’s establishing an MO, you know? A sign of trouble, and he disappears on me. I’m fucking sick of it. I want him to stick around, for once.”
“He’s probably more embarrassed by the fact that he lost his cool for once,” Fran said, trying to calm me. “He always keeps things pretty close to his chest. To be so open about it, and lose face… well, he is a man.”
“On behalf of my sex, I say ‘Hey!’”
“Come off it,” Fran protested. “Stupid, bloody, men.”
“Yeah,” I agreed before I could stop myself.
We both laughed, and it was the first time I had done so in days. But the natural serotonin disappeared immediately, and I tried not to let my funk show.
I DRUNKENLY wove my way from the tram stop back to my house and saw that Dec’s car was sitting in my driveway and the windows of my house were lit. Instead of being relieved, I was mad. Stupid, bloody alcohol, being in my system. I felt this wasn’t a situation that should be fuelled by malt and hops.
I fumbled with my keys in the door and walked in to find him sitting calmly on my couch with Maggie in his lap.
“Maggie, you traitor,” I slurred.
“I let myself in,” Declan said unnecessarily.
“Then you should know the way out,” I said grandly, kicking off my shoes.
“Simon….”
I stumbled into my bedroom, feeling sick to my stomach although it wasn’t from the alcohol. I lay on my bed, as I could no longer stand. I heard Maggie’s bell sound; Declan must have lifted her off him, because I heard him coming down the hall.
“You’re going the wrong way,” I called out.
The mattress dipped sickeningly as he sat next to me.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Amazing,” I said. “How could you tell?”
He rested his hand upon my side, and I twisted out from under it.
“Simon, please.”
I dragged myself up into a sitting position although the room was spinning uncontrollably. Declan was looking at me with concern. Maybe he thought I had turned alcoholic out of despair.
“‘Please’,” I snorted. “I think I said that in one of the hundreds of messages I left you. Dec, please call me.”
“Can’t we talk?”
“I tried talking to you on Saturday. You didn’t want to. Now I don’t want to.”
He didn’t answer; he just sat there. And I could tell he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. And just that little thing made me collapse internally.
I gave him a quick hug. “I lied. I do want to talk to you. But I think I’m going to vomit.” I lay back down, glad that the room stopped moving when I did so.
Declan lay beside me, and his arms pulled me in closer to him. And strangely enough, I began to feel better.
MERCIFULLY, I didn’t have a hangover when I woke up hours later, but I was cold even though Declan was still holding me. So the recent dreamlike events were real. We had fallen asleep on top of the covers, and Maggie was nestled between our legs.
“I’m sorry,” Dec murmured, sensing I was awake.
“Me too.”
We decided not to press the issue. We both knew how we had stuffed up, and there was no need to rehash it. But I just had to let him know one thing.
“I’m a big boy, Dec.”
“You have tickets on yourself,” Dec smiled, not being able to resist.
“I mean it. I can deal. It won’t stop you from worrying about me. It won’t make me stop worrying about you. But we’ll deal.”
His lips found the crook of my neck. I turned so we were face to face, eager to feel his mouth against mine again. We kissed deeply, slowly, savouring each other. Making up for what had been missed over the past few days. Maggie, disturbed by the shifting bodies, took off for safer ground.
My doorbell rang.
“Who the hell is that this early on a Sunday morning?” I groaned.
“It’s Monday,” Dec reminded me.
“Public holiday,” I corrected him. “It’s a Sunday by another name.”
I gave him another kiss, glad he was there to receive it, and made my way to the door. I heard Declan following me.
Fran and Roger stood on the doorstep. Roger looked slightly green; Fran was wearing sunglasses, despite the fact that it was overcast. She held up a couple of greasy brown paper bags, and Roger was holding one as well.
“Hangover cure,” she announced. “Don’t say we don’t love you.”
She then lifted her glasses to reveal two bloodshot eyes as she stared past my shoulder. Declan had just appeared behind me.
“Well,” Fran said, lowering her glasses again. “Good thing we brought extra.”
Roger tried to give me an intimidating stare as he walked in. It failed, so he tried it on Declan. It failed again.
I turned to follow Roger into the kitchen; behind me I heard a muffled thud, and Declan protesting. I looked back and saw him rubbing his shoulder.
“She hit me!” he said, an injured expression on his face.
Fran gave me a wink as she continued on into the kitchen. “You’re lucky it wasn’t your knee.”
“It means she loves you,” I told Declan.
He continued rubbing the inflicted area. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Can we eat?” Roger moaned from the kitchen. “I’m starving.”
“You go first,” Declan whispered. “I don’t think my shoulder can take another hit.”
Trying to hide my smile, but failing miserably, I led the way.
AND that was how it was for us. Ups and downs. Sometimes more downs than ups. It was funny, though, because we experienced everything differently. He got flak on the field, but none from the fans. I, however, got it all from the fans. The needling at the games maintained a steady level rather than dying down as I had hoped it would. Dec got to the point where he wanted me to stay away for my own sanity, but I stubbornly took my place in the players’ box at every away game that took place in Melbourne.
Away from the field I had also become more recognisable in the public eye, and it meant certain members of it now thought they were well within their right to start calling me out whenever and wherever they saw me. I took to wearing my iPod every time I was out and about by myself, but sometimes I could still hear them above the music. If I was with Dec they never tried it. They wanted to be his friend, so by default I was treated to their politeness.
Fran and Roger got to see it every now and again, though.
“How can you stand it?” Roger asked.
“I just have to.”
“I want to hit them for you,” Fran snarled.
“If you want to go ahead, I didn’t hear anything, so I can’t be responsible,” I said. I kind of meant it, even though it was unwise.
The only face-to-face negativity Declan experienced was on a radio interview when one of the DJs asked him if he was a top or a bottom. When Dec had asked him if he was serious, the DJ told him he didn’t have a sense of humour. Declan walked out of the interview early, the managers of the Devils went ballistic at the radio station, and battle lines were drawn. The more bozo-ish of the footy shows on TV admonished him as being a sook, yet Dec knew if he had actually gone on their show they would have been kissing his arse.
He was almost glad when the Devils didn’t make the finals, as it meant he could have a longer break away from it all. I don’t even want to discuss how the Tigers did.
Dec and the rest of his team went on their end-of-season holiday early, but would be back in time for the Brownlow ceremony.
The Brownlow. That was another thing I didn’t want to think about, being in the same room as a large group of people who would sledge me on the field to try and provoke my partner every week. I know sledging wasn’t meant to be taken personally, but I still took it as such.
“You’ve lost weight,” Fran told me critically, while Declan was away.
“Good, I can go shopping in the petite section for my Brownlow dress,” I replied sourly.
Fran gave me a small smile. “I heard what they said on that show. I don’t know why Roger watches that crap.”
“He says it’s just because he wants to know the in-house goss.”
“It’s not worth it. Especially when they make fun of your friends.”
“They did say I would look good in a dress, though. Y’know, because I’m a girl.”
“There are worse things than being called a girl.”
“That’s true.” I shrugged. “They also called me the little lady.”
“Wow, so they’re misogynistic and homophobic. They’re trying to tick every box, what else is new?”
“You’re not helping.”
“I could go dress shopping with you.”
“Shut up, Fran.”
“What are you wearing to the Brownlows, anyway?”
“Have you turned into Roger all of a sudden? I’m surprised you even know what they are.”
She shrugged. “It’s amazing what you can learn when you actually care about it.”
“You care about the Brownlows?” I asked with surprise.
“Two of my friends are going,” she pointed out. “It was a huge controversy last year. I’m not that forgetful.”
I breathed deeply. “I hope it’s not that controversial this year.”
Fran looked at me; her expression was strangely indecipherable. “I hope so too.”
“ARE you sure that’s what you really want to wear?”
Practically the first thing Declan had made me do when he returned to Melbourne was to go shopping with him and finalise my wardrobe for the Brownlows. I had to laugh at Declan being so concerned about clothing, and wondered if he just wanted some dumb movie montage in which we paraded around with various costume changes to some sprightly music track.
“What’s wrong with it?” I looked at his reflection in the mirror as he walked up behind me and rested his hand upon my shoulder.
“It’s just—”
“What?” I asked, grumpy and tired. I had tried on about seven different outfits, and I hated shopping at the best of times. I was the kind of shopper who wouldn’t try anything on and would just chuck clothes at the register and get out of there as soon as possible. I would then hope that they actually fit once I got them home.
“It’s not very you.”
Was that a twinkle in his eye? “What’s me, anyway?”
“It’s just so plain.”
“It looks kind of like what you wore last year,” I pointed out. It was a perfectly nice, traditional black suit with white shirt and bowtie combo.
“Exactly,” Dec agreed.
“So it’s good enough for you, but not for me?”
“Stop fighting me on this. Traditional suits me. I’m traditional.”
“Says the gay footballer.” I turned to face him properly.
Declan laughed. “Okay, you got me there. But I’m talking fashionwise.”
“Just because the papers keep printing that picture of me in the lime-green suit—”
“You love that suit.”
“It’s not Brownlow material.”
“Oh,” Declan said, as if that explained everything. He moved to go back and sit on the couch and pulled me along with him.
“Weren’t they meant to be bringing us coffee?” I grumbled. “They offered it. I’ve never been in an upscale store like this before. I want the perks.”
Declan wisely ignored me to focus upon the real issue. “I want you to be comfortable at the Brownlows.”
“And?”
“You’re not going to be comfortable if you don’t go as yourself.”
I sagged against the back of the couch and into him slightly. “I’m not going to be comfortable if I go as myself either.”
“You’re never happy.”
“I just mean, I know I’m going to be on edge. And to be truthful, I don’t want to embarrass you. They’re going to be watching us enough, even before I turn up looking like Maria von Trapp dressed me in the venue’s curtains.”
“Even your taste isn’t that bad.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Simon, you don’t embarrass me. You’ve got to get over it. I want you to go as you, because you’re who I go out with.” He realised how badly structured that last sentence was and shook his head. “See what you do to me?”
“How about we compromise?” I suggested.
“How?”
“That longer-style black jacket, and I’ll wear one of my crappy band shirts under it.”
“Still a bit understated for you, but at least it’s better than what you’re wearing.”
“I look that bad in this?” I asked.
Declan sat back to fully take me in. “I don’t think you do at all. I think you look brilliant.”
“And yet you’re making me wear something else?”
He kissed me. “Shut up, Simon.”
“But….”
The coffee finally arrived, and it was now Declan’s turn to play model.
LOOKING back, this might have been the moment when it all started turning to shit. Or maybe it was the Footballers’ Wives and WAGs and FAGs posters that started it. Anyway, everything escalated so quickly there was hardly time to even recognise what was actually going on. Of course, with hindsight you can say that everything could have been handled better on all sides, but it had been building up for a while and a few experiences just made it explode.
But as I started getting ready for the Brownlow ceremony I still felt good, despite the expected nervousness. Declan and I were getting dressed together, and I was feeling a little bit of déjà vu from the year before except this time I wouldn’t be watching Declan get into the limousine with someone other than me.
“Have you decided on your shirt yet?” Declan asked as he buttoned his over his chest.
I threw open the wardrobe again and pulled out a few. “Patty Hearst, Kimba the White Lion, or should I show my true allegiance and wear my Richmond shirt?”
Declan snatched the black and yellow shirt away from me and threw it back into the wardrobe with distaste.
“Okay,” I drawled.
Declan pounced on me and started pulling at my clothes. “Get dressed!”
“You’re actually undressing me,” I pointed out. “But I like it.”
I let myself be manipulated like a doll as he yanked my arms up and pulled my shirt off. I shivered slightly as it was cold in the bedroom, but kept my arms in the air as Dec chose the Kimba T-shirt and pulled it over my head.
“Well, we’re halfway there.” He grinned. “Think I can leave you to do the rest?”
“You can do my pants if you like.”
“Piss off. Get ready.”
He disappeared into the lounge room, and I opened up the robe again to pull out the new shirt I had bought especially for tonight. It was a plain button-down, federation green, and I thought it would look good with the black tie I had also bought. I never thought I would have owned a tie in my life, but there was a first time for everything.
Declan came back into the bedroom just as I was smoothing the jacket down, and he pointed at me. “That’s not… wow. You look good.”
So did he. I felt bizarrely like I was going to the school ball. Except finally I was going to the school ball the way I wanted, with a date. A boy date. Well, a man.
“You look really good,” Declan said.
“Try not to sound so surprised.”
“Don’t be so surprised if you end up on the best-dressed list this year.”
I laughed. “Flatterer and liar! I need to look good when I’m going with tonight’s medallist.”
“Don’t jinx it,” he winced. “I don’t think I’ll win. In fact, I hope I don’t.”
Anybody else, I wouldn’t have believed it. But Declan hated the attention, even more so after the past six months. Before I could say anything, the sound of a horn came from outside.
“That’ll be the limo,” Dec said. “Ready?”
He held out his hand, and I took it. “Sure.”
My voice sounded steadier than I was, though.
WE HAD agreed to share a limo with Abe and Lisa. Lisa was rather raucous when Dec and I climbed into the back of the car with them, and said we both looked delicious. She had already raided the minibar, and I was only too happy to help.
“Try and save some room for the open bar at the ceremony,” Abe said affably.
“We’re just steeling ourselves,” Lisa said. “So, Simon, who are you wearing tonight?” She easily slid into the role of the blue-carpet presenter.
I leaned into the nonexistent microphone in her hand and said rakishly, “Well, I plan to be wearing Declan later, if you know what I mean.”
Dec shook his head while Abe sniggered. “Don’t encourage him.”
My overexaggerated sense of bravado was quickly extinguished when the limo pulled up to the foyer of Crown Casino.
“We are not going after you,” teased Lisa. “We’ll be overshadowed.”
I was glad they were getting out first, although I worried it gave me a few extra moments to consider jumping out the other door and taking off anonymously into the night.
My thoughts must have been transparent to Declan, as he watched me with concern.
“See you in there,” Abe said jovially, although he knew we were shitting ourselves. Lisa gave us both supportive hand squeezes and then was helped out of the limo by Abe.
“You ready?” Dec asked.
“You don’t need to help me out,” I told him, before his chivalrous side took over.
He gave me a withering look. “Really?”
“But stay close.”
He smiled. “We’ll be okay.”
And then I followed him out into the glare.
The photos the next day would show Declan, sleek and confident, ever the pro. And next to him, looking like a rabbit on a country road watching the headlights of an approaching car, me.
I honestly don’t remember much of stumbling down the long blue carpet, watching the photographers jostle for the best angles of us or the fans behind the barriers yelling for Declan’s autograph. Remembering his promise to stay close, Declan ushered me over to the barrier alongside him while he signed whatever Devils merchandise was thrust at him.
“Simon!”
There was no way in hell I could have stopped my instant grin. Fran and Roger were pushing their way to the front of the barrier. I moved over to them and was grabbed in a bear hug by both.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised but pleased.
“Moral support, of course,” Fran replied.
“Is it working?” Roger asked.
“Yes!” And I wasn’t lying. The snakes in my stomach had settled somewhat.
Declan had now caught sight of them and come over for his own hug.
“I wish I could get you guys in,” he said apologetically.
“Well….” Roger started to say, but he was elbowed by Fran.
“Have fun,” she said, pointing behind us. “It looks like they’re demanding to interview you.”
Dec and I turned to see the blue-carpet hosts glaring at us for daring to hold them up.
“Catch up with you later,” Declan nodded.
“Text us when you get out,” Fran yelled after us.
Away from the comforting circle of friends I had to fight against the nausea again, but their presence had emboldened me and I kept a friendly but neutral smile on my face as Declan and I stepped up to the podium to be interviewed.
“Declan, what do you think your chances are for tonight?” the bland television personality asked.
“It’s up for grabs among quite a few of us,” Declan said modestly.
“Playing it nice,” the host chuckled.
“Not at all.”
“For the viewers at home,” the co-host asked, falling neatly into her required gender-specific role, “who are you wearing tonight, Declan?”
Declan bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing a smile. “A local designer, Keith Ho.”
She then turned to me. “And you, Simon?”
I leaned in to the microphone as if it was Lisa’s hand and said, “The Savers on Sydney Road. Six dollar rack.”
Of course, I had gotten my suit from the same store as Declan. The hosts didn’t know what to make of my answer, so with a brief flash of panic that disappeared quickly beneath the professional façade, she decided to take a different tack. “It’ll be no surprise who you’re hoping will win tonight.”
“Probably not,” I said smoothly.
“Who?” She laughed merrily, pretending she wasn’t in on a game.
“Stephen Burrows from Richmond, of course.”
Declan couldn’t keep the laughter in now, especially as both co-hosts’ jaws dropped. “He’s my biggest fan, really,” he said quickly, and he moved us on into the venue.
“How did I do?” I asked innocently.
“You are evil,” Declan replied with a straight face.
Abe and Lisa were waiting for us just within the doors.
“The two of you are going to be all over the news with that little performance,” Lisa said with a smirk.
“How did you know?” I asked, bewildered.
Abe pointed above his head, where a giant screen was televising the blue carpet footage live. “Stephen Burrows will be glad of your support, I’m sure.”
“Yeah,” Declan poked me in the rib. “I could have used your vote.”
“If I could vote, you would have it,” I said grandly.
“Liar, but thanks,” Dec laughed.
We were seated at the same table as many of the Devils players. Anna and a few more of the WAGs greeted us warmly, while Rachel and some of her cronies pretended we didn’t exist. Dec’s teammates were polite to me, but there was a distance I couldn’t help but pick up on even if Declan appeared to be unaware of it – or pretended to be unaware of it.
If you think watching the Brownlows at home is boring, it’s even worse when you’re actually attending them. Especially if you’re attending as one of the contender’s dates, because the camera will be on them every time their name is mentioned, and you must look attentive and supportive. Nothing would be worse than the camera catching you yawning or staring into space with a glazed expression or picking your nose; it was expected that Declan’s name would be coming up a lot. My boyfriend was a god of football. Everybody at our table expected him to win, and it wasn’t just because they were his teammates. It seemed to be the general consensus of everybody in the theatre.
But a quarter of the way through the count we realised something wasn’t quite right. Dec wasn’t getting the votes that were expected of him for certain games, games where he had even been named player of the day. Dec remained stoic, but I heard Abe hiss beside me and a general rumbling throughout the ranks of the table.
During a commercial break Abe leaned over me and said to Declan, “This is bullshit.”
“Cool it, Abe.”
“Seriously, Dec!”
“What do you think’s going on?” I asked Dec in a low voice.
“Nothing,” was his short answer.
“It’s obvious,” said a voice from across the table. I looked up to see Geoff Hendricks staring at me with a snarl that seemed more suited to a villain tying Penelope Pittstop to the railway lines.
“What is?” I demanded.
“Shut up, Hendo,” Dec warned.
“What’s he going on about?” I asked Dec.
Dec shook his head, but Geoff continued on. “Notice it’s certain games he isn’t getting votes on?”
I looked at Dec for an answer of some sort, but there was an announcement that we were coming back from commercial break, so we had to put on our pleasantly interested facades again.
Now that Geoff had pointed it out, I began to take notice of the games that Declan neglected to get points for. And the pattern became recognisable very quickly.
They were games I had attended. Games where Declan was usually involved in some sort of scuffle.
By the halfway point of the counting, Declan was fifth when he should have at least been second, and it looked like he was going to slip even further down the ladder.
“Come on, boys,” Declan said to the table, trying to lighten the mood. “We can’t expect to win everything.”
“That’s the point,” Geoff said. “We haven’t won anything this year. This was the one thing we had in the bag.”
“Well, we obviously didn’t,” Declan replied.
“Wonder why,” Geoff muttered into his beer.
“You got something to say, Hendo?” Abe asked threateningly.
Declan cleared his throat, and Abe drank sullenly from his own beer.
The mood didn’t improve, even though Declan managed to get back up to third place. A few more rounds saw him and the other players jump around positions, and in the final few Declan shot from fourth to second, with only one point between him and first.
“That’s it,” Declan whispered to me. “It’s all over.”
“There’s two rounds to go,” I reminded him.
He shook his head. He already knew.
Even though Dec had ended the final round with three goals and a spectacular mark that had given him Player of the Day, I remembered there had been another bust-up on the field. Declan didn’t get any points for the round and remained in second place, losing by one point to Francis Bevan.
Declan clapped at the announcement. “He deserves it. He’s a good player.”
Hendricks scowled. “You were meant to win.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“I’m glad you can be so casual about it.”
“You seem to care enough about it for the two of us,” Dec fired back.
Any escalation of their sniping was halted when their coach, Scott Frasier, approached the table and nodded to Declan.
Dec pushed his chair out, muttered “Excuse me,” and went off to the side to talk to his coach.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I told Abe and Lisa.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded and made my way to the toilets. I didn’t need to go, but I did need a semiprivate place where I could just hide for a moment and try to collect myself. There were only a couple of guys at the urinals when I entered; I locked myself in a stall and stared dismally at the door.
I heard the door swing open and shut again and assumed the other guys must have left. I unlocked the stall so I could go and splash water on my face and just try to cool down the sudden heat I felt building from my neck upwards.
I wasn’t alone.
Geoff Hendricks stood near the door, with some of the other Devils players flanking him. I didn’t want paranoia to instantly overwhelm me, so I nodded at them and continued on to the sinks.
“You happy with yourself?” Hendricks asked.
I took my time washing my hands and stared back at him through the mirror.
“About what?” I asked steadily.
“About costing Tyler his medal.”
I turned off the tap and headed for the dryer. “I didn’t cost him anything,” I yelled over the sound of the blower.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Hendricks yelled back, and his voice faltered as the dryer’s cycle ended, and he had to lower it again. “But we all know you did.”
“What, he’s not allowed to have a social life like the rest of you?” It was funny how now I wasn’t paranoid or feeling threatened, I was just angry. “It’s okay for you lot to have girlfriends, but not for him to have someone?”
“Our girlfriends don’t cause the shit you do,” Jack Hanley piped up.
“I’m not causing shit, everybody around me is. Even now,” I pointed out. “You followed me in here, not the other way around. What are you hoping to achieve? Do you think Declan is suddenly going to see the light if you do something to me?”
I noticed from the expressions on some of their faces they weren’t actually planning to do anything to me; it was more than likely they just wanted to vent at me over the perceived injustice against their team. And now they were recognising just how bad it was looking for six men to gang up against one in a public toilet.
Hendricks opened his mouth to speak again, but the main door banged open. Abe barged through, and he erupted at the sight before him. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Nothing,” I said immediately. “We were just having a chat. Weren’t we, boys?”
Too much time hanging around Declan meant I could take on his mannerisms easily. Nobody really answered me, so I continued. “Well, that’s that, then.”
They filed out, a couple mumbling apologies to me. Hendricks remained unrepentant. None of them could look Abe in the face.
“Simon, are you okay?” he asked, concerned, when we were alone.
I leaned against the sink, my legs finally becoming rubbery. “Yeah, cool.”
“What happened?”
I looked up at him. “How did you know to come in here?”
“They weren’t very subtle. They practically got up a minute after you did, and I saw them heading here. I would have been here sooner, but I got waylaid by Scott.”
“It’s okay. I think I had most of them shamed before you came in.”
“You don’t look so good now.”
I felt like I was going to throw up. “I’ll be fine.”
Abe sighed. “Declan’s going to lose it when he finds out.”
I turned around so fast I felt like the walls continued spinning long after I had stopped. “You can’t tell him!”
“Why not?”
“Because he will lose it. And he can’t be on the outs with his whole fucking team.”
“You can’t expect me not to say anything. Because when you eventually tell him, he’ll take it out on me, not you.”
“No, he’ll be pissed at both of us. You should have just let me handle it, Abe.”
And it was then I knew why Declan was best friends with Abe. He drew himself up and gave me a look full of scorn. “You know, you might not care, Simon, but I think of you as my friend now. And friends look out for each other. I came in here to back you up, just like I would if it were Declan. And if it were Declan in this situation, you’d be fucking kissing my arse for coming in here after him.”
We stared at each other for a long moment before I admitted, “You’re right. And thank you.”
But Abe wasn’t done with me. “Just a bit of friendly advice. I know you’re not telling Declan everything that is happening to you. And that’s because Lisa tells me, and she’s worried about it. It puts me in a fucked position because I know something Declan should. You have to be fair with him.”
I nodded. “Okay. But I bet you hide things from Lisa sometimes because you don’t want to hurt her. If the guys on the field use me being gay as sledging, I bet they use racism against her.”
“Yeah, and Lisa knows it anyway. Which is why I eventually break and tell her. You should do the same for Dec.”
I moved past him to the door. “Thanks, Abe.”
“If you don’t tell him soon, I will.”
It wasn’t something I wanted to happen, but I had to concede. As we left the toilet, I was reminded of something he had said before. “Hey, you said you were stopped by Scott earlier. I thought he was talking to Dec?”
Abe momentarily faltered, but quickly said, “Oh, by that stage Dec was talking to other people about the medal.”
We stepped back into the venue, and by now I could sense something secret and alive, charging itself between us. I looked across to our table and could see a well-known footballer crouched beside Dec. Dec was laughing at something he had just said and then leaned in closer to him to say something.
“Oh,” I said feebly to Abe as it dawned upon me.
“What?” Abe asked. Too fast.
“It’s the ex.”
Abe didn’t say anything.
“Just say so, Abe.”
“I—”
“Thanks a lot, after everything you said in there about secrets.”
“Simon—”
“Don’t tell him what happened.” I walked off, and I could feel him watching me. I turned a corner and found a small alcove with a couch. I burrowed in my pockets for my mobile and called Roger.
He answered after a few rings, and I asked him where he was.
“We’re still in the casino. Sorry about Dec losing.” He sounded as aggrieved as if it were himself who had lost. “That was rigged!”
“I’m coming to meet you guys.”
He told me which part of the complex they were in, and I said I would be there in five minutes. I then put on my best composed face and headed back to the table. The ex (I couldn’t even bear to humanise him by thinking of him by name) saw me coming and left before I could be introduced; Dec didn’t say anything about him as I sat down. Abe and Lisa watched me closely; from the look on Lisa’s face I could tell she had already been briefed by him on the events in the toilet and my discovering the identity of my predecessor.
“Hey, where have you been?” Declan asked. He looked innocent enough, and I hated for a brief moment I couldn’t stand the sight of him.
“The loo,” I shrugged. “Look, Roger and Fran just called me. They’re still in the casino. I thought I would go and meet them while you finish up here.”
“Need a debriefing session, huh?” he laughed.
I couldn’t believe he was acting like this when I knew what I did. “Something like that.”
“I won’t be much longer,” he told me.
“Take your time.”
I said a terse good-bye to Abe and Lisa. Lisa looked like she was going to come after me, but she probably didn’t want Dec to catch onto something having happened.
I got out of the venue as quick as I could, not able to avoid the looks some of the players and WAGs at other tables were giving me. Before I hit the lobby I pulled off my tie, unbuttoned the top of my shirt and carried my jacket so I didn’t stand out too much. I skirted around the assembled media and took the back way into the casino. I found Fran and Roger pretty quickly, and they could immediately tell the night had not been a success. At least I felt like I was back among my own people again.
ON THE way home, Declan was just as quiet as I was. Even though he had assumed the reasons he had lost out on vital points was because of the scuffles he had on and off during the season, he had never been suspended for it, and that should have really been the only reason for the exclusion of his votes for those rounds. I think it had finally hit him the whole night of scoring was unjust, but he was too tired to let himself care right now. And he probably assumed I was quiet because he was.
At least Roger and Fran were excited by the fact that they got a lift home in a limo.
Roger was quickly becoming jaded by the fact that he now hung out with celebrities and wasn’t doing his star-struck routine anymore. And Fran and Lisa seemed to have found an initial bond in their affection for me, which had quickly gone beyond that into the beginnings of a proper friendship. I also think they had quickly figured out each knew the happenings of the night and conferred in a corner, claiming it was “secret women’s business” whenever they were questioned about their conversation.
I just kept waiting for Dec to tell me about his reunion with his ex. Although I guess it was pretty stupid of me to assume their paths hadn’t already crossed within the past year. It made me wonder how many times they had talked. But of course Dec couldn’t say anything to me while the others were with us. When we were the final ones in the limo, I expected him to finally tell me. When he didn’t, I expected him to tell me when we got back to my house.
We undressed for bed, and as usual, once we were beneath the sheets he reached for me to snuggle against. I lay stiffly beside him.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“No. Is anything wrong with you?” I asked.
“I guess I am disappointed about the medal in a way.” He shrugged. “But I can whine about it to you in the morning once we’ve slept on it.”
I waited for him to bring up the other topic, but of course, he didn’t. Eventually I heard his breath deepen, and knew he had fallen asleep. I stayed awake for ages.