‘Noah James Gilbert, you stop right there!’ Exiting the pub with Sam, Owen found himself freezing on the spot at the shouted command, and he wasn’t the only one. Dozens of heads turned to regard the kindly looking woman with short grey hair standing with her fists pressed to her hips in the middle of the prom. Two guilty-faced small boys stood statue still about thirty metres in front of her, heads bowed as though waiting for the sky to fall in on them.
‘Someone’s in trouble already,’ Sam observed with a grin as they watched the woman blow on her nails before buffing them on the front of her pretty peach sleeveless blouse. She turned to say something to Jack who stood beside her laden down with several bags and a large cool box. In moments his expression was as hang-dog as the boys.
By the time they’d made their way to where Jack was waiting for them, his mum had taken both boys in hand and led them onto the beach. Sam clapped Jack on the shoulder. ‘Is that your mum? She’s terrifying.’
‘Here, make yourself useful, will you?’ Jack thrust the cool box at Sam, seeming to take no offence. ‘And as I recall, your mum can give mine a run for her money.’
Sam laughed as he jogged down the steps beside Jack. Feeling awkward at their easy banter over such an alien topic, Owen gave them a bit of distance. There was no malice in their observations, more a resigned affection. Sam dumped the cool box on the sand then straightened up. ‘Don’t remind me! We must make sure they never meet, or they’ll be plotting world domination within the first half-hour.’
‘Too late. Mum’s decided to pop in to the pub later and see Eliza.’ Jack rolled his eyes.
‘We’re doomed, then, mate.’ Sam grinned. ‘All mums are the same, right, Owen?’
A tumult of emotions swept through him. Confusion, anger, and more than a touch of shame. ‘I wouldn’t know.’ The all-telling words were out before he could stop them. Not wanting to see surprise—or worse, pity—on their faces, Owen shouldered past the two of them and strode across the beach to where Jack’s mum stood with the boys.
Ignoring her curious glance, and conscious of the way he towered over the kids, Owen dropped onto one knee to bring himself to their height and held out his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Owen, and you must be Noah.’ With the same blue eyes and dark hair there was no mistaking the boy as anything other Jack’s nephew.
Taking his hand with a shy smile, Noah shook it then turned to the wary boy beside him. ‘This is my friend, Michael.’
Owen studied the boy who was the reason he’d found himself volunteering to help out in the first place. Never a joiner, he’d been unable to ignore the conversation between Jack and Sam a couple of weeks previously in the pub. Owen had felt an immediate pang of sympathy for the kid’s plight, though his own many experiences of missing out on stuff had been down to general neglect and disinterest rather than a parent struggling to make ends meet by pulling extra hours driving a taxi as was the case with Michael’s dad. Whatever the reason, feeling excluded could seem like the end of the world at his age so Owen had found himself offering to fill the gap. He smiled at Michael but didn’t try to force the boy to take his hand. ‘Hey, I’m going to be your playing partner for today, if that’s okay with you?’
Michael eyed Owen uncertainly, but eventually gave a nod of assent. Relieved to be over the first hurdle, Owen turned his hand to helping set out the blanket, beach towels and other paraphernalia Jack had hauled onto the beach. Sam decided they’d benefit from a couple of sun umbrellas and headed back to the pub with Jack’s mum on his arm, promising her an introduction to Beth and a friends and family discount at the emporium.
‘I’m going to go and get us signed in.’ Jack pointed to where a slightly harassed-looking young woman stood a few feet away, clutching a clipboard. ‘See you in a minute.’ When Noah slipped his hand in Jack’s, obviously intent on going with him, Jack paused to glance at Owen, a question in his eyes.
Owen waved him on. ‘Michael and I will be fine, won’t we, mate? We can work out our winning tactics.’ Patting the edge of the blanket next to him, Owen waited until Michael sat beside him then began to sketch stick figures in the sand as he laid out options of what they could do. He kept it simple, doubting either of them would remember once they got running around but it was an easy ice-breaker and he soon had Michael chattering about the players from his favourite team.
Bastian, Jack’s chocolate Labrador, took advantage of their distraction to claim the blanket while no one was paying attention and when Owen glanced over his shoulder, the big dog looked set for the day. He didn’t do much more than wag his tail in approval when Sam returned and unfurled the first of two huge umbrellas and bathed their bit of the beach in welcome shade.
As they stood on the sidelines awaiting their turn to play, Owen watched Michael eyeing the other pairs gathered around them. The easy affection connections between father and son were in marked contrast to the slight stiffness between the two of them, and Owen resolved to try harder. He’d volunteered to do this to make sure Michael didn’t feel left out, but he was at risk of making him look as out of place as if he’d not been there at all. Squatting down, he placed himself in Michael’s eyeline. ‘I bet your dad is sorry to be missing out on this today? I’m sure he’d be here if he could, though.’
Michael nodded. ‘He works hard to take care of us.’ It sounded like words he’d picked up from someone else and had adopted as a mantra to remind himself. ‘Jack said if I could score a goal for Daddy, he’d film it on his phone so I could show him later.’
‘Then we’ll have to make sure you score.’ An idea came to him, sure he’d end up looking a bit of a tit, but what would it matter in the big scheme of things. ‘Hey, Michael, we should work out a celebration routine for when you do score, just like they do in the Premier League.’
Eyes bright for the first time that morning, Michael grinned. ‘Can we?’
‘Sure, but let’s talk about it over there so no one can overhear and nick our idea.’ Owen nodded over to a quieter spot not far from the water and they laid their plans.
By the time their names were called, Michael was raring to go. Delighted at his enthusiasm, Owen took his place beside him in the miniature marked-out pitch. ‘Let’s smash ’em!’ he said, holding up his hand for a high-five.
‘No mercy!’ Michael smacked his little hand against Owen’s as he completed the battle cry they’d come up with, and then the game was on.
It was hot, chaotic and the most fun Owen had had in a long time. At the end of the first five-minute half he was bent over at the waist panting from a combination of exhaustion and too much laughter. Their opponents were pretty hapless, and it was not through want of trying that the score remained goalless. Accepting a bottle of cold water from Sam, Owen chugged half of it down then made sure Michael had a good drink too. Using a towel the other man handed out to him, Owen rubbed the sweat from Michael’s face and arms. ‘All right, champ?’
‘We nearly had them just before the whistle!’ Bouncing on his toes, Michael showed no signs of fatigue. ‘I’m gonna score for sure next half.’ He glanced towards Jack who gave him a thumbs-up, his phone held ready in his other hand.
‘I’m ready, buddy, don’t worry. Now let’s see you score.’
Owen tossed the towel to Sam, the whistle blew, and they were off again. The kid on the opposite team kicked the ball towards his dad, missed his mark and groaned as the ball slid past his dad’s foot and over the sideline. Thinking it was a game, Bastian lunged for the football, tugging his lead out of Noah’s hand in the process, and scampered off down the beach shoving the ball with his nose. The whistle blew, and Owen joined in the chorus of laughter as a red-faced Jack chased after his dog. That only made things worse, of course, and soon half the spectators were involved trying to rescue the ball from the Lab, who barked excitedly at all his new friends.
‘Oh, Mrs Taylor’s going to tell him off.’ Eyes wide as saucers, Michael had his gaze fixed on the small woman who was marching down the beach towards Jack. From the wagging of her finger, it did look indeed like she was giving him a talking-to.
Owen gave Michael’s shoulder a gentle nudge. ‘Maybe she’ll give him detention.’ The boy looked horrified for a moment as though detention was a fate worse than death, before breaking out into giggles that shook his whole body. ‘And Bastian, too,’ he gasped. ‘She’ll make him sit in the corner!’
Order finally restored, with Bastian banished back to the blanket and Sam standing guard over him, they recommenced the match. The minutes flew past, and though they pressed forward it seemed they were destined for a goalless draw until Owen dummied a kick to the left, sending his adult opponent in the wrong direction and leaving a free space for Michael to run into. Owen passed him the ball and held his breath as the kid faced off against his classmate who’d dashed back to cover the goal. Michael got his foot perfectly under the ball and sent it flying past the keeper’s shoulder and straight into the back of the miniature net.
With a scream of delight, Michael threw out his arms and zoomed around like an aeroplane until he came to a stop facing Owen. They nodded once at each other then exchanged the complicated routine of hand slaps they’d come up with before flapping their arms like a pair of demented chickens as they turned in a circle. Cheers rose from the spectators and uncaring of how ridiculous he might look, Owen turned to them and bowed with a flourish as the whistle blew signalling the end of their match.
‘We won, we won!’ Michael took a flying leap at Owen who had no choice other than to catch him up in his arms. Flipping the boy around so he could cling to his shoulders, Owen carried him off the field like they’d won the World Cup, not the first-round robin in a kids’ friendly.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirl of laughter. Owen and Michael made it through to the knock-out stages, but neither were bothered when they lost in their quarter final. The two boys had a whale of a time—when they weren’t running around the beach, they were splashing in and out of the shallows with Bastian. The simple joy on their faces hurt and healed Owen’s heart in equal measures. Beneath the pang of jealousy that he’d never experienced anything like this as a kid himself was a surprising warmth that he’d played some small part in a special day. Whatever difficulties the boys might have faced, they retained a sense of innocence Owen hoped neither would lose for a long time to come.
When they finally trudged up the beach, clothes stiff with dried salt water, hair full of sand and stinking like only men and boys could do after hours running around in the baking sun, it felt like the five of them were a little band of brothers. It wasn’t just the kids; Owen had found himself really enjoying the company of both Sam and Jack. Like light and shade, one full of quick laughter, the other more thoughtful, though no less amusing in his responses, the pair were so easy to talk to that he found himself already looking forward to the many more weekends to come. It’d been a long time since he’d had friends, far too long if he was honest with himself.
The fact Jack had taken on someone else’s child—even his brother’s kid—filled Owen with admiration. He couldn’t imagine being thrust into that situation; he’d never pictured himself having kids and wasn’t sure he’d be equal to the task. Mucking around on the beach for a couple of hours was one thing, but the idea of being solely responsible for the health and wellbeing of a child? Owen knew all too well how badly that could turn out and was in no hurry to risk repeating the mistakes of his own past. As fun as the afternoon had been, he wasn’t sorry to be handing Michael back to his parents.
Leaving Jack and the boys with a round of high-fives and a big hug from Michael, Owen followed Sam into the pub for a quick pint. He had plans for the evening, but not wanting to risk anyone prying into them, he feigned the need for an early night—even going so far as to persuade Eliza, who was serving behind the bar, to rustle him up a sandwich to take up to his room with a second beer.
A hot shower, a change of clothes and a quick check to make sure the coast was clear, he let himself quietly out the guest entrance down the back stairs and took a circuitous route towards the beach. Stopping the first young lad he spotted, Owen took an envelope out of his pocket and offered it to the boy. ‘How would you like to earn yourself five quid?’