THE TRAINING SESSIONS had been going well all week. The lads for Nick’s testimonial were enjoying being back with old teammates and rivals, back where they’d felt most alive. Some of them were still playing professionally, but the rest were already enjoying their retirement, if that was the right word. Fit, active men in their thirties—all retired. But the competitive spirit never left them, even when they left the game professionally.
Perhaps being a rugby player is a rite of passage where the sport becomes your identity, your skin, embedded in your heart and deep in your blood—so it never leaves you.
Nick felt it—that his whole identity was wrapped up in the sport that he’d loved for so long.
He shook his head to clear the rolling, twisting thoughts.
Enough! I’m getting sentimental in my old age, he thought with a sigh.
He glanced around the locker room with a feeling of pride and gratitude as friends, colleagues and former teammates changed into their shorts, shirts and boots, and … what the hell?
He did a double-take when he saw another face from his past: Kenny Johnson.
With a jet of fury that took his breath away, Nick was sent spinning back to the day when Kenny had destroyed their friendship and killed his trust; the day he’d seen Kenny screwing his ex-fiancée. The Best Man and the Bride-to-Be.
For a split second, the sense of betrayal was fresh and raw.
As Nick stared at his former friend, Kenny walked toward him, his expression unsure, as if Nick might lunge and beat the shit out of him—an act that had landed Nick in court five years ago, with a criminal record to match.
Kenny had broken the guy-code.
Nick stared at the other man’s broken nose and worn, battered face, surprised to see remorse in Kenny’s eyes. Nick thought about what it must have cost Kenny in pride, to come here today, into the lion’s den.
The two men locked eyes, a thousand unsaid words roaring through the air, but then Nick blew out a long breath. Ultimately, Kenny had done Nick a favour by showing him that Molly was a liar and a cheat. It also meant that Nick had gone on to have a relationship with Anna, well, there was no comparison. He loved Anna with his whole being; Molly was nothing but a dark stain on his memory.
He hadn’t seen either of them in years.
One of the other players saw Kenny and called out.
“Ken, you mad sort! What are you doing here?”
Kenny forced a grin.
“Hey up, lads, you’re looking good out there. Some of you have still got it and some of you never had it, eh?”
“Piss off, Ken, you big pudding!” snorted Tufty, who was probably twenty pounds heavier since he’d retired. “I’ll show you what I’ve got!”
“In your dreams, ya sausage!” Kenny turned away, his smile fading as he met Nick’s frown. “You got time for a quick chat?”
Nick could see the hopeful expression on his face, the regret. He remembered that they’d been friends, mates, before Kenny had betrayed him. He decided that he wanted to hear what the man had to say.
So did everyone else in the locker room if the covert looks and sly glances were anything to go by. They all knew what had happened between Nick and Kenny.
Nick nodded.
“Sure, let’s go for a walk.” Then he turned to the other players. “Lads, top session! I’ll catch up with you in the clubhouse. First pint on me.”
Nick walked out of the room in silence followed by Kenny, and they headed to the Stands, staring out at the vast stadium, the rows of empty seats.
The silence grew uncomfortable as Nick waited for Kenny to speak.
“I never got to play here,” said Kenny, hesitant, awed, and Nick could hear the wistfulness in his voice. “Not like you. You’ve had an amazing career—you were always the one, old golden balls,” and he laughed sadly. “But that’s not why I’m here.” He sighed. “It’s been a long time…”
Nick nodded, but didn’t speak.
Kenny grimaced and stumbled on, his words coming slowly and awkwardly.
“I know I’m not your favourite person. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. If it had been the other way around, well, I wouldn’t have pissed in your ear if you’d been on fire.”
Nick turned away.
“I’d never have done that to a friend,” Nick said quietly but firmly. “Friendship means something to me, not just words.”
Kenny dropped his eyes to the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling his feet.
“I know. Believe me, I know,” and he raised his eyes to meet Nick’s stony stare. “But I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened. I should have known better, I should have been better. I’m not perfect, who is? But we all make mistakes—and that was the worst one of my whole life—I lost my best friend.” He hunched his shoulders. “Anyway, so what I’m saying, the past is the past. And I can’t change it, but I want to make things right, as much as I can. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did. I’ve regretted it every day since.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m here because I want to play—I want to show my respect for your career by playing in your testimonial.” He paused. “If you’ll have me?”
Nick hesitated, seeing two roads ahead of him. He could carry on hating Kenny for what he did five years ago, or he could accept his apology and move on. It could never be the way it had been, but maybe it was time to let it go.
“Yeah,” said Nick slowly. “It’s been a long time, Ken. “We’ve known each other a lot of years. I’m not the type to hold a grudge, but what you did and what happened to me as a consequence of your actions—and my actions—can’t be undone. We can’t go back to how we were, the trust is gone.”
Kenny lowered his head, shame colouring his roughened features.
Nick took a deep breath.
“I can’t play alongside you again, we’ll never be teammates, but I appreciate you stepping up and wanting to take part. I’m sure Coach will be happy to have you in the opposing side. I’ll let him know you’re available. I accept your apology.”
Kenny swallowed as Nick held out his hand.
“Thanks, mate. That’s … well, thank you.”
“I’m in a good place now,” said Nick quietly as they shook hands. “I think things happen for a reason.”
AT THE END of the following week, Brian Noble, the coach who’d volunteered to train the teams for the testimonial, gathered them all together. Including Kenny.
“That’s the last session down. Well done, lads. It’s been a pleasure working with you this fortnight. I’m impressed … and surprised how some of you got through the last few days of training.”
He pointed at the group of older players who’d been retired a while, and they laughed, chucking towels at his head.
“Twickenham is a sell-out for our Nick, so if there’s ever a place for ex-teammates to settle any beef between each other, it’s on that field, in front of a sell-out crowd.”
Kenny joined in the laughter, but Nick caught his faint grimace.
It had been a challenging week for him, and a few of Nick’s teammates had given him a hard time, but he’d toughed it out.
“See you all on Saturday!”
NICK ARRIVED AT the stadium over an hour before the other players. Anna had offered to come with him, but she also understood when he told her that he needed to do this for himself.
As he walked along those empty corridors, his footsteps echoed, surrounded with all the incredible memories—the crowds, the cheers, the electric atmosphere, the emotions, the sense of pride and achievement, winning the World Cup twice, the pinnacle of his career. And now, it was the last time that he’d play here. It didn’t seem real.
The locker room smelled of pine-scented disinfectant. The team’s shirts were already hanging in place. Nick walked around the room, touching them with a sense of awe, a tug of sadness. After today, he was on the outside. If he ever came back to visit, he’d be the one watching all the action, but no longer part of it. He was benched for the rest of his life.
When he reached the iconic number 17 shirt, his shirt, he sat down with heavy thoughts, memories filling his mind.
He forced himself to think about today’s game. He was genuinely excited to play.
In theory, the game would be more relaxed than competition games, but he knew that as soon as the first bone-crushing tackle went in, as athletes, every one of them would want to win.
He picked up his kitbag and pulled out his lucky Speedos. They looked a bit threadbare these days because he’d worn them in every game since Anna had given them to him. He’d be wearing them today.
As he unfolded the Speedos, a note fluttered to the floor. He picked it up, brushing the crumpled paper flat, then reading the looping, handwritten words.
My darling Nick,
Enjoy today, my love. You deserve this. You’ve worked so hard to get here, on and off the field. Be yourself. Be amazing.
I love you,
A x
PS Don’t get injured!
He smiled at the postscript. No, he definitely wasn’t going to get injured today.
It was a small moment of peace, a few seconds of calm in what would be a crazy day.
The locker room began to fill up, first with the physios and then all the other players.
Over the next few hours before the game, Nick hardly had a moment to think. He had Press interviews, friends and former teammates to say hello to and reminisce for a few minutes, the joys and sorrows of shared experiences, a shared life.
The England manager Eddie Jones was there, along with Nick’s friend from the Phoenixes, Jason Oduba, who should have been playing but had picked up a groin strain. Young Ben Richards was there, shy and quiet, a new signing for the Phoenixes. It seemed right to Nick to have a rookie playing—a way of passing the torch, perhaps.
He also had a meet and greet with the Chief Executive of West Bowing RFU, the amateur club he’d played in as a kid. He was donating £100,000 of the gate money to them.
The man pumped his hand vigorously, emotion shining in his kind old eyes.
“Thank you so much! This means a lot to us, that you’ve remembered us. All the youngsters we’ll be able to help with this money—you don’t know what it means!”
Nick nodded, embarrassed, because he did know what £100,000 meant to a small amateur club.
He was happy to donate the money but truthfully it was no skin off his nose. It was either donate it or let the taxman take it.
A player was allowed to keep a certain sum from the ticket sales at his retirement testimonial game, but above that, it was taxable. Nick preferred that the money went to his old club. But the rest of the gate money was his—and it had to last the rest of his life.
It seemed like half the world wanted to shake his hand that day: old teammates, a few celebrities, friends, rivals, and of course, Kenny.
The guy was still a dickhead, but Nick had forgiven him, and that felt good.
He smirked at Nick, then sauntered over to shake hands, grinning as he took out his two front teeth, the result of an injury from a long-ago game.
“Give my regards to Anna.”
Nick raised an eyebrow as he shook Kenny’s hand.
“You can give them yourself later, but I can’t guarantee she won’t punch you in the face. Mate.”
Kenny laughed and went to get changed.
The noise level in the locker room gradually escalated as the excitement and anticipation built. When no one was looking, Nick popped a tramadol into his mouth and swallowed it down with water, massaging his aching shoulder. So many injuries, so many surgeries—he should be glad this was over.
Finally, the coach told everyone to be quiet.
“Well, lads, you all know why you’re here. I’ll hand you over to your Captain for the last time, Nick Renshaw.”
A ribald cheer went up, and Nick grinned at the sea of faces, eyeing him expectantly.
“Thanks for playing today, lads. I really appreciate your support. I know you’re not getting paid for this, but I am.”
Everyone laughed.
“I know it’s a friendly, but let’s be honest, there’s no such thing as a friendly rugby game.” There were nods and smiles all around. Nick gave an evil grin. “And the first person to smash Kenny gets a thousand pounds.”
The look on Kenny’s face was priceless—well, worth a grand, at least.
“All joking aside, enjoy the game and let’s put on a real show for the fans. Rah! By the way, nobody is allowed to tackle me!”
With a final laugh and slaps on the back, they left the locker room.
Nick walked out onto the field, hand in hand with two ten year-old mascots, kids from his old amateur club. The look of awe on their young faces was another reminder of everything he was saying goodbye to.
The noise on the field was louder than a train rushing towards him, louder than a tsunami thundering down. From the darkness of the tunnel, he watched the cheerleaders dancing to and smiled. God, I’ll miss this.
Then as the teams strode onto the field, the music changed to Bowie’s , the Phoenixes’ theme tune, Nick’s team for the last four years. A massive roar from the crowd, a wall of noise, drowned out the music, and they started to chant—82,000 fans on their feet: “Ren-shaw! Ren-shaw! Ren-shaw!”
Emotion hit Nick in the centre of his chest.
They’re here for me…
It didn’t seem real. He waved to the crowd, and the roar became deafening.
It was overwhelming, completely staggering. Nick had played for sell-out games, for national games, for World Cups, but he’d never experienced this, and I never will again. The mix of emotions was hard to explain, even harder to deal with.
It was intense, his heart racing, and the pride of that moment would stay with him his whole life.
He glanced toward where Anna was sitting with his family, catching a glimpse of her waving crazily, jumping up and down, her mouth opening and closing as she sang along with the crowd.
Unable to take it in, his emotions overloaded, Nick jogged into position, anticipation racing through his blood. The referee blew the whistle, and he did what he was born to do.
TWO HOURS LATER, Nick was dripping with sweat, his lungs heaving, staring up at the fans who were on their feet, clapping and cheering, all chanting his name one final time: Ren-shaw! Ren-shaw! Ren-shaw!
The compere waved him to the side and held the microphone between them, his voice echoing around the massive stadium.
“Great game today, Nick! What a way to finish! I bet you couldn’t have written it any better, selling out Twickenham! How does it feel to finish your career here?”
Nick closed his eyes briefly, his emotions intense, confused, in turmoil. He forced himself to focus, to do what was expected of him.
“Thank you, Jim. Thanks for your kind words.” He forced a smile. “First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who turned out today, the fans, the coaches, the players—it’s been good to see some old faces out here, and some new ones. A massive thank you to all my Board, all the organisers who’ve made this happen. I’m not quite sure how I feel: this place, this ground. Coming here as a young boy, then coming here as an adult and winning two World Cups…”
The crowd erupted, and Nick had to wait until the cheers died down so he could continue.
“It’s hard to believe I won’t be back. I’ve had an amazing career and been very fortunate. It takes more than one person to win a game and I’ve had a great team supporting me, and not just the other players. I’d like to thank my manager, my family, my coach, Eddie Jones—there are too many to mention, but you know who you are. Thank you! Nick Renshaw signing off—peace out, Twickenham!”
Nick waved at the fans and the crowd shouted his name again, for the final time.
As Nick left the field, the other players were standing in front of the tunnel, clapping and thumping him on the back as he walked between them. The ones who’d been through this already knew how he felt; the younger players just enjoyed the post-game euphoria.
Nick wished he could have just five minutes of silence to get his head together, but that wouldn’t happen.
He glanced up at the family and friends box and saw Anna with his sister and parents, all waving wildly. Even from this distance, he could see that Anna was crying as she blew him kisses.
He waved back tiredly, took one last look at the stadium that had been his second home, then headed for the locker rooms.
Time for a series of hot showers and ice baths, one after the other, to speed up the healing process of microtrauma in his muscles.
He didn’t need a physio today since he hadn’t been injured, thank God. Anna wouldn’t have been impressed if he’d limped off the field.
Instead of changing into casual clothes, he wore a suit, white shirt and dark tie. His unwashed number 17 shirt was stuffed into his kitbag. He’d decide what to do with it later. Some players kept their kit; some auctioned it off for charity.
Then, with the rest of his teammates, he headed to the bar, but was stopped fifty times along the way by people who wanted to shake his hand or pat him on the back. His was smiling when he entered the bar.
The first person he saw was his ex-fiancée. A woman he despised.
“What the fuck?”
Molly McKinney smiled at him, her icy blue eyes as cold as her personality.
The name brought many memories with it, most of them bad. Nick’s scheming, cheating ex-fiancée had effectively ended Anna’s career as a sports psychologist by selling information about Anna’s illicit relationship with Nick to the Press.
When Anna had worked for the Finchley Phoenixes at the same time as Nick, the club had no-fraternization clauses in their contracts. She was fired as soon as the relationship became public.
Anna had also spent a night in a police cell because of Molly’s lies—an accusation of perjury in court. It was later proved false, but by then the damage had been done.
Molly strutted toward him, her breasts even bigger than last time he saw them, almost falling out of the electric blue dress she wore.
“Hey, Nicky! Great game! You was awesome!”
She swooped in to kiss him, but Nick stepped back, stunned, his lip curling with distaste. She was the last person he’d expected to see.
“Are you here for Kenny?” he asked.
It wasn’t an unreasonable question, but Molly’s face turned red and her eyes narrowed.
“Are you having a laugh? That loser! I came for you, Nicky. Old times sake and all that … we was good together.”
Luckily, the cavalry in the shape of Anna and Brendan arrived before Molly could annoy Nick even further.
“Love what you’ve done with your new tits,” snarked Brendan. “Don’t let the door hit you on your Kim Kardashian on the way out.”
“What’s she doing here?” Anna whispered.
Nick shook his head, bewildered.
“I have no idea,” Nick said truthfully.
“I’d be happy to have her scrawny arse chucked out,” Brendan offered eagerly.
For a second, Nick was tempted, but then he shook his head.
“Nah, she’d probably love making a scene. Just ignore her—she knows she’s not welcome.”
He glanced over to see Molly being tugged into a corner by Kenny, who seemed even less pleased to see her, if that was possible. They started a heated conversation as she yanked her arm free and poked him in the chest.
“Rather him than me,” he muttered.
Someone thrust a glass of champagne into his hand and Nick forgot about Molly. The drinks kept arriving at his table, and the couple of glasses of wine that he’d planned to have were long in the past as people kept buying him more drinks: shots, beers, more wine, another bottle of champagne.
He thanked everyone who bought him a drink, but passed them all to the other players and they disappeared fast enough.
He barely tasted the delicious three-course meal, and later he couldn’t remember anything that was said to him.
But then the toasts started, and with all eyes on him, Nick drank first one glass, then another and another, long since passing his two-drink limit, until they all began to blur. He should stop, he knew he should, but he no longer cared.
It had been a long time since he’d drunk this much, and Anna watched him with worried eyes. She couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to buy Nick a drink to celebrate with him, and there were very few people who knew that he’d had a serious drinking problem earlier in his career.
She didn’t say anything, but she may, however, have kicked him in the shins. Nick just grinned, his smile loose and his eyes glazed.
The compere rounded up the speeches, thanking everyone, then ran through the highlights of Nick’s career and presented him with car keys for a brand new Range Rover Sport, a gift from his sponsors.
In return, Nick said a few words and was able to hand over a cheque for £100k to his old amateur club.
“Adios, amigos!” he slurred. “Goodbye career. Hello retirement.”
Anna took charge of the keys to the new car, then slid her arm around his waist.
“Well done, babe. I’m proud of you. Now put that drink down and get your sexy ass in the taxi. Oh boy, you’ll be in a world of hurt tomorrow.”
Her words rang with truth.