‘Good day for it,’ said Bec, kissing Tash on the cheek before turning back to watch Clip take his turn in the drill line-up. She grimaced as he marked then spun towards goal and sent the ball soaring through for a behind. The Saints were playing last year’s premiers and the current season’s ladder leaders. To win they’d need every goal they could get, and some.
‘Perfect,’ said Tash, her focus on Patrick. She tried to keep her expression neutral as his kick slotted straight through the goal posts, but her mouth twitched involuntarily. God, he was good.
For a winter afternoon it was glorious, with an iridescent blue sky, a faint breeze and warming sunshine. A change was forecast although no rain was scheduled to reach Emu Springs until sometime overnight, which made the day not only ideal for football but also for Tash’s evening plans.
She crouched to fix the shoelace of her sturdy hiking boots, her loose hair swinging around her face. Standing upright, Tash gathered her hair in a fist before letting it flop down her back. Her hair hadn’t been this long since school and it was annoying her no end. She should have tied it back, but Patrick had once made a throwaway comment about liking long hair so she’d kept it down.
‘I see you still haven’t braved one of our local salons yet.’ Bec gave her a teasing nudge. ‘Chicken.’
‘Yes, I am.’ Tash grinned. ‘I’m not going to, either. That way no one can complain.’
Bec scanned Tash’s hair. ‘It is pretty long though.’
‘I’ll be in Melbourne for a couple of days next week. I’ll organise a cut with my old hairdresser then.’
Bec winced as Clip fumbled the ball Patrick kicked to him. ‘Come on, Clip. Get on your game. Why the trip to Melbourne?’
‘Meetings with some promotions people mostly, but also a chance to catch up with friends, trawl a couple of markets, stock up on a few things. Ceci’s away at a cosmetics conference so I’m stopping with Thom.’
‘Thom? Patrick won’t like that.’
‘We’re friends,’ said Tash, meaning Thom, except Bec took it to mean Patrick.
‘Maybe for you.’ She nodded towards Patrick, who was huddled with the team, heads bent around the coach. ‘Not for him.’
Tash wished she could believe that but she was still confused by Patrick’s question on Thursday night. If he’d asked her to wait for him she would have understood. Instead, he’d asked her to wait with him. She’d answered yes, she’d wait, but what she was saying yes to, or was waiting for exactly, Tash wasn’t sure.
The siren sounded, calling the players to their positions. Clip bounded towards the umpires to join the opposition captain for the coin toss. At least today there wasn’t any breeze favouring one end of the ground over the other, but neither team wanted to play the final quarter kicking into the sun.
To the crowd’s delight, Clip won the toss, pointed to the favoured end and jogged off, clapping his hands and revving up his players.
‘Let’s hope that’s a sign from the football gods,’ said Bec, drifting with Tash towards the clubhouse.
As usual the air was redolent with the scent of grilling onions. Tash’s stomach immediately clenched. ‘Sausage sanga?’
Bec made a sour face. ‘Wedding diet, remember?’
‘Sorry.’ Tash slid her a sly sideways look. ‘One won’t hurt.’
‘You are a very bad influence, you know that?’
‘Deprivation is boring. Besides, you’ll wear it off cheering.’
The first quarter was tight, tough and low scoring. The Bulldogs led, but only by a few points. Patrick took a hard hit halfway through that had Tash gasping, but after a few slow minutes he recovered form and was back to his skilful self. Clip was fired up and playing well, although to Bec’s dismay, had missed an easy shot at goal. By half-time the Bulldogs were starting to pull away. Clip led his panting team off as Tash, Bec and the other supporters clapped and cheered.
As soon as they’d disappeared inside, Tash dashed to her car. To make it easier to come and go she’d parked outside the grounds, and was puffing by the time she opened the door. It would be a close-run thing, but Tash hoped she had just enough time to rush home, light the wood oven and have it steady enough to abandon while she zipped back for the final quarter. Bec had been gobsmacked she could even think of leaving during the most crucial part of the game. Games were won and lost on third-quarter performances, but Tash had explained she was preparing a special dinner and had no choice.
She made it two minutes after the siren sounded to open the fourth quarter. The score had tightened, with the Saints having leashed the rampant Bulldogs and reduced their lead to only fifteen points. Tash heard Bec before spotting her. Play was close to the boundary with Clip in the thick of it. Tash stopped to watch, heart leaping as Clip managed to knock the ball from where he’d fallen towards Patrick, who scooped it up with one sure hand and tore towards the Saints’ forward half.
‘Go, go, go!’ she yelled, bouncing on her toes, then gasped as she spotted a Bulldogs player charging in from the side. Her cry of ‘Watch out!’ would never carry, but she screamed it anyway.
Patrick must have sensed the attack. Abruptly, he tacked left, then steadied to get onto his right leg and kicked. The Bulldogs player kept charging, hammering Patrick with a late tackle and a roar from the crowd demanding a free. It didn’t matter. The Saints’ gangly ruckman had sprinted forward to the goal square and, although not renowned for his marking ability, his height advantage allowed him to pluck the ball out of the air above the opposition. Patrick was still trying to stagger upright when the ball sailed through for a goal.
‘God, that was exciting,’ said Bec when Tash caught up with her on the fence in front of the clubhouse. With only nine points needed to level the scores and plenty of time on the clock, the Saints supporters were electric with the hope of victory.
Tash was squinting at the field. ‘Is Patrick all right?’
He was crouched on one knee, clearly trying to regain his breath. Clip jogged past and patted his back. Patrick lifted his hand to signal he was okay, paused for a few more breaths, then straightened and jog-trotted towards the player he was marking.
‘Looks like it.’
Tash chewed her lip. ‘That was a horrible hit.’
‘Don’t worry, he’s tough.’ Bec cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Come on, Saints!’
‘He could have broken something.’
Bec raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Just friends, huh?’
‘I’d worry for Clip too.’
‘Sure you would.’
The umpire bounced the ball in the centre of the ground. As the game ebbed and flowed, Tash was torn between the utter thrill of the speed and violence of it, and the gut-terrifying fear Patrick would be hurt. Like Clip, he seemed to be everywhere the ball was.
Bec squealed as Clip took a magnificent intercept as the Bulldogs attempted to free the ball from the Saints’ forward line, and tore straight at goal. His kick was straight. Bec went nuts, punching her arm in the air and whooping like a crazy woman.
The Saints were now only three points behind. Another goal would put them in the lead.
‘I can’t watch,’ said Tash, holding her fingers over her eyes.
‘Yes, you can. It’s your duty as girlfriend.’
‘Not girlfriend.’
‘So you keep saying.’
Tash poked her tongue out but Bec wasn’t watching. Play had resumed.
With three minutes left on the clock the Bulldogs had scored another two points—one from a kick for goal that was touched on the line and another that a Saints player rushed through, giving the Saints’ fullback possession of the ball and the kick-in. To the relief of the crowd and his teammates, he made the smart choice, kicking long towards the wing and out of immediate danger. To win, the Saints needed a goal, and fast.
More scrambling followed as the Saints forged their attack. Players across both teams were exhausted. Skill errors were frequent, but desperation and the rabid encouragement of the crowd kept the tackles fierce. With just over a minute to go, Tash’s hands were over her mouth, her body tense as she watched the play. Bec was rocking on her toes and making strangled noises. Play was in the Saints’ half, but only just. With the ball locked between players, the umpire signalled for a ball-up.
Patrick and Clip were waiting in an arc either side of the ruckmen. The ball flew skyward, the ruckmen charged in. A cheer erupted as the Saints’ ruckman batted it towards Patrick, who took possession and immediately sprinted forward. Weaving around his opposition, Clip pelted towards goal, one arm out in an order for Patrick to have a go, but Patrick was being attacked on three sides as the Bulldogs forwards raced to help their defensive teammates. He had enough time to get a wobbly kick away before being rammed into the ground.
‘Come on, baby. Come on!’ screamed Bec as Clip about-faced and, planting a knee smack in the centre of the back of the Bulldogs player in front of him, leaped to take one of his trademark ‘speccy’ marks. For a heartbeat, his fingers closed around the ball, then it slipped through his grasp and tumbled groundward where it was fumbled around by Bulldogs and Saints players alike.
Closer and closer it went to the goal line, only for a Bulldogs player to take a desperate kick at it and send it tumbling along the ground towards the boundary line. It would have been a good move, had Patrick not recovered from his knock and run forward to cover the gap. He dived and with a clenched fist punched the ball back towards the goal square. Attempting a rushed behind, a Bulldogs player tapped it towards goal.
‘No!’ yelled Tash and Bec in unison.
But Clip had anticipated the move, and with a desperate swing, he kicked the bouncing ball out of the air towards goal.
For a second, there was silence, then the goal umpire gave the signal and the ground exploded with cheers. The Saints had won by a point.
Bec and Tash hugged, bouncing in a circle and squealing in delight. Letting go, Tash released a piercing wolf-whistle and pumped her fist into the air, her chest ballooned with pride for Patrick. Without his save and Clip’s kick, they would have lost.
It took ages for the victorious Saints players to walk off the field. As the game-winner and captain, Clip was hoisted on a couple of sturdy teammates’ shoulders and ‘chaired’ off to the whoops and cheers of the crowd and a crowing Bec’s delight.
Although she needed to get home to check her fire and put dinner on, Tash lingered. She wanted Patrick to know she’d seen his bravery and show her pride. He brought up the rear, grinning but weary as he searched faces. Finding Tash’s, his gaze softened, causing her heart to do a slow flip-flop.
‘I’m so proud,’ she whispered, briefly hugging him.
‘Thanks.’ Patrick glanced ahead at his adrenaline-loaded teammates. ‘I think I might be late.’
‘Take your time. Dinner will keep.’
With a nod he clacked towards the change rooms.
Tash hugged herself and turned to Bec to say goodbye and found her friend barely hiding her laughter.
‘Special dinner, huh?’
‘Mmm,’ said Tash, reddening.
‘I bet you can’t wait for dessert.’
‘Bugger off.’
Bec was still laughing when she sauntered in through the clubroom doors.
Tash’s face stayed flushed the entire way home, fuelled by thoughts of how the night might end. She’d made simple pots of honey-flavoured panna cotta for dessert and all she could think of was feeding spoonfuls into Patrick’s lush mouth then kissing the sweetness off his lips.
It was just as well he’d be late, not least because it would give her a chance to calm down. Tash arrived home to find the fire had failed to burn to her satisfaction and would take extra wood and management to heat the dome to the temperature she needed. She spent half an hour stoking and tending it, watching the coals develop and glow until there was nothing left to do but leave the fire to burn. She killed time with a visit to Khan, feeding the blissful horse several carrots, and watching the sun play over Baron’s Swamp and the encroaching cloud cover.
The cast of light and shade and colour was so magical Tash wished sunset could last for an hour. More so, she wished Patrick was here with her, his front warming her back as he folded strong arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek against hers. She could picture them in her mind’s eye, sunbeams playing over their smiles, thoughts alive with promise for what the night might bring.
Dessert in bed. Or maybe they could skip dessert altogether. Main course, too.
‘I’m a dill, aren’t I, Khan-banan?’ she said to the horse, stroking his nose. She and Patrick had done nothing more than hug and here she was anticipating sex. Tash thought he wanted her, but thoughts weren’t truths, and even if he did there was the question of her own feelings.
Pa had called it love. Tash wanted to think of it as lust with a few heartstring tugs, but deep inside she knew she was kidding herself. In which case, what was she meant to do about it? Give in, knowing that when The Urban Ranger had run its country course she might have to walk away?
Anxiety twisted her heart at the thought. She wanted both: career and love. The dream.
But if there was one thing she’d learned, along Castlereagh Road dreams had a way of being stolen.