"I can't believe it's tomorrow." Little guy jumped up and down, which in turn made Jasper jump like a loony and bark his head off.
"It's come around quick," I replied, passing him a piece of toast spread with chocolate. Too fast I thought to myself. We weren't ready. I knew there was still an element of relaxation flooding through the player's area. Our friendly matches in the run-up to the start of the season had only helped enthuse the general feeling of ease spreading around the team. So far we had been pitched against new teams created in the last year since the BPL had rocketed into the stratosphere. New teams lacking the top-drawer players the Red Cat side presented. That wasn’t going to last and there’d been rumours of major signings from abroad coming over for the season. The British Premier League was about to become as British as the Football Association.
"Did you ask Cole if he wanted to come to the game?" I took a bite out of my toast topped with banana.
Sammy nodded and sprayed crumbs everywhere as he said, "He's excited. He wants to know if we can collect autographs afterwards."
I winced. I was sure they could if we won. If not, the language that would be flying around that players area wasn't the sort I'd want assaulting my young nephew's ears. "Sure, let's keep our fingers crossed we win."
The little guy did the cutest fist pump I've ever seen. His face screwed up. "Sure we will because you've been training them."
Ah, bless his naivety.
The truth was I didn't know if we'd picked the right team. Waller and I had spent days considering our notes. Something still didn't feel right to me, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.
Since my apology, the Lancashire Lion had deigned to be in the same room as me. However, he refused to acknowledge my existence, or that I was breathing the same air. Some days I wondered if he even knew I had a pulse.
Maria walked in, and popped her bag on the kitchen counter. She was on the dot for her start time, although I knew the sneaky woman had been in the spare room folding a mountain of washing before her hours had officially begun. "Morning," we all chorused at the same time. I leant over and kissed the little guy on the top of his head. "I've gotta dash. I might be home late tonight, kay?"
He nodded, eyes wide. "I'll be up. I'm too excited to sleep."
"Shh. You've gotta sleep, otherwise, how will you be able to cheer us on tomorrow? What if you fall asleep during the game because you didn’t sleep well?"
He thought hard on this while I gave Maria her last few instructions, his face scrunched up in concentration. It was all levels of cute. "I know," he exclaimed, as I grabbed my keys and took a deep breath, hoping it would fill me with the force I needed to get through this last day.
"What's that?" I glanced in his direction.
"I'll drink coffee like you do when you're tired."
Maria burst out laughing. "No, no, no my boy. You will never be allowed to have caffeine, not until you're at least forty." She helped him down from the stool. "Come on, let’s gets ready for school."
As I walked out of the front door, I could hear him asking what caffeine was. I grinned the whole way to work. That boy could make me smile for hours.
Work.
I never used to think of cricket as work, but the Red Cats had somehow transformed my lifelong passion into a spectrum of uncertainty with which I didn't know how to deal. It wasn't even the Red Cats. It was him. I knew that. I was hoping he'd quit before I seriously had to consider my future, because in truth the situation was intolerable, and I'd already been through this once in the last year. This position with the Red Cats was supposed to be my second chance to keep the life I loved.
I was getting out of the car when the phone rang. "Mum?" I answered straight away, getting that familiar prickle along my skin when I saw my parents name flash on screen, ringing at an 'out of time' hour, which this was.
"Yes?"
"Mum, what are you calling for, is Dad okay?"
Mum never rang in the morning. Hardly ever. Only when there was bad news.
"He's fine. We are at the airport."
My hand was on the door to the headquarters, but I froze. "What airport? Where are you going?"
"We are coming to see you. It's your big game tomorrow, isn't it? Your dad wants to watch."
I was mortified to find tears prickling along my lashes. I blinked them away furiously before a member of the press could spot them and splash them on a back page announcing that 'The Sexist Pig beats Alyssa Rivers’. Because that's what they would write, there was little doubt. They were gagging for the story to break. I could sense it bubbling under the surface like a burning inferno stoked by newspaper print.
"You don't have to. I'm not even playing you know."
"Has your dad ever missed a first season game?"
"No."
"Well then."
"Okay." A substantial ache dragged on my stomach, pulling it down to my feet. I had an appalling feeling about this.
After hanging up, I went to my room only to find it full of six semi-naked girls. "Hi," I announced with a cheery wave and smile that was sixty-five per cent fake and thirty-five per cent honest relief at seeing some other girls in the vicinity.
"Hi," the cheerleaders called back, their voices chiming in time. They were wearing the same outfit as mine, the only difference being that under my practice kit I'd layered up with some cycle shorts so my arse didn't hang out. Not that there was anything wrong with my arse. I just didn't need the world seeing it.
"Ready for tomorrow?" I asked.
Gemma, their captain, stepped forward. I'd met them a few days before, and if I was honest, I'd been naive as to how the cheerleading sport worked. And sport it was. I'd had no idea that these girls were a dance troupe hired for supporting the Red Cats and paid handsomely for it. My respect for them had only increased since I could see what they did. It wasn't all short skirts and perky tits; it was back breaking bends and flying splits that would cause me a trip to the hospital at the least, at the most an early death. "I think so, how about you?" Gemma replied, twisting her hair into a bun that she stabbed at blindly with bobby pins.
"Meh." There were no other words.
She sat on the bench and lifted one tanned, endlessly long leg to do up her trainer. "Has Bailey asked you out again?"
"No," I found myself giggling even though I knew I shouldn't. "I don't think Bailey will ask again, and anyway I’m not interested." I flashed her a grin. "That's the odds stacked against us before we've consumed one drink."
Gemma shook her dark hair, a long ponytail whipped around her neck. "Reckon he might be interested in me then?"
I looked her up and down. "Assuming he's not blind, then yes."
"Nah, get away with yer."
I glanced at the clock and grimaced. "Bugger, I've got to go."
"Go on Lyssa, don't take any shit, especially from that twat." It had taken the cheerleaders approximately two hours after their arrival to work out that Jase Willis was a prat. And that's one of the reasons I liked them so much.
"Sure thing? See ya later."
She waved me away, as did some of the other girls. I never thought I would be so pleased to see cheerleaders in my life, but hell it was good to have some other women around.
I walked down the corridor and paused outside the guy's room. There was a murmur of voices, and I knew I should make my presence known but I held my fist about an inch from the wood and hesitated as my breath caught in my throat. It was Bailey talking. I'd recognise his voice from a clear hallway. He had a brash northern accent which could take a while to get used to. "You need to let this up. She's doing a good job."
The returning words were a muttered growl. "And you need to stop thinking with your dick. You know you can't fuck her right? She's staff, your boss."
There was a scuffle, and I recognised Anderson and another of the guys raising their voices.
I clasped a hand over my mouth. Shit, the Lancashire Lion was talking about me. Did he think I'd consider doing that? My body tensed, my pulse thudding in my ears. How dare he.
Bailey spoke again, voice harsh. "You're no captain. You're a joke. You should have stayed retired mate, better for everyone." There was a pause before he continued. "I don't want to do anything with her. I'm just trying to make up for you being an obnoxious prick."
Hey, they were my words. I'd been planning on being the first one to call Jase Willis an obnoxious prick for the past fifteen days. There were other words I wanted to use, but I was saving them up until he tipped me over the edge of no return—which would be quick the way things were going.
I refused to let them talk about me anymore. I marched straight in there, slamming the door against the wall. Bailey's cheeks flamed, but I held the palm of my hand up to him. "It's okay." Turning, I found the Lancashire Lion watching me through hooded lids that lowered to slits. "This ends, now. This atmosphere can't carry on, and I can tell you right now I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere so you need to get your head around that. This team is going to win, and that's all there is to it, with or without your help."
I wanted to say more but a obstructive lump formed in my throat, so I spun and left the room, slamming the door.
Three minutes later the team surrounded me on the grass and we went through our warm-ups as we waited for Waller to come down with his infamous clipboard and announce the team.
I was walking out to my car after another exhausting training session when Bailey jogged along next to me. Somehow his dark hair made the bright pink of the team tracksuit look slightly more manly. "Thanks for putting me in the team."
I grinned. "Hey, you did all the work. I just gave you the golden nod."
He laughed. “The golden nod. Hey, I like it.” His face dropped a fraction. “Listen, Lys." We were by my car, and I opened the door, but he held it still in his firm grip. "I'm sorry about what you heard me saying."
Shaking my head, I placed a hand on his shoulder. It was rock hard. Not that this was the time to be noticing such a thing, but you know. "It's not a problem."
He shrugged and stepped away, heading for his own sports car. As I turned to lower into my seat, I found icy eyes watching me through judgmental slits.
Go to hell. I was sure he was on his way there anyway.
I gave him a cheery wave, my pulse racing, and shut the door, not bothering to watch his reaction.
Walking into the house and finding it full of my parent's belongings and hearing my mum chat with Maria in the kitchen made a warm familiar flood rush through my veins. It was like sinking my feet into a pair of worn slippers; even the noises in the house were comforting. I wanted to cry, but I refused to allow the tears to fall, and I point blank refused to let my family know just how hideous these last few weeks had been. "Hey, Coach," Dad called from the lounge, and I poked my head through the doorway and found him on the sofa with the sports pages across his knees. He lifted his glasses and perched them on top of his head, giving the bridge of his nose a rub. Dad looked so much like my older brother it always took my breath away. The same dark wavy hair, although Dad’s was streaked with silver in a way that Anthony's would never be. They had the same lean, long body shape, tall and powerful and built for bowling fast. Although, Dad’s had got a little thicker around the middle of late.
"Was the sun too much for you?" I laughed and bent down to kiss his cheek. "You do look like a bit of old shoe leather."
"Now, Alyssa, you know I'd never miss the first game of a season." It was true he hadn't.
"But you can't keep flying in from Spain every time there's 'the first' game."
Dad stood, rubbing his knees before clapping an arm around my shoulders. "What else am I supposed to do? I'm retired, there's only so much golf and sangria an old man can cope with before I get sent to my ever after with a pickled liver and skin you could use for a handbag."
I loved that man. He could always make a smile spread from my lips to my heart no matter what sort of day I’d had. My body unwound slowly just standing next to him.
Chuckling, I smacked him lightly on the tummy. "You aren't old."
"Tell my knees." He cringed.
"Blimey, I must be ancient then."
Dad's eyes flickered over me. "Are they still playing up?" I knew he held onto a misplaced hope that one day I would play again, and was confident my knees, which had prevented me driving and walking up and down stairs a few short months ago, would suddenly be strong enough to play again. How have you been coping in team practice? Aren't you struggling to keep up with the players?" A frown furrowed between his eyes and a burn began to seep around the neck of my T-shirt.
"You should see Sammy catch, that's boy’s got safe hands." I deflected the conversation away from my creaking bones as we walked towards the kitchen and found Sammy sat at the breakfast bar like an angel, doing his homework. Behind Dad's back, I stuck my tongue out at him. He's such a bloody suck up for the oldies. He just grasped his pencil tighter and frowned at his page.
"Alyssa, my baby." My mother grabbed me by her hands and yanked me in for a floral scented fuelled hug, which made my nose twitch. Clearly, she'd been at the duty-free again.
I was twenty-five. I didn't know when I was going to stop being Mum's baby. She'd been worse of late, although I couldn't blame her.
She cried as she always did when she hugged me and I stood there and took it. Taking one for the team as Anthony used to call it. "Now, now," she said brushing at her face and giving a dramatic sniff. "Tell me everything. Sammy's been filling us in. Apparently, he's going to meet the Lancashire Lion tomorrow?"
Shit.
"Uh, well, yeah maybe." I didn't quite know how to tell them that the Lancashire Lion hated me and refused to breathe the same air as me on a regular basis.
Sammy's eyes locked onto my face. "Aunty Lyssi, you promised."
"Sure I did little guy." I smiled with more conviction than I felt on the inside.
"Can't wait to meet him myself," Dad piped up and my stomach sank again in that unique way it seemed to associate with the Lancashire Lion and the fact he was a complete prick. "I need to shake that man by the hand for everything he did for English cricket."
I pulled a face and Dad laughed loudly. "Come on, Lyssi. You aren't still annoyed about that comment he made to you all those years ago, surely?"
I stuck my tongue out which made Sammy giggle. "Nope, not at all." And I wasn't. The past was the past. It was more all the many ways he'd made my life difficult in the last few weeks that made me want to clock him a solid one on the jaw—sod the past.
Maria joined us for dinner, and it was a relaxing evening. The house that was normally so empty once the little guy went to bed, was full, and glasses clinked, although my own glass was full of elderflower pressè instead of wine.
When Maria had left for the drive home, I tucked the little guy into bed—my absolute favourite part of the day. I snuggled next to him on the duvet, stretching my legs out alongside his little ones. We stared at the ceiling dotted with glow in the dark stars. "Do you think Mummy and Daddy are up with the real stars?" His little fingers entwined with mine. I tried so hard to keep my emotions around Sammy on an even keel, but exhaustion washed over me, and a tear slipped out of the corner of my eye.
"Is there a constellation in the shape of a cricket bat?"
The little guy nodded. "Yes, there is. I saw it."
I gasped. "You saw it? Wow! Can you show me tomorrow after the game?"
He thought about this for a long moment. "Sure, if I can find it again."
I tightened my arms around him, breathing in the scent of outside that lingered on his hair. "I'm pretty sure if there is a cricket bat in the sky then that's where your mum and dad will be."
Bloody hell, the emotional tidal wave was too much, so I kissed him quickly on the head, and rolled off the bed. "Get some sleep. It'll be a late night tomorrow."
I shouldn't have mentioned the big game because he kicked his legs into the bed and gave a little squeal.
Oh blimey.
"Sleep," I told him as I pulled the door closed behind me. He made some snoring noises, and I started to cry again.
Taking a few moments to myself, I splashed my face with water and pulled my hair into a high ponytail. I stared at my face long and hard. The scar on my right eyebrow where I'd been smacked by a flying cricket ball when I was sixteen had faded to a silvery line, but the hair of my brow refused to grow over the shimmering scar. I could still remember the explosion of the ball against my face and it made my stomach twist. I’d lived in hope that the person who’d put the scar on my face had lived with some element of regret, but I was no longer going to bank on it. Moving on, I turned my attention to the all year round freckles I was sure constituted sun damage despite my excessive use of factor fifty suntan lotion.
Oh well. I frowned at myself. I'd given up my vanity a long time before in the pursuit of my dream career, and I'd won. That was all that mattered.
Mum and Dad were waiting for me expectantly when I made it back to the kitchen. Dad was flipping through my training folder filled with the pages and pages of notes I'd spent the evenings writing, as I recorded what I'd seen during the day.
Dad was straight to the point. "Why hasn't he bowled?" My stomach lurched as I knew whose file he was studying.
I shrugged. Hell, I didn't know. Because he was an idiot, maybe?
"Isn't he going to bowl tomorrow night?" Dad continued ignoring my silent response.
"I guess. Waller wants him to take centre stage."
Dad's face flickered in consternation. "But that's crazy. He hasn't practised."
"Meh," I struggled to find anything positive to say. "He's the superstar. I'm sure he won't let the team down." My lie would have been smoother if I hadn't ended it with a questioning lilt to my words.
Dad's eyes flashed onto me, but Mum intervened by talking about another one of my worst subjects. "Have they said anything?" I didn't have to ask who 'they' were. Her tone told me everything. My brother's wife's parents were a 'they' in our vocabulary. Things had been awkward a year ago. I didn't know if any of us would come back from what we'd said in the heat of the moment and the depth of our grief.
I slid onto the stall and pulled my glass of juice towards me. "Nope."
"Are they still coming to visit every month?" she asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Of course they are, Mother. They are Sammy's grandparents, it's not like they are just going to forget." I shouldn't have snapped, and I regretted it instantly but thinking of the frosty monthly collection and drop off made me cringe inwardly. "Sorry, it's just there is so much pressure on me now. I feel like everyone is watching me.” My mind flicked to those ice-filled eyes, but I batted it away as if I was knocking a red ball across a green using smooth wood. "The last thing I need to worry about is Vanessa's parents and what they are planning on doing next."
Mum shook her head. "The last will was clear and legal. They haven't got any leg to stand on."
My fingers tingled like I was still holding the piece of paper signed by my brother and sister-in-law that made me the guardian of their only son. It had always been joked about in passing, as morbid as that sounds, but I never expected that I would need to step into my guardianship role. No one ever expects that. My eyes flitted to the fridge where the little guy's latest drawing of The Flash was stuck with a magnet shaped in the letter S.
Sammy's grandparents had promised to contest the will. "It's been months, Mum. I don't know, maybe they've forgotten how angry they were." I paused for a moment. "Maybe they are still dealing with their grief like we all are. All I know is I've done everything in my power to give Sammy the life he needs."
Dad sighed and leant forward, placing his hand on mine. His skin was far browner than mine and flecked with age spots. "Shall we move home, Lyssi? You shouldn't have to deal with all of this by yourself."
I shook my head. "No. If you were here and lived in the house than it would give them ammunition to use against me, and I haven't gone through all this for that to happen. Let's leave it and see what happens. He loves them, and they're a connection to Anthony and Vanessa. We need to keep all of those open for his benefit, not ours." A heavy weight seemed to place itself on my shoulders, pushing me down, and I caved under the pressure it inflicted.
"Is he still having the nightmares?" Mum's eyes watched my face carefully.
My shoulders slumped. "The little guy still comes in every night."
There was a pause of silence around the table. I knew we wouldn't be able to switch the conversation onto more light-hearted matters now. The ghosts of Anthony and Vanessa were sitting right there with us at the kitchen table. "I'm going to bed. It's going to be a crazy day tomorrow."
Dad clapped his hands. "Yep, come on. Hopefully, we will be celebrating tomorrow night."
I grimaced. "Hopefully."
But that unsettled sensation in my stomach wasn't so sure.