MARCUS
Amazing how the days fly by when you have a purpose, and boy have I found my purpose. It turns out the building company attempting to acquire the old club, Krawley Construction, have a track record for cutting corners. With minimal digging, I uncovered that they use the cheapest materials and illegally employ foreign immigrants for half the minimum wage in cash. Dirty scumbags. There’s no way I’m going to let them bulldoze the club.
Callum, Nathan, Ollie, James, Eddie and I have already submitted a formal objection letter to the city council regarding the proposed construction site, and our own architect is currently drawing up plans for a new clubhouse and rugby training academy. We put in a generous offer on the place, which is being seriously considered. It’s amazing what the interest of a few famous faces can muster, a privilege that I’m not averse to taking advantage of.
Mam put the feelers out with some old committee contacts, rounding up as much support as the community can muster. She’s looking into every charitable grant available from the government, for as much as we want to fund this, and we will fund it as far as possible, if we want it to survive longer than our lifetime we have make sure the right structure and support is in place. That it eventually becomes registered and recognised as a charity.
The club, its pitches and the new facilities we’re planning will be able to be accessed by more than underprivileged children with an interest in rugby. If we get this right, it will ensure children from all walks of life will benefit. It’s something that means a lot to me and starting this project, even against Shelly’s wishes, feels like the right thing to do.
Between dropping the girls at their various activities, and meetings with solicitors and architects, I’ve barely had time to dwell on the ever-growing distance between us and the troubles within our marriage.
Quite frankly, it’s a relief not to dwell. I’ve never been particularly deep, tending not to over analyse anything other than my next move, on and off the pitch. Seeing as I have no idea about Shelly’s game, her commitment to the show, and subsequently Ben Battle, I’m better off not over analysing it.
I could have taken the olive branch she offered on Saturday. Both my heart and my dick begged me to. But my head warned me, there’s no point in trying to get over our problems until they’re firmly behind us. Right now, it’s simply a case of weathering the storm. We can assess the damage and see about repairing it once its passed. You wouldn’t walk out in a hurricane until it’s safe to do so, and this is a bit like that.
With my head down, I’m in full-on survival mode. It’s safer to keep a little distance between us at the moment. If I have no expectations, then I can’t be disappointed. Hopefully in years to come we’ll look back on this awkward period in our life and laugh at the blip in our marriage, but right this moment, there’s nothing funny about any of it.
A little voice niggles inside, questioning me. Am I pushing her away for self-preservation? Or as a punishment? She’s always needed a tactile relationship to feel reassured. Am I really only trying to protect myself, or deep down am I trying to hurt her, because it hurts me to watch her coupling up with my biggest rival? My thoughts are sinking to a place that makes me uncomfortable. I turn on the radio to drown them out.
Driving through town, the afternoon traffic is almost at a standstill. It’s always worse on Friday, but the weather isn’t helping the situation. An orange weather warning’s in place for the entire country, justified by the relentless rain hammering onto the windscreen quicker than the wipers can flick it away.
I’m due to meet the boys at the club grounds, not that we’ll get to see much in this weather but Callum wanted to go over a few alternative options the architect suggested. Nadine is collecting the girls again, she’s an absolute godsend. She would make a wonderful mother herself, it’s a crying shame that she and James can’t get pregnant.
I’m forty minutes late by the time I reach my destination and the rain has lightened temporarily into a fine damp drizzle. Pulling up to the kerb a few metres from the club, my eyes roll skywards. An Audi, a Range Rover, a BMW X5, and a Tesla are all abandoned at the side of the road. Our interest in the place isn’t exactly discreet, though in this neighbourhood we could easily be mistaken for a ring of drug dealers or something. That would have been more like Ben Battle’s scene, back in the day. Off season, he had a penchant for a particular powder. Why am I thinking about that fucking douche again?
Callum salutes me with a smirk. ‘Nice of you to make it.’
‘Yeah, sorry. I had to do my hair, didn’t I?’ I run my hand over my hairless head and grin. ‘What did I miss?’
‘We were thinking of keeping the old clubhouse structure as like a hall with a bar area, and adding changing rooms and shower facilities to the left side. How would you feel about the training academy being separate? Like a brand-new modern facility with a state-of-the-art gym and maybe even a classroom,’ James says, shaking raindrops from his floppy, sand-coloured hair.
‘Why do we need a classroom?’ I’m confused.
‘So the students can watch footage of old games, break down what went right, what went wrong.’
‘Ah.’ It makes sense. ‘How much is it going to add to the original price of the build?’
Nathan tuts. ‘Realistically, probably another three hundred grand.’
A low whistle slips from the midline gap between my top teeth. ‘Do you think we’re fucking mental or what, lads? We’ve gone from trying to save and restore a community facility, to transforming it into a full-blown rugby academy in less than a matter of days. If we’re left much longer, next thing we’ll be putting in a fifty-metre swimming pool and an asphalt running track. Do you think we’ll get the numbers? Are there enough kids in the area to warrant this?’
‘They will come from all over when they hear you’re the one running the place!’ Callum says with a grin.
‘Me?’ It’s almost a shout. It was my idea to save the clubhouse, and I had hoped to find a role there afterwards, but now everyone’s involved, I didn’t for a second dare believe they’d trust me to run the entire thing.
Callum takes a step towards me as thunder booms from the blackening sky above. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, mate, but you were the one complaining retirement was slow. That you felt like a spare part. It’s exactly what you need. This is your baby. We are just here to support you. You’ll personally oversee the rugby coaching. There’s no better man.’
James steps closer to be heard over the blustery weather conditions. ‘I agree. You’re great with kids. And I have another full season left on the pitch at least, Callum’s busy getting his teeth whitened for a living these days. Eddie’s minding babies, Ollie’s busy trying to make one with Eddie’s sister.’ The last remark earns James a punch on the arm from Eddie, but it’s not enough to silence him. ‘Nathan here,’ he gestures to the baby of our group, the man who filled my shoes as team captain, ‘is too busy bossing us around these days. And when he’s not bossing, he’s busy being the face of Hugo Boss. Plus he has a wedding to plan.’ James gives Nathan a dig in the ribs.
‘Lads, we could stand here all day talking shite, but can we at least find a pub to do it in? It’s alright for you, but I’m actually worse than a drowning dog.’ Eddie shakes his hair again.
‘I know just the spot.’ I have to practically shout over the increasing downpour. The lads run back to their cars but before they can open the doors, I let out a piercing wolf whistle and nod towards the end of the street, picking up my pace from a gentle jog to almost a sprint.
My long-sleeved t-shirt is soaked through to my skin by the time I push open the pub door. The same three men occupy the same three stools as last Friday, other than that the place is empty. Apart from my new favourite smiley barmaid, of course.
‘Quite the regular now, aren’t you?’ Maddy leans her elbow on the scratched and scruffy bar, her chin balancing on her closed fist. Her eyes lighten and sparkle as my friends bound in seconds behind me, stripping soaking wet layers off on the way in.
‘I see you brought some friends.’ She bites her lower lip, almost shyly. ‘You know you guys could pass for a freaking football team or something! Is this how they make men in Ireland? If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.’ She laughs as her eyes roam across the chests and shoulders of the lads, openly marvelling.
