MARCUS
If the filthy glares of the pretentious mothers at the school are anything to go by, every single woman in the country is gunning for me this morning. My phone is so hot it’s at risk of spontaneously combusting – the primary source being my mother. I can’t talk to her, can’t face her disappointment. After all they’ve done for me, the thought of her and Dad thinking badly of me sickens me almost as much as Shelly believing it.
It’s imperative I prove Maddy and I aren’t romantically involved, so I can assure not only my wife, but the rest of the world too. I’m public enemy number one. If it was only a picture of the two of us, it wouldn’t even be half as bad, but the photo of Zoe changes everything. If I was still part of the team I’d be inundated with PR help. Right now, I’m on my own.
With no sign of Maddy at the school drop-off, I have to question if she’s gone into hiding.
Although, there’s a chance she’s not even aware of the scandal she’s centre stage in. She admitted not having many friends here and she doesn’t favour Irish TV. If by some mad chance she’s not aware of the media shit storm invoked by Ava Armstrong, I should probably warn her she’s likely to be bombarded with a thousand intrusive questions, most of which may be demeaning and derogatory.
Bad enough being labelled a cheating bastard, but my wife has never been more popular and Maddy will be labelled a home-wrecker – regardless of the fact we’re innocent. She could be in serious danger of harm, all because of me. What was I even thinking befriending her? Though when I think about it, she befriended me.
The only positive out of this whole ugly business is that I now have a legitimate reason to ask her to provide a DNA sample for Zoe, to clear me. To clear all of us. It’s gotten so much bigger than an astute observation from my wife. I could be doing with the support of my rugby brothers, but they’re currently operating on a different time zone, snoring peacefully, blissfully unaware of the shit show that is my life.
When I arrive back outside the house, it’s bedlam. At least forty angry women congregate at my front gate, united by their furious faces and cardboard signs declaring Shelly 4 Ben. Fuck my life. Making a swift U-turn, I ring the Guardia to report it. The second I hang up, the phone shrills over the hands-free again. It’s Mam for the hundredth time. I cancel the call, opting to try to ring Maddy again instead.
Hard to believe this time yesterday we hadn’t even considered going to the playground, yet twenty hours later it’s the biggest mistake of my life. No answer. Is she avoiding me? Or is she in some sort of trouble? Perhaps that journalist Ava fucking Armstrong managed to dig up her identity, even an address. For fuck’s sake. This is the only aspect of being a professional athlete that I don’t miss – the media-enhanced drama.
While I’m scrolling through my recent contacts trying to get Maddy’s number up, Mam tries to call again. Then again.
With a heavy sigh, I answer, ‘Mam, I can’t talk right now. Please do not believe a thing you read, hear or see about me. I’ll ring you as soon as I have this ugly mess sorted. I love you.’
‘Marcus, wait!’ Her voice cracks with despair, but I hang up, her anguish is unbearable lumped on top of my own.
She calls again and I immediately cancel the call. Driving through the heavy Dublin traffic is slow, but I’m in no rush. I have nowhere to be. Nowhere to go. Both the women I’m desperate to talk to, for very different reasons, are blatantly avoiding my calls.
I spend an hour aimlessly circling the city, until the traffic thins. Most of the early morning commuters having reached their destination. After a while, I find myself instinctively heading towards the old club. Or the new club, as it will soon be. The press haven’t got wind of our involvement yet, so it should be free from paparazzi. And it’s right by Maddy’s place, so at least I might be able to ascertain if she’s safe from any unwanted media attention.
There’s been no mention of anything on the main radio channels. Mind you, I’m not vain enough to think my ‘innocent scandal’ is big enough to be picked up on by anyone other than the gossip channels. Mam rings again and, even though it pains me, I cancel her call. I’m in no position to comfort her or ease her anguish until I’ve fixed my own.
Twenty minutes later, I park on a side street adjacent to the club. Grabbing a jacket from the boot, I throw it over my shoulders. The sun has not only disappeared from my life, but from the sky accordingly. Strolling towards the decrepit old building, I note the structural cracks, feeling I’ve gained a few myself since I last spent any real time here.
The sight of my mother and Maddy arguing outside the boarded-up old front door is not something I’m prepared for. Anger contours my mother’s face, twisting her lips into a thin, grim line. Whatever words come out of them are enough to set huge fat tears rolling from Maddy’s eyes. I quicken my step across the overgrown patchy weeds, neither of them yet aware of my presence. As I get closer, snippets of the conversation drift on the wind, none of which does anything to ease the distress bubbling inside of me.
‘I told you to stay away from him. Why couldn’t you have listened to me? This entire situation could have been avoided.’ My mother’s usually gentle tone is unrecognisable.
‘I swear to god, I had no idea who he was.’ Maddy runs her fingers through her hair.
‘As if I’m meant to believe that. Pah! He made it crystal clear he didn’t want to know anything about any of you. You couldn’t just respect his wishes? Bad enough to drag up his past, but now there’s a good chance you’ve ruined his future too. And for what?’
Something isn’t sitting right at all. My head flies back and forth between the two women as if I’m watching a badminton match. What has Maddy got to do with my past? How come my mother knows about it, yet I have no idea. When there’s only five feet between us, they finally notice me. And how come they’re at the club?
‘What is going on?’ I scratch the stubble on my face, utterly perplexed.
Maddy speaks first. ‘Sorry, Marcus. I’m so sorry for all the trouble I unintentionally caused you. I genuinely had no idea who you were, of our connection. It turned out to be the maddest coincidence…’
Even I’m starting to doubt myself. Did Maddy and I conceive that child in a different life? Because it sure as fuck wasn’t this one. Yet even my mam seems to know more than me.
Mam steps forward, bridging the gap between us and positioning herself in front of Maddy, obstructing my path to her, not that I was going to take it.
‘Marcus, I’m sorry, son. I know you didn’t want anything to do with your mother.’ Confusion mists before my eyes.
‘Your birth mother,’ she attempts to clarify.
Glancing between the two women, I can’t untangle this puzzle, let alone piece it back together.
Maddy sighs impatiently, before blurting, ‘I’m your sister, Marcus.’ She shrugs, and her hazel eyes fill but don’t spill. Vulnerability leaks from her outwardly nonchalant stance, seeping into my bones.
‘My sister?’ The words sound foreign.
