“I’m self-taught,” I answer.
“You’re good. You could open a restaurant.”
“That’s a stretch. But I make do.”
“Well, if things don’t go the way you hope with rugby, you’ve got a backup plan already.”
“Rugby’s everything to me.”
She looks at me, tilting her head.
“Even though I know I don’t have many years left in me.”
“What are you talking about?” She asks, taking a sip of wine and stretching her legs out on the sofa just enough to graze my thigh.
We’re both on our third glass, and I’m starting to feel warm.
But maybe it’s not the wine.
“I’m getting to a certain age. I’m not as young as Jamie,” I comment, trying to ignore the alarms going off in my head. “In a few years, I’ll need to quit.”
“You’re not that old,” she quips.
“For the level I’m playing at, it’s different.”
“What do you want to do afterwards?” she asks with interest.
“I still haven’t figured that out. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. How about you?”
“Me? I’m good.”
“Isn’t there anything you’d like to do?”
She shrugs. “There are loads of things, but I’ve never thought too seriously about doing them.”
“We all have the right to want something more.”
“I have a good job, and all things considered, I like it – it would be hard to ask for more.”
I look at her, hoping she’ll go on.
“I started working when I was 16 years old. I hadn’t even finished school.”
“Why?” I ask cautiously.
“I couldn’t afford not to.”
“Your family couldn’t afford it?” I ask with discretion.
“We don’t have a family.”
“What does that mean?”
“Jamie is all I have.”
“Your parents are dead?” I try.
She shakes her head. “My mother left when we were little, Jamie can’t even remember her face. We were left with our father. We lived in a small apartment in Rathmines. Dirty, damp, and dark. We didn’t have a lot of money,” she continues, embarrassed.
