“That’s not how it works.” She didn’t want to talk about this. Why on earth had she let it slip out? Well, Golden Retrievers couldn’t always control themselves, either. “You’re always going to be sad. Zane was, too.”
“I wouldn’t be,” Jess said. “I had to use the morning-after pill once. Easiest decision of my life. That would’ve been an option, you realize. You’re such a babe in the woods, Sky. Are you sure he didn’twantto get you pregnant? Surely he must’ve known about that pill, even if you don’t. This can’t have been his first rodeo. What kind of game is he playing here? Trying to get you dependent on him? Remember the love bombing idea? I think?—”
“I need to get back.” Skylar gathered up the detritus of her lunch and didn’t look at Jess.
“Bollocks,” Jess said. “If I’ve said the wrong thing, if you disagree, tell me. I worry about you, but that’s because I love you. Stop being perfect and thinking you can’t tell the truth or I won’t love you anymore.”
Skylar stopped gathering up rubbish and put her two hands on the table. “All right, I will. I was sad. Zane was sad. When you say that we ought to have been happy, you— You don’t get it, that’s all. We each have three kids, and we love them. We remember the pregnancies and the births. It’s different, that’s all I can tell you. It’s different, and it’s hard. And yes, before you ask, I love him. Obviously I love him, or I wouldn’t be there. He says he loves me, too. What is that going to look like? I don’t know. We’re making it up as we go. That’s all we can do. That’s allanybodycan do. You don’t get guarantees. That’s not how love works.”
“You’re going to get hurt,” Jess said. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. If you keep on like this, you’re going to be hurt. Your kids are helping at home? Brilliant. Move back homeand let them help you do all those things for four people instead of seven. I’m going to tell you this, because you don’t seem to have learned it. You don’t move in with a man before the relationship is firm. I meanreallyfirm, as in knowing where it’s going. As in saying the words. ‘Marriage.’ There’s a word. Or if that’s too old-fashioned for you, ‘Engagement.’ ‘Commitment.’ ‘Life partner.’ Any of those works. That’s not just for the kids’ sake, it’s for yours, too. You’re the marrying kind, and you’re too soft for this. You’re not tough enough, full stop. You’re going to get hurt.”
“Fine,” Skylar said. “If that happens, you can say, ‘I told you so.’ But I’m not giving up on Zane or his kids. You’ve read Jane Austen as many times as I have. I’m Anne Eliot in this one, and I’m going to stay Anne Eliot. I may be sadder and wiser—Iamsadder and wiser—but I’m not going to give up on Captain Wentworth this time. Not when I see the man he is. If my heart gets broken, it won’t be because he isn’t a good enough man after all. It’ll be life, and life sometimes sucks like that. I know that, but I’m still not going to be persuaded.”
“This isn’tPersuasion,”Jess said. “This is what I mean! Life isn’t a romance novel! Jane Austen wassingle.Forever.Famously.”
“I don’t care,” Skylar said. “I’m going to believe in him anyway.”
She might be a Golden Retriever, but that didn’t mean she had to keep chasing that ball just because somebody threw it. So she’d been wrong before.Twicebefore. Did that mean she could never be right?
54
FIGHTING FOR THE CROWN
What were reasonable people doing at five-thirty on a November Monday morning? Sleeping, presumably. So why was Skylar (a) at Zane’s house, (b) wide awake, and (c) lifting weights? Because the rugby gods had decreed that the second half of the Nations Championship, which was only being played to determine, let’s see, the best international rugby teams of the Northern and Southern Hemispheres, would be played at the ungodly hour of four-thirty in the afternoon on Sundays, London time. Which sounded fine, and like a lovely Sunday afternoon out for the family. Except that in New Zealand, that lovely Sunday afternoon started at three-thirty the next morning.
Which explained, of course, why Skylar had stayed over Sunday night for the third time this November in order to watch with all the kids, no matter how heavy-eyed she’d be in class today. She couldn’t have kept Scarlett and Finlay from watching if she’d tried, even though Finlay had proudly announced last week that he’d fallen asleep with his face on his maths book. The three of them were watching, anyway. The other four kids? They’d quickly fallen asleep on the couchevery time, but were always certain afterwards that they’d seen “almost all of it.”
And what explained the weight-lifting part of her predawn program? That she was nervous, that was what. The All Blacks had dispatched Scotland and Wales handily enough, but this final match was against England, a more formidable opponent. And New Zealand was still in the running for that No. 1 spot for the South. South Africa had played to a draw in Ireland yesterday, so if New Zealand won today …
Well, you could see where this was going. Do or die, that was where. And right now, sixty minutes in and with twenty to go, New Zealand was ahead by exactly two points, 21 to 19.Thatwas why Skylar was lifting weights.
A scrum, and the big bodies on the field were heaving, their feet slipping on rain-sodden turf. She was on lateral raises now for her shoulders, and never mind that her dumbbells weighed exactly 2.5 kilograms. She’d had to bring her weights over from home, because the lightest dumbbells Zane had on his rack weighed 15 kilograms, and heaven knew she wouldn’t be lifting those anytime soon. She hadn’t been allowed to work out with weights for six weeks after the surgery, and she needed to get her fitness back. So, yes, she raised her puny little purple weights from her sides and felt the effort, while enormous bodies strained like oxen on the screen.
That was it. Detachment. Except that she couldn’t feel detached. The scrum wheeled, and the referee blew his whistle to reset. Zane stood up, his hands on his hips and his broad chest heaving as the rain plastered his hair to his head and his tight black uniform to his body, then got into position again, his arms wrapping around his props as they grabbed him in the same way, crouched, and got set to go again.
It’s just a game,she told herself, and knew it wasn’t true. It was Zane’s livelihood, and his passion. And it mattered.
The lion and the unicorn
Were fighting for the crown.
The lion beat the unicorn
All around the town.
The nursery rhyme had meant England and Scotland, but that was how this looked. And how it felt. Fighting for the crown with everything they had.
Front raises.The purple weights out in front of her now as the men pushed and strained and shoved. Zane’s foot caught the ball and sent it back, and the No. 8 picked it up and got it away to the waiting halfback, who’d been posed like a Border Collie waiting for his chance to get to those sheep. And now, everybody was running. The ball being taken forward two meters. Five. Eight. All balletic movement from the backs, showing their silky skills, passing and catching and sidestepping, and every time one went to ground, everybody piling in on them. The All Blacks trying to protect the ball down there, and the English trying to rip it out of somebody’s hands.
Closer to the tryline now, and it was the forwards’ turn. A game of inches down here, big bodies slamming forward, trying to run over their opposite numbers. The halfback wrestling that ball out of the breakdown and handing it off again, and another big man charging the defending line.
Upright rows.She was so nervous, she had to do something. Sixty-five minutes in now, and fifteen minutes left to play. An eternity, but if the All Blacks could score a converted try … nine points was so much more comfortable than two. Scarlett and Finlay were both sitting forward on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, the half-drunk mugs of cocoa Skylar had fixed during the halftime break congealing on the coffee table, and Skylar was lifting for all she was worth, thinking,Come on. Come on.
There.A break! The ball going back into Zane’s hands, and he was stepping out in that way he did, the way that said hewouldn’t be denied. The tackle coming, and he flung the ball even as he was going down. Back into Gordon’s hands, and Gordon was showing that sidestep, all his darting, twisting moves.
Skylar forgot to lift, because they were so close now. Surely they would …
The tackler all but flew at Gordon, grasping his legs, his hands slipping in the rain. Surely Gordon could keep going. Surely he …
