He dragged himself out of bed and went to check on Gemma, only to find that the spare room was empty.
Well played, Jimmy.
His half-comatose brain congratulated him on such a sterling performance. He didn’t suppose he would be hearing from her again in a hurry.
Jimmy threw on the nearest T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms and shuffled downstairs. He needn’t have bothered with the look in the mirror, which only confirmed his suspicions, but it did remind him of the little scuffle at the club and he wondered how Xavier’s bruises were shaping up after a few hours.
“Good evening,” Jimmy’s father always made the same observation when Jimmy crawled out of his room.
“Your breakfast’s almost ready. Xavier has just been explaining why he wanted to stay in the hotel. It sounds like he had a successful night. How did you get on with that other lass? Gemma wasn’t it?”
“What?!” This was far too much for Jimmy to take in all at once. “You told Dad about...”
“Yes, I lost my virginity last night and your Papa was just congratulating me.” Xavier said proudly. “He, too, lost his virginity when he was sixteen, so we have something in common.”
“Unbelievable.” Jimmy just shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of talking to your parents about something like that.”
“That’s because you’re British. You’re too reserved,” said Xavier.
“I was the same at your age, son.” Jimmy’s father chipped in. “I was incredibly uptight and reserved when it came to conversations about sex.”
“I’m not reserved,” Jimmy defended himself. “I’m just half-asleep and in shock... and you said I wasn’t allowed to sneak between rooms.”
“Well, I could hardly have encouraged you in front of the young lady,” his father turned so that he was only talking to Xavier. “It sounds as though someone didn’t get any.” Jimmy’s father and Xavier enjoyed a good bit of banter at his expense for some time, but Jimmy had stopped listening from the second the laughter started. He had to play rugby at eleven o’clock and he was far more interested in eating his cooked breakfast than listening to The Pepé and Papa Show.
At least he did not have to endure one of his father’s little talks about responsibility and maturity.
And who was being mature now, Dad?
Xavier chose not to go and watch the rugby, opting instead to take full advantage of the hotel room and its amenities until the twelve o’clock check-out time. Jimmy’s father dropped the two of them at The Swan and the rugby club, respectively, and they agreed to meet up at The Crown at around two o’clock.
The under-16s team at the local club really had no right to such a successful record. The secret to its numerous victories over teams from much larger towns in the league was that the majority had played together since the under-12s, and four or five had been together since the under-9s. They all knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses and played as a team. Many weekend, junior sides played as very talented individuals but never fulfilled their potential, with their teammates, as a combined unit. And there are not many fathers who will give up their Sunday mornings every week to oversee a unit’s potential to bring those talents together. With a number of committed fathers, Jimmy’s team had been very fortunate because it brought out the best in the boys every week and they kept on getting the results.
The game that Sunday was no exception and the team had a commanding 18–3 lead at half time.
Jimmy was just enjoying the half-time oranges when he spotted someone on the touchline, waving. Wearing a big, green, Barbour coat and green, Barbour wellies, she looked quite a bit different from the girl he had met at Momo’s, the night before. He must have mentioned something to her about playing rugby and she had come down to watch.
He waved back. He did not think he would be seeing Gemma again after the previous night’s events.
The referee called the teams back for the start of the second half and Jimmy ran into position on the wing.
This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen after a Saturday night sortie. They’d had a quick snog but that was it. But then she had stayed in the spare room. And she had met his father. Perhaps she thought he was a perfect gentleman for respecting her and leaving her alone, unaware he had entered the room and had wanted to do the same to her, foiled only by her unconscious state.
“Jimmy!” The scrum-half was shouting at the top of his voice. He had been lost in thought. The kick-off had been caught by his pack and a maul had formed on his side of the pitch. There was room on the blind side for an attack but Jimmy was too far back.
Daydreaming during a match.
He had missed an opportunity.
The team had missed an opportunity.
The forwards loved it when they worked hard to get good possession and the backs lost it again by doing something stupid. On that occasion, Jimmy had not even been in position. They still had the put in for the scrum, though, as they had been going forward.
Pay attention Jimmy.
He was cross with himself for taking his mind off the game and he needed to focus that anger. Jimmy indicated to the scrum-half that he wanted the ball, so he would be looking for him on the blind side, and then dropped back a bit, to time his run.
Jimmy set off as the ball was almost at the back feet and called just as he was reaching full pace.
The scrum-half popped the ball up perfectly. Jimmy was past their back row before they could even stand up and he cut inside his opposite number on the wing, breaking a half-hearted tackle.
With only the full-back to beat, Jimmy headed towards the posts, drawing the opposition’s last line of defence in field with him. But, by moving in field, their number fifteen had left too much room on the outside. Jimmy kicked hard off his left foot, changing the line of attack to the corner, leaving their full-back floundering as he tried to follow. Jimmy even had time to run it in to the posts, leaving a relatively simple conversion.
That’s more like it.
One voice was making itself heard over and above the cheering from the rest of the home team’s supporters: Gemma’s.
Jimmy would have to worry about her later.
The home team went on to win the game 42–9. A second try from Jimmy got the same praise from the crowd as the first, with the loudest hurrahs coming, once again, from Gemma. And despite trying hard not to pay any attention, Jimmy had noticed that she was actually shouting and cheering in the right places. Unusual for a girl.
After the game, Jimmy imagined he would have to excuse himself from his team mates and keep her company. He hoped he had not made any promises or given her any wrong impressions about what had occurred the previous evening.
In the club bar, Gemma was sitting at a table with three older club members, all of whom had been first team players in their younger years. These days, they preferred a more leisurely run out with the third or fourth teams, mainly as an excuse for a pint afterwards.
“Jimmy!” She called out to him across the bar and waved.
He waved back, realising that all of his team were watching, along with half the bar, including the three men sat at Gemma’s table. He had to go and say hello, but he could hardly talk to her, in such company, about Momo’s or his father’s house.
And why was she sat with them anyway?
“Hello, Gemma. Afternoon, gents.” Jimmy raised his glass and nodded to each man in turn.
Jimmy knew them all by first names or nicknames. He would often pop down to the club on a Saturday, with his kit, to see if he could get a game if there was no game for Bankside.
He never got a game for the first team, because of the competition for places. Irrespective of how good a player you were, you only got a first or second team place by playing every week and attending training on a regular basis. Very occasionally he would get a game for the seconds, but only if they were playing at home and they were short. Most of the time, if he got a club game on a Saturday, it was with either the third or fourth team. And that’s where these guys played.
“You scored a couple of good tries today,” said Jocky. “If you hadn’t been asleep, early on in the second half, you might have had a hat trick.” The observation met with laughter from the others.
“I wasn’t asleep,” Jimmy smiled and winked at him. “I was just deciding what to do with the ball from the next scrum. That kind of genius needs a bit of planning sometimes.”
He was annoyed his slip in concentration had been noticed by anyone other than his scrum-half. But as there had been no colts’ game, the under-16s had played on the pitch nearest the clubhouse and had benefited from the Sunday drinkers’ support... and their post-match criticism.
“Aye, if you say so, laddie. Cheers!”
Jocky was, as his nickname might suggest, a Scot. He was a prop forward in his mid forties, who usually played for the thirds. He was also a very hard bastard: made in Scotland, from girders, like Irn-Bru.
“I thought you had a great game,” Gemma beamed. “Dad’s only jealous because he can’t run as fast as you.”
Dad?!
Jimmy nearly dropped his pint.
“The wee bastard only runs that fast because he knows what’ll happen if the forwards catch him.” Jocky squeezed Jimmy’s arm, playfully. “There’s hardly any meat on him.”
“Leave him alone, Dad.”
“I didn’t know you knew my daughter.”
“No.” Jimmy noticed Gemma was frowning slightly. “I mean, I didn’t know she was your daughter.” That made Jocky frown slightly.
Jimmy wasn’t sure whose look of displeasure was worse.
“Well, you know now. Don’t you?” Jocky still had a hold of Jimmy’s arm and gave it a couple of rather tight squeezes to enforce the point.
“Yes, I think I’ve got the message.” Jimmy felt the blood returning to his arm as Jocky released his grip.
“Come on,” Gemma got up from her seat. “You can buy me a drink.”
Jocky pointed at his eyes with his first and middle fingers and then at Jimmy with his index finger, indicating that he was watching him. Jocky was smiling while he did it, but Jimmy was definitely of the impression that Daddy did not want his little girl to be touched.
“You didn’t tell me that your dad was a member of the rugby club.” Jimmy wished he could wind the clock back to the night before.
“We didn’t exactly do a lot of talking,” Gemma reminded him. “Apart from the conversation we had walking to your house.”
“Yeah, right.” Jimmy had no idea what they had talked about.
“And don’t worry about Dad. He’s a pussy cat, really.”
One thing that Jimmy knew, for sure, was that Jocky wasn’t a pussy cat. He had seen him take down three guys in a bar after a game one night, because one of them ‘accidentally’ picked up his change. Nothing nasty, no stamping on heads or glassing anybody, just dropped them, one after the other, before anyone else knew what was happening.
“Look, Gemma, about last night...”
“I’m really sorry, I fell asleep. And when I woke up and came to your room, you were out cold.”
“You came to my room?” Jimmy said, in disbelief.
“Yes, of course. You don’t think I went back to your house just to sleep in the spare room, do you?”
“Well, maybe it’s for the best that nothing happened. You and me... it would be a little bit complicated. Things would be awkward.”
“Are you dumping me?”
“I can’t dump you if you’re not my girlfriend.”
“Don’t you remember what you said last night?”
“Yes, of course I remember.” He didn’t have the faintest idea. “But I didn’t know you were Jocky’s daughter.”
“Well maybe I’d better go and tell him where I stayed last night... and that after one night, you’re dumping me.”
“But nothing happened.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“Look... Gemma... let’s talk about this.”
“So, we’re still together?”
“Yes, of course we’re still together.”
“Good,” she smiled. “Now you can buy me that drink.”
§
Jimmy met Xavier at The Crown around two o’clock, as arranged, and the two of them compared stories from lunchtime.
Xavier had indulged in some more fun and games with Kelly, the cute one from Momo’s, before buying her some lunch and agreeing that they would like to see each other again, but nothing too serious.
Jimmy had the one drink with Gemma, before Jocky told her it was time to go home for Sunday roast, leaving Jimmy to enjoy a jacket potato with chilli con carne – a fairly standard, post-game offering – and a pint or two with the lads from the team.
Neither of them had any doubt that Xavier’s result was the better of the two.
Yes, they had both secured the opportunity of some future female action, but Jimmy’s prize came with a serious health warning attached.
“You appear to have found yourself a bit of a bunny boiler,” Xavier chirped. “And you only have yourself to blame.”
“And how, exactly, do you figure that out?”
“You must have said something really stupid to get her into bed and now she is smitten. She believed whatever you told her.”
“But I don’t think I did say anything.”
“It doesn’t matter now, because your one chance to put things right has now passed. Congratulations on your new girlfriend.”
“I should’ve just told Jocky exactly how we knew each other. She stayed at my house. End of story. But as he had my arm in a vice-like grip at the time, I didn’t want to mention it.”
“The longer you leave it, the more difficult it will become.”
“Well, thank you, Dr. Dubois,” Jimmy said, in an effort to bring the conversation to a close, “When you have quite finished trying to cheer me up, perhaps you would like to buy us another round of drinks?”
“Drinking won’t make it go away,” Xavier chuckled.
“Maybe not,” agreed Jimmy. “But it will make me forget about it for this afternoon.”
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