The article quotes not only a tweeted statement from the team, but also an Instagram post from Harper himself announcing his call-up. Of course he’s tasteless enough to announce it shirtless in just a pair of Hendersohm shorts and baseball cap.
It’s not enough that I’ve had to mingle with him at the occasional Hendersohm party in the past, now I’m going to be stuck with him every day for the best part of a year. All the excitement for the new season starts to drain from me. Normally, at this point I’m buzzing with energy for pre-season testing, but not anymore.
In the most insane way, I find peace from doing this sport, despite the intense pressure, and now Harper James is about to shake that all up with his bullshit attitude and recklessness on the track. I’ve had first-hand experience of his type and I don’t need, or want, that kind of chaos in my life. He’s a reminder of all that is wrong with this sport.
A few hours later, I park my packed case by the front door and pull on a jacket. It’s time for my least favourite pre-season ritual – saying goodbye.
* * *
When I let myself into my mum’s house, I’m instantly hit with a whiff of freshly baked apple pie. That smell used to soothe my soul as a child. Once she’d stopped touring, there was nothing Mum loved more than baking. Now, though, it’s my sister who stress-bakes and it’s always a sign that it’s not been a good day.
A familiar niggle of guilt creeps into my stomach and I force myself to step over the threshold for the last time for the next nine months.
Cartoons are playing on the TV in the front room, which I quickly bypass, heading for what is now Mum’s bedroom, downstairs. Peering in, I find her fast asleep, a contorted, distressed look pulling on her face. There’s a fragility to the way her cheekbones protrude so sharply and I have to take a couple of seconds to watch the blanket on her chest rise and fall to reassure myself that she’s breathing.
Not wanting to disturb her, I gently pull her bedroom door shut and find my sister amongst a mess of pots, pans, and plates in the kitchen.
‘Hey, sis.’ She jumps slightly, but nothing prepares me for the bloodshot eyes that meet mine as she turns to face me.
Wordlessly, I pull her into a hug, soft sobs ricocheting off my shoulders as I hold her close.
Four years ago, Elise was in the final year of her nursing degree when she found out in the same week that she was pregnant with my niece, Cassie, and that our mum had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Both discoveries changed her, one for the better, the other not so much. She gave up her nursing degree and when Mum started to lose more of her faculties, Elise became her full-time carer.
Elise and her husband, Grant, rented out their house and moved into Mum’s farmhouse set in several acres of land in Norfolk. Their first child, Cassie, and their second, Jesse, have been raised here for the last three-and-a-half years. I can’t imagine them ever leaving now.
I admire everything about my sister, but the way she’s taken care of our mum is truly something else. Especially as I haven’t been here to pull my weight anywhere near as much as I wish I could. Elise would never say a bad word about that. She’ll tell you she’s grateful that I get to keep my career, that she more than appreciates the trust fund I’ve put aside for her kids to go to university or travel the world or whatever they want in the future. I wish it was enough. I wish I could do more than just pay for the best equipment and doctors and visiting support workers to make Mum’s remaining time in this world comfortable.
I’m not sure how many minutes pass with us just standing there, me holding Elise up, but we never get too many undisturbed moments like this. And then Cassie is screaming her head off, causing the baby, Jesse, to cry, and we have to break apart before either of us are ready to let go.
Elise rushes off to sort them out and I make a start on the washing-up. It’s the least I can do. Everything’s on the draining board and the worktops are sparkling when Elise returns, peace restored in the living room, weariness carried heavily in every ounce of her body.
‘I’ll bathe and put the kids to bed. You go and grab yourself a glass of wine and chill in front of the TV,’ I tell her. It’s an order, not a suggestion.
‘Lifesaver, thank you, Ki.’
I might have come over here to moan about Harper, but I can tell that now is not the time. I don’t want to add to her burden when it’s so clear she’s already physically and emotionally worn out from the day. Even though I know she’d protest, saying she’s always here, regardless, to listen.
‘Who wants a story?’ I call out as I enter the living room. Cassie cheers, racing into my arms so I can spin her around and Jesse springs up and down in his bouncer. I can’t believe he’s already fourteen months old.
Bathtime turns into a slip and slide, but it’s worth it to listen to the sounds of my niece and nephew playing happily together. When they are dried and creamed, I lay Jesse down in his cot and thankfully he settles almost immediately, but Cassie is another story. Literally.
I finish one of her favourite books and she quickly requests a second, which turns into a third and it takes all my willpower to reject her pleas for a fourth. She’s only three, but she’s every bit as strong-willed as her mother and has the too-pretty-to-deny eyes to match.
‘I’ve still got to go give your mum a story, so it’s time for you to settle, missy. Come on, bedtime.’ I tickle her sides and she screams, legs thrashing around under her duvet. I need to leave soon, and Elise won’t thank me for riling Cassie up like this, but it’s worth it to see the pure joy radiating off her face.
It’s not the kind of bedtime I ever remember having as a kid. When we were on tour, Mum would be warming up or already on stage by the time Elise and I were put to bed, and Dad … well, the less said about that the better. I know it really matters to Elise that her kids have what we didn’t, which is why I always find it so hard to resist their pleas for just one more story.
‘Okay, Uncle Ki Ki, Mommy deserves a story.’ She claps and then rolls on to her side to face the mountain of teddies she keeps with her. It’s precious to say the least.
Pressing a kiss to Cassie’s forehead, I pull the duvet up to her chin and wish her goodnight. She mumbles back but is more interested in how many of her bears she can cuddle at once. She’s peaceful when I check on her after grabbing the baby monitor from Jesse’s room, so I head back downstairs. One of the best things Elise and Grant ever did was make Mum’s house feel like their own home so it feels like a wonderful multi-generational household.
Elise is curled up on the sofa in her pyjamas, hair scraped back, no remains of today’s make-up left on her face. Her glass is full of a straw-coloured white wine and there’s some crime drama on the TV. She appears calmer, but I can see in her eyes that her mind is still going a mile a minute. She’ll only have one glass so she can hear Mum or the kids in the night, and yet again, I feel guilty that I’m about to disappear for the best part of nine months.
‘You okay?’ She asks, like it’s been me taking care of the rug rats and Mum all day.
‘I’m good, kid, are you?’ My sister glares at me with the same stare she’s been giving me since we were little – the one that reminds me that she is exactly thirteen minutes older than me.
‘I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tired. Cassie’s been full of beans all day and Jesse just wants to shove anything he can reach into his mouth.’ I appreciate that she doesn’t mention Mum and instantly feel bad about that.
