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“And a sadist too,” agreed Matt, not missing a beat. “I mean, what sort of dad makes his son do twenty of those star-jump squatty things?”
“They’re called burpees,” I interjected mildly. “An excellent for building cardiovascular fitness and strengthening major muscle groups.”
A groan from the back seat. “Oh my God, and when he says, ‘let’s ruck n’ roll lads’, I feel like changing my name by deed poll. Soooo embarrassing. He says it almost every week.”
“It’s funny!” I protested. “Your friend Nick always laughs, anyhow.”
“He’s laughing at you, not with you. Oh my God, Dad! And that ‘nice try’ joke, every time any of us do anything good, like, you know, score a try, is so cheesy.”
“Even I found that a little tiresome after hearing it for the third time.” Matt threw me a wink.
“Erm…I am here, you know. And I have a very sensitive disposition.” I smiled at them both as they took the piss. Ryan was only teasing. He loved having me as a coach; he thought my dad jokes were hilarious.
“Hey, Matt, listen to this.” Ryan leaned forwards so he could whisper something in Matt’s ear. Matt tipped his head back, laughing with delight.
“You’re on,” he said, turning and shaking Ryan’s hand. “A fiver to you if he does.”
Taking a walk on the wild side at lunchtime, I opened a bottle of red wine to accompany the stew, as Matt insisted on calling my boeuf bourguignon. Which was ridiculous, and I told him so, because if I’d wanted to make a stew, I’d have omitted the half-litre of Burgundy I’d poured into it at seven o’clock this morning. Matt accused me of semantics. He helped me peel and slice the potatoes, and as we stood side-by-side, wittering on about nothing at all, I couldn’t recall a better Sunday afternoon.
“He’s a good player, isn’t he?” Matt took a sip of his wine. “I mean, I know bugger all about rugby, but he stood out.”
Having finished the spuds, he levered himself up onto one of the work surfaces, and loosely dangled his slim, denim-clad legs. If Ryan hadn’t been in the house, I’d have swooped in for another kiss, because that all too brief exchange out in the rugby club carpark hadn’t been nearly enough.
I checked the potatoes with a fork instead. “Yes, but I’m biased. I’m supposed to select a couple of lads to put forward for county trials for next season. I really want to pick him, because I think he’s the best, but I’ll get a whole load of shit from the dads if I do.”
“Do it anyway. Who cares what they think? You know he’s the best, and the other boys do too, probably. It’s not his fault his dad is the coach.”
“Mmm.” I’d mulled it over and reached that conclusion anyway, but having a sounding board was nice. That was one of the worst parts about no longer having a partner—not having someone to chew the cud with after a day’s work, or a rugby match. Or even simply someone to share my appreciation of a decent novel.
“Your garden is immaculate,” Matt observed, jerking his chin towards the window. I was pleased he’d noticed.
“Thank you. It’s sort of a hobby, which makes me sound ancient. I’d like to boast I spend my weekends skydiving or cycling sixty k, or something equally dynamic, but I actually spend them with my vast selection of power tools. I’m a dull cliché.”
Matt shook his head. “Don’t put yourself down. You’ve got a place here that Ryan can come home to, whenever he likes, where he feels safe and loved. Trust me, that counts for so much more than Garmin averages and notching up ‘experiences’ to brag about at work on Monday. He’s lucky to have you.”
Possibly the nicest thing anyone had said to me in years. Especially coming from Matt, who’d never known a loving, normal homelife. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned across and delivered a swift peck on his cheek. Yep, his scratchy stubble and me could get along very nicely.
“What did I do to deserve that?” he responded, parroting back to me the words I’d spoken to him earlier. His eyes widened and something I wanted to interpret as need flitted across his face. I hoped to God having this ordinary day together felt as natural to him as it did to me. I still pinched myself to check it was actually him perched on a worktop in my kitchen.
“For being here? For giving me a second chance?” In my mind, everything felt that simple.
With a quick glance towards the kitchen door, I ducked down for another kiss, this one boldly on his mouth. Deeper than the one out in the carpark, and I hoped to God Ryan was still in his room. I came away tasting red wine and wanting to scoot between his legs and do it properly.
“And that one?” The tip of Matt’s tongue darted across his upper lip, sending a long forgotten signal to my groin. I squeezed his hand and regretfully stepped away.
“For being you, my love.”
“Are you a doctor, too, Matt?” asked Ryan over lunch. His buoyant mood after the rugby had only lasted until he’d picked up his phone, and then he’d thrown it onto the sofa and muttered something about having to sort his sports kit for school tomorrow. Phones had their uses, especially when you wanted to track down your kids, but sometimes I wished they hadn’t ever been invented. Children had no means of escape from school and friends; they couldn’t ever just shut the bloody front door on the outside world for a while.
After Ryan had stomped upstairs, I’d exchanged anxious looks with Matt, deciding not to chase after him. Retrieving his phone before someone sat on it, or it disappeared down the arm of the sofa, I’d parked it on the kitchen counter, from where it chirruped at me every few minutes, signalling incoming messages. He’d calmed down, thank goodness, and happily participated in our lunchtime conversation.
“God, no.” Matt smiled. “Way too much like hard work. Only extraordinarily clever and sensible people like your dad can train to be doctors.”
God, he was full of bullshit. Some things never changed. Ryan smirked before shovelling in another mouthful of bourguignon. Matt’s gentle teasing manner since our kiss in the carpark felt as much of a warm caress as the kiss itself. Two dark eyes, fluttery and innocent gazed across the table at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Good,” countered Ryan. “I get fed up with medical chat. What job do you do?”
The question I’d avoided like the plague hung in the air. I’d been desperate ask it myself. But if Matt never chose to fill me in on the intervening twenty-five years since we’d lost each other, that was up to him. Suffice to say, I sensed his trajectory hadn’t been as straightforward as mine. He hadn’t volunteered how he spent his days, so I’d not asked, and now Ryan had guilelessly done the job for me. Matt seemed happy enough to answer, though.
