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My dad’s brow furrows for a moment but then he looks down at the ball clutched in his hands and grins. He raises his hands above his head, pauses for a moment, brandishing it the ball like it is the Webb-Ellis trophy. Then he launches it over the upturned zimmer frame.
I look from my father’s delighted face to Corran’s, both with their hands raised in the air celebrating the drop-throw, and warmth spreads through my chest. Despite myself, I join in their celebration, throwing my arms round them both and jumping on the spot with Corran behind my father’s chair. Half draped over the back of my father’s seat, half hugging his head, half hugging Corran’s waist, I celebrate with them.
It feels nice to let go, to smile, to cheer. To see the smiles that stretch round the room. The winners cheer and the losers groan, but they are all wearing big grins.
“I think we might have started something,” says Corran. He holds up his hand. I high-five him.
“I think we might.” I grin.
Corran pulls me into a hug. I stand for a moment, revelling in the warmth of his arms, in the solid comfort of his chest.
I look over his shoulder to see a figure standing in the doorway.
Ben.
Shit.
I’d forgotten about Ben.
CHAPTER 10
Corran
I tuck the sandwich into my pocket.
“Hmm hmm.” My mother clears her throat. She taps her cheek.
“Sorry, Mum. Thank you,” I say with a smile. I plant a kiss on her cheek. She beams.
“Right, off with you.” She flaps a tea towel at me, nudging me towards the door. “Don’t be out there too late. Your father is in for the night.”
I look at my dad, sitting at the table, the late evening sun spilling across his face as he takes a huge bite of the doorstep cheese sandwich clasped between his hands.
“Half day?” I grumble.
He grins at me over the homemade bread and shrugs his shoulders.
“Boss’s orders,” he says. “Apparently my hips aren’t up for the late shift.”
I roll my eyes. Alright, part-timer. I’ll finish the last few bales myself.
* * *
I step into the warm evening air. The birds trill their song in the trees behind the farmhouse. Loch Mirrin sparkles in the late sunlight. The sun is beginning its inexorable dip behind the Darroch Mountains but there’s plenty time left to get finished up.
I love summer. For every dark day we battle through knee deep snow to take care of the sheep in the winter, there is a summer night like this.
I sit on the quad waiting at the farmhouse door and pause for a moment before I kick it to life, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my bare arms. Takes me back to my playing days, to pre-season and coming back from holidays refreshed and ready to crack on with the new season, hoping that your summer holiday indulgences had not wiped out all of your condition. I look at the muscles in my forearms. No loss of condition there. I’ve deliberately kept myself as busy as possible on the farm since retiring. I’m not built for idleness. And to be fair, there’s always a job to do on a farm.
I know they would like me to find a wife. I know my mother would love nothing more than to serve her famous Sunday roast to more than just the three of us. She’d love to serve a daughter-in-law another few goose fat roast potatoes, perhaps even help a grandchild brandish the gravy boat. My father would beam as the old farmhouse kitchen rang with the sound of family bustle and laughter.
But my mum knows. My heart stopped beating the moment Victoria’s did. My breath closed in my lungs as hers did. My dreams slipped from my grasp as she did. My hopes for the future went with her as the doctors whisked her from my arms. They saved her but her memory of us did not survive. The memory of her is imprinted in my body, what I’d give to hold her again. But all she remembers is the friend Corran. Not the love.
The armchair, rugby session went better could ever have hoped for. It was a joy to see residents faces later, as they discovered old and new talents, as they threw that sponge rugby ball round the room. From the looks that we are being exchanged between some of the players I’m glad that tackling wasn’t possible. I’ve already set up a meeting with Duncan Crawford at the Nest to discuss formalising sessions within the Goshawks’ outreach program. I know some of the other retired Gossies would love to be involved.
I make a mental note to give Ali Whyte a call through the week to see if he’d like to come on board. It is exactly his sort of thing. I think a program with different players would open up a variety of chat about not just our playing careers but also find treasured memories held by the residents about teams playing or watching rugby. Well, any sport really.
And if it means that I can be present, be there for Victoria as she helps or Dad to settle into Meadow View then so much better. I can’t believe she’s back in Oakheart Glen. After all these years, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see it again. Her career in the Army took her all over the world. She really returned home. I thought when her parents chose to remain in Oakheart Glen that there was a chance that our paths might have crossed, but they never did.
