He beamed at me. ‘So did you. So did the referee; that made it all right. But Uche’s going to be fined, one of the Tour guys says.’
‘What for?’
‘Swearing on TV. It’s not allowed.’
‘But he didn’t know he was on air,’ I protested.
‘That doesn’t matter; he’s supposed to assume that he can be heard.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s all right. Jonny said it’s the best advice he’s given him all week so he’s going to pay it.’
That seemed fair to me; and to Uche, it seemed, for he was well happy as he came out of the recording area, although he looked exhausted. His ‘boss’ followed him, and was ushered towards the presentation area by a man in a green jacket.
The enormous trophy, and the enormous cardboard cheque (purely symbolic, I learned later; the money hits the bank through electronic channels) were presented by a distinguished man whom I recognised as the President of the Catalan government. His office didn’t earn him a speaking part though, for Telly Man in the Aussie hat moved straight in on Jonny and began an interview. He asked him about his last shot. ‘Most guys would have played it the way Cormac did,’ he said.
Jonny nodded. ‘I know, and so would I if I’d seen it that way. But I didn’t. As it turned out, I caught it just right, spot on, and I got the other fifty per cent, luck.’
A few more questions followed, but I could tell that they weren’t the ones he wanted to answer. Finally, just as Aussie hat was ready to hand back to the commentary box, he leaned forward and said, ‘Before I go I’d like to thank everyone who’s helped me this week; Uche, Lena, Brush, my Auntie Primavera, and my cousin Tom, who knows more about surfing than I do about golf. But most of all I’d like to thank three people. For various reasons, none of them could be here this week, but they’re the people who gave me the confidence to come out here and play and they’re all the bedrock of my support team: my mum, my Grandpa Mac, and my Uncle Oz.’
At the mention of the last name, Tom squeezed my hand. Me? I had to smile through the tears, for I saw that my nephew was a natural. He knows what a headline is and he’d just given them one.
Green blazer wanted to take him straight to the press tent as I approached. ‘Have you. .’ I began.
He grinned, and nodded. ‘I called her as soon as my card was registered.’
‘What about your father?’ I ventured.
For an instant his eyes went hard. ‘I just thanked him,’ he murmured. ‘He was the closest thing to a dad I ever had.’
‘And Brush?’ I asked, moving on quickly. ‘What about him?’
‘He called me just before I came outside. We’ll speak again tomorrow, to organise my schedule. I’ve got a tour card now, so everything changes. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. We’ll talk about it over dinner.’
Yes, I thought as he left, I’d like to talk a lot more about the reclusive Mr Donnelly. We would have too, if something hadn’t happened that knocked him right off my ‘things to do’ list.
Eleven
For most people, the day that the circus leaves town is a metaphor for anti-climax. Not for Tom and me, though, not that day. We were high as kites, both of us. He’d shown the courage to be certain of the outcome. I hadn’t: for all the confidence I’d expressed to Ellie after the third round, the closer Jonny had come to the finish, the more scared I’d become, the more fatalistic, anticipating the moment when his luck would change or he’d overreach himself and we’d all waken from the dream. Yes, I had been weak in my faith. But maybe it wasn’t as simple as that: maybe I’d simply been conditioned to assume that the worst would happen by too many not-so-happy endings in my life.
When it didn’t, when the fan stayed shit-free, I was more elated than I’d been in almost eleven years, since the day that Tom was born. Finally, something had worked out the way it was meant to.
I slung an arm around my son’s ever-rising, ever-thickening, shoulders. ‘Home, kid?’ I suggested.
He nodded. ‘Yeah. There’s a Barca game on TV tonight. Jonny was going to take me to dinner with you, but I told him I want to watch it in Esculapi. Is that all right?’ Six months before I’d probably have told him no, that he had to come with us. But his pals would be there, and his faithful hound, and I’d already decided that however big a cheque Jonny was banking, I’d bypass elBulli in favour of Can Roura, in the square. There was something else too; while he was young and while I was filling in for his mum in a way, Jonny was nonetheless a man, and it was a couple of years since I’d been out with one of those on a twosome.
‘Sure,’ I said, and then the thought of Can Roura reminded me of something else. ‘Hey, what about Uche?’ I exclaimed. ‘Isn’t he supposed to be moving into his studio tonight?’
‘No,’ Tom replied. ‘He asked me to tell you to let Joan know that he’s going to leave it until tomorrow. He’s going to have dinner with his dad tonight.’
‘That’s nice for them. Hey,’ I chuckled, nudging him, ‘I wonder if he really is a prince.’
Before he could react, my mobile sounded again; I imagined that it would be a PS from Ellie, so I didn’t even glance at the screen. If I had done I’d have known that it was Susie calling, the official widow Blackstone. ‘I’ve just seen you on telly,’ she exclaimed, without preamble. ‘Imagine, our Jonny the champ. He’s turned into a good-lookin’ boy, Primavera. And was that Tom, carrying his board?’
‘Yes to all of that,’ I declared. ‘Fantastic, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely. Is his mum not there? I assumed she’d be basking in it.’ Her tone suggested that Ellie’s feelings for Susie were reciprocated. I didn’t remark upon it, though; I simply explained the reasons for her absence.
‘Poor cow,’ she muttered. ‘I know. .’ she continued, then stopped.
‘What?’ I demanded.
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t bullshit me, Susie,’ I warned. ‘What were you going to say?’
She sighed. ‘That I know how she feels. I’ve got a wee health issue myself.’
I turned away from Tom so he couldn’t see my frown. ‘How wee?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she assured me. ‘I’m off my food, that’s all. My doctor took a blood sample; now he’s sending me for tests. He’s muttering about pernicious anaemia.’
I switched to nurse mode. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘That used to be serious, but it’s easily treated nowadays. Keep your chin up.’
‘I am. Don’t have any choice with Janet and wee Jonathan running my life.’
‘What about your love interest?’ Susie had acquired a new man a year or so before, a hedge fund dealer that she’d come across in the casino. I’d met him briefly, when I’d delivered Tom for his annual bonding visit with his half-siblings, and had been well under-impressed. I hadn’t told her that, though, and so her response took me by surprise.
‘Duncan? History. He was starting to behave as if he was the kids’ dad, and I wasn’t having that. So you’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve binned him.’ I was about to protest, insincerely, but she cut me off. ‘No, don’t deny it,’ she went on. ‘I could tell from your eyes that you didn’t like him. You’ve never learned to fake anything, my dear. Maybe that’s why you’re still single.’ She paused. ‘Or. . what about Father G?’
‘Now Brother G, and staying in Ireland.’
‘And are you devastated?’
‘Who? Me? No.’
‘Fine. You’ll find him, eventually.’
‘Find who?’
‘The man of your dreams. I had one of my own about you the other night; you were fixed up in it.’
I listened for sounds of suppressed chuckles, but heard none. ‘Do tell. What was he like?’
‘Big bloke, greying hair, grey beard. I didn’t really get a good look at him.’
‘Was he wearing a red suit and driving a sleigh pulled by reindeer?’
‘Hah! Mock me if you will, but I’m becoming fey in my middle age. That’s why. .’ She stopped, again.