He carries it across the kitchen, splattering water on the floor as he opens the back door. Rosie watches as he props it up in the pile of stuff they’ve been saying they’ll take to the tip for months, silvered now by hungry autumn snails.
Heath slides sloppily into the kitchen, caressing a rugby ball between his hands. Rosie kisses the perfect freckles on his perfect nose and Heath nudges Seb with the ball, code for them to go outside. Seb musses his son’s hair before kissing Rosie’s cheek.
‘Glad you had a good time, love.’ He follows their son, who is now chattering away about rugby, out into the garden. Rosie turns on the outside light for them, smiles at their retreating backs and thinks, yes, she’s right not to worry. Everything is fine. Everything is absolutely fine, isn’t it?
Chapter 5
Seb perches on the edge of his desk and looks at the cocky young man staring at him from under a curtain of dark hair. Seb starts to fold his arms together but stops himself, places his palms flat on the desk behind him instead. Ethan stares at him, his expression strangely knowing, and panic suddenly licks inside Seb’s stomach. He drops his eyes as Ethan says, ‘I know what you’re going to say, Mr Kent.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Seb addresses the floor in front of Ethan because he’s slime, and this kid is amazing.
Ethan keeps staring at Seb as he says, ‘Yeah. You’re going to say that I’m letting myself down getting rubbish marks, that I’m going to mess up my GCSEs if I don’t sort it out.’
At the end of last term, Ethan was top of every subject and now he’s right at the bottom. Today he hasn’t handed in his GCSE coursework, without offering an explanation. Seb has talked to his mum, asked if there’s anything going on at home, but she said everything is steady on that front. No changes.
Seb lifts his eyes up to Ethan as he says, ‘I just wanted to ask how you’re doing.’
It’s Ethan who looks away this time, towards the door, then back to Seb. Seb gets it. He wants to run away, too.
In front of him, Ethan shrugs. ‘I’m just not as clever as I let on, I suppose.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked.’ Seb’s voice is gentle, but he has to force himself to keep looking at the teen. ‘How are you doing, Ethan?’ Seb asks again.
‘Fine.’ Ethan lifts his chin to Seb, warning him to back off. ‘How are you doing, sir?’
Seb glances out of the window at the football pitches, thrumming with players. For a second, he wonders what would happen to Ethan’s young face if he told him the truth. Would it lift with shock, cresting into laughter, or would his expression twist, sour with disgust as his brain processed the truth?
Of course, Seb won’t tell the whole truth. He seldom does these days. ‘I’m finding life quite intense at the moment, actually.’
Ethan raises his eyebrows.
‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’m worrying a lot. Worrying I’m not doing a good enough job as head teacher. It’s a big responsibility, this job. I worry sometimes that I’ll let you guys down.’
Ethan stares at Seb and, as he talks, Seb notices something waking up in Ethan. He’s listening, not just staring dully, but really listening. It’s like Seb can feel his words trickling into Ethan’s ears.
‘I’m trying my hardest, but I worry it’s not enough.’
Ethan nods slowly, thoughtfully, and Seb wants to grab him by his shoulders, shake him and tell him to wake up! He needs to learn when he’s being lied to! He just keeps talking, like he always does, like he’s thinking aloud, like he’s forgotten Ethan’s right there, in front of him.
‘I’m seeing my mate after school today, actually; he went to school here with me and now we play tennis together. I’ve been thinking about talking to him …’
Ethan keeps his eyes on Seb. ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ he says.
Seb nods his agreement slowly, thoughtfully.
‘I know what you’re trying to do, by the way.’ Ethan narrows his eyes at Seb, cynicism back in place.
He wants to laugh, thinks, Glad someone does, because I have no fucking idea! He stops himself, keeps Ethan away from the truth and instead lies again.
‘I’m honestly not trying to do anything, Ethan. Trust me, I know how hard it can be to talk about feelings. Just know, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here if anything changes and you want to talk.’
Ethan nods, shoving his rucksack back on his shoulders. ‘So, I can go now?’
Seb nods. Wishes he could swap places with this kid who can just walk so easily away from his troubles.
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
Ethan dips his head towards Seb, but before he opens the door, he stops. ‘I’ll bring my coursework in the day after tomorrow.’
‘That’d be good.’
He nods again and before he leaves Seb asks, ‘Ethan, don’t tell anyone what I said, will you?’
Ethan turns to look back directly at Seb, his eyes surprised, but there’s a small smile on his lips as he replies quietly, ‘Course I won’t.’
The court floodlights switch on as Seb sits on the bench outside Court Five and waits for Eddy. They try to play at least twice a week – always on Wednesday and Friday – more when their schedules allow. They’ve been playing tennis together since they were twelve and they think of Court Five at Waverly Tennis Club as ‘their court’. Eddy always says when he writes his memoir he’ll call it Court Five, and Seb always assumes – hopes – he’s joking. But you never really know with Eddy.
This seventy-eight-by-twenty-seven-foot tarmac rectangle has been a silent, constant witness to their friendship. It was on Court Five that Seb finally broke down after his dad died. It was on Court Five that they asked each other to be godfather to brand-new Blake and then, a few years later, to Sylvie. And it was on Court Five, a couple of years ago, that Eddy told Seb that he’d cheated on Anna. Of all the memories, Seb thinks about that one the most.
Eddy’s game was off that day. He’d got two double faults in a row, which was unlike him. During a break Seb put his hand on the back of his friend’s neck and asked, ‘Ed, you OK?’
Seb couldn’t have known, but the combination of that touch, those words in that exact moment made Eddy crumple. They hadn’t played a second set; instead, Seb held Eddy, tried to make his arms strong, capable, like those of the fathers they both missed. Underneath the humour, the piss-taking and bravado, Eddy was as soft as a peach.
From the bench, Seb watches Eddy arrive in his black gear, socks pulled up his calves, waving to a couple of other players they know, rolling his shoulders, swinging his new racquet, already warming up. What, Seb wonders, would happen if Eddy put his hand on the back of Seb’s neck – just like Seb did a couple of years ago – and asked him if he was OK?
Would he collapse into the truth, just like Eddy did that day, or grit his teeth and cling on to his lie that everything was fine?
Just fine.
No. He won’t say anything. Eddy is the talker – not Seb. In the fifteen years they’ve been together, he’s never had a reason to talk about his relationship with Rosie in any detail with anyone. What would he even say? That his body feels as if he is slowly starving to death from lack of touch? That he’s terrified Rosie will never desire him again? That on some subtle, mystical level she’s discovered the truth? That Seb is disgusting, unlovable, that he’s tricked the whole world into believing he is something else, something good? Even if he did share any of this, then how could he possibly ever come back? Eddy would know too much for everything to stay the same. As a kid, Seb never excelled at any one thing, so he made his goodness his superpower. He’d always offer himself up to be in goal when no one else wanted to be or he would accept the smallest ice cream. He’d smooth arguments between friends and as a teen clear up the bathroom after Eddy had puked stolen spirits everywhere.