Chapter Text
They’ve read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Secret Garden, and are halfway through Mary Poppins when Jamie’s dad calls. It happens in the evening, the day after they’ve won their last match. It’s rest day, and Jamie’s once again in Keeley’s kitchen, slicing up vegetables under Roy’s watchful gaze.
“Any plans for Christmas?” Keeley asks. She’s wearing tiny fairy lights in her hair that actually light up, and earlier she got both of them to wear antlers.
“Nah. Me mum and her husband are doing this cruise thing over the holidays. They asked me to come, but we’ve got a match on Boxing Day, so I can’t.”
“Roy and I are doing sexy Christmas,” Keeley says. “Aren’t we, Roy?”
Roy barely looks up from the sauce he’s preparing. He’s grumpier than usual, which is probably because Keeley posted a photo of him with antlers on Twitter.
“It’s going to be hotter than a sauna in here. Do you want to see my outfit?”
“Sure,” Jamie says and gets up so he can follow her to her bedroom upstairs. A few months ago, he would’ve felt guilty about this, like he’s not allowed to be alone with Keeley as long as Roy’s around. But he’s over basically all the time, and Roy sometimes gets home late or has to leave early, and it’s stopped feeling weird long ago.
Keeley shows him her outfit (dead sexy), and they’re just about to go back to the kitchen when his phone rings.
Jamie pulls it out of his pocket, takes a look at the screen and freezes. Whatever expression he’s making must be enough to freak Keeley out, because she asks, “who is it?”
“Me dad,” Jamie says, feeling strangely numb. “I don’t know what he wants, he doesn’t usually- I should answer this, right?”
“Do you want to answer?”
“It’s not about what I want, is it? It’s me dad.”
Keeley opens her mouth like she’s about to protest, but then she just presses her lips together and says nothing. He’s never told her much about his dad, not really, and it’s not like it was ever a secret, anyway. It’s basically what Ted said, right? His dad’s a dick, yeah, but he’s helped make Jamie better.
Jamie presses the answer call button and holds the phone up to his ear, half-turning away from Keeley so that she can’t see his face.
“Yeah,” he says.
“He finally answered,” his dad says sarcastically. “Don’t tell me you’re too busy for family now.”
“What is it, dad?” Jamie asks. “What’d you want?”
He expects Dad to say that he needs money, or that he wants tickets to somewhere, but his dad surprises him by demanding that Jamie come down to Manchester for Christmas next week. “Spend the holidays with your old man,” he says, “like the old days, eh?”
There have literally never been old days like that. Jamie thinks he only ever spent Christmas with his dad, like, one time, back when his grandpa had just died and Dad had guilt tripped Mum with something about how Jamie never knew his grandpa but he should know his dad, or something. Pretty much the only thing Jamie remembers about that weekend is that his dad took him to a pub and Jamie drank beer until he puked, which would be fine except he was, like, eleven.
“Dunno, Dad,” he says now, “I think I better stay in London. We got a home match coming up the day after.”
“Still trying to get promoted?” his dad asks and laughs. “Figures you’d prefer to stay at your second-rate club instead of spending time with your family.”
“Sorry,” Jamie says, even though he isn’t. “Was that all you wanted?”
“You’ll regret this one day,” his dad says, and Jamie has no idea what the fuck he’s even talking about until he adds, “one day, you’re going to be my age, and you’ll have a son who never calls, and you’ll remember your old dad, and you’ll realise what you’re putting me through.”
Jamie doesn’t really know what to say to that. Sometimes he thinks it’s like him and his dad live in alternate versions of the same reality, like in those scifi movies that he never completely understands. Almost nothing about what his dad just said even comes close to Jamie’s own reality.
“Okay, Dad,” he says, because there’s nothing else he can think of. “Listen, I gotta go. Happy holidays, yeah?” He hangs up before his dad can reply, and turns back around expecting to see Keeley, and instead he finds her with Roy. They’re both staring at him.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t you block his number?” Roy demands. “Has he been calling you all this time and you never said a word about it?”
“He hasn’t! I’ve no idea what today was about. He doesn’t care anymore now that I don’t play in the Premier League.”
“Good, I hope you never get promoted,” Keeley says, and frowns when both Roy and Jamie look at her in horror. “What? He just said that this is what’s been keeping his dad from harassing him.”
“But it’s the Premier League,” Roy and Jamie say at the same time.
“Okay, that was proper freaky,” Keeley declares. “Why was he calling, anyway?”
“Just wanted me to come home for Christmas.” Just saying it feels strange, like this is not the same dad that Jamie normally talks about.
“Like fuck you are,” Roy says immediately.
“That’s what I said to him, didn’t I? Told him I can’t.”
“Good,” Roy says. “Fuck that. You’re spending Christmas with the people who actually give a shit about you.”
Jamie tilts his head. “Me mum’s on that cruise. I literally just said.” Old man, he mouths at Keeley.
“He meant us, babe,” Keeley says.
“Who?”
“Me and fucking Santa Claus, who do you think?” Roy says irritably. “How many people are in this room right now?”
“Oh,” Jamie says, and then, “Ohh. But- what about sexy Christmas?”
“I’m always sexy,” Keeley says, shrugging. “No need to dress up for it.”
*
Roy’s knee has good days and bad days, but he must be feeling okay overall, because one day well into the new year, he comes to Jamie’s house unannounced, lets himself in by either using Keeley’s spare key or picking the lock, and wakes Jamie up by standing over his bed glowering down at him until Jamie feels the heat of his stare even into the dream he’d been having about getting chased by a giant pancake.
“What the fuck, Roy,” he exclaims, heart doing its best to beat its way out of his chest, “what are you doing?”
“I’m showing you how to punch someone,” Roy says. “Get up.”
“It’s rest day.”
“Do I look like I give a fuck?”
“I’m getting up, but you can’t complain,” Jamie warns, knowing that getting out of bed will make Roy realise very quickly that Jamie sleeps naked.
Roy doesn’t complain, but he does go back downstairs while Jamie takes a shower and gets dressed, and he’s got a protein smoothie ready by the time Jamie wanders into the kitchen. “Drink this and let’s go,” he says.
Jamie, who’s spent his time in the shower half-convincing himself he’s hallucinated the whole thing, frowns at Roy, trying hard to remember what he’d said after waking Jamie up. “Why? Go where?”
“I told you. I’m teaching you how to throw a good punch.”
“I know how to throw a good punch,” Jamie says. “I’m from Manchester.”
Roy narrows his eyes at him suspiciously, plainly disbelieving. “If you know, then why’re you letting your dad treat you like shit?” he demands, but in a faintly smug way, like he’s still thinking Jamie’s lying to him, like he thinks if he just makes a good enough argument then Jamie will agree with him.
“Fuck off, Roy.”
“See, I knew-“
“It ain’t about knowing how,” Jamie says, annoyed. “It’s like- you know how some lads get it all right in training, yeah, but then on the pitch they’re just complete shit? They’ve got the skills, but something about being in the actual match freaks them out?”
“Of course,” Roy says. “Fucking pathetic.”
“I know,” Jamie agrees, “but it’s like- that’s what it’s like with me dad, you get me? It ain’t about knowing how to punch him, it’s that I can’t. He’s me dad.”
Roy, who has solved a great deal of his problems in life by punching people, so clearly can’t relate to this that it’s almost funny. He’s looking at Jamie like he’s never seen him before. “Right,” he says eventually, “so it’s because you’re scared.”
“I’m not,” Jamie says, and this time he kind of is lying, but he also knows, deep in his bones, that being scared is not what this is about. It’s part of it, maybe, but it’s not the point. “I just- he’s a dick, and I know he’s a dick, but it ain’t all been bad, you know? Like- maybe there was some good things, too. He pushed me, made me better. I owe him.”
Roy has turned very red, and he’s clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles are white. “Who told you that?”
“What?”
“Jamie,” Roy says, looking like it’s taking everything in him not to explode. “You don’t owe that bastard shit. You don’t want to punch him, fine, but you do not get to sit here and tell me to my face that he’s made you better. I was there last season, I fucking know that’s not true.”
Lasso was also there, Jamie thinks but doesn’t say. Lasso was there, and he saw and walked past, and then a few weeks later he told Jamie all those things about fathers who’re helping their sons become better men, and he just doesn’t think Lasso would’ve said that if he didn’t believe in it.
He drinks his protein smoothie in silence, trying to ignore Roy still glaring at no one in particular. There’s no reason for Roy to stay now, but he doesn’t leave, either, and when Jamie is finished, he gets up and nods in the direction of the front door.
“Come on, then.”
“I already told you, I don’t need-“
“Change of plans,” Roy says. “We’re taking my niece for ice cream.”
*
Mum’s birthday is coming up, and Jamie already knows that he won’t have time to go down to Manchester, but he still feels like a dick when he calls her to say so. Only it turns out she’s not home, and it’s Simon who answers the phone.
“I’ll tell her you called,” he says, tone as cheerful as always.
“Cheers,” Jamie says and goes to hang up, but Simon is already talking again.
“How’re you doing, Jamie? How’re things in London?”
“Great, yeah. We won a match on Sunday, I don’t know if you-“
“Of course I watched it,” Simon says immediately, like he’s surprised Jamie even asked, even though Jamie knows for a fact that Simon couldn’t care less about football. “Your mum and I were so proud when you scored the winning goal. Your mum cheered loud enough to get a noise complaint.”
“Right,” Jamie says awkwardly. “Anyway, I should probably-“
“It’s Georgie’s birthday next week,” Simon says. “Any chance you can make it? I know she’d love to see you.”
“I can’t,” Jamie says. He promptly feels like shit again, like he’s letting his mum down. “Got a match the next day. It’s what I was calling about, actually. I’ll send her a gift, yeah?”
“Of course,” Simon says smoothly. “She’ll understand. I’m sure she’ll be just as happy about a call.”
“Yeah.” Only now Jamie’s remembering what his dad said back in December.
One day, you’re going to be my age, and you’ll have a son who never calls, and you’ll remember your old dad, and you’ll realise what you’re putting me through.
“Simon, listen,” he starts, only to immediately stop, because he realises that he has no idea how to phrase what he wants to say.
“Yes?”
“I- d’you think I ought to come? Like- I don’t want to make Mum sad, do you know what I mean? It’s her birthday, I just want her to be happy.”
“Jamie,” Simon says, his tone for once completely serious, “we all make our parents sad sometimes. It’s part of being a son. Can’t have one without the other.”
“Yeah, but-“
“I’ve known you and Georgie for ten years. I won’t say that she’s never been sad. But I do know that you’ve never once disappointed her.”
“Oh,” Jamie says, only his voice sounds strange, oddly choked up and nothing like what he normally sounds like. “That’s- thanks, Simon.”
“You’re very welcome, Jamie.” A timer goes off on the other end of the line, and Simon doesn’t say anything, almost like he’s not planning on doing anything about it, like he’s happy just letting whatever he has in the oven burn to a crisp while he stays on the phone with Jamie. But Jamie’s already tried his patience enough today.
“I have to go,” he says. “You’ll tell Mum I called?”
“Of course,” Simon promises.
Jamie doesn’t think about it much more – actively tries not to. He focuses on training, and luckily he’s always been good at putting his thoughts and feelings in little boxes in his mind and ignoring them completely. He sees the result of it on the pitch, where Richmond wins another game that weekend, well on their way to being promoted back to the Premier League. But he thinks he might not be doing so well off the pitch, because the lads keep exchanging looks when they think he’s not watching.
“Jamie, a word?” Ted says after the match is over and everyone’s changing and getting ready to go out and celebrate.
“Sure, gaffer,” Jamie says and goes to Ted’s office, ignoring the way everyone’s blatantly staring. “What’s up?”
“Why, just my alltime-favourite Pixar movie,” Ted says, chuckling to himself. When met with Jamie’s blank face, he says, “Never you mind. I just wanted to ask if you’re okay, Jamie.”
“Yeah, ‘course. I’m sound, Coach.”
“See, you say that, but the past week tells me that’s not entirely true, is it? You can tell me if anything’s wrong, Jamie. This space is safer than the EU’s Food Authority policies.”
“No offense, gaffer, but I just scored two goals,” Jamie says. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Why, Jamie, you know goals aren’t all I care about.”
“I’ve had two assists, too.”
Ted shakes his head the way people do sometimes when they think Jamie’s being slow. “I think you’re deliberately misunderstanding me here, and I’m not going to lie and pretend that doesn’t bother me, because it does. I thought we’d moved past this.”
Sometimes, Jamie says things and he only realises later that they were the wrong things to say, because he’s never been good at filtering his words. But other times, he knows exactly when he’s about to fuck up, and he does it anyway, because he’s never been good at self-control, either. This is one of those times. He opens his mouth and just knows that whatever comes out is going to be a massive fuck-up, and he still can’t do anything to stop himself.
“Actually, gaffer, it’s-“
“Tartt!”
Both Ted and Jamie turn to the door, which Roy has just ripped open. He’s pointing a threatening finger at Jamie.
“Roy, you know I appreciate you, but now’s not-“
“I want him there to talk to the press,” Roy says. “Now, Tartt.”
Jamie follows Roy out of the office and into the press room, and by the time they’re done, everyone’s already gone home, including Ted. Jamie feels exhausted from the match, and from the questions, and also from everything else lately. He mindlessly grabs his things from the dressing room, but when he steps outside into the parking lot, Roy’s still there.
“You’re coming home with me.”
“I’m not in the mood today,” Jamie says, and Roy snorts.
“Good, because I’m not shagging you. But you’ve been sulking for a week, so you’re coming to Keeley’s and having dinner with us, and then you can tell me who I need to kill.”
“Don’t need to kill no one,” Jamie says as he slides into the passenger seat of Roy’s G-Wagon. “Just been feeling like shit.”
“Why?”
“It’s stupid,” Jamie says and, when Roy stays silent, he adds, “it’s ‘cause me mum’s birthday is in a few days, and I know I can’t go, and she knows I can’t go, and it’s all good, but I’m still feeling like a prick, like I’m disrespecting her or something.”
“Hm,” Roy says.
“What?”
Eyes on the road, Roy says, “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, but like, you made a noise. I heard it.”
“No, you didn’t,” Roy says. “We’re here.”
“I did, I totally heard you,” Jamie says while he’s climbing out of the car. “I ain’t deaf, Coach.”
“There was no fucking noise,” Roy says impatiently, and then Keeley comes out and hugs Jamie and kisses Roy’s cheek, and it’s nice but also, there was definitely a noise of some sort, Jamie’s not making it up, even if Roy wants to gaslight him about it.
They eat whole-grain pasta with a tuna and tomato sauce for dinner. Keeley drinks two glasses of white wine and Roy drinks a beer, and Jamie drinks water and thinks about how the first thing he’ll do when the season is over is get really, really drunk. He’ll deserve it, because by then, Richmond will officially be back in the Premier League. With how well they’ve been playing this season, Jamie has no doubt about it.
“What should we watch?” Keeley asks later when they’ve finished washing up and are now all sitting on her sofa, Keeley in the middle between Jamie and Roy. She waves around the remote expectantly. “Can we watch Gossip Girl?”
“Don’t care,” Jamie says, “just not a movie. They’re way too long, and I always fall asleep.”
“I know, babe,” Keeley says. “It’s why I’ve stopped taking you to the cinema. Roy?”
“I don’t care either,” Roy says. “I need to take care of something.”
They share confused glances as Roy leaves the room, the front door slamming shut behind him just a few seconds later. Weird.
“Well, if neither of you have an opinion, then I get to pick.” Keeley turns on the TV and finds them an episode of Gossip Girl that seems vaguely familiar, although honestly, Jamie can never remember anything about what’s happened on the telly anyway. There’s so many people and faces and names, and it’s even worse when
Keeley talks about them using the actors’ names, because that’s two names he has to remember with only one face each, and that’s just confusing.
In the end, it doesn’t matter, because he falls asleep within the first five minutes, post-match exhaustion seeping in at last. He wakes a couple of times over the next few hours, once when Roy comes back, once when Roy and Keeley have a whispered conversation, and once when someone guides him to lie down on the sofa at full length and puts a blanket over him. Jamie turns around and sleeps on.
The next week passes in flashes – training’s fine, and everything else is surprisingly fine, too. It’s like the evening with Roy and Keeley has settled something in Jamie. Ted doesn’t try to talk to him again, which is just as well, and Beard only calls him into his office once to rec him an audiobook, something about a little girl in the stables or whatever, it’s fine, Sam will figure it out.
He calls up a shop in Manchester to deliver flowers to his mum on Friday. That’s got to be enough for now, and he’ll go down to see her as soon as he can.
“Oi,” Roy yells across the pitch on Friday. They’ve been split into groups, and Jamie’s group is doing suicide drills, so they’re all happy for the distraction. Jamie adjusts his headband before he looks up; while he’s doing that, Colin asks, “Who is that standing next to him?”
“Perhaps his parents,” Sam says.
“I never thought of Roy as someone with parents,” Colin says. “Doesn’t seem right somehow.”
“Tartt, hurry the fuck up and get over here,” Roy shouts, and Jamie finally looks over to where Roy is standing at the sidelines.
What.
There, next to Roy, bundled up in big coats, are unmistakably his mum and Simon. Jamie blinks. “Sam,” he says, “can you pinch me?”
“I would rather not,” Sam says. “It seems mean-spirited.”
“I can hug you instead,” Dani offers.
“Maybe later,” Jamie says absently. He didn’t get hit in the head today or nothing, but it still can’t be right what he’s seeing.
“TARTT,” Roy yells, loud enough that he scares away a bunch of birds at the other end of the pitch. “NOW.”
“Gotta go, lads,” Jamie says and jogs over. He’s not too surprised when he realises that they’re all following him, drill forgotten.
“Jamie!” his mum shouts when he’s near. Jamie grins and opens his arms and a second later his mum is hugging the air right out of his lungs. He lifts her off her feet and spins her in circles, while in the background, he thinks he hears Simon tell Roy, “Oh, no, this is perfectly normal.”
“Happy birthday, mummy,” Jamie tells Mum when he’s finally set her down. “I was gonna get you some flowers, but-“
“My sweet lad,” his mum says and hugs him again, but only briefly this time. “Roy already got me some.”
“He what?” Jamie asks. Just like that, he remembers that he’s on the pitch, in the middle of training, and that’s fucking weird that Mum and Simon are here. He frowns at Roy, who is looking very pleased with himself. “You what, mate?”
“They were lovely,” Simon pipes in, holding up a bouquet. “Very thoughtful.”
“Thank you,” Roy says.
Jamie looks from Roy to Simon to Mum and back to Roy. “What’s happening?”
“Your coach rang us the other day,” Mum explains. “Invited us to come to London for a couple days, so we could celebrate my birthday and watch you play tomorrow. He’s very considerate.”
It shouldn’t be possible for Roy to look any more smug, but somehow he manages it. “My pleasure,” he says, all charming-like, which is so fucking bizarre that Jamie doesn’t even want to think about it.
Mum smiles, and Simon smiles too and says, “Are you lads Jamie’s teammates? You are all in excellent shape.”
“We are happy you think so, sir,” Sam says. “It is part of our job description.”
“Like strippers,” Jamie’s mum says, and Roy chokes.
The lads all introduce themselves, and Mum and Simon shake a lot of hands like they’re the Queen and Prince Philip, and then Roy takes a deep breath and yells, “Back to training, you lot! That goes for you, too, Tartt!”
“But-“
“Go on, love,” Mum tells him. “You’ve got a match to win tomorrow.”
So Jamie goes, and that night, he takes his mum and Simon to dinner, and then the next day they really do win the match while Mum is watching from the VIP section, and Jamie thinks it shouldn’t be possible for a single person to be this overwhelmingly happy, but he is.
*
“What can I do for you, Jamie?”
“Can I get me dad and his two mates on the list of Wembley tickets, please?”
*
Obviously, he doesn’t tell Roy about it. He’s not stupid, like. He knows Roy would freak the fuck out about it, and make a whole big deal, and it’s nice because it means Roy cares, but it’s also annoying because Jamie doesn’t need it to be a whole big deal. He’s never wanted that.
Sometimes, when he can’t sleep at night, he thinks back to last year, the last match of the season. He remembers just sitting there afterwards while his dad was having a go at him, and he remembers Lasso seeing and walking past, and he remembers Roy seeing and walking in and telling his dad to get out now or else.
Sometimes, he imagines Roy punching his dad in the face. It’s a nice thought.
But that was last year, and this is this year, and maybe if Jamie gets his dad tickets then that’ll be it, maybe his dad will get off his back and won’t want to talk to him for the foreseeable future.
“You alright?” Roy asks before the match, all grim and growly and ready to send Jamie to the bench, which would be insane because without Jamie there’s just no way they even have a chance out there. “You look like shit.”
“Sound, Coach. No need to worry about me.”
“Fuck you, I don’t give a shit about you and your feelings,” Roy says immediately. “I’m worried about your feelings losing us the match.”
Somehow, that makes him feel a little better. Jamie grins and says, “Losing the match is a team effort, Coach.”
“Yeah, and it’ll also be a team effort when I make you all run laps on Monday until you puke.”
“That’s actually really kinky,” Jamie says, claps Roy on the shoulder and heads toward the dressing room, all thoughts about his dad forgotten until he steps out onto the pitch and spots him in the stands.
*
“The only nice thing I can say about Richmond today is that Sam Obisanya's hair looks absolutely fantastic. City move on to play Leicester in the final. And you can be sure Richmond's disappointment hangs heaviest on the head of a devastated Jamie Tartt.”
*
In the end, Jamie isn’t even surprised when that bloke from security comes in and tells him that he has a visitor. He knows who it’s gonna be before the security guard even adds, “Says he’s your father.”
From the corner of his eye, Jamie can see Roy whipping his head around to stare at him. He closes his eyes briefly; then he says, “Yeah, fine.”
“That is nice of him, to come visit you,” Sam says, nudging Jamie’s shoulder with his own. “Is your mother here, too?”
Jamie realises that Sam has mistakenly assumed that Simon’s his dad, but he doesn’t have time to correct him, because his dad chooses that moment to walk in and start being an absolute dick, like always.
Slowly, Jamie stands up, not sure why he does it, and his dad immediately gets all up in his face. He’s enjoying this, Jamie realises, and at first he doesn’t understand why – usually, he doesn’t even have to play like shit for his dad to get pissed at him for his performance. But he supposes that for Dad, Man City winning tops the shame of his son failing miserably.
“You balled it,” his dad taunts, cheerful in a way he only ever is after his club has won.
Jamie looks down and says nothing. Weirdly, it’s like he ain’t even in the dressing room anymore – or if he is, then it’s like he’s been split into a dozen parts, and those eleven other Jamies are also in the dressing room somewhere else, some other time, and together all twelve of them are being yelled at by Dad for being too slow, too impatient, for passing, for not scoring, for not scoring enough. He’s heard it all before, so often that he feels numb to it now, just letting his dad go on until he’s tired himself out.
And then, suddenly, something happens that causes all twelve Jamies to look up in surprise.
“Oi,” Roy says, moving forward to stand next to Jamie. “Don’t speak to him like that.”
Jamie looks at Roy, dazed, and Roy isn’t looking back at him, he’s glaring at Jamie’s dad instead, the expression in his eyes terrible.
His dad blinks, surprised, and Jamie is just thinking that something like this happened before, didn't it, almost exactly a year ago, when all of a sudden there’s another presence beside him, standing on his other side.
“Sir, I think you should leave,” Sam says firmly. “Otherwise, I’m afraid we have to call security.”
“Security?” his dad says incredulously. “Are you mad? I’m the boy’s father. Is it because I’ve offended you lot? Can’t take a bit of friendly criticism?”
Roy growls, and Sam says, “I won’t ask again”, and Jamie thinks that there’re other people standing up, too, now, but he’s not sure who it is, because he’s just looked across the room and met Ted’s eyes.
Ted, his face pale, looks straight back at Jamie, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out.
“I’m going to count to three,” Roy says. “Three. Now get the fuck out.”
“Or what?” his dad asks. “Look at you lot. You can’t even cut it on the pitch. No, I’m going to stay right here. Jamie doesn’t want me to leave, do you, lad?”
Jamie hears that he’s being addressed, but it’s like his dad is talking to him from a great distance, like shouting across the whole pitch. He’s still looking at Ted.
His dad laughs and reaches out, not going in for a proper hit, still just being playful. But he doesn’t get far, because immediately, there’s a hand on his wrist. “You don’t touch him,” Roy says.
“Time to go,” Beard says, and together, Beard and Roy drag his dad out the room. Jamie still hasn’t moved.
On the other end of the dressing room, Ted breaks their eye contact and leaves. Jamie tries to feel something about that, but there’s just – nothing. He doesn’t feel anything.
“Jamie?” Sam asks, his tone hesitant, startling him out of his thoughts. “Can I-“
Jamie moves before Sam can, hugging him tightly. Just like that, it’s like some of the tension in the room has eased, and then someone else is hugging him too, and another one, and it’s like Jamie’s slowly being suffrogated by two dozen grown men, but that’s okay, because somehow it’s only this that makes him finally able to breathe properly again.
He has no idea how long they’re standing there, but it’s long enough for his nerves to settle and the numbness in his bones to fade, until he feels almost like himself again.
“Bus is waiting,” Roy finally says, which snaps everyone out of it. Jamie follows the familiar routine of undressing, showering, dressing in fresh clothes, and following everyone else out. He sits next to Sam on the bus, and when they arrive at Nelson Road a little later, Sam says, “Would you like to stay over, Jamie?”
“Let’s all go out, hit a club,” Colin suggests, and everyone cheers, which only goes to show how strange today has been, because normally after a loss like that no one would even think of going clubbing.
Jamie realises they’re all waiting for his answer. He doesn’t have to think twice about it. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Let’s party.” Everyone cheers again, except for Roy, who has been watching Jamie like a weirdo ever since he kicked his dad out earlier. Feeling brave, Jamie says, “you joining us, Coach?”
“Fuck no,” Roy says immediately.
“Right, then. See you on-“
“Tartt.”
“Yeah?”
“When you’re done, get a cab to Keeley’s place. I don’t care how late it is.”
“Um,” Jamie says, “why? Don’t need no babysitter, Coach.”
“This isn’t a democracy,” Roy says. “You can have an opinion when you’re no longer on the team. That goes for all of you!” he adds, because most of the lads haven’t even been trying to look like they’re not listening.
Well, then. That’s that. They go out, and Roy presumably goes home, and it’s only when it’s much later in the night that Jamie realises that Ted wasn’t on the bus.
*
By now the Merry-go-round had cleared the trees and was whirling up towards the stars. Away it went and away, growing smaller and smaller, until the figure of Mary Poppins was but a dark speck in a wheel of light.
Jamie pulls out the AirPod and frowns, while next to him, Sam does the same.
“She’s leaving again?” Jamie asks. “That’s stupid. That’s already how the last one ended.”
“I believe it is how they all end,” Sam says. “But I think there is something comforting about it. She leaves, but you know she will return.”
“Yeah, but she’s still leaving them every time, yeah?” Jamie says. “That’s a dick move.”
“That is true,” Sam says, surprising Jamie. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
Jamie hesitates. They’re in the canteen, which is mostly empty at this point. Most of the team is in the gym by now, and the only reason Jamie and Sam aren’t is because they wanted to finish the book first.
“Listen,” he says, “you know your dad, right?”
“I do,” Sam says, looking amused.
“Right, so- he’s helped you, right? When you were a little kid? He’s made you better?”
“Yes,” Sam says. “Of course. Why are you asking, Jamie?”
Jamie takes a deep breath. “Just something I’ve been thinking about. Like- at Wembley, right, you all saw me dad, and you all saw that he’s a dick, but, like- look, Ted said something, and then Roy also said something, and I just ain’t sure who to believe, you get me?”
“Jamie,” Sam says, all serious-like, the amusement gone from his face. “I cannot speak for anyone else, just for myself. I owe a lot to my father, yes, and I am grateful to have him in my life. But my accomplishments and failures are still my own. And from what I have seen, my father is not like your father. I am not an angry person, but I believe the only thing you owe your father is to tell him to go to hell.”
Something deep in Jamie’s heart eases then, something he hadn’t even realised was there until it’s gone. These past couple of weeks, he’s been trying not to think about the whole scene at Wembley too much, and mostly, he’s been succeeding. It helps that none of his teammates have brought it up again, and that Roy has been kidnapping him to take him to dinner nearly every night, and that he got a new phone and a new number. He’s saved his dad’s number just in case, but this way only he can text his dad, not the other way around, and that also helps.
But the thought still popped into his head a bunch of times – the thought that maybe he’s being a bad son, that Ted was right and his dad has made him a better man.
But Roy told him that’s not true, and now Sam said it, too, and Jamie trusts them, and surely they can’t both be wrong.
“You boys know I’m all for a good, long meal, but I do think you might want to start heading to the gym.” Jamie’s been so occupied with his thoughts that he hasn’t even noticed Ted entering the canteen and walking up to their table until he’s come to a stop right in front of them, smiling down at them.
Smiling back, Sam says, “We are on our way, Coach.”
“Glad to hear it, Sam,” Ted says. “Actually – Jamie, would you mind hanging behind for a minute there? Thank you, I appreciate it,” he says when Jamie obediently stays seated even after Sam’s left.
“No problem.”
Ted looks at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Finally, he says, “You’ve been playing well this season, Jamie. A real team player. You’ve come a long way from that young man I first met.”
And Jamie – can’t bring himself to feel anything about that. He’s happy that his coach is pleased with him, of course, and compliments are always nice to hear. But he abruptly realises that he’d be just as happy to hear this praise from his neighbour, or a fan he runs into on the street. It’s nice, but it’s not personal.
This is the second time now that he’s had this realisation. Last time, there’d been so much going on that he hadn’t been able to think about it much. Today, Jamie thinks maybe this is just the way things are now. He finds he’s okay with that. Ted walked past his dad berating him twice; there is a choice in that that Jamie can’t really do anything about, not if he wants to stay on the team and still be able to look Ted in the eye.
But Jamie can make a choice, too.
“Thanks, Coach,” he says. “Can I go?”
“Of course,” Ted says. “Didn’t mean to keep you. I just wanted you to know how proud I am.”
Jamie nods and gets up. He hears the words, but they’ve lost their meaning. He leaves Ted sitting there, alone.
*
The next time he’s in Manchester, he stays up late so he and Simon can watch a documentary about dolphins.