Chapter Text
It’s the final match of the season, Jamie’s last-minute pass has just gotten his former club relegated, and his dad is screaming at him. All in all, today’s been pretty shit.
“Do you think I’ve come all the way down to London for this?” his dad shouts, and Jamie just leans his head back and doesn’t reply, because he’s fairly sure that it’s one of them rhotic questions you’re not supposed to answer, and also because he wouldn’t have an answer even if he wanted to.
All he knows that it’s fucking unfair, isn’t it? He’s done what everyone wanted, he’s been a team player, and his pass won them the game, didn’t it? He did a good job, and even Pep said as much, before they all went into the dressing room and some bloke from security told Jamie that his dad was here.
His dad is still yelling. Earlier, Jamie’d been feeling the sort of high that only comes from doing drugs and winning a match, and he’d wanted to go out with the lads and celebrate, but now, all he wants is to go home.
Jamie flinches suddenly, and it’s only a second afterwards that he realises it’s because his dad just threw a boot at him. Jamie feels numb, like when you get a concussion, only it’s like he’s getting a concussion all over his body and also his brain. Surely, his dad has to be done eventually.
He looks around, not ignoring his dad exactly, but also unable to listen properly through the fog that’s starting to settle in his mind, and just then, he sees Lasso outside the door. Their eyes meet for just a second, and then the moment is gone and Lasso walks past and Jamie’s alone again.
“You could’ve scored the winner,” his dad says, and suddenly he’s right in front of Jamie and cuffing him around the head, and then Jamie blinks and his dad is at the other end of the room again, throwing another boot. Jamie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, is not even sure he’s breathing anymore, and he’s just thinking that this numbness is sort of nice, when the door opens and in walks Roy Kent.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Roy barks, and Jamie flinches again, but then he realises that Roy’s not looking at him. He’s looking at his dad, and he seems fucking pissed.
Dad seems to be taken aback for the first time all day. “Roy Kent?”
“Did that prick just fucking hit you?” Roy demands, now looking at Jamie again. “And you let him?”
Something icy spreads through Jamie’s veins, but he’s too tired to focus on it. “It’s fine, Roy,” he mutters. “It’s just me dad.”
“Just?” his dad repeats, incredulous and definitely angry, and meanwhile Roy’s face is turning red, and now there’s two angry men in the room, and Jamie just wants this day to be over. “Just his dad, he says. I’m-“
“I’ve had a shit day,” Roy says in that weird, growly voice he uses when he’s one provocation away from exploding, “so I’m going to make this very simple. I will count to three, and if you’re still here by the time I’m done, I’m going to punch you in the dick so hard you’ll need surgery. One.”
“Dad,” Jamie says, unsure what he means by that, but it don’t matter, because his dad is already shaking his head.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, “there just ain’t respect anymore for the old folks.” Then he’s gone, before Roy could even count to two.
Jamie finally gives in to the urge to close his eyes, only to open them again immediately when he hears a pained noise. Roy’s still standing, but he’s leaning heavily against the wall, sweat pouring down his face.
“What the hell?”
“I’m fine,” Roy grits out between clenched teeth, clearly lying.
“Okay, but, like, you’re obviously not. Do you need help getting to medical?”
“Don’t touch me,” Roy says, but Jamie’s already pulling one of Roy’s arms over his shoulders before putting his own arm around Roy’s waist, steadying him.
“Up you get, granddad,” Jamie says. “Let’s go. What’s wrong with you?”
“Some twat tackled me,” Roy says sourly. “Knee gave out. Gonna need fucking- surgery or something.”
“That fucking sucks,” Jamie says, but he doesn’t offer an apology and Roy doesn’t ask for one.
Instead, they make their slow walk down the hallway in silence, broken only occasionally by Roy’s grunts, until finally, Roy says, “Your dad’s a right prick.”
Jamie is so surprised by this that he actually laughs. “Yeah. I suppose you know where I got it from, now.”
A few seconds pass. Eventually, Roy says, a strange edge to his voice, “Does he do that a lot?”
“What, come around after games? All the time, yeah, now that I’m back at Man City.”
“No, I meant-“ Roy stops, either because he’s in pain or because he’s embarrassed on Jamie’s behalf.
That icy feeling from before returns. “You meant, do I let him push me around a lot? What, because I should toughen up? Because I’m soft? I’ve heard it all before, yeah? You and me dad, you’re agreed on that.”
Roy stops abruptly, and Jamie only manages a couple more steps before Roy’s dead weight slows him down.
“What? Is it your knee?”
“Next time,” Roy says, “when your dad gets in your face like that, you fucking headbutt him. Do you hear me?”
“I can’t,” Jamie says, still trying and failing to get Roy to move again. “He’s me dad, like.”
“Fuck,” Roy says, and then again, “Fuck!”
They start walking again, but when they’re at the door to medical, Roy keeps going.
“Roy?” Jamie asks, somewhat worried that Roy hit his head, too. “What’re you doing, mate?”
“Dressing room,” Roy says. “Gaffer is probably doing one of his speeches. I want to hear.”
“But your knee-“
“Knee’s fucked, anyway. Doesn’t matter now.”
“Fine,” Jamie says, and together, they limp along down the hallway for another minute or so. When they’re there, Jamie releases his grip on Roy and takes a step back, waiting until he’s sure that Roy ain’t, like, about to faint or something. But Roy seems as steady on his feet as he’s going to get at this rate. He looks as tired as Jamie feels.
“See you around, then,” Jamie says and turns to leave. Roy’s voice stops him in his tracks.
“Tartt.”
“Yeah?”
“Season’s over. Got any plans?”
“Dunno,” Jamie says, weirded out by this change of topic. “Was maybe going to Ibiza with some of the lads. Why?”
“You got my number?”
“Yeah,” Jamie says, because it’s true, even though he has literally never texted Roy even once.
“Next time you’re in London, you text me,” Roy says. “And next time your dad comes around, you call me. You got that?”
“Got it, skipper,” Jamie says, even though Roy hasn’t been his captain in months.
Roy nods at him. Jamie nods back. It should feel like the end of something.
It doesn’t.
*
Jamie goes to Ibiza. He’s there for a week, and he spends most of it drunk. He gets a new tattoo, and he’s thinking of dyeing his hair, too, but in the end he doesn’t, even though Paddy says he’ll pay him two thousand bucks if he lets him pick the colour.
The others stay longer, but Jamie misses his mum, even though getting sent back to Manchester means that he gets to see her more often now. It’s the one positive outcome of Lasso sending him away.
“Jamie,” Simon says when Jamie rings the doorbell the day after he returns, “you’re right on time.”
“I didn’t say I was coming,” Jamie says, frowning, but Simon only smiles wider.
“Call it premonition, then,” he says, and before Jamie can ask what that is, he adds, “I must’ve known you were coming, because I just took a batch of protein bars out of the oven. You can take them home with you later if you don’t finish them.”
“Thanks,” Jamie mutters. As always, he feels supremely awkward around Simon, who has never been anything but nice to him. Jamie’s not sure what to do with that.
Simon makes him a cup of tea and gives him a protein bar, and it’s only when Jamie’s sitting on the couch that he says, “Your mum’s out, by the way. You’ll have to just do with me today, I’m afraid.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Ladies’ night with her mates,” Simon says. “She won’t be back until Midnight, but you know you’re always welcome to stay in your room.”
Jamie takes a second to imagine it: spend the next few hours with Simon, without his mum as a buffer. It’s stupid that he’s even worried about this, because Simon’s been around for, like, ages, but Jamie’s rarely been alone with him.
“What would we even do?” he asks before he can stop himself.
Simon beams at him. “Well,” he says, “I’ve been meaning to catch this new documentary about otters. But of course, if you’ve something else in mind-“
“Actually,” Jamie says, “I just realised I’ve got plans, yeah? I should probably get going. Sorry,” he adds when Simon’s face falls.
“No need to apologise,” Simon tells him, and the worst thing is that he sounds like he means it. “I know you’re busy. I’ll tell your mum you stopped by.”
“I’ll be back soon,” Jamie says, trying not to feel like a dick and failing.
He goes home, because he definitely does not have plans, and he’s only been there for, like, three minutes, when his phone rings and his dad’s asking if he wants to go for a pint.
Jamie doesn’t agree, not exactly, but he guesses that he weren’t not agreeing, either, because somehow it all ends with him meeting his dad at the pub and paying for everyone’s round and listening to Dad brag about having a professional footballer for a son. Somehow, his dad always sounds more proud of him when he talks to other people than when he talks to Jamie.
“Just has to learn how to score more,” Dad is saying, “and then-“
“Yeah, but Dad, I’m a midfielder,” Jamie says. “They only made me a striker at Richmond ‘cause their actual strikers were shit.” He doesn’t know why he says it. All he knows is that he’s suddenly, deeply sick of his dad pretending like he’s some sort of expert at footie.
His dad goes still. He sets down his pint. The conversation has already moved on, someone else has taken over and is saying something that’s making everyone roar with laughter, but Dad ain’t paying attention to that. He’s just watching Jamie, his eyes cold, his expression something terrible.
“I see how it is,” he says. “You’re back at Man City, you think you’re some sort of big shot now, do you? Think you can talk back to your old man?”
“Dad-“ Jamie tries, bravery already gone, but his dad isn’t listening to him. He never is. When he slaps Jamie, it’s expected, and when all his dad’s mates laugh, that’s expected, too. It’s just like being thirteen again, like nothing’s changed. Absently, Jamie thinks he should’ve just stayed and watched that stupid otter documentary with Simon.
Later, when he’s home – at his house, that is, not at his mum’s, because his mum might be back by now but she’d take one look at him and realise what’s going on, and Jamie thinks he’d just die if that happened –, he keeps unlocking his phone and staring at the screen until it goes dark again. He can’t decide what to do. Roy said- but that was ages ago, like. But. Roy did say.
He presses the call button before he can think about it. The phone rings only two times before it’s answered, only the voice on the other end of the line is definitely not Roy.
“Jamie?” Keeley asks.
Right – Jamie had almost forgotten that Roy and Keeley are, like, a thing now. It’s fucking weird.
“Yeah,” he answers hoarsely. “Alright, Keels?”
There’s a notable pause; probably, Keeley is thinking about how strange it is that he’s called Roy; how it’s even stranger that he’s called Roy after midnight. But all she says is, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Jamie says again, and the thing is that he’s not even lying. His dad didn’t even do much. He should be okay. “Only Roy said to call him, yeah, so- but he’s probably asleep already. That’s cool.”
“I’ll wake him up for you,” Keeley says immediately. “Ever since he had surgery, he’s been driving me mad. He won’t leave the house. It’ll be good for him to talk to someone who’s not me.”
“Shouldn’t you let him sleep? I thought sleep’s, like, the most important medicine besides, like, actual medicine.”
“If he doesn’t want to be woken up at one in the morning,” Keeley says blithely, “he should act like less of a miserable bastard. There he is now – oi! Kent! Jamie’s on the phone.”
Jamie hears a series of grunts, and then Keeley’s low whispering, and then finally, after a minute or so, Roy says, “Tartt?”
“Yeah.”
Somehow, that one word is enough.
“I’m coming over,” Roy says at once. “What’s your address?”
“Um,” Jamie says, weirded out, “I’m in Manchester, mate. It’s a four-hour drive.”
“Yeah,” Roy says, “I know. Keeley, where’re my boots? I can’t find them.”
“Maybe if you’d go out more, you’d know where they are,” Keeley says sweetly, and then, like an afterthought, “hold up, where are you going?”
“Manchester,” Roy says at the same time that Jamie says, alarmed, “Do not come to Manchester, what the fuck?”
“Jamie,” Keeley says, and, oh, she must’ve taken the phone back, “why is Roy coming to Manchester? Is he helping you hide a body? Couldn’t it have waited until the morning?”
“Roy ain’t coming to Manchester,” Jamie says. “I wouldn’t have called him if I’d thought he would! He’s your boyfriend, Keeley, you have to stop him.”
Keeley makes a humming sort of noise, the one she always makes when she hears what he’s saying but is about to do the complete opposite. “We’ll call you back, okay?” she says. “We’ll just be a minute, love.”
The call ends before Jamie can reply to that. Despite what Keeley promised, it’s much more than a minute, and he spends the time sitting on his sofa and staring at his phone and trying not to feel like a prick. But- Roy did say, and Jamie only did what Roy said to do, and it’s not his fault that Roy’s overreacting now. But Keeley’s going to talk some sense into him, because she knows a little bit about his dad, and she’ll tell Roy that it makes no sense to come to Manchester, especially when he should probably be resting his knee and also his other bones because he’s an old man.
Finally, after what feels like ages, his phone rings again. “He’ll be there in four hours,” Keeley says.
“What the fuck,” Jamie says.
“I packed his meds, but he won’t take them, so you’ll have to make sure he does,” Keeley adds. “Just pretend like he’s a little puppy who doesn’t know any better, yeah? It’s what I do. I’ll come get him on the weekend.”
“Keeley-“
“Jamie, please,” Keeley says. “If he stays here for any longer, I am actually going to murder him.”
“You realise I can hear you, right?” Roy says.
“I do, yeah,” Keeley tells him, and then says to Jamie, “I’ll owe you. Besides, it’s a win-win-situation, yeah? I get a bit of peace and he can go beat up your dad, and we’ll all be happy.”
“But-“
“Thanks, babe.” For the second time in half an hour, Keeley hangs up on him. A second later, his phone buzzes. It’s Roy, asking once again for his address. Jamie, defeated, texts it to him. Then he makes himself a cuppa and waits. He couldn’t sleep now if he tried.
*
Roy shows up at his door at around six in the morning. He’s on crutches, which makes him look ancient, and he’s also awkwardly carrying a large backpack and a plastic bag from Tesco’s. He hands the bag to Jamie, drops the backpack on the floor, and says, “Drive over here was fucking shit. I need to sit down before my fucking knee gives out.”
Jamie directs him to the sofa, where they sit down at opposite ends and where Roy then just sort of stares at him in a way that’s making Jamie highly uncomfortable.
“What?” Jamie asks when he can’t take it anymore.
Roy grunts.
“Seriously, what? You’re freaking me out, like.”
Roy grunts again, which is honestly just annoying. It’s like talking to one of them drizzly bears, who’re probably grumpy because they’re in the rain all the time. Jamie has no idea how Keeley does it.
“Mate, you came to me,” Jamie points out.
That finally makes Roy use his words. “Yeah, because you called.”
“Yeah, because you told me to!”
“Yeah, because your dad is a fucking cunt, and I wanted to make sure-“
“What?” Jamie demands.
“That you’re alright,” Roy says, all growly and pissed off and so unexpectedly honest that Jamie’s mouth drops open like an idiot.
“But- you don’t even like me.”
“That’s because you’re an arrogant twat and one of my greatest pleasures in life is imagining you dying a painful and publicly humiliating death,” Roy says immediately, which, yeah, is about what Jamie thought he’d say. Then he clears his throat and looks away, and he sounds super awkward when he adds, “But I- look, my sister’s ex is a piece of shit, and it took me too long to realise, and just the thought of him doing anything to hurt my niece is making my blood boil.”
“Right,” Jamie says, nodding. “So you think I’m your niece.”
“What? No.”
“Yeah, you do. It’s like, basic psychology, mate. I saw a Tiktok about it. You feel bad that your niece’s dad sucks, and now you’re, like, protecting.”
“Projecting,” Roy says.
Jamie frowns. “Pretty sure it’s protecting, mate. It’s what you did last time me dad came to the match, right?”
Roy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He does this sometimes when he’s trying not to yell, Jamie knows, except he never did it with Jamie before. “So you’re okay, then?” he asks. “He didn’t touch you?”
“Nah,” Jamie says, and Roy visibly relaxes. “It weren’t anything serious, like.”
Instantly, Roy tenses up again. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Just- look, it’s like, he usually just throws things, right? Slaps me, sometimes. It’s shit, but he knows that he can’t do anything more.”
“Right, because you wouldn’t let him,” Roy says, sounding relieved.
Jamie frowns harder. “No, because he knows I play footie for a living.” Now Roy’s the one frowning, but Jamie keeps going, because this is the first time he’s ever really talked about it, and it feels weirdly good, like exercising but for your heart. “Except- I know it’s not a big deal or anything, and it’s been ages since he did anything worse, but I still fucking hate it. Everyone thinks I got sent on a loan to get more minutes at a smaller club, but that’s not- they asked me, yeah, and there were, like, three offers, and they let me choose, and I picked Richmond because it’s four hours away from Manchester. But then Lasso sent me back, and now I’m back here, and it’s shit. It’s all fucking shit, Roy.”
“Right.” Roy says it carefully, like Jamie is a baby cat, but one of the ones you have to be careful with because they’ll scratch you otherwise, which is weird because Roy seems more like a dog person.
“I’ve been thinking of quitting,” Jamie confesses in a rush. There. It’s out there now. He’s said it. He’s been thinking it since he came back from Ibiza, and he was going to tell his mum but Mum wasn’t home, and now he’s told Roy instead.
Roy doesn’t reply for several seconds. “Quitting what?” he asks finally. “Man City? You want to transfer?”
“No, I meant, like, all of it. Football.”
“What the fuck, Tartt.”
“I just can’t take it anymore. He’s always texting, and calling, and coming ‘round me house, and even when I don’t hear from him I keep thinking about how he might come over, and it’s the off season, Roy, it’s all just going to get worse from here.”
“So transfer. You’ve had a good season. You’ll get plenty of offers.” Roy says it like it’s easy, like there’s no question about it. “You’re a footballer, Jamie. You’ve got at least a decade left to play, maybe more. Throwing that away because your dad is a prick is- fuck me, it’s fucking insane.”
Put like that, it does sound insane. Jamie thinks about the offer his agent sent him the other day, about that reality show, and takes a moment to imagine Roy’s face if he told him he’s been considering it. Roy would probably explode on the spot.
“Come back to Richmond.”
Jamie blinks. He thinks maybe his dad hit him harder than he’d thought, or maybe the sleepless night is catching up with him, because he could swear that Roy just said-
“Transfer window is still open,” Roy says, like he isn’t blowing Jamie’s mind with every word. “You liked it there, you – I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you played well. They could use you.”
“Lasso sent me away before,” Jamie points out. “He ain’t gonna take me back now.” Jamie wasn’t good enough, he thinks but doesn’t say – not good enough to keep around as a player, and not good enough to walk inside the room when his dad was yelling at him about the game. That’s twice now Ted’s made clear that he couldn’t give less of a shit about him.
But Roy doesn’t know that, and when he shrugs, there’s something dead certain about it, self-assured in a way that he’s been for all the time Jamie’s known him. “I’ve never met anyone in my life who got more of a hard-on about second chances than Lasso,” he says. “He’d take you back in a heartbeat. Probably be right annoying about it, too.”
“Okay,” Jamie hears himself saying. “Yeah, that’s- okay. I’ll give him a call.”
“Good,” Roy says. “Now, what happened to my grocery bag? I brought breakfast.”
“You did? Why? How long are you staying?”
Roy grunts, then reluctantly says, “Keeley said if I come back before the weekend, she’ll make me regret it.”
“Oh.” Jamie considers this, then decides that he doesn’t mind. He’s still off training for a few weeks, and most of the lads are still on vacation. Besides, letting Roy stay with him is basically, like, charity, right? Like taking care of your grandpa who smells weird and keeps talking about the war but Mum says you have to be nice to him or else it’ll be bad karma.
He goes to find the grocery bag, and, remembering Keeley’s words, he opens Roy’s backpack and searches it until he finds his meds, and by the time he returns to the living room, Roy has fallen asleep. Jamie takes a photo of him and sends it to Keeley, who replies instantly with a string of emojis and a picture of a bear, and
Jamie smiles and thinks that if he returns to Richmond, maybe he gets to have this more often. He thinks that’d be nice.
*
“Jamie, you’re an amazing player. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
*
“He fucking what?”
Jamie shrugs, trying to avoid Roy’s incredulous gaze. It works, but then he accidentally meets Keeley’s gaze instead, so altogether it wasn’t as successful as he thought.
“Are you serious?” Keeley asks, the look on her face mirroring Roy’s. They’re all in Keeley’s kitchen, and she has a glass of wine in her hand, but she sets it down on the counter now to stand on her tiptoes, reach up and knock on Jamie’s head.
“Oi! What the fuck?”
“Just checking if you hit your head,” Keeley says, not sounding regretful in the slightest.
Jamie pulls out his phone to check if she’s ruined his hair; she has. “Why?!”
“Because Lasso has lost his fucking marbles, that’s why,” Roy says gruffly. “Does he actually want Richmond to get promoted?”
Jamie’s pretty sure that Roy just accidentally complimented him, but he’s feeling too depressed to enjoy it. He can still transfer to another club, or even stay at Man City, but he’d really been hoping for Richmond. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, though. Ted’s made his opinion very clear.
“Talk to him again,” Keeley suggests. “Or, even better, join another club, and then you can beat Richmond and show Ted what he’s missing. It’s called winning the breakup.”
“Oh, yeah?” Roy asks, and he sounds gruff but he’s smiling at Keeley. “Is that what you’re doing, dating me, then? Winning your breakup with that prick over there?”
“Fuck off, Roy,” Jamie says at the same time that Keeley laughs and says, “Nope, I definitely downgraded with you. Jamie’s got way better hair.”
Roy rolls his eyes, and Jamie winks at him, and then Roy has to turn back to the stove where he’s making pasta with grilled salmon, and Keeley drinks another sip of the wine Jamie had brought, and it’s all really nice, and suddenly Jamie feels depressed all over again, because after tonight this will all be over for good.
“Maybe this is fate,” Jamie says. “Maybe fate is, like, saying I should quit football for good.”
“This again?” Roy asks. “A fuckload of players in the Premier League should quit football for good, and they’d be doing the world a favour.”
“But not me?”
Roy makes a noncommittal grunt.
“Of course not you, babe,” Keeley says. “Besides, what would you do instead?”
“Dunno,” Jamie says. “Me agent sent over this offer for some reality show. I thought maybe-“
“Fuck no,” Roy yells, pointing threateningly at him with the spatula. “You’re not quitting the fucking Premier League for fucking Big Brother.”
“It’s actually not-“
“Keeley, take over,” Roy barks, ushering her to the stove before storming out. It’d be more impressive if he wasn’t still limping, even though the crutches are gone.
Keeley experimentally pokes at the sauce with a spoon before evidently deciding that it’s none of her business. Instead, she turns her full attention on Jamie, who is starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
“Where do you think he went?”
“He’s probably gone outside to punch my garden shed,” Keeley says.
“You don’t have a shed.”
“I had it built just for him. I don’t want him punching walls inside my house.”
“Right,” Jamie says, thinking that this is probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for Roy.
“Jamie.” Keeley is using her serious voice now. “You do realise that throwing away everything you’ve worked for because of your dad isn’t healthy, yeah?”
“Yeah, but- I don’t know what to do, Keels. I just don’t know.”
Suddenly, there are arms around him, and just like that Keeley is hugging him. Her arms around him are tight. She’s close enough that he can smell her shampoo. Jamie only hesitates for a moment before hugging her back.
He has no idea how long they’re standing here like this, but it’s long enough for the sauce to burn, and it’s also long enough for Roy to walk back inside and say, “Don’t want to know, don’t care. Keeley, when I said to take over, I didn’t mean just watch. Tartt, you might want to give Pep a call.”
“What? Why?” Jamie asks, while Keeley hits Roy’s arm with the spatula.
Roy dodges a second hit, wrapping his arm around her wrist instead and pulling her close, and it’s only then that he says, “Richmond’s putting in an offer for you.” Jamie can’t be sure, but he thinks Roy might be smiling slightly under his beard.
Confused, all he can say again is, “What?”
Luckily, Keeley’s got his back. “What the fuck?” she says. “Are you magic? You better tell me now. I only trust lady magicians.”
Jamie nods. He gets it. Roy, meanwhile, only frowns, before shaking his head like he’s deciding to deal with this at another time. “I talked to Lasso. Made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“What offer?” Jamie asks.
“Did you offer him Jamie’s virgin body?” Keeley asks. “Because if you did, that’s not cool, Roy.”
“I ain’t sucking nobody off for this,” Jamie says immediately. “I might as well do reality tv.”
Roy is definitely smiling. “I made him a two-for-one deal.”
“What, like, at Asda’s?” Jamie asks.
Keeley seems to be getting something that Jamie isn’t, though, because her mouth drops open. “You didn’t,” she says.
“I did,” Roy says. “Starting next season, as soon as my knee is done being a little bitch, AFC Richmond – that means you, too, Tartt – will get the honour of being trained by Coach Kent.”
“Wow,” Keeley says, looking up at Roy with wide eyes. “Do I get the honour of dating Coach Kent, then? Or am I still dating the Chelsea Legend?”
“What Chelsea Legend?” Roy asks, mock-offended. “Are you stepping out on me?”
“I am,” Keeley says. “He’s this huge, angry bloke. Very hairy, too. Yells a lot.”
“He sounds like a right bastard,” Roy says and bends down to kiss her.
Jamie would normally be weirded out by this, but he’s too busy processing what Roy just said. Roy’s Richmond’s new gaffer? No, that can’t be right – assistant coach, probably. It makes sense; it’s, like, one of the three career options for retired players. But the way Roy put it, it almost sounds like he told Lasso that he’d only do it if Richmond takes Jamie back, and that- that seems fucking nuts, but it’s basically what Roy said, isn’t it? And unlike Lasso, Roy never lies, so it’s got to be true.
“Jamie?” Keeley asks, finally breaking off the kiss. “Are you okay? Roy, did you break him?”
“Never been better,” Jamie says. He realises that he means it.
*
Jamie’s transfer goes through in time for training starting again. Pep gives one of his weird passive-aggressive press interviews about it that Jamie never really gets, and then Lasso gives one of his weird cheerful press interviews about it, and this one, Jamie does get, because he’s watched it and he’s pretty sure Lasso’s lying about being happy that Jamie’s coming back.
The first day of training is shit, and so is the second and the third and the fourth, and by the time the season starts, Jamie might start to seriously doubt his decision if it wasn’t for Roy.
“Tartt,” Roy barks at the end of every day, “hurry the fuck up. Keeley wants you for dinner.”
So every day, Jamie hurries the fuck up and meets Roy and Keeley for dinner, and every day he can see that the lads want to ask about it but nobody ever does.
The mood on and off the pitch is different this time around – subdoomed, because they got relegated, and also hostile, because they’ve all made it clear that Jamie isn’t wanted and also because Nate keeps being a dick.
“Seriously,” Jamie says a couple of weeks in when it’s just him and Isaac staying late in the gym, “are you really all mad ‘cause I got you relegated? Because it weren’t nothing personal. I was just doing me job.”
“It’s not about that, bruv,” Isaac says. “It’s that you were a fucking prick, and then you abandoned us mid-season, and then in all your interviews you were even more of a prick.”
“Oh,” Jamie says, a little surprised because he’d honestly forgotten about most of this. “Should I, like- apologise?”
Isaac attempts to shrug, but he’s weight-lifting and sweating a ton, so all that happens is that he almost crushes himself with the weights. “Probably. Dunno that it’ll change much, though.”
“How can you not know?” Jamie demands. “You’re skipper. Ain’t that your job? Making sure the team’s all, like, cosy and shit?”
Isaac frowns at him. “Roy never cared about that.”
“Yeah, but he’s Roy. He was probably too busy crying himself to sleep every night about his failing career.”
“See,” Isaac says, trying to point at him and promptly crushing himself again, “that’s a shit thing to say.”
“But it’s true,” Jamie points out.
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t say it.”
Jamie takes a moment to counterblade this, like they do when a sword’s not sharp anymore and they don’t know why. He thinks what Isaac’s telling him is to not be a prick, which people have been telling Jamie all his life so he’s not sure if it’s actually possible for him to do, and he’s also telling Jamie to make more of an effort. That, on the other hand, is something Jamie can do. Making more of an effort is basically what football’s all about.
While he’s been thinking, Isaac has gotten up and wiped the sweat off his face with a towel. He’s now looking at Jamie all serious-like. “You’ve got to stop being a dick,” he says. “To the team, and in interviews.”
“Fine, yeah,” Jamie says. “Can I still be a dick on the pitch?”
“Only to the other team.”
“Fine,” Jamie repeats. He thinks this is probably doable.
“Also,” Isaac continues, “you can’t just change to another club halfway through the season. That was fucking shitty, bruv.”
“Tell that to fucking Lasso, then,” Jamie mutters. “Weren’t like I wanted to go back, yeah?”
“Are you for real?” Isaac asks. “You’re not having a laugh?”
“Swear down. One minute I’m at the bonfire with everyone, and then suddenly I get a call from Higgins that I should pack my shit because Richmond don’t need me no more.”
Isaac looks like he’s trying to work out a maths problem or remember his bank’s log-in info or something. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t matter now, anyway,” Jamie says. “I’m back, yeah? And this time it ain’t a loan, either, so I’m stuck with you lot unless Lasso decides to loan me out or something.” He breaks off, suddenly worried. Would Richmond do that? Probably not. But, would they?
Isaac’s still got his maths-face on, but now he nods slowly, as though he’s reached some sort of conclusion. “Okay. I’ll talk to the lads.”
“Thanks,” Jamie says, and then adds, “I really am sorry, yeah? Not about doing me job. But about the other stuff.”
“Good,” Isaac says, and for the first time since Jamie came back, he doesn’t sound quite so angry anymore.
*
Things get better. They win their first game, and their second, and Jamie still goes ‘round to Keeley and Roy’s a lot, but he sometimes goes out drinking with the team instead. He hasn’t heard from his dad in months.
He also hasn’t talked to Lasso in months. Not really. Not since that night in the bar when Coach told him that he doesn’t want Jamie back. They talk on the pitch, obviously, but that’s it. Jamie wants to ask him sometimes – about that night of the last pitch of the season, and about that night in the bar, and whether Coach really thinks that Jamie’s shitty dad makes him a better player, a better man.
But he never asks, and Lasso never brings it up, either, so Jamie figures that it’s probably best to forget all about it.
But-
He can’t help but keep thinking, sometimes. And because he keeps thinking, he remembers something one day, and he doesn’t want to ask Ted about it directly, so instead he goes to ask the one other person who might know.
“Um. Can I come in?” he asks, after he’s knocked four times and Beard still hasn’t glanced up from his book.
Beard makes a vague noise that could, with a bit of imagination, count as agreement. He only looks up when Jamie closes the door, his expression unreadable.
“Um,” Jamie says when it becomes clear that if anyone’s going to speak, it’s going to be him. “Right. So- you remember last year, yeah, when Coach gave us these books? I guess I was just wondering-“
“Black Beauty,” Beard interrupts.
Jamie says. “Was that the one I got? ‘cause I totally threw it away, and I’ve only just realised that I feel bad about that, actually, and I was gonna give it another try, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it.”
“It wasn’t,” Beard says. “But it’s the one you should read.”
“Right. So, you’re not, like, gonna tell me the title of the other-“
“Nope.”
“Right. Okay, well- cheers, I guess.”
Beard nods at him and turns back to his book, a clear dismissal.
Training’s over for the day, and Colin asks if he wants to come his house and play FIFA, and normally Jamie definitely would, but not today. “Can’t, mate,” he says. “I have to go to one of them shops that sell books.”
“A bookshop?” Sam asks. It’s possibly the first thing he has said to Jamie off the pitch since he came back. He’s good again with the other lads, but not with Sam.
“Yeah, one of them,” Jamie says. “Coach told me to get this book- actually, I wrote it down here somewhere- let me-“ He shows Sam his arm, on which he’s written dlack beuti.
Isaac, who’s just coming out of the shower, stops to take a look. “Oh yeah, I’ve read that,” he says.
“You have?” Sam asks, sounding weirded out.
“It’s about a horse,” Isaac tells Jamie. “And some other horses too. I don’t like them. They’re too big.”
Jamie is pretty sure he’s never seen a horse in real life. He thinks they only live in America and at the Palace, probably.
“Ah,” Sam says, his face clearing, “you are talking about Black Beauty.”
“Fucking horses,” Isaac says and wanders back out, even though he’s only wearing a towel.
This leaves only Sam and Jamie in the dressing room, and normally they’d both make their excuses now, but for some reason Sam has started looking at Jamie with a weird expression on his face, and he has yet to look away.
“My dad read it to me,” he offers. “When I was little. I liked it. I do not think horses are too big.”
“That was really nice of your dad,” Jamie says, feeling awkward. “Hanging out with Little Sam like that.”
“Yes,” Sam says. “It was. He read to me a lot.”
“Mine didn’t,” Jamie says, and then, suddenly thinking that he’s said too much about himself, he adds, “But it ain’t like I wanted him to. Books are like something really boring on the telly, only more boring.”
“But you still want to go to a bookshop to buy this book,” Sam says, gesturing at his arm.
“I- yeah, I guess.” Jamie is not even sure why. He’d originally thought that if he read what Ted recommended to him last year, he might get what Ted was trying to tell him back then, and then he might finally understand what Ted wants from him. He has never once got what Ted wants from him.
But he still doesn’t know the title, and Beard said he won’t tell him, and there’s really no point in reading that other book, because it’s not what Ted told him to read, so Jamie shouldn’t bother. He wants to, though. For some reason, he wants to at least try.
“I will come with you.” Sam says it very calmly, but then he adds, “If you want,” and Jamie realises abruptly that this is it. This might be the last chance he gets.
“Yeah, that’d be- fucking aces, actually,” he says, and Sam smiles, so Jamie thinks he did okay. Only then he goes and ruins it again, because Sam helps him find the right book, and they have a drink after, and then Jamie spends a week or so trying to read it, and then when Sam asks about it, Jamie has to admit that he hasn’t made it past the first chapter.
“Oh,” Sam says. It’s clear that he’s disappointed. Jamie’s disappointed in himself, too. They had, like, this whole bonding moment, and he’s fucked it up within a week.
“I did try,” he explains awkwardly. “But I couldn’t- I think the one we got has its print messed up or something, because it’s not- I can’t read it properly. Don’t make sense.”
Sam doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and then training starts and there’s no time for talking anymore. But later, Jamie’s just gotten himself a plate of whole-grain rice with chicken breast at the canteen and is looking for a table when he spots Sam, waving him over. The second Jamie sits down, Sam hands him his AirPods and motions at him to put them in. Frowning, Jamie does while Sam presses a button on his screen, and then-
“The first place that I can well remember,” a pleasant male voice starts, “was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end.”
Jamie has no idea what the fuck a meadow is, but it doesn’t matter, because Sam’s turned it off now and is looking at him expectantly, visibly trying and failing not to beam.
“What the fuck is this?” Jamie asks.
“It is an audiobook,” Sam explains, still looking incredibly pleased with himself. “The reason my dad read to me for so long was because as a child, I could never concentrate on books for long enough to read them myself. Now, I quite enjoy reading. But I still appreciate audiobooks.”
“So you just have to listen?” Jamie asks. “Like with music?”
“Exactly like music.”
“Brill. Can you turn it back on?”
“Naturally.” Sam turns it back on, and Jamie hands him one of the AirPods so that they can listen together. By the end of lunch, they’ve made it through three chapters. By the end of the week, they’ve finished the book.
“Oi,” Roy barks as he finds them in the gym, “what the fuck? What’s wrong with you?”
“I hate Black Beauty,” Jamie declares, wiping away his tears on his sweaty t-shirt. “Don’t ask what’s wrong with me, ask what’s wrong with Beard! He’s the one who said to read it!”
“I must admit I had remembered it happier,” Sam says. His eyes are red-rimmed, too. “Although I suppose the ending-“
“No, fuck off,” Jamie says, “I still feel traumatised. Is this what all books are like?”
“Some of them.”
Roy regards them with a great deal of suspicion, like he’s afraid they’ll cry in front of him and then he’ll have to do something about it. In the end, though, he just says, “You should read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory next. My niece loves it.”
Sam looks at Jamie. Jamie looks at Sam. They’ve finished the book, which now honestly feels like a huge waste of time because, seriously, what. But it also feels a little good, like working out – it’s supposed to hurt you, and then after you feel better and you come out stronger. Jamie thinks this is what Black Beauty’s been like for him. He also thinks he wouldn’t mind doing it again, if Sam’s up for it.
Sam holds up his phone. “Already downloaded it, Coach,” he says, and Roy grunts, and something in Jamie’s chest lifts.