The Passion Play (2 page)

He had sat down abruptly on the bench beside him, pursed his lips,
shook his head. Goddamn, but that was embarrassing.

He didn't think she'd noticed. She just tolerantly wen
t on making polite conversation and smiling that gentle smile at him, asking him how he was fitting into the team. Were the other players treating him nicely? Was he enjoying himself? He found it hard to answer her questions with anything approaching sense, nodded and said, "Yes, Ma'am," and reddened like a tongue-tied school boy.

She wasn't a big talker.
More of a listener. He saw her listening all the time. She listened to the players who clustered round to say hello when she came in on some errand for Mr King. Listened to the coach when he explained something to her about the game – something she probably knew after this many years as the manager's wife, but she listened politely all the same. Listened to Mr King while he lectured her about the donuts she'd brought the team, told her she couldn't feed stuff like that to top athletes, went on about it till the whole team was shifting uncomfortably and wishing they didn't have to hear a grown woman scolded like a naughty child.

Sean and Matt made a point of waylaying her as she walked away with those donuts, stole the box out of her hands and took off with it. Sean gave her a thumbs-up and Matt had already gobbled down the first sugary lump on his way out the door. She looked around, all guilty-like, to see if Mr King had caught the byplay, but he was talking to Big Joe.
Big Joe who might just have asked the manager a question at the right time to distract him.

All she saw was nods and smiles, and she turned pink and went out.

They all liked her. She was a good woman. The sort of sweet, ladylike type that earned a man's respect as easy as breathing.

The sort no decent man would think about the way he thought about her. He didn't rate himself much for it, but neither could he seem to stop.

Anymore than he could stop watching her now, walking down the corridor ahead of him, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. Her blond hair was coiled up in some clever way, sleek and professional, and it gleamed even in the dull fluorescent light.

Her shoulders were hunched, and maybe her walk was less liquid than usual, jerkier.

Luke frowned. Was something wrong?

Instead of taking the left to the changing rooms and showers like he knew he should, he carried on following her, trying to make up his mind to say her name, to ask how she was. But there was no space in that swift, determined pace for small talk and 'Howdy
, Ma'am.'

He hesitated too long and she hit the end of the corridor without slowing at the double doors, her out-thrust arms working the lever bar in a quick motion that sent them back against the outside wall with a bang. She was out into the bright light and he blinked and squinted, stopped for a moment on the threshold to orient
himself. She was yards away, already at the side of her car, and as he saw her face - bone-tight and so pale it was almost green - he knew he was too right.

And too late.

As he called out her name she slammed the car door, shutting herself in, and threw the car into reverse, not even checking to see there was no one behind her. There wasn't. He was the only other person in the
carpark, and if she saw him jog several steps after her she gave no sign of it. She drove bent over the wheel like her gut hurt, he saw in the last, brief glimpse he had of her before she was away down the long rows of parked cars. He stared after her, and wished he had spoken sooner instead of silently following, gazing at her perfect ass, like a chump.

It took a deliberate effort to unclench his fists, to breathe normally, when he wanted to find whatever had put that expression on her face, and pound it. Not his place, to protect her, to solve her problems. Not his
right, and dumbass stupid to want it to be. Wanting something didn't make it yours.

He turned away, to go back inside for that shower. Carlos was on his way out, his tan face serene, probably riding the same endorphin kick Luke had been enjoying only moments before. They passed each other with an exchange of "Hey," but a moment later he stopped and pivoted as Carlos said, "Hey, man, where's good to get a bite to eat around here?"

"Mama Bolton's, just up the road and round the corner. The red-and-white stripe awning."

"You want to come?" Carlos flicked a thumb in casual invitation, taking his turn to be the new guy, newest member of the team, brashly confident but with a layer of
anxiety just under the surface. He tried too hard, but Luke wasn't the kind of man to hold it against him.

"Got to have a shower."
Luke lifted the hem of his shirt and flapped it so it slapped damply against his own skin, uncomfortably chill now in the Fall cool.

"'Kay.
What about the nightlife? You guys go to bars or clubs or whatever?"

"Sometimes."
He took pity on the kid. "Not tonight. Friday. We can hit a couple of the places in town. How about it?"

"Yeah, dude.
Sounds good. Want to meet some ladies."

Wanted to see how his new-and-improved status as an NFL player would work to get him laid, no doubt. And the kid was good enough looking - big square face and even white teeth - he'd probably do alright.

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Whatever," he said, and the kid grinned and waggled his eyebrows, twenty-two and full of himself. 

But a
s he went inside it wasn't Carlos he was thinking of. It was her again. Her with that shaken no-good look on her face. He hoped she was okay.

CHAPTER TWO

The tears would not come. Her eyes were dry and burning.

Should she cancel her appointments and go home? To do what? To stare at the wall and not-cry some more?

Work would be good.
A distraction from this pitifully strange emptiness.

So after twenty minutes sitting in her car in the parking lot of a large park, soothing greenness in front of her and a tissue at the ready, she gave up on grief and drove to her client's house. She was ten minutes early, so she rifled through her briefcase for her client notes and re
-read them with careful attention, sinking with gratitude into the clarity and control of her work persona.

With one minute to spare she exited the car and went to ring the doorbell of the prosperous brownstone. Siobhan Hastings was a very successful saleswoman who had followed her parents' recommendations to start investing early. They had been some of
Felicity’s first clients when she began work as a financial analyst, and their relationship was very friendly.

Felicity liked their daughter too, which was a good reason to dread this appointment, given the advice she must deliver.

"I'm really sorry. You have to sell. This property investment is your largest financial burden right now. With you off work the mortgage is undermining your resources. Here." Felicity slid a print-out across the table. "These are my projections if you hold onto it. Three more months and you'll be forced to put it on the market, unless you break one of the term deposits or sell out of a fund. Honestly I can't recommend either. They're generating income while this is devouring it."

"But the market's so low right now. I'll never make back what I paid for it."

"That's true. You'll be cutting your losses. But better to do it now than later, when the situation is worse. We don't know how long it will sit on the market before you find a buyer. The market may stay the same for years. No one knows. And in the meantime you're paying a mortgage that's too much to afford when you're not working. I assume you haven't changed your mind about that?"

They both looked to the soft wool blanket spread on the floor, and its cargo of drooling infant, who gummed a whale toy with ferocious determination. Seeing he had their attention, Adam paused to give them a maniacal grin, all scrunched and full of glee. He was dimpled and chubby, his little thighs rounding out his trousers like sausages in their casing.

"No," said Siobhan softly, and then repeated with certainty, "No. Absolutely not.  It won't be too many months before I can work again. It's not for long. Just this year while he's so tiny. I can't bear to have someone else looking after him. Perhaps next year at the outside."

"If you took on just part time work you could get to the break-even point." Felicity's eyes were still on Adam. She wished she could pick him up and feel the warm, baby-scented give of him. "Your hourly rate is so high it wouldn't take much."

"It's so hard to leave him."

Felicity hummed her understanding. "I don't suppose Peter could maybe contribute a little more . . . ?"

"Don't even ask. He's been a nightmare. It's like trying to get blood out of a stone. He pays only for half of Adam's bills and nothing more."

"Maybe if he won't contribute money he could at least have Adam for some of the time while you work. He might be willing to do that, and then you know Adam is with someone who loves him."

"I
hate
Peter." Siobhan sounded bitter and vaguely incredulous. "I really do. I don't know what I ever saw in him. How can you love someone so much one day, and then a couple of years later he's just completely different? It's not like I was the only one who wanted Adam. We both did.” She shook her head, sighed heavily, but the twist in her face eased as she contemplated Adam. “I'm so glad I have my baby. Even when everything else is terrible, he makes it worthwhile. Look at him. Isn't he gorgeous? I wish I could just have him and have nothing to do with his dad. Sometimes I think it would’ve been better if Peter and I had never been together at all. Just had Adam as an arrangement without the relationship. At least we'd still be civil."

"There's no way to have a crystal ball about these things. You thought you were doing the right thing at the time." Felicity watched Adam eye a set of
colorful connected rings about a foot from where he sat. He leaned towards them.

"I know. Hindsight is always perfect, isn't it? In an ideal world we'd sign baby contracts and get together to procreate. No muss, no fuss. Relationships are overrated."

As Adam started to topple Felicity was out of her chair and across the room, not quite fast enough to save him the impact. She lifted him up and crooned, and his whine faded into silence as he discovered her pearl necklace. Instantly it was in his fist, and he tugged.

"Don't let him!" said Siobhan, standing by her elbow, her hands lifting, but Felicity had already taken his forearm and clenched fingers in her own hand.

"Don't worry. I have plenty of nephews. I know what it's like." She said it automatically, her conscious mind surrendered to the sensation of holding this small person, her arm cradling him, his milky scent rising from his clothes and silken skin.

"He's already broken three of my necklaces. I swear
, I've given up on jewelry." Siobhan relaxed and stepped back, then returned to the table and her cup of herbal tea, lifted it to take a sip and watched the two of them over the rim of her cup.

His feet kicked furiously and Felicity absorbed the small impact against her abdomen. His eyes were fixed on her face, very wide and wondering, and his mouth was open as he quested towards his own fist and its treasure. "He's so precious." She whispered it, and now she felt a pressure like a balloon filling inside her chest and suddenly she was blinking back tears. She lowered her head to hide them, kissed that squishy little fist and yearned with all her being.

"You and Dan don't have any kids, do you?"

"No." She heard the thickness in her voice.

"You should. You'd be a great mom. Though it's hard to fit it in around work, I know. There's never a good time. If Adam hadn't made up his own mind to come I might have gone on putting it off forever. And now," she gestured at the toy-strewn carpet, the drying rack with its burden of little clothes and the burp cloths draped over the arm of the nearby couch, "sales is like a whole other world. I can't even imagine being in the midst of that. The money's not important. You just have to prioritize, you know?"

Felicity nodded, her head still down, not ready to trust her voice again.

"After all, what else is it for? What's the point of saving it up just to be rich someday? I can't replace this, can I?"

Felicity shook her head.

"That's what I think, anyway. Though of course it's different strokes for different folks. And I'm sure you've worked really hard to get to where you are today and it seems too hard to give it up or even take a break. It can't have been easy to do what you do. I know I- I hope you won't take this the wrong way – but I wasn't sure I should work with you to start with. I mean, you hardly look like my idea of a finance whiz. Gosh, that sounds awful, but I mean as pretty as you are. I suppose you get that a lot."

She paused, anxious and expectant, and after a moment Felicity nodded
again. Not that many people said it in so many words, but it was true her client list had built slowly and on the basis of solid results, not automatic trust generated by the sight of her.

"
Which is obviously really stupid, because you've been so incredibly helpful and you certainly know exactly what you're talking about. I've learned so much just doing what we have. You make everything clear and you're so helpful-"

"It's my job."

"I know. I know. But it's meant a lot to me, to have someone I can trust take care of all this. I wouldn't even have an income right now if it wasn't for you. I couldn't be at home with Adam. I wouldn't even have the choice. So thanks. I owe this to you."

"
It was you who earned the money to make the investments."

"I did. And I'm proud of what I've built. But I wouldn't have known where to start. It's been great, is
all. I was telling Tanya so the other day." Tanya was a mutual friend, the wife of an ex-player from Dan’s team. "I didn't know you worked with them too."

"I've
helped a few of the players."  She always wanted to sit footballers down and give them a stern talking-to about the shortness of their career, the relative length of their life, and get them into a good investment plan. With a couple of them she had managed it, but most shuffled away uneasily as if from a mother's boring lecture, avoided her with guilty looks, went and wasted it all. But Joe had Tanya to take firm hold of their finances and insist they see a professional to make the most of his seven-figure income. Felicity had been her choice.

She balanced Adam as he leaned away from her to look at something on the floor that had caught his eye. A moment later he squirmed for release, and she lowered him with more care than necessary, keeping her hands on him for as long as she could justify. He was oblivious, reaching for his new prize, a striped ball. His hand batted it out of reach and she put him down and brought the ball back to him, h
eld it until he had a firm grip. He tried to get a mouthful.

"Five months old now?" she asked.

"Almost."

"Another couple of months and he'll be crawling."

"I know. I'm not looking forward to it."

"After that, nothing's safe." She wanted to pick him up again. Instead she stood, refocused on work. "Shall I make the calls for
you, get things set up for the sale of the property?"

"You don't have to do that. I know it's not your job."

"I can, though. One less thing for you to worry about. I have the contacts and it won't take much time if it's the cost your worried about. In fact I'll do it gratis."

"You're too kind."

"This can't be an easy time for you, all things considered. I wish you were free to just focus on loving your little guy."

Now it was Siobhan's turn to tear up, and Felicity pushed a box of tissues to within her reach. She took one and dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose defiantly. "Sorry. This is stupid. I should be over doing this by now."

They worked through the details, and Felicity packed her briefcase with a sense that even if she had not brought good news, at least she had eased the making of the decision. Sometimes that was all she could do. She saw herself out, and left Siobhan hovering over little Adam with a dreamy smile on her face, a smile that was more painful to Felicity than anything Dan had said.

At home she parked her car in her garage as usual, but rather than use the internal door she ducked out through the closing garage door and walked to the place where the spare key was kept, took it out, circled the house to where she had stashed the back door key and got that too, her fingers coming away sticky with sap from the small bush that grew around the hiding place.

She went inside and called the locksmith. "I want new locks on all the doors," she told him, and organized a time tomorrow that fitted in between a jogging date with a friend, and the first of her client appointments in the afternoon.

As she put the phone down on the kitchen bench she looked around the elegant, open-plan room. Everything was immaculately tidy, in a restrained palette she had chosen to be restful for a man who worked long hours in a stressful job like Dan's. She wrapped her arms around her own body, denying the ache of them, the lack she still felt, the longing for a little life to hold and care for. The house seemed unnaturally still and silent. Foolishness, when Dan was barely ever home anyway, but now even the potential of his presence was gone.

She shivered, picked up the phone and made a second call. Her sister-in-l
aw answered with an over-loud "Hello?" and Felicity could hear her nephews shouting in the background.

"Caroline, can you come over? Something's happened. I could do with some company. Bring the boys. They can play outside."

"Is it an emergency?"

"Not physically."

"I'll be half an hour."

"Thanks."

When the call was finished she gazed at the appointments book lying on the granite bench top of the kitchen. It was a small leather-bound folder with a ring binder, the tips of color-coded tabs protruding in a coordinated procession around the edges. She placed a hand on it to feel its solidity, this symbol of a life. It was full of meeting and appointments and schedules and 'to do' lists. She had set aside time in it for weekly cleaning and monthly chores, reorganizing the linen cupboard and the kitchen pantry. All her weekly recurring dates with friends and-

She got a black marker pen, a ruler and a piece of tissue. Taking care to wipe down the edge of the ruler between each stroke, she flicked pages and drew a precise line through the dinner dates, one per fortnight, she had written in for herself and Dan for the next three months. The
n she called the restaurant to cancel the standing reservation, glad to leave a message rather than speak to an actual person. Dan liked the place because they fawned all over him, remembered everything he liked and treated him like a star. She thought their fish was always overcooked.