The Reluctant Wag (9 page)

The next second he had broken away and she had to reach out to steady herself against the wall.

‘Sorry,’ he rasped in a husky voice, ‘that was a mistake, a bad mistake. I know you don’t want this. It won’t happen again.’

Disappointment shot through her. No! It was no mistake – it had been a moment of utter delight, a moment she’d been hoping for all her life but never thought she’d experience – the moment when she’d found her true home, in another’s arms. It wasn’t like that first time he’d kissed her; this was tender and passionate all at the same time. Surely this was something more than just body contact? Her heart was still thumping, but she breathed quickly, deeply, fighting to regain her composure. She wanted to tell him not to be sorry, but something in the troubled expression on his face stopped her. He was angry at himself. It was clear that he felt he’d gone too far, that he didn’t want to get involved. And it was clear that however much that single, life-changing kiss had meant to Merise, it meant nothing to him, other than an undisciplined breach, a momentary lapse of focus.

She swallowed hard, tried to speak in a level voice. ‘Yes, it was a mistake.’ Then, more coolly, ‘But no harm done. We’re both adults. We both know what we’re doing and we’ve both got the good sense to know we shouldn’t be doing this.’

He seemed to search her face for second, then said, ‘Right. I guess it’s good night then.’

‘Yes.’ She smiled and scrabbled in her bag for her keys. ‘See you, Cal.’

‘Yeah.’ He walked down the path, turned and watched until she was safely inside, then drove away. Inside the little flat, her back to the door, slow, stinging tears ran down Merise’s face.

As she lay awake yet again, part of a favourite old poem was playing in her head.

‘Ever aware’ – that was how she felt about him – that he was here, in this city, near her. The poem was meant for a woman, but Cal was beautiful to her – a manly beauty that embodied his strength, his power, his passion. And she felt his being pervade this whole city. In her mind, she passed the MCG and imagined him running up the field towards the goals; glimpsed the roof of the Hartley Centre and imagined him beneath it, swimming laps or pumping weights; walked up Johnson Street and thought of him by candlelight at La Cocina del Diablo; strolled along Southbank and remembered that night when he saved her from Murdoch. Melbourne was his city. She could never escape from him while she was here, and yet this was where she had to be, for another year at least. How would she ever bear it?

Cal’s teammates were staying out of his way the next day. He was in a mood, and he’d been ruthless all morning during training – driving them harder and harder, not satisfied until he’d driven them all to exhaustion. They didn’t resent it, because they knew that what he asked of them was nothing compared to what he asked of himself. As they relaxed in the pool or lay stretched out on the massage table they could see him still working the treadmill in the altitude room.

Cal stopped, panting for breath, and took a swig of water. This was stupid and he knew it. He was angry at himself and he needed to be active. The last thing he wanted to do was think. Think of how stupid he’d been last night. He’d meant to steer clear of Merise because the temptation was just too great to resist. And he hadn’t been able to resist, not after spending the whole evening so close to her. She was far too much of a distraction. He couldn’t leave himself open to that again.

It wasn’t until he’d showered and was leaving the building that he remembered that he’d promised to pick her up and drive her to the game next week. He cursed inwardly. He thought briefly of cancelling, of making some excuse, but that might make it too big a deal. Better to just go through with it as casually as possible, then stay out of her way after that. For the rest of his playing career, if need be.

He’d stopped at the florist to send his mother a bunch of flowers, as he did every week, when he noticed the bonsai display in the window. There was one little tree in particular that caught his eye. It was gnarled but delicate and stately at the same time. He asked the florist about it.

‘Ah!’ she said. ‘That’s a particularly fine Japanese maple. It’s considered the most beautiful of all the bonsai. That’s quite an old tree, and I’m afraid it’s very expensive.’

‘Fine,’ he heard himself say. ‘I’ll take it. I’d like you to have it delivered today.’

As the florist prepared the tree for delivery, he addressed a gift card to Merise.

Polite. Impersonal. That would tie things up neatly, he told himself as he left the shop, but even so, he wondered what the hell he was doing.

Bev was delighted that Merise had agreed to be there for the Wolves’ opening game.

‘Fantastic news!’ she crowed. ‘We’ve got a meeting with Tim tomorrow to organise everything. When you’ve done this, SMO will have enough material to run with until the finals – if the Wolves make the finals, that is.’

‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt they’ll make it,’ Merise said with feeling.

Bev laughed. ‘You’ve been watching too many Yarraside ads,’ she quipped.

Perhaps she had, Merise thought, or perhaps she’d been drawn in by Cal’s fervent belief that his team could take on all comers. Either way, she wouldn’t be there in September.

‘Just so long as you know I won’t be available for finals.’

‘No,’ said Bev with a grin, ‘certainly not. I’m sure we’ll have no trouble getting another lovely young thing to take your place.’

It was stupid, and Merise knew it, but she didn’t like the sound of that, not in the least.

She found the bonsai tree on the doorstep that afternoon. She lifted it up and carried it inside, marvelling at the intricate knots and curves of its ancient trunk. It was so beautiful. She placed it reverently in the centre of her table and opened the card. But she already knew. She’d known it was from him the moment she’d seen it. She wasn’t sure how, but she’d known. Now her hands shook slightly as she read his card. It was quite business-like: ‘Just to say thanks . . .’ Was that his way of telling her not to read too much into that kiss? Was it his way of putting her at a distance, like all his other women? Well, he needn’t worry. She wouldn’t be trying to work her way to the front of the pack. She wouldn’t be throwing herself at him. In fact, she’d stay well out of his way from now on.

Cal hadn’t called to arrange to pick her up before the game. He’d sent her a brief text: C U 11.00 a.m. Game-time = 2.40, and at one minute to eleven on Saturday morning he was banging on the door.

‘Ready?’ he asked, the second she’d let him into the flat. No preliminaries.

‘Yes, are we late?’ She’d been ready to leave for the past half hour.

‘No, but I’ve got to go back home. I’ve forgotten my back-up boots,’ he said as he rushed to the car. He was angry at himself. It wasn’t like him to be so damned disorganised.

She sensed his agitation, so said soothingly, ‘No problem. We’ve got plenty of time.’

‘Yeah, but I like to get to the ground before anyone else.’

She didn’t ask why. She sensed he didn’t feel like talking, and she didn’t want to be a nuisance.

‘Oh, I meant to thank you for the bonsai,’ she said a little shyly. She didn’t want to conjure up the spectre of that night, that kiss. ‘It’s exquisite.’

‘No problem,’ he said curtly. Subject closed. ‘Nearly there.’

She was surprised that his house was only five minutes by car, on the other side of Melbourne University, just off Royal Parade. All this time, he’d been so close. As they pulled up outside a double-fronted Victorian mansion she realised that Bev had been right – he must have made a fortune one way or another to afford a place like this.

‘Wow!’ she exclaimed when she realised that, unlike most houses in the area, it stood in its own grounds.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked.

‘Who wouldn’t? It’s amazing.’ She couldn’t help showing her admiration. ‘I suppose it’s heritage listed?’

‘Yes, Class A. Come in and have a quick look around while I dig out my boots.’

She was admiring the intricate wrought-iron balustrading on the deep, tiled verandah when he opened the front door and a miniature ball of fluff came scurrying across the spacious hall, yelping in delight at the sight of its master.

‘What on earth!’ Merise laughed as she knelt to pat the tiny dog. ‘Who and what are you?’

Cal looked a little sheepish. ‘She’s Cazaly, and she’s a Havanese.’

‘Is she now?’ asked Merise. ‘I’ve never heard of a Havanese.’

‘They’re the National Dog of Cuba, you know.’

‘Really? I’d never have guessed,’ Merise said, in a teasing tone. ‘And I’d never have guessed that the big, butch captain of an AFL club has such an adorable, teensy little fluffy friend. I’d have thought you’d have a wolf, or a rotty at least. Have your teammates met this little lady?’

‘Go on – laugh.’

‘What could Nina Smally do with such information? What dark inferences could she draw?’

He laughed out loud at that. ‘Too horrible to contemplate! But I didn’t pick her. She was a gift from a family friend. She breeds them and her dogs had pups. She gave me Cazaly to celebrate my getting the captaincy. What could I do? I couldn’t refuse.’

‘Why, Cal McCoy – you aren’t the real McCoy at all – you’re just a big softy!’ She said it playfully, then instantly regretted it. They weren’t good mates, just business associates; she had to remember that. ‘Shouldn’t we go?’

‘Straight away.’ He grabbed his boots off the hall stand and banged the front door shut.

As he battled the Saturday traffic, she was remembering the impression she’d received from the brief glimpse she’d had of the house: highly polished woods, stained glass, a marble floor accented by a Persian runner. It was a bright, beautiful space, one she’d love to explore. It would tell her so much about him.
Stop this, Merise!
she told herself.

She cleared her throat and said, ‘You have a beautiful home, and you’re within walking distance of the city, but how can you bear the traffic?’ A safe, neutral subject.

‘You get used to it. You don’t like inner-city living?’

‘It’s not that. Melbourne is such a lovely city, but I just don’t see myself living permanently in an urban environment. I really want a quiet life. I’m a country girl at heart.’

Cal found himself thinking how perfectly his parents’ property would suit her. Five hundred hectares of prime riverside land at Echuca, which he would one day inherit. But it wouldn’t suit him as a permanent base. Whatever he chose to do after footy, it would be footy-related, and he’d do it in Melbourne – the heartland of the AFL, the centre of his universe.

‘But if you want to be a journalist, you’ll be seriously limiting your options if you’re not based in a capital city.’

‘I know,’ she admitted ruefully, ‘but I can’t help it. I want land around me – lots of space and greenery and birds and wildlife.’

‘How much land?’

‘Let me see . . . I think . . . at least twenty acres. I need space for a small herd of miniature ponies. In a perfect world I’d live in the middle of twenty acres, right beside the Yarra River, not too far from the centre of Melbourne.’

‘Mmm, not too many properties to choose from then,’ he mused, ‘apart from the governor’s residence.’

‘Oh no,’ responded Merise, ‘that would never do – too close to a main road.’

He laughed as he swung into the underground car park at the MCG. ‘Okay, we made good time. I can take you home later, but you know you’d have to wait. Or I can organise a taxi for you,’ he said as they walked together towards the rooms.

‘I can wait.’
Eek!
That had slipped out before she’d got her brain in gear. ‘I mean, I have to hang around. I have a meeting with Bev after the game.’

‘Fine, see you later.’ He was striding away from her, already in game-day mode, and she knew she was no longer part of his mental landscape. But she couldn’t help herself; she needed to reach out to him in some way. ‘Good luck!’ she called after him.

‘I won’t need it,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘they won’t get anywhere near us, but thanks anyway.’ She could see he was also back in arrogant mode. And as he walked away from her she suddenly understood that the arrogance was something he used, something he needed to be able to do what he did so effectively.

She made her way to the members’ dining room for the business part of the day. Thankfully, it was over relatively quickly. She was only required to pose for some photos with a hand-picked group of Wolves barrackers, with the footy oval as a background. Afterwards, she stood for a few minutes looking out through the great wall of glass, over the magnificent expanse of carefully tended green, still, quiet and empty just now. They called it a coliseum, and that’s what it felt like – a vast arena where men would go out to do battle while the crowds cheered or booed. Perhaps those men weren’t risking their lives, but they were risking a great deal. She shuddered a little at the thought of it.

How exposed the players must feel out there, with tens of thousands of eyes and hundreds of cameras trained on their every move, every mistake, every millisecond of hesitation or momentary show of anger, fear or triumph. The scrutiny alone would be unbearable, without having to run until your legs cramped, and then kick so precisely that the ball would find its way through the contest and hit its mark. She’d never really thought about what it was that Cal did before, but standing there, looking out over that very public space, she thought for the first time that maybe there was a kind of heroism in playing footy.

An hour later, the MCG was a spectacle, half silver-and-black, half blue-and-grey. In this opening game of the season, the Wolves were playing their archrivals, the Darebin Devils, and the tension around the packed ground was palpable. Merise found it strange sitting there in the crowd, seeing and hearing them react to the man she loved. She felt a little thrill go through her every time someone yelled, ‘Go, Cal!’ or ‘Kick it to McCoy!’ And she felt like protesting when she heard an opposition barracker call out to one of his players who was chasing Cal up the wing, ‘Get McCoy! Crunch him!’ Her heart contracted for a second. But Cal sped away, leaving his opponent in his wake, and deftly passed the ball to the full-forward, who played right on and kicked a goal.

When Cal jogged back to the centre square for the next ball-up, his main opponent, who’d been niggling him throughout the game, elbowed him in the ribs. Cal swung round, grabbed him by the guernsey, lifted him off his feet and hurled him to the ground and the Yarraside crowd roared approval. Their captain had just stamped his authority in no uncertain terms.

In the end the Wolves won. It wasn’t just a loss for the Devils; it was a humiliating defeat, and some of their fans turned nasty, hurling abuse at both the Wolves and their own players as they walked out of the stadium during the fourth quarter. Merise sat on in the stands when it was all over, reluctant to get caught up in the crush to exit. When most of the people had gone she made her way to the Members’ Bar, where she was to meet Bev.

‘I’ve got some news for you,’ Bev called from across the room when she finally breezed in.

‘What is it?’

‘Later. Patience. I’ll tell you when we’ve had something to eat. I’m absolutely famished.’ After a hearty meal followed by a sizeable cake for dessert, Bev took a deep breath, lowered her voice and said, ‘I know you’re getting out of modelling, but I have one final proposal that just might interest you, Merise. It’s a project that has nothing to do with football.’

Merise sensed the excitement in her voice. ‘Nothing to do with football would be welcome. Well, don’t keep me on tenterhooks, what is it? Or do I have to sit through another helping of Death By Chocolate?’

‘Okay,’ said Bev, laughing. ‘I know you’re not the sporty type, but have you ever heard of Siggy Balstad?’

‘Yes, of course. He plays tennis, doesn’t he?’

‘A little. He’s just the world’s number-two tennis star, he’s a complete sweetie, and he’s very, very handsome.’

Merise nodded her ready agreement. He was, too – blonde and green-eyed, with cheek-splitting dimples. ‘I must admit he’s a bit of a hottie.’

‘Good, because how would you like to do a shoot with him?’

‘You’re kidding! Aren’t you? Are you serious?’

‘I am. His agent’s just contacted me. Siggy wants to use you in his latest publicity shots.’

‘Me? Specifically me? Why? I mean, how would he even know I existed?’ Merise was stunned and flattered.