Page 110 of Playing to Win

“Me too. Maybe we’ll even get our own regiment of fans,” he added with a laugh as he trotted off to join his team.

Colin’s knee twinged with every step as he approached his manager. Had it been hurting during the match? If so, he hadn’t felt it. It was probably just stress at the thought of talking to his mother. Duncan, an aspiring sport psychologist, had once told him that anxiety can actuallycausepain by depriving muscles of oxygen, and the more one focuses on the pain, the worse it gets.

Get tae fuck, he told his brain.

“You were brilliant out there today, lad.” Charlotte leaned in and whispered, “I saw your mum in the crowd. You okay?”

“We won, so yeah, I’m grand.”

She patted his arm, grinning. “Go and see her now, but make it quick, and don’t forget your cool-down stretching.”

“Right. Thanks.”You’re the sane mum I never had.

His mother was already waiting for him on the other side of the chest-high fence, which provided a welcome barrier.

“Mum,” he said as he forced himself to step forward.

“Colin.” She stood rigid as well, twisting the handles of a yellow plastic shopping bag. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah.” He stopped out of reach. “How are you here?” he asked her, meaningWhy are you here?

“Your Aunt Rose and her friend were driving down for the Yes rally. I hitched a lift.”

Colin looked away, resisting the urge to shift his weight off his throbbing knee. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”

Mum dropped her gaze and smoothed a long black lock of hair behind her ear. “I was afraid I’d lose my nerve.” She held out the yellow bag without looking at him. “It’s almost a month late, but Happy Birthday.”

Colin clenched his fists.You have got to be kidding me.What extravagant gift was she foisting upon him this year? How long before she phoned him, begging him to return the item for her and send her back the money?

As he took the bag, he saw it featured a pound-store logo. He relaxed a bit, realizing the gift’s affordability meant it was permanent.

He opened the bag to find a stress toy that looked like a wee football. Colin crushed it in his grip, the spongy material yielding under his fingers. It felt good.

“Thought maybe you could fidget with that instead of rubbing your scars,” Mum said. “Saw you doing it out there on the pitch today.”

Colin resisted the urge to fold his arms. Instead he held up the toy. “I doubt the refs’ll let me carry this in a game.”

She laughed. “Can you imagine if it popped out while you were crashing the goal? Such confusion for the defenders.”

“Aye.” He squeezed the ball again, once with each hand. “I like it. Thank you. It’s…actually very thoughtful.”

“Good.” She met his eyes and offered a tight smile.

He sensed she was about to say something awkward, so he changed the subject. “Gonnae go and see Emma today?”

“No, I—I hoped she’d be here, actually.”

“She and Dad and Gran went to the rally.”Which I could’ve told you if you’d phoned before coming.“Besides, she never comes to my matches, what with being allergic to grass, artificial turf, and giving a fuck.”

“True. If you were on a curling team, Emma would claim she’s allergic to ice. Or circles.”

Colin laughed despite himself. He’d forgotten his mother could be funny. She seemed frighteningly normal today.

“Your sister loves you, though,” Mum said. Then she stepped closer, pressing against the fence. “And so do I.”

He stared down at the stress toy, flattening it between his palms, feeling Mum’s eyes boring into his skull. “Okay,” was all he could manage without his face exploding.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for your birthday,” she said in a near whisper.

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