Page 20 of Playing to Win

“Stay there, I’ve got it!” he told her as she wavered, nearly falling back onto the pavement.

“Be careful,” she said to him, sounding on the verge of tears.

He grabbed one of the bottles out of the gutter, then bent down and reached under the bus for the second, watching the rear wheel to make sure he wasn’t about to be pancaked. “Hah!” He stood and waved the bottles as she collected the last fallen diaper.

“You’re a star,” she said, zipping the bag shut with emphasis. “And I’m an eejit.”

Colin looked at the handful of other passengers, none of whom had budged to help the teen mum. He was struck with a memory of riding the same bus long ago with his own mother and baby sister. How Mum had shouted at Emma for crying, then at the other passengers for staring, and finally at Colin for…what, he couldn’t remember. Existing, probably.

He found two seats with room in the aisle for the pushchair. The lass sank down beside Colin and shoved a stray lock of blond hair from her face. “I’ve only just left home and I’m already knackered. Naebody telt me how much work it’d be to bring a baby out, even a quick trip up the town to see a mate.”

“It’s pure meltin’ the day, too.” He handed her the bottles, then tugged the front of his football shirt, hoping he didn’t already stink of sweat.

“I know, but my friend’s only in Glasgow for the Games, so it’s now or never.”

“Couldn’t she come out to visit you?”

“It’s too far. Plus I hate people seeing where I live.”

Colin knew the feeling. “The Drum’s not exactly a happening place.” His phone beeped inside his kit bag. “Just a sec,” he told her as he pulled it out. There was a text from an unfamiliar number.

This time I won’t forget you - A

Colin’s pulse spiked, with glee at the fact Andrew had contacted him, and with anger at the implication that last time, hehadforgotten Colin.

Sorry, who’s this?he replied.

The next message contained no words, just a picture of Andrew lounging in a sun-soaked grassy field, his shirt half-buttoned. The photo looked professionally done.

“Nice,” the lass beside him said as she finished cleaning off the bottles. “Mate of yours?”

“More like a mate of a mate. What sort of twat keeps glamor shots of himself on his own phone?”

“Gonnae draw a mustache on it and send it back.”

“Genius, doll.” Colin opened the photo in an editing app, then sketched a crude outline of a penis poking into Andrew’s mouth. “Much better.” He saved the new version of the photo and attached it to a message sayingI remember you now.

The girl giggled. “You’re not really sending that, are you?”

“I just did. I hope his toffee-nosed mates see it when he opens the message.” Colin’s phone rang. “It’s him!” He answered. “Hiya, Your Lordship.” He bobbed his eyebrows at the lass, who gave him a thumbs-up. “Saw you and your mates on the telly. ‘Lord Andrew, King of Selfies,’ the EBC called you.”

“Really?” Andrew sounded pleased. “Wait, what’s EBC?”

“English Broadcasting Company. It’s what we call BBC in our home.”

“Hah. Rather apt at the moment. I’ve noticed that even with the Games being played in Glasgow, and being Scottish-funded, all the commentators are English.”

“If we win any golds, they’ll probably dub ‘God Save the Queen’ over ‘Flower of Scotland’ during the medal ceremony.” Colin offered a wide smile to the baby, who was now fully awake and staring at him.

“Team Scotland already have several gold medals. Have you been living under a rock?”

“You’re the second person to ask me that today. I’m not a fan of Commonwealth Games. Half a billion pounds they cost, and there’s nae football, the only sport which matters.”

The baby gurgled as if in agreement, so Colin gave him an exaggerated nod.

“True,” Andrew said. “The only land-based sport, at least.”

“You fancy watersports, then?” Colin asked, and watched the lass’s eyes widen with scandalous horror.

---