Page 46 of Playing to Win

Andrew could feel the regret radiating from his parents, and the quiet sympathy from his in-laws. What his father said was true. Ultimately, Andrew didn’t matter. None of them mattered. Dunleven Castle had stood for nearly six centuries, and it was their duty—hisduty—to keep it alive.

“I understand,” he said softly.

“Thank you.” Mum squeezed Andrew’s arm. “I promise you will be fairly compensated.”

He nodded, though he knew that no amount of money, no multi-million-pound terrace home in Knightsbridge would give him back what he’d lost today.

There’s no place for me here.Not as an adult. And one day, when his father and mother were gone and this castle belonged to George, Andrew might not be welcome at all.

= = =

Despite the fact that his entire football kit—boots included—was rain-drenched, and despite the fact that after nine days of silence, he’d given up on ever hearing from Andrew again, Colin was in a jolly mood as he entered his flat after practice Tuesday night.

Emma and Gran were watchingRiver City, Emma nervously twisting her own hair while she stared at the TV screen. Colin knew his sister hated interruptions during her favorite show, so he decided to make the most of it.

He threw down his kit bag as he leaped across the living room to join them. “Who’s got two double-jointed thumbs and is playing in our first preseason match Saturday?” He bent his thumbs at right angles to his hands and pointed them at his chest. “This lad!”

Gran whooped and applauded. Emma groaned and wrapped her thick dark braid around her head to cover her eyes. “That’s so disgusting,” his sister said. “I hope the other team breaks your thumbs so they can be surgically normalized.”

“Thanks for your support.” He peered into the dim kitchen. “Where’s Dad?”

“Bedroom.” Emma turned back to the telly. “Said he was knackered.”

“Bit early, yeah?” Colin spied a stack of mail on the table and started sifting through it. Beneath a hardware-shop flyer was a facedown trifold letter. He turned it over to see a notice with the green-and-yellow Jobcentre logo at the top.

Dear Mr. MacDuff,

We regret to inform you that your Jobseeker’s Allowance (JSA) will be suspended 4 weeks due to your failure to appear for an interview on Friday, 9 May. A second such infraction will result in a 13-week suspension of benefits, and a third will result in disentitlement.

Colin didn’t read the rest. He stalked down the hall, through his father’s open bedroom door, which he shut behind him.

“Dad, what is this?” He shook the letter. “Why didn’t you go to the interview?”

His father looked up from the bed, where he was sitting atop the covers with his laptop. “Emma was ill and needed the doctor. I phoned the Jobcentre to reschedule. They said since it was a last-minute cancellation, a benefits manager would contact me. They never did, and frankly, I forgot.”

“Dad!”

“I’m sorry, all right?” He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his nose. “It wasnae an interview for an actual job, just the usual bureaucratic pish.”

“All the same, you gotta jump through their hoops. I could’ve taken Emma to the doctor, or Gran could’ve.”

“You were in exams, and Gran was ill at the time too. Besides, I’m the only one who knows everything about Emma’s asthma, all her medications and symptoms. I’m her dad, I should be there.”

Colin frowned at the letter. “Don’t they give exceptions for things like this?”

“Aye, but only to single parents.” He passed a hand through his thick, prematurely gray hair. “Until your mum is permanently institutionalized—which I pray to God never happens—she still technically lives here.”

“Christ, what a fucking mess.” Colin sank onto the edge of the sagging mattress, squeaking the springs beneath it. “How are we supposed to live four weeks without your JSA? My student grant for year two doesnae kick in for another month.” He lowered his voice. “We’re barely getting by as it is.”

“I know.” Dad tapped his glasses against the laptop’s lid. “I’m seeing what we can sell on eBay. Old video games and all.”

“Good idea.” Queasy with worry, Colin drew his finger through a mud stain on his leg, smearing it into a star-shaped pattern. “I’m sorry I couldnae find work this summer.”

“Hey. We discussed this. If you worked a shit job for a few quid a week you’d no longer be a dependent and I’d lose the money to support you. It’s not worth it.”

“I hate that,” Colin said with a snarl.

“I hate it more.” Dad’s voice rose. “Don’t you think I’d rather have us both working? But unless it’s a decent job, the numbers don’t add up. We earn more on benefits, and while that might not appeal to our manly pride, what matters most is making sure your gran and your wee sister have enough to eat.” He put his glasses back on and opened the laptop. “Right?”

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