Page 170 of Men in Shorts

Liam stared at him. “What?”

Evan winced before continuing, as though his words would hurt himself as well as Liam. “He may learn to delegate and find a slightly better balance between work and life, but he’ll always care deeply about what he does. He’ll never be satisfied with a Monday-to-Friday job he can walk away from at the end of a shift and just forget about.”

“I know.” Liam scuffed his shoe against one of the flower pots. “If he was that sort of person, he’d never have started his own business. He’d have signed on with the IT department of some ginormous bank and probably made loads more money.”

“And got paid time off,” Evan said, “plus a hundred other perks. All the things that make romantic life easier.”

“But I cannae see him working at an office, wearing a tie and all.” With a heavy sigh, Liam tilted back his head to look up at St. Andrew’s tall, thin clock tower. An hour and a half had passed since the end of the match, and he was now famished. “So what’s that mean for me? I’m to sit about waiting to enjoy his wee spots of time, like a dog begging for scraps?”

“It’ll be easier to tolerate Robert’s devotion to work—not just tolerate butunderstandit—if you also find work you love.”

“Och, what a load of middle-class pish. ‘Find your passion, follow your bliss.’ That’s a fucking luxury. Some of us, it’s all we can do to get by.”

“I know, but?—”

“And before you say Robert grew up just as poor as me, it’s not the same. My mum’s got four young weans. Who’s gonnae support her whilst I’m faffing about listening to my heart of hearts? Not my sister Marianne, earning £5.30 an hour—did you know that’s minimum wage for an eighteen-year-old?”

“I do, but?—”

“I have to hold onto what I’ve got,” Liam said, “cos if I let it go and try something new—and I fail at it—then it all comes crashing down.”

Fuck’s sake, how did Evan pull that truth out of him when Robert couldn’t do it?Secret spy tricks, no doubt.But Liam couldn’t remember what Evan had said or done to cause this cascade of candor.

Evan just gazed over at St. Andrew’s, watching through the tall windows of the former church as guests filled the upper floor for a late afternoon event. “I won’t say I understand, because I’ve never been in your shoes. On my family’s farm, money’s always been uncertain, but not in the same way it is in Shettleston.”

Liam nodded to acknowledge Evan’s acknowledgment.

“But if your massage school’s only part-time,” Evan continued, “you don’t need to quit the pub. So there’s no risk. If it turns out you’re crap at massage, you’ve still got your job to fall back on.”

“I’m not crap at massage. But I think…” Liam realized he was about to sound like the sort of bourgeois prima donna he’d just been banging on about. “I think I might hate it.”

“Why?”

“The slowness of it all. Dealing with just one person for an entire hour.”

“Okay. But whatwouldyou like about it?”

“Stopping people’s pain,” Liam said. “Learning how the body works and how to make it work better when it’s out of sorts.”

“Sounds kinda like physiotherapy.”

Liam scoffed. “Physios have got advanced degrees.”

“Their assistants don’t.”

Liam paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “That’s a thing?”

“Of course. Physios make the rehab plan, but it’s their assistants who guide patients through the exercises, keep up their spirits and all.” Evan lifted his dram toward Liam. “You’d be ideal. And a physio’s practice would be a lot like a pub, with loads of different people coming and going.”

It did sound kind of fun. Plus, such a job would make Liam a better asset to the Warriors, maybe even a better footballer. “How would I do that?”

“Contrary to rumor, I haven’t got all the answers.” Evan drained his glass, then smiled. “But I know who might have this one.”

* * *

“So I was sitting therein the cold, cold stand, freezing my arse off…” Ben said as he paced near the foot of Robert’s bed.

“Okay.” Having washed his face and thrown on a few clothes, Robert went to his desktop computer to take notes.

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