Page 7 of Just for Me
His mother glanced at him sharply, probably shocked. Luke didn’t care. He knew he had to go, but why shouldn’t he tell the truth first? Why shouldn’t heaskfor the truth?
“Of course he wants you,” she said. “He wants to coach you, for one thing.”
“He’s got a coaching job,” Luke said. “Let him coach them.”
“You’re his son,” she said. “You’ve got his name.”
“I’ll still have his name whether I play rugby or not. What if I’m rubbish? Do I have to change my name?”
She stared at him once more, for long enough that he got a bit worried about her driving, but got herself under control again, of course. “Nonsense. You won’t be rubbish. You’ll do your best.”
He wished he could say,I won’t, though.But rugby was what he was good at, and anyway, you needed a place at school where you fit, especially when you didn’t fit at all inside. He said, “So that’s it, then?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s it. You’ll come here for Christmas every year, and you and Kane will spend the August holidays in New Zealand as always, as that’s when Dad’s season ends, and he’ll make you an All Black.”
“What if he doesn’t want to be an All Black, though?” Kane asked.
“Of course he does,” their mum said. “He’s a Kiwi, isn’t he?”
“Not really,” Kane said. “We live here, not there. And you’re English.”
“In rugby,” she said, “being a Kiwi is better. Why wouldn’t you want your dad’s coaching? You’re lucky to have it.”
Luke didn’t know how to explain. He didn’t know what to do. So when they got home, he did what he always did. He did his press-ups, he did his sit-ups, and most of all—he ran. Through the fog and the rain and the cold, past houses with their Christmas trees lit up even in the daytime against the gloom outside, the smoke curling from their chimneys. Luke tried to imagine the storybook families inside and couldn’t quite do it. They’d play board games together, maybe, and drink hot cocoa in front of the fire, and maybe … read books? Throw a ball for a dog? Do … baking, possibly, and make special dinners? He wasn’t sure. In his family, you were mostly either outside, training or being out of the way, or in your room, doing your schoolwork, or if you couldn’t be either, shutting up. That was what he knew, and what Kane knew. Which may have been why Kane ran with him, doing his best to keep up, and why Luke slowed his pace for his brother. Running was what they did together, and this was the time they had left.
On the last day, the coldest yet, with the damp hanging in the air like streamers, he took Kane on the bus so they could run on the path beside the nearly-freezing river Tyne. He didn’t quite know why. Maybe because itwasthe last day, and he felt like they had to do something.
Kane said, “If we kept running, would we get all the way to the North Sea?”
“Reckon we would,” Luke said. “If we kept running.”
“I think we should, then,” Kane said. “We should get on a fishing boat and escape. We could be the crew.”
“We don’t know how to fish, though,” Luke said. “And you’re nine.”
“You could look older,” Kane said. “Because you have muscles. And I’m tall. I could look older, too. I could say I’m thirteen.”
Luke wasn’t sure what to say. After a minute, he said, “Thirteen wouldn’t be old enough. And it’d be cold.”
“Oh,” Kane said. “Maybe it would be an adventure, though.”
Luke had to smile. “Maybe.”
Another few minutes with their breath coming out in puffs, their feet pounding against the tarmac, doing their best to outrun the cold. Finally, Kane said, “If you said you wouldn’t go. If you refused to get on the plane. You could stand your ground. Dad’s always saying to stand our ground.”
Luke said, “It’s not happening. We have to face it. It’s not. We’re kids, and that means you have to go where they tell you. In three years, though, you’ll be in Dunedin with me. We’ll be in school together again, for years this time, and when we’re done with it, we’ll be able to choose for ourselves. One thing I can tell you, though. When I’m grown, I’m not playing for Dad.”
“How, though?” Kane asked. “If he says you have to?”
“Because,” Luke said, “I’ll be a man.”
Now, he was a man, and he wasn’t playing for his dad. He was back in New Zealand, though, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.
How much would his dad care what he was or what he did, at this point? Luke hadn’t even lived in the country for more than eight years, and hehadbeen an All Black—for two seasons before he’d left the country—and Kane still was one. Kane wasn’t playing for their dad, but he was here and doing the name proud, wasn’t he? Besides, it wasn’t just the two of them anymore. They weren’t their dad’s last hope.
Well, they were the only sons, so probably theywerethe last hope, from Grant’s point of view. But maybe it wouldn’t matter as much now, especially since their dad wasn’t coaching anymore.
You know it’ll matter.Grant wasn’t coaching because he’d been passed over once again for the All Blacks, and because the Highlanders hadn’t renewed his contract this time. Luke didn’t know what Grant thought about that, because he hadn’t been home for yonks, but he could guess. “Bloody soft,” Grant would say. “Drew Callahan? He knows how to be a skipper, he knows how to play the game, but as a coach? A ‘player’s coach.’ What’s that? Coddling them, is what. Understanding them. I don’t need to understand them. They need to understandme.I have a system. It’s been proven to work. All they have to do is commit and dig deep. If they won’t, that’s not my fault. Heaps more fish in the sea, boys willing to work hard, gagging for a chance at Super Rugby.”
