Page 11 of After the Siren
‘We’ve got another ten minutes, right?’ Cunningham said, unzipping one of the duffel bags.
‘Yeah.’Ten minutes you could use to apologise.
‘Sweet.’
Cunningham pulled off his singlet and shoved his shorts down. He was wearing yellow boxer briefs covered in pink flamingos. He opened the other bag and began excavating the contents, item by item. A couple of lip balms rolled across the floor and Theo stopped one with his foot. Watermelon flavoured.
Cunningham unearthed some shorts and a training singlet. He made a sound of satisfaction, then started tossing individual football boots out of the second bag.
He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to put clothes on. Theo got a good look at a tattoo on back of his left thigh: a pelican with a footy in its mouth. It looked like the sort of tattoo you got in the golden haze of a grand-final victory.
Theo decided to take the opportunity to assert entitlement to the desk. Cunningham didn’t seem likely to use it for its intended purpose, but it did seem likely that he would spread his shit all over it.
Theo unpacked a couple of Law textbooks, his laptop and a box of stationery. Studying during development camp hadn’t been the plan, but the inconvenient thing about a mental-health crisis was that it tended to derail your plans. He’d gotten academic accommodations so he could finish his subjects, but that was going to involve grinding out some assignments over the course of pre-season.
‘You studying?’ Cunningham asked from behind him, and Theo turned. Cunningham still hadn’t put his shorts on. The tattoo on his hip was of a 1950s pin-up-style mermaid.
That tracked.
‘Yeah.’ He couldn’t be rude to Cunningham. The last thing he needed was to get a reputation for being a problem with the other players. But that didn’t mean he had to be chatty.
‘Cool, what’re you doing?’
‘Law.’
‘Nice.’ Cunningham proddedIntroduction to Torts. ‘I thought a tort was a cake.’
He was close enough that Theo could smell his cologne. Or, more likely, his body spray.
Someone banged on the door. ‘Come on,’ Xenos called, saving Theo from having to reply.
‘On our way!’ Jake yelled back.
‘Bestavros, with me.’
Theo peeled off from the other players – running warm-up drills in groups – and jogged over to Kat. She’d changed intocompression tights and a Falcons t-shirt. The muscles in her thighs could have crushed a person’s head like a melon.
‘Let’s jog and talk,’ she said, gesturing to the track around the edge of the oval. They fell into an easy pace, skirting the boundary line.
‘Don’t worry,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to pull each of the players out for a chat. You’re just first in the alphabet.’
‘Good to know I’m not in trouble.’
‘Have you done anything that you should be in trouble for?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Just don’t fall under Cunningham’s malign influence. He loves a prank.’
No danger of that. ‘Noted.’
Kat waited until they were out of earshot and passing the expanse of purple wisteria that coated the side of the gym before she continued. ‘I know when we last talked you had good reason to be a bit guarded about your time with the Sharks,’ she said. ‘But I’d like to hear more about it.’
‘Sure.’ Theo tried to sound relaxed. Professional.
‘How did you find Gary Hunt as a coach?’
‘I have a lot of respect for him. He’s a very experienced and capable coach.’ Theo didn’t look across at Kat, although he could see from the corner of his eye that she was looking at him.
