‘Oh hell!’
That was the second time Matt Tognolini had said that in an hour. The first time had been at the oval when he’d remembered he was meeting Alison for lunch.
‘What’s up?’ Alison asked. ‘Something wrong with the squid?’
They had an outside table at Old Papa’s and had just started hoeing into some calamari.
‘I hope not. No, I think I left my footy boots at the oval I was telling you about.’
‘That’s not such a big deal is it? You’ve got more boots than Madonna. I bet you don’t even know how many pairs you’ve got.’
‘Probably not … but they’re not all like this.’
‘Like what? Aren’t they all the same?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Sort of?’
Toggo took a piece of bread and started to butter it. How could he explain it to Alison when he didn’t really understand himself.
‘I felt really good wearing them, you know … I kicked really straight, and …’
Toggo looked up from his bread. Alison had the expression on her face that she got when she didn’t really understand what he was trying to say but she wanted to. He tried a bit harder.
‘… It just felt different than it has for a while. Like I could do anything — like it does when I have a really good game and everything just … goes right.’
‘Do you want to drive back and see if they’re still there?’
Toggo shook his head. ‘They’d be long gone by now. Someone will have snaffled them for sure … there was a kid there I was playing with …’
‘Do you know his name?’
‘No. But his dog’s called Turley.’
‘Oh, great.’ Alison laughed. ‘Maybe we can cruise the streets around the oval calling “Turley” and see what house he comes out of.’
‘Nah,’ Toggo said, ‘We might get the real thing, and then what would I say? “Hi Craig! Can I have your autograph?”’
Toggo thought of something. Chances were a kid who played that well was in a junior football club — a check with the local junior grade teams would probably turn him up. But no. That’d be a bit over the top. And scare the poor kid to death if he had nicked off with the boots.
And anyway, Alison was right. The boots were all the same — same maker, same size, same style. It had probably been playing on the old oval that had made the difference to his kicking. It had been fun just mucking around, with no pressure, no hassles, no one expecting him to be ‘Toggo’. No one except that kid, and he’d been great.
‘Whatcha thinkin?’ Alison asked.
‘Oh, that I’ve been sitting here in the sun too long. If I believe in magic boots, I’ll believe in the Tooth Fairy next.’
Alison took a sip of her wine. ‘There’s a part of me still believes in fairies. And looks like there’s a part of you does too.’ She leant over and kissed him. ‘You’re just a big SNAF, really.’
‘A what?’
‘Sensitive New Age Footballer.’
Toggo got serious with the calamari for a bit. He wasn’t too sure what to make of what Alison said sometimes. When he looked up, she had that expression on her face again. He grinned. ‘Don’t tell Justin Ayres that stuff about me being a SNAF,’ he told her. ‘He’s already working out what he’s going to do to me next time we meet. Only thing that gives me an edge is that he thinks I eat nails for breakfast.’