14 April 2005
Leo is the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I fall asleep.
He knows nothing about all the ways I’ve failed people, especially him and his mum, and I know I’ll have to tell him someday. We’re almost at the end of our transition visits, ready for him to come home with me for good in thirteen days. Leo is changing and growing and so am I.
But the waiting is torture. Even though I now have parental responsibility, and Zoë gave up fighting before the final hearing, I am still struggling to sleep in case something dreadful happens.
‘Penny for them?’ Luke sits down next to me. We’re in the pub after a Coasters workout session. I usually get a high from leading a class, but not today.
‘Bit of family stress,’ I say. The understatement of the century.
He grimaces. ‘I hear you.’
Seeing Luke struggle to recover from his arrest has reminded me of how I felt. Except he seems to be turning the anger in on himself, whereas I damaged those I loved. Neither approach is healthy.
I remember Kerry meeting Luke’s wife, Ali, who confided in her that she couldn’t sleep for months after his cardiac arrest.
Did Kerry have nightmares after saving me? I never asked.
I try to focus on the present, on Luke, on the flat planes of his face and the anxiety in his eyes. He’s not forty yet but his slow recovery has given him the pallor and shadows of a man fifteen years older.
‘It gets better.’
He frowns. ‘Well, you came through it. You’re an inspiration.’
‘No mate, I’m a cautionary tale. This is how to screw everything up when the universe grants you a second chance.’
Luke looks astonished. ‘You don’t look like you’ve screwed it up. You’re fit, you’ve got a lovely girlfriend. A future.’
At Christmas, they all assumed Kerry was my girlfriend and I haven’t told them what’s happened since. I’m beginning to accept it was for the best. When I dropped her birthday card off, I still hoped it might be the start of something new. And when Tim confronted me, and mentioned the triathlon, I thought she’d told him everything.
But when I realized she hadn’t, I saw the truth: he is better for her than I could ever be. All I’d ever done is drag her down, make things more complicated.
I hope he gave her the card with the photo of Leo inside, but I have heard nothing from her. Once my son is safely at home with me, I might try one last time. Not because I want to get her back, but to show her I did the right thing, in the end.
‘But I guess you must miss it,’ Luke continues, and when I don’t reply he adds, ‘football?’
I’m about to make some joke when I think about it properly. ‘Yes,’ I find myself saying, ‘I miss it more than almost anything.’
‘But you’ve never tried playing again? Not even at amateur level?’
‘Couldn’t see the point.’
‘What, there’s no point playing unless you’re a pro? Try telling that to the kids at my school.’
‘Or me,’ one of the other guys chips in. ‘I lived for my pub team, even though we hadn’t scored a goal in two years.’
Now they’re all adding their football stories.
‘We should set up our own team,’ Luke says and everyone laughs.
Everyone except Steve, who raises an eyebrow at me.
‘You lot laugh but we could really do it,’ he says, ‘and with Greenie here to coach us, we might even be half decent.’
I’m ready to tell them exactly why it’s a dumb idea, but then I stop. They’ve never been this united. As I listen in, the excitement starts to rub off on me and I’m agreeing to research grounds where we might be able to have a kickabout.
But I’m sure it’ll blow over. These things do.
When I turn up to the council pitch, I expect it to be me and Steve kicking a ball between the two of us for an hour. But instead, half of the cardiac rehab group shows up, enough for two six-a-side teams.
I’ve researched walking football, which seems a safe option, but after about twenty minutes of a surreal, slow-mo game, everyone demands we switch to the full-speed kind.
I try to stay on the sidelines, coaching them with tough love and affectionate abuse, channelling my old coach, Coley.
But Steve won’t have it.
‘Come on, Greenaway. We wanna see what you’re made of.’
For the first few minutes, playing feels wrong, even frightening.
But when I take a corner and the ball goes exactly where I wanted it to, I realize how much I’ve missed this . . .
I lose myself in the game, caring about nothing but how my body and the ball connect. I even forget about the social workers and the paperwork and bureaucracy and the suspicion that it could all still be for nothing.
But when Steve blows the whistle, Leo is the first thing I think about: his face whenever I show up and he recognizes me.
For the first time, I let myself really believe he’s going to live with me, and I picture myself teaching him how to play.