ball, and asked him to sign it.
“You want a signature from Olly as well?” Nigel asked. Nigel looked a little surprised to see that he had been asked for the signature first because most people gravitated towards me.
For good or bad, I was one of the most famous rugby players in the country, even though I hadn’t played for England since the World Cup Final in 2007. Anyone who liked rugby had an opinion on me, and that meant I was a popular choice to sign merchandise.
“God no,” the kid said, and grabbed the ball from Nigel’s hand. “He might drop it.” The two kids ran off, laughing at how funny they were.
“Little shits,” Nigel said.
“I can’t believe they said that,” Maisie exclaimed.
“Don’t worry, it happens,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t care.”
I really didn’t. I had done for a couple of years, but not any more. If the worst thing that stuck with me from that day was “dropping” the ball, then I was fortunate. If they knew the truth, well, that would be far worse.
I took Maisie and Michelle upstairs to an executive suite that I had claimed for the day, and introduced them to the waiter who would be looking after them while I played.
“He’ll get you whatever you want to eat or drink,” I said. “Just name it.”
“The view is incredible,” Maisie said, as she stared through the glass towards the pitch.
“Yes,” I replied, looking at Michelle from behind. “It is. You can go sit in the stands as well if you want.”
Maisie found the door and took a seat out in the ground. The executive suites were awesome, but you couldn’t beat the atmosphere of being out amongst the crowd where you could feel the tension through your body as the game ebbed and flowed.
“Are you okay?” Michelle asked me, once Maisie was outside. “About what happened back there with those boys.”
“Of course,” I said, with a big, forced smile. “It happens all the time. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not fair,” she said. “Anyone could have… you know…”
“Dropped the ball and completely shanked the kick that could have won my country the World Cup?”
“Yeah. It’s just one of those things.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
Michelle smiled at me; for one beautiful moment our eyes met and then she looked away again, back at Maisie. Michelle insisted she didn’t blame me for what happened to Maisie, but she should. It was my fault. Not because I didn’t walk them home that evening. I was guilty of far more than just not being a gentleman.
Michelle took hold of her rugby shirt and tugged it a few times to let some air underneath. The suite was a bit warm and she had a long sleeve shirt on with her normal top underneath.
“You should have bought the short sleeve shirt,” I said. “It’s too hot for the long sleeve one. Why don’t you take it off?”
Michelle looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Is that how you usually get women out of their clothes?’
“Usually they’re peeling their clothes off long before I get the chance to open my mouth.”
“Well, I think I’ll just break with tradition and keep it on.”
“Suit yourself.” Probably for the best. The image of Michelle peeling off a layer of clothing might be too much for me right now.
Maisie came back in from outside and asked the waiter for a beer. The waiter looked straight to me with a questioning glance, and I then turned to Michelle.
Michelle sighed. “You can have one beer and that’s it.”
I laughed when I saw the look of pleasant surprise on Maisie’s face. She hadn’t been expecting to get away with that one.
“And I’ll have a glass of white wine please,” Michelle added as the waiter was on his way out.
“I’d better go and show my face before the coach wonders where I am.”
“Olly?” Maisie asked before I left. “I never got your signature.”
“That’s sweet, Maisie, but you don’t need to try and make me feel better.”
“I
“You want a signature from Olly as well?” Nigel asked. Nigel looked a little surprised to see that he had been asked for the signature first because most people gravitated towards me.
For good or bad, I was one of the most famous rugby players in the country, even though I hadn’t played for England since the World Cup Final in 2007. Anyone who liked rugby had an opinion on me, and that meant I was a popular choice to sign merchandise.
“God no,” the kid said, and grabbed the ball from Nigel’s hand. “He might drop it.” The two kids ran off, laughing at how funny they were.
“Little shits,” Nigel said.
“I can’t believe they said that,” Maisie exclaimed.
“Don’t worry, it happens,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t care.”
I really didn’t. I had done for a couple of years, but not any more. If the worst thing that stuck with me from that day was “dropping” the ball, then I was fortunate. If they knew the truth, well, that would be far worse.
I took Maisie and Michelle upstairs to an executive suite that I had claimed for the day, and introduced them to the waiter who would be looking after them while I played.
“He’ll get you whatever you want to eat or drink,” I said. “Just name it.”
“The view is incredible,” Maisie said, as she stared through the glass towards the pitch.
“Yes,” I replied, looking at Michelle from behind. “It is. You can go sit in the stands as well if you want.”
Maisie found the door and took a seat out in the ground. The executive suites were awesome, but you couldn’t beat the atmosphere of being out amongst the crowd where you could feel the tension through your body as the game ebbed and flowed.
“Are you okay?” Michelle asked me, once Maisie was outside. “About what happened back there with those boys.”
“Of course,” I said, with a big, forced smile. “It happens all the time. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not fair,” she said. “Anyone could have… you know…”
“Dropped the ball and completely shanked the kick that could have won my country the World Cup?”
“Yeah. It’s just one of those things.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
Michelle smiled at me; for one beautiful moment our eyes met and then she looked away again, back at Maisie. Michelle insisted she didn’t blame me for what happened to Maisie, but she should. It was my fault. Not because I didn’t walk them home that evening. I was guilty of far more than just not being a gentleman.
Michelle took hold of her rugby shirt and tugged it a few times to let some air underneath. The suite was a bit warm and she had a long sleeve shirt on with her normal top underneath.
“You should have bought the short sleeve shirt,” I said. “It’s too hot for the long sleeve one. Why don’t you take it off?”
Michelle looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Is that how you usually get women out of their clothes?’
“Usually they’re peeling their clothes off long before I get the chance to open my mouth.”
“Well, I think I’ll just break with tradition and keep it on.”
“Suit yourself.” Probably for the best. The image of Michelle peeling off a layer of clothing might be too much for me right now.
Maisie came back in from outside and asked the waiter for a beer. The waiter looked straight to me with a questioning glance, and I then turned to Michelle.
Michelle sighed. “You can have one beer and that’s it.”
I laughed when I saw the look of pleasant surprise on Maisie’s face. She hadn’t been expecting to get away with that one.
“And I’ll have a glass of white wine please,” Michelle added as the waiter was on his way out.
“I’d better go and show my face before the coach wonders where I am.”
“Olly?” Maisie asked before I left. “I never got your signature.”
“That’s sweet, Maisie, but you don’t need to try and make me feel better.”
“I
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