She’d worked out, back when their world had crashed, that it was okay to still love Andy—that would never change—but it would be better not to be ‘in love’ with him, because that would make the gulf between them too hard to bear.
‘You might want to check on Chelsea, while I move my things back into your mother’s room,’ Ellie said. ‘She was going to grab something to eat and go to bed, but if she’s awake I know she’d like to see you and know you’re happy to have her here.’
And being downstairs, packing what few things she’d actually moved, would give Ellie time to think about her feelings for Andy, something that was easier to do when he wasn’t around, his body sending messages to hers, reminding her of what they’d had.
She had to think, too, about the decision she’d made so recently—the one to give up and go back to the city.
She could hardly do that with Chelsea here, and become yet another person leaving her in the lurch!
She watched Andy take the steps two at a time and turn along the veranda, peering into rooms to find their guest.
She’d shower downstairs then gather up her things. Upstairs, they’d share the en suite bathroom, as they had when he’d shifted into his father’s room.
Back then, in the beginning of the separation, any physical contact between them had actually seemed uncomfortable—dangerous even—but these days, close proximity, particularly in a hug of all things, was reminding her body of the passion they’d shared, and sending little flares of desire skittering along her nerves.
Had he felt it, too?
He certainly hadn’t hugged her back, or swung her around the way he used to...
He’d smelled like Andy when she’d hugged him, the faintest lingering scent of his aftershave reminding her—
The thoughts followed her to bed, where she lay wondering about love and loving and sex and Chelsea until, in the middle of a totally unconnected thought about her mother’s recipe for Christmas pudding, she fell asleep.
Having found his young cousin fast asleep in one of his sister’s rooms, Andy headed for the kitchen and made a cup of tea. He momentarily considered calling to Ellie to see if she wanted one, then remembered the way his body had reacted when she’d hugged him.
It was far better to concentrate on soccer, and focus his mind on doing his best for the makeshift team he was building...
He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, then sat down at the kitchen table with a large notebook in which he was devising soccer practice strategies for his team. With the help of numerous internet videos, he felt he was getting closer to being able to call himself a coach.
At least Andy had help from Madeleine Courtney, one of the high-school teachers, who claimed to have learned soccer coaching. But as her system seemed to consist of dividing the participants into two teams and letting them go at it, he had his doubts about its effectiveness.
His soccer club had started as something he could get his teeth into to stop himself thinking about Ellie and the mess their life was in.
For the first few weeks he hadn’t bothered too much about skills or techniques, concentrating on getting the participants interested enough to keep coming. Which had simply meant playing.
But now he wanted more of them than that. There was an inter-town competition beginning in the New Year, with a trial game this weekend, and he wanted them competitive, keen to win, but able to lose gracefully.
Some of these kids had had very little discipline at home, and too much time on their hands. The local police sergeant had introduced him to five of them, so in reality they were doing time for misdemeanours. If he, Andy, could get them fit and interested in the game, who knew where it could lead?
Three others, two girls and a boy, had been brought to Outpatients by their parents because his father had started a weight-loss group and he, Andy, had been prepared to continue it.
But in his opinion, playing sport would not only help their weight loss and build healthy muscle, it would improve their self-esteem as well.
It was win-win, all the way...
But it was up to Andy to get it right. And for that he needed practice strategies for dribbling and passing, things he could easily demonstrate to the kids so they could practise them in their correct positions. And, of course, he needed to teach them the rules. It was one of the reasons he’d arranged the barbecue—so they could have a sit-down session on the veranda going over the rules, and the importance of them in the game, before they ate.
And played.
Should pregnant women—girls—play soccer? Another player would even up his numbers. Even if Chelsea only stood in goal, she’d be handy.
He’d have to check.
Or maybe he could ask Ellie...
He was an idiot. He was only plunging himself into this challenge so he didn’t have to think about Ellie.
Or the mess he’d made of things between them...
It would be impossible to have her on the team.
He should think about soccer, not Ellie.
It had become a kind of mantra to keep him sane.
Andy divided up his players into two teams and marked out their positions—four defenders, four midfielders and two forwards, plus a goalie for each team, or for one team if he couldn’t persuade their new housemate to play.
He wrote out a programme for warming up, some aerobic exercise, and then the drills he wanted them to do. If they worked this way two days a week, they could then have a game after warm-up on Friday. This would be a practice game—a rehearsal for Saturday afternoon—when more and more parents and other spectators were turning up to watch the newly minted Maytown Soccer Team.
In fact, they could do some of the drills on the old tennis court area here at home, which would mean they’d be less likely to skive off into an impromptu game.
And he’d appoint Rangi, one of the Sudanese lads, as his offsider to run the programmes on afternoons he couldn’t make it or was running late.
Satisfied that he had, at last, brought a little structure to the group, Andy put away his notebook and headed for bed, wondering if Ellie might get interested in the team even if she wasn’t playing. Pictured them together on the sidelines, as one again...
He sighed as he went to bed—alone—and shut his mind against all the questions that were too dangerous to consider: all the what if I’d done this or said that, all the useless, totally impossible, ever-haunting what-ifs...
Although knowing Ellie was back in the bed they’d shared helped chase the dark thoughts away.
He had nearly kissed her, and he could practically hear her breathing...
Ellie woke early, showered, and dressed for work, then went to check on their new lodger.
Chelsea was up and dressed, sitting on the bed as if uncertain what to do next.
‘Come on,’ Ellie said to her. ‘You’ll have to learn to treat this house as your home, and to a certain extent look after yourself because Andy and I are often called out and you’ll starve if you can’t manage.’
She opened the pantry and pointed to a range of cereal, tea-bags, coffee, even drinking chocolate.
‘And