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 there are always eggs and bacon in the fridge if you like a cooked breakfast, but it will be a case of help yourself because we tend to get up, eat, then go to work.’
Chelsea settled on cereal, while Ellie made toast for herself and a pot of tea that she set on the table, along with mugs, milk, and sugar.
‘Will you be okay here on your own while we’re at work?’ she asked, and Chelsea smiled at her.
‘I’m just so happy to have a home. Ours was so lonely without Mum and Dad. Harry was hardly ever there. I’ll sort out my things then sit on the veranda and read a book. From what I’ve seen, the Fraser passion for sci-fi is alive and well in this house.’
Ellie shuddered.
‘It was totally foreign to me when I first met Andy, and I’ve never got caught up in it, although I have read some of it.’
At lunchtime, when she and her new boarder sat together in the kitchen, Chelsea explained she was old enough to leave school but she really hadn’t wanted to. She’d always wanted to be a scientist so she desperately wanted to finish her schooling, and if possible get into a university.
‘How much school have you missed now?’ Ellie asked her.
The girl frowned as she worked out her answer.
‘About three—maybe five—weeks,’ she said. ‘I just sat around wishing it would all go away.’
‘And if you went back to school here, could you make that up?’
‘You mean now, this year, before the end of term—with this?’
She patted her bump.
‘Why not?’ Ellie said. ‘Even if you go back long enough to get some work to do over the Christmas holidays that will catch you up, then you can go back full time next year.’
‘And when the baby comes?’
Ellie sighed.
‘That’s going to depend on what you want to do about the baby. You don’t have to make any decisions right now, but there are really only two choices.’
‘Keeping it or adoption?’
Tears filled the girl’s eyes.
‘We’ve plenty of time to sort that out,’ Ellie told her. ‘We’ll talk about it, you and me, and Andy. Your boyfriend, Alex, too. Talk to him. He should have some say. Between the lot of us we’ll work out what’s best for both of you.’
Ellie pushed back her chair as she stood up,