in her voice made me peer more closely at her sharp-featured face in the neon dark. I mean, she always had the shits these days, but it seemed to have cranked up a notch in the last half hour.
“Bloody football,” she sneered.
She didn’t deign to look at either of us, just carried on like a solilo-quy in the dark. And just quietly, it sounded too well-rehearsed for my liking.
“Bloody football,” she repeated. “Stupid, bloody football’s ruined his life. He could’ve been anything but he just frigged about the whole time doing crap jobs so he could have more time for football. Weekend comp, training, extra personal training, six-a-side, indoor, long weekend tournaments anywhere in the country, off-season training, pre-season training …”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she just powered over the top of me.
“Do you know how many times he’s been sacked from paying jobs because of football injuries, or getting into fights?” she asked, and I realised she was talking to Dave. “Nearly 20 times - just since I’ve known him! The only jobs he can get now are low paid physical torture like removals or carrying bricks. Then he comes home exhausted, broken and penniless, but he’s always right for bloody football.”
Dave was a trifle shell-shocked by her bitter onslaught, but he did his best to come to my rescue.
“Yeah, but he’s still yer ol’ man, Shona. You still love ‘im.”
Shona looked at Dave like he was a bloody idiot.
“Neither of his brothers played stupid football,” she continued.
“They play golf and go skiing! But Eric’s been encouraged in this football lunacy his whole life by his halfwit Uncle Jimmy. At least he won’t be filling Eric’s head with crap and dreams anymore.”
It’s like I wasn’t even there.
“Okay, maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous when he was 16 … when he got that invitation to go to England. But he never did anything about it. He never saved up the fare because he never stopped playing stupid, bloody football long enough to earn some decent money.”
“Yeah, well thanks for the support, my beloved life partner and soul mate,” I said, as Dave shrank behind his glass and tried to back away from our tiff. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got heaps of money.”
Dave’s retreat was halted by his curiosity, and Shona turned to face me for the first time.
“Good ol’ Uncle Jimmy,” I explained, in answer to their unspoken question.
“Good ol’ Jimmy,” I repeated. “I didn’t want to mention it just yet, so close to his death … makes me feel a bit grasping.”
Shona’s rubber band was in definite danger of snapping.
“What are you talking about, Eric?” she asked me, perilously beautiful in the cold and dark.
“He’s erm, he’s left me some money.”
“When were you going to tell me?
“I only got the letter yesterday, from the lawyers.”
“You’ve known 24 hours and it didn’t occur to you to tell me?”
Her voice had risen slightly in pitch and volume. The warning signals were flashing, but Dave was still hovering on the edge of the semi-darkness, wanting to respect our privacy but intrigued beyond the point of politeness.
“I had other things on my mind,” I explained, already aware of how bad this was about to get.
“What could be more important than a large amount of money?” she asked me, teeth bared - daring me to expose the full extent of my stupidity.
“The grand final,” I admitted. “I was too wrapped up in the GF to worry about money.”
She went strangely quiet, as Krakatoa may have done shortly before splitting the planet wide open.
“How much did he leave you?” she asked, at last, her teeth gritted like an angry smile.
“Two hundred and forty-two thousand.”
“I see … a game of Z-grade football was more important to you than $242,000?”
It was my last chance to salvage something from the situation but, like an idiot, I told the truth.
“Well at the time, yes!”
Her fist smacked into my mouth and I found myself falling arse backwards for the second time that day.
In the dreamy half-light, I never saw it coming.
MY GOLDEN CLOUD
I’ve gotten off to a bad start by telling all this stuff about Shona. It makes it seem like we didn’t love each other, or she was wrong for me, or whatever. The truth was, we did love each other. At least, I loved her and I was reasonably certain she loved me back. She had too much time invested to want to give up on me now.
But money complicates relationships.
It’s bad enough having none. You get used to that, and you cope - united in poverty. But when the poverty vacuum suddenly fills with money, a couple is beset with choices and alternative paths appear which can sever the strongest of bonds.
With the inheritance had come a letter:
Eric Lad,
You’re the son I never had, so I’m leaving you my entire estate in the hope that you use it to finally get over to England to take up that offer at Man United. You have a precious gift, and a sacred duty to share that gift with the world. At 35, you can’t have too many years left at the top. So do it, Eric. Do it now!
Love from Beyond the Grave,
Jimmy
Thirty-five? Must’ve written it a few years back.
Anyway, all of this went through my mind as I lay on the tiles in the beer garden, trying not to laugh.
The next thing I knew, Shona was covering me with kisses and laughing and crying and saying she was sorry.
Then Dave was pissing himself, and I was pissing myself, but when I tried to get up off the floor this god-almighty flash of pain ripped through my lower back.
“Jesus fuck!” I shouted, and Shona stared at me in guilty horror.
“What’ve you done, Eric? What’ve I done?”
“It’s okay. Must’ve landed awkwardly. Fuck!”
Another spasm of pain shot through my lower spine as I attempted, once again, to get to my feet.
“Shit! My back’s totally fucked. I can’t move.”
“Lie
