Maisie and I got into a taxi which took us back to the hotel. Now that things had calmed down, I remembered the worst part of what Maisie had done tonight. She’d managed to time her arrest just as Oliver and I were about to kiss.
Maybe I should be thanking her. Oliver seemed pretty keen to pretend the entire thing had never happened. Better I find that out now than after we’d taken things further. We could have gone back to the hotel together. I had no doubt that my “wait until at least the third date” rule would have not been applied in the case of Oliver. If he’d kissed me, I’d have stood no chance.
But it didn’t happen. Our lips had barely touched, and now Oliver had rejected an invitation to come back to my hotel room. Perhaps he had his reasons, but I couldn’t help but think he was having second thoughts about the entire thing.
“Sorry for ruining your evening with Oliver,” Maisie said, with her uncanny ability to read my mind. “I know you’d been looking forward to it.”
I tried to effect a casual shrug, but it ended up looking more like a muscle spasm. “I’m going to see plenty of him this summer when he’s training you.”
“Yeah, but… never mind. I’m just sorry is all.”
“Just try and keep the violence to the rugby field, okay?”
I needed an excuse to see Oliver again outside of his work. Somewhere I could have a drink to ease my nerves, and maybe even tell him how I feel. Because there was no point in hiding it anymore. I couldn’t deny what had been painfully obvious tonight. I needed Oliver back in my life. I needed to feel his touch again. Whatever else happened this summer, I couldn’t go back home without at least trying.
-*-
Even though Oliver had expressly told me not to, I couldn’t resist calling Hodgson the second I got in my room. She answered immediately even though it was now gone midnight.
“Is something wrong?” Hodgson asked.
“No, it’s just… well, Oliver told me that you were responsible for arresting the men that attacked Maisie.”
“All in a day’s work,” Hodgson replied casually. “Honestly, it was nothing. Unfortunately, the evidence we had on them wouldn’t stand up in court, but we nailed them for something bigger anyway. They’ll be in prison for years.”
“How did you find them?” I asked.
“Some men matching the description you gave showed up on CCTV a few hundred yards down the road just after the attack. We traced them back to a hardware store they were using as a hideout. We eventually gathered enough evidence for a warrant and managed to lock them up for money laundering, among other things.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Like I said, it’s all in a day’s work. I mean that. There are just as many cases where we don’t catch those involved, so I’m almost as happy as you are that we got the men who attacked you and your sister. I know you both must still have the scars from that night, but they have it worse. I promise you.”
I thanked Hodgson once again and then hung up the phone. The news that our attackers were behind bars should have made me delighted or at least relieved, but for some reason I felt even more on edge than before.
Maybe finding out the men were behind bars was just a huge anti-climax. When I hadn’t known what had happened to them, I could pretend they died a gruesome death after being hit by a bus. Now I knew they were alive and getting three square meals a day.
That might have explained my unease, but I didn’t think so. There was more too it than that, but by the time I fell asleep I was no closer to figuring it out.
When I woke up in the morning, all my energy was focused on Oliver and our disastrous ‘date.’ One problem at a time. At least I could rectify the situation with Oliver. As long as I could find the courage to do so, that is.
Michelle and I spent the next week dancing around the idea of going on another night out. She wanted to—I knew she did—but neither of us wanted to call it a date. In the end, we ate out or went for a drink practically every night, but always with Maisie and Shaun in tow. I loved those kids, but damn, they did tend to cramp my style a bit.
Not to mention, Maisie served as a constant reminder that my relationship with Michelle wasn’t supposed to be physical. I could ignore that, but Michelle had her doubts. It was almost like the closer I got to Maisie, the less chance I had with Michelle, and that was a tough position to be in.
I encouraged Shaun to have friends over so that he could hang out with Maisie again, but he’d retreated into his shell after the last time. Apparently one of his mates had spread the word that Shaun had an empty house, and some guys had come round that he didn’t like. They started getting to him by insulting me, but they didn’t anticipate getting a lesson from Maisie.
That still made me smile, although I’d had a few stern words with her to make it clear she should never do that again. If she went around punching everyone who had an irrational dislike of me then she would end up with bloody knuckles and an intimate familiarity with the English legal system.
My actions in trying to get alone time with Michelle made me feel like we were the kids and Maisie and Shaun were the parents. Weren’t kids the ones who wanted their parents out of the house to fool around?
Sundays were a day off for all of us. Maisie and Shaun didn’t have to train, and I had no game to play. Sundays were also one of my cheat days where food was concerned. I wasn’t technically allowed to eat badly any day of the week, but I found that Sunday was far enough away from my midweek physical that I could get away with it.
I’d invited Michelle out for a meal at the pub, but she’d responded with “we’d love to.” After dinner, I could hint that the grown-ups wanted to stay behind and have a drink, but I wouldn’t bet money on Maisie and Shaun picking up on the clue.
I’d headed to Shaun’s room to check if he was ready when I heard my mobile phone ringing. I dashed back to my bedroom hoping that it was Michelle to say that Maisie couldn’t make it tonight, but instead it was a number I didn’t recognize. This phone number hadn’t been given out to many people, and so far I’d manage to avoid prank calls or sales pitches, so I decided to answer it in case it was about training.
“Oliver Cornish?” a female voice asked.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Please hold for Mr. Atkins.”
Atkins? I only knew one Atkins and he was the manager of the England rugby team.
There was a beep, followed by a voice I recognized from television. “Oliver, this is Vinnie. Vinnie Atkins.”
“Mr. Atkins. It’s a pleasure to speak to you.”
I sounded a little like a star struck teenager, and to a certain extent I was. I’d met pretty much everyone important in rugby over the last few years, but I’d never met the current England manager. We’d even been at the same charity events on occasion, but never crossed paths.
“Call me Vinnie,” he insisted. “It’s about time we spoke.”
“Of course. I’ve been hoping to speak to you for a while, but I’m afraid this isn’t a great time.” I could hear Shaun downstairs by the front door waiting for me, and if we left much later we would be late. I didn’t like to keep ladies waiting.
“It won’t take long,” Vinnie said. “Listen, I don’t know all the details about this whole situation with you and the national team. I wasn’t manager back in 2007 so I only know what was in the papers.”
“I retired from international rugby,” I explained.
“Yes, yes, I know that. And I assume the reason was because you fluffed that kick in the final.”