13
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day Twenty-Seven
The following Wednesday, Joey’s swim coach called to ask if he could drop Joey home after training that evening and talk to me about the Gladiators trial. A man in the house!?! I squeezed into my least awful pair of jeans (slightly less squeezy than last time I put them on) and faffed about with my hair for an embarrassing amount of time. Make-up? Did I have any left anywhere? While for all Mr Gallagher knew, I wore make-up every day, Joey hadn’t seen me dolled up in years. He might –might– be tactful enough not to blurt out a comment, but he’d notice. And I’d notice Joey noticing. I dabbed a blob of concealer under each eye and left it at that.
Feeling almost on the spectrum of respectable parent, I had positioned myself in a studious, professional, capable manner at my desk when they arrived.
‘Hey, Joey. How was training?’ I adjusted my smile to extra-normal and got up to greet them.
The smile went AWOL.
‘Mum, this is Coach Gallagher,’ Joey said.
‘Nathan.’ Coach Gallagher, otherwise known as hand-holding-but-also-patronising-man-who-haunts-my-dreams added, ‘Nice to see you again.’
Should have gone for full face of make-up. At least some foundation to hide my flush.
‘Amy. Um. Hi.’ I stood there, for the life of me unable to remember the protocol for this. And by ‘this’, I mean interaction with a human being.
‘I’ll make a drink,’ Joey said, rolling his eyes. ‘Go and sit down and I’ll bring it through. Do you want tea, Coach?’
‘Just a glass of water, thanks.’
‘Mum? Tea?’
‘Right. Yes. Good idea.’
After a few more seconds, I managed to get my nervous system back in gear and led Nathan into the living room. We stood there for a moment, fidgeting, until deciding it was probably best to sit down.
‘How’s the running going?’ he asked, after a few seconds had limped by.
‘Okay.’ Knowing I was appearing rude, which probably wouldn’t help Joey in the long run, I tried to force my eyes over to at least his general direction.
‘Look, I’m sorry about what I said.’ He pulled his hat off, revealing mid-brown, mussed-up hair with streaks of natural highlights. ‘I didn’t mean anything… personal.’
I flapped my hand in what was supposed to be a dismissive gesture but ended up more like a drunken chicken impression. ‘It’s fine. Sore subject, that’s all. I’m sorry I ran off.’
‘Which time?’
Uummmm…
Nathan raised his eyebrows, but his mouth quirked up, managing to dissolve a smidgen of the tension.
So, yes, when I’d spied him running up ahead a couple more times, once with a group in matching sky-blue T-shirts, I may have bolted in the opposite direction. On Saturday, I’d possibly dodged him a total of four times, diving off the path into the undergrowth once or twice. It was almost as if he was following me. Except that would be impossible, given that an elderly slug would end up overtaking me.
Fortunately, before it became too obvious that I had absolutely no answer to that, Joey came in with the drinks.
‘Have you decided anything?’ he asked, stretching out across the carpet on his elbows.
‘Not yet.’ I picked up my mug, carefully, praying my nervous hands wouldn’t drop it. ‘I watched a video of Joey’s race, from the county meet,’ I said to a spot on the wall behind Nathan’s head.
Nathan leant forwards. ‘Joey’s an extremely talented athlete. He’s probably the best I’ve seen in ten years of coaching. At Brooksby, his only competition is against himself. I think he deserves a shot at the Gladiators.’ He shifted focus to Joey. ‘If you’re up for the challenge, and the hard work that’ll follow, I’d really like to help you get there.’
‘I’m happy for him to do the trial. The problem is what happens if he passes. We don’t have a car. There’s no way he can get to early morning training and be back in time for school, and if he’s trekking over there on the bus six nights a week, I’m worried about how that’ll impact everything else.’
‘They’re starting training sessions in Greasby once the pool’s reopened. It’s, I don’t know, maybe April, or the beginning of May?’
