Page 92 of Off the Pitch

“Just to get my hair cut.” I shrugged noncommittally as I hopped across to the sofa, sinking into the giant cushions and lifting my leg onto the coffee table.

“Oh, it looks nice.” She paused, smiling at me and handing me a glass of wine as she settled on the other end of the sofa. “When do you get your cast off?”

“Another couple of weeks.”

I raised my eyebrow and wondered why we were having this conversation. We might have been working towards civility with each other, maybe even towards friendship, but I still wasn’t sure why she was here.

Hélène sighed and gave me her best pained expression, dark eyes soft and wide like a doe, the freckles across her nose softening her face. When had I stopped finding her attractive? Once upon a time, I’d thought she was the most perfect woman in the world, and even now I knew she was beautiful, but I just couldn’t see it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and I knew she was being genuine. “I know it’s been hard for you. Will you be able to play again?”

“I don’t know.” I felt the words getting stuck in my throat and saying them was more painful than I’d ever imagined. I knew I should be able to play again. Other players had come back from injuries far worse than this in the past. But there was still a nagging doubt in my mind that this was it for me. It felt like everything in my life was crumbling down around me. First my marriage and now my career. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. All I could do was watch from the sidelines as everything changed. My hands were shaking, and I had to put the wine down before I spilled it all over my lap. Hélène’s hand was warm on my shoulder, and she squeezed it gently.

“Thanks.”

“I really am sorry,” she said as if she was worried I wouldn’t believe her. Not so long ago I wouldn’t have. Things had improved recently since we’d started talking to each other nicely and stopped throwing poisonous words. The copious amounts of hate sex we’d had may have helped too.

I would miss the set of plates we’d smashed though. They’d been dark blue with a neat white line around the edge, handmade by a little pottery near my parent’s house in the South of France.

That had been one of our worst arguments, right before we’d decided on the divorce. I couldn’t even remember what it was about now, although it was probably something trivial. All I know is that it ended in screaming, crying, and plate throwing—and that was just on my side.

“Is there anything I can do?” Hélène asked.

“No, not unless you have a time machine,” I said. I had been trying to make a joke, but it was half-hearted at best.

“I wish I did.” There was a tinge of sadness and regret to Hélène’s voice. “I’d change a lot of things.”

We sat in silence for a moment, more comfortable in each other’s company than we had been in a while. I picked up my glass, taking another sip. I’d never been much of a wine drinker, which my friends had always considered scandalous. Apparently, being French meant you had an inbuilt love of wine. But I’d never been much of a drinker full stop. I found the taste of alcohol too bitter, even in obnoxiously sweet cocktails.

“So, I have something to tell you,” said Hélène. “I’m going back to France for a couple of months. I thought it would do me some good to have a break, and the gallery will be fine with Caroline in charge.”

I wasn’t quite sure why she was telling me this, given that I had no control over her actions, but I nodded anyway. She smiled, her face lighting up and suddenly she was off—talking about her plans, which friends she was going to see, where she was going to go, how she was excited to see her parents again. It was almost sweet to see her so enthusiastic about the trip, her hands gesturing wildly in the way she’d always done when she was excited.

Something inside my chest clenched as I watched her.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her this happy. It hadn’t been for a while—certainly not in the last few years. It just cemented the fact that we weren’t right for each other, that splitting up had been the best thing for both of us. I couldn’t make her this happy no matter how hard I tried.

Everything in my life was falling apart right in front of my eyes, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“That sounds great,” I said and forced a smile onto my face when Hélène paused for breath. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Of course I will,” I said. Whether I would be or not remained to be seen. “You should go have fun.”

Hélène smiled at me, finishing the last of her drink and placing the empty glass on the coffee table.

“Well, now that I know you’ll be fine, I have to go. My flight leaves at nine tomorrow, and I haven’t finished packing yet.” She stood up and leant over me to press soft kisses to both of my cheeks. “Have a lovely summer. I’m sure I’ll see you when I get back.”

I nodded, not really engaging with her words. I heard the door click shut and exhaled.

Alone again.

Chapter Three

KitDid you know that the Welsh word for jellyfish is apparently psygod wibli wobli

KitI think that’s delightful!

---