Page 1 of Dominate
ASIMPLE PHONE CALL CANchange your entire life.
I remember calling the ambulance when my wife, Vilma, died.
I remember calling a funeral director to plan arrangements.
I remember calling Manchester United to tell them I wouldn’t be coming back. Ever.
I remember all these calls, and every single one of them chipped away at the life I once loved.
I didn’t want to be on the phone. I didn’t want to call anyone. I wanted to die in that bed with my best friend who was leaving me to raise our five children alone. Four wild sons and one emotional daughter. All alone.
Before I had to make phone calls, I saw our children as a dream come true. Our family was everything I never knew could make life worth living. Watching Vilma give birth to them made everything around us a bright, bold, beautiful spray of colour.
I was certain the rest of the world had never loved anything as much as I loved my wife. My family. I planned to spend my life with her, watching our children grow.
I planned to hold her in bed until we were old and grey.
That’s the thing about plans. They can have a mind of their own. Life can tell you, “Fuck your plans. This is how it’s going to be.”
Life took her from me.
My best friend.
And for that reason, I didn’t want to make any more calls. I didn’t want to make any more connections. I wanted to lock myself away and rue the day I ever fell in love. Rue the day I ever gave someone control of my heart.
A simple phone call can alter everything you thought you knew about yourself.
A shrill ring from my mobile on my desk has me glancing down to see my daughter, Vi’s, face light up the screen. If you want to get over a phobia of answering telephone calls, become a football club manager or a parent to five adult children who have all left home. You’ll figure out quite quickly how to get on with life.
It’s dark in my office at Tower Park. I came in earlier to oversee some groundworkers fixing the scoreboard, which took much longer than it should have. While I waited, I started looking at our striker, Roan DeWalt’s, ankle scans. My daughter-in-law Indie tells me he can make a full recovery from the injury he suffered last week, but I’m not sure. There’s a transfer window opening up soon, and I think it might be time for him to find a new team.
I glance at the clock on my computer and note that it’s just after eleven. Vi can’t be back from Manchester already. I swipe the screen and clear my throat before answering. “Hello, my darling. Are you back in London? How was Gareth’s award ceremony? Did he give a speech?”
“Dad.”
With only one word, I’m on my feet. It’s incredible how you can know your child’s voice after being a father to them for so many years. Even factoring in all my blank years after Vilma died, I still know Vi’s emergency voice without question.
“What’s happened?” I snap.
“It’s Gareth…and possibly Sloan. I don’t know for sure. We were about an hour outside of Manchester and I got a call from a policeman. Gareth is hurt, Dad. It’s…bad.”
“How is he hurt?” I bark. He didn’t even have a game. It’s a Friday night. He was receiving an award, not playing football. How could he have possibly been injured?
“There was an attack at his house.”
“What?” I roar, fisting my hand around my grey hair and squeezing the short strands until it pulls. “What kind of attack? Who the bloody hell is Sloan? I don’t know any teammates named Sloan.”
“Sloan is…with Gareth.”
“Vi, you’re not making any sense!” I exclaim and press my palm to my chest as an ache erupts within. Gareth doesn’t have a girlfriend. I would know. Gareth doesn’t have anyone whom he shares anything with except for his brothers and sister. Christ only knows how much he actually shares with them. He’s a locked door.
“Dad, calm down,” Vi’s voice blubbers into the line, shaking me out of my thoughts. “Sloan is Gareth’s stylist. She’s the one who dressed the boys for Tanner’s wedding.”
“Oh, his personal shopper,” I confirm, things slowly clicking into place. “Why the bloody hell was she there at this time of night?”
“It’s new. We just officially met her tonight.”
“Officially? What on earth are you going on about, Vi? Just tell me what’s happened.”
