Just for Fun Read online

  Just for Fun

  By Rosalind James

  Text copyright 2012 Rosalind James

  All Rights Reserved

  Author’s Note

  The Blues and the All Blacks are actual rugby teams. However, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Table of Contents

  New Zealand Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  A Kiwi Glossary

  Links

  New Zealand Map

  Chapter 1

  Nic Wilkinson wasn’t looking to change his life. He just wanted to go home. Instead, he quit watching where he was going, stepped in a puddle, and swore. It had rained the night before, and this part of the field was still muddy. The hundred or so boys gathered for the last day of Rob Euliss’s rugby camp weren’t helping a bit. They’d churned up the grass good and proper this week, Nic saw with disgust as he felt the water squelch inside his shoe. This wasn’t his idea of a fun way to spend a Sunday morning during a rare bye week. The kids were OK. He wasn’t always too keen on the parents, though.

  But Rob was a neighbor, and a mate. Anyway, when a legendary former All Black asked a favor, you didn’t say no. So here he was, trying to avoid the rest of the muck around the edge of the enormous field that made up the North Harbour Rugby Club, and preparing to do his duty.

  He squinted around the clusters of boys playing their final matches of the Easter-week camp under the watchful eyes of volunteer coaches and a sprinkling of dads who’d been pressed into service. He finally spotted the still-imposing figure of Rob, issuing impatient instructions to a hapless dad, and made his way toward the pair.

  “Get them to stay onside,” Rob was barking at the harassed-looking volunteer, intimidating the poor bloke with his trademark volcanic frown. “They know better.”

  Nic waited until the chastened dad took himself off, then offered, “Morning, Rob.”

  “Nico. You took your time,” Rob grumbled. “I said ten.”

  “Sorry. Claudia wasn’t rapt about my plan for the day. Where do you want me?” Nic could see a few of his Blues and All Black teammates, each surrounded by a little knot of starstruck boys, their parents hovering close. “I’ll help out here, if you like.”

  “Don’t want to meet the mums, eh. Don’t blame you. Stay with me a minute, then. I’ll find a spot to pop you into.”

  They fell silent, watching the boys in front of them play. “Second year?” Nic asked, watching as a pass fell uncaught at a small pair of feet.

  “Yeh. Six,” Rob answered briefly.

  “That one’s good,” Nic remarked as a boy from the opposing team picked up the ball, made two defenders miss with his abrupt changes of direction, then passed the ball accurately behind him to a teammate who dove across the line for a try.

  “Yeh. Got a boot on him, too. Can’t use that in Rippa, of course. But he’ll be making his mark in a few years,” Rob said. “Hell of a kick.”

  “Some talent there,” Nic agreed as the boy darted in, on defense now, and ripped an opposing player’s flag from his belt. “Fast-twitch fibers, I reckon. Reminds me of someone. Somebody’s kid?”

  Rob looked at him oddly. “You. Who he reminds you of, I mean. Good pair of hands, reflexes. And a boot as well. They usually aren’t much chop at this age, but he’s different. Been watching you, I’d say. Got your moves. Even has a bit of a look of you. They’re about done here. Stay here and you can see for yourself, when you do your meet and greet.”

  It was on them soon enough. The boys crowded around, offering up mud- and grass-stained backs for autographs. Nic signed jerseys with the Sharpie Rob wordlessly handed him, offered a bit of chat to the kids. The boy with the skills, he saw, hung back a bit, waiting for the crowd to thin, his eyes on Nic. A good-looking kid, straight dark blond hair getting a bit long over the forehead and at the back.

  The boy came forward at last, turned his back. “Can you sign huge?” he asked. “I want yours to be the biggest.”

  “Can’t turn that down, can I,” Nic answered good-humoredly. “There. Straight across. Nobody’ll miss that.”

  “Thanks.” The boy stood aside as Nic signed the jersey of a boy with a comical, mobile face and a mop of wild red curls.

  “I saw you hurt your leg last week,” the blond boy offered as Nic finished. “Has it got any better? Will you be able to play in South Africa?”

  “Not too bad,” Nic assured him. “Bit of a crocked thigh, that’s all. Be right as rain by Saturday.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but it was the kind of niggle you expected, midway through the season.

  “Would you run, though, normally?” the boy asked hesitatingly. “When you have a bye like this, I mean? If you weren’t injured? On your days off?”

  “Yeh, I would,” Nic answered.

  “See, Graham. Told you,” the blond boy said triumphantly to his redheaded friend. “Graham said you just rested. But I said you have to keep training, if you really want to be good.”

  “You’re right,” Nic said. “Plenty of blokes with talent. You have to have more than that, if you want to make it to Super level. Takes a fair bit of discipline. Do you do some training yourself, then? You’re pretty good.”

  The boy flushed with embarrassed pride. “Yeh. I run before school, lots of days. With my mum. She likes to go too,” he hurried on to explain. “Not because she has to take me.”

  “Good on ya. You’ve got a pretty fair boot, too, Rob tells me. What’s your name?”

  “Zack. Zack Martens.”

  “Good to meet you.” Nic shook the offered hand. Manners, he saw. “And who’s this?”

  “Graham MacNeil,” the redhead said, offering his own hand and turning a violent shade that clashed with his carroty hair.

  “Well, Graham, your mate’s right. Do all the running you can. You boys better get off and get some more signatures on those jerseys, though. Ben over there looks like he’s about to pack it in.”

  “C’mon, Zack,” Graham urged.

  “Thank you for signing,” Zack said politely. Dark brown eyes fringed with long, thick lashes looked shyly up at Nic’s own before the boy turned to run off with his friend.

  “Nice kid, that Zack,” Nic told Rob a bit later from the middle of another group of kids.

  “Got a nice mum, too,” Rob said, nodding toward a group of parents on the sideline. “Quite pretty. Think she’s single, too. Most of them don’t show up without a dad, the last day.”

  “You old goat,” Nic chided h
im. “Lucky I don’t tell Rebecca.”

  “Still got a pair of eyes, haven’t I,” Rob countered. “That one there, see? Kind of blonde. The small one. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Nic looked where Rob was gesturing. Suddenly his sodden feet seemed to be sending a chill straight through his entire body. He saw Zack again, excitedly showing off his newly collected autographs to the slim, graceful figure bending towards him. The honey-blonde hair was shorter now, but her curls still fell around her face in the way he remembered. She straightened, turned. And stood stock-still at the sight of him.

  He wasn’t more than twenty meters away, but she moved fast. With a quick word to Zack, she’d melted behind the group of parents and was lost in the taller crowd within moments.

  Nic stood, gobsmacked. He recovered his wits as another group of boys crowded around him. Signed jerseys and rugby balls mechanically, offered encouraging words. But kept an eye out all the while for that slight figure. He didn’t see her again, though. And to his frustration, by the time he could look for her properly amidst the thinning crowd, she was gone.

  Rob was issuing more instructions to the volunteers who were helping to round up equipment. He turned, though, at a hand on his elbow. “Still here, mate?” he asked in surprise. “Thought you’d left with the rest of them.”

  “Need to ask you a question,” Nic said. “I need to know something about that kid. Zack.”

  “Rightyo, then.” Rob was surprised, but agreeable. “Hang on a tick while I finish up here. Or better yet, give us a hand.”

  “Now,” he said fifteen minutes later, packing file folders into a carrier bag inside the Rugby Club’s office. “What did you need? Are the Blues scouting them that young now?”

  “Zack Martens.” Nic brushed the joke aside. “You said he was six. When’s his birthday?”

  “Why? You planning on sending him a present? Too late, I reckon. He’s one of the young ones. Just turned six, I think. That’s what surprised me about the skills. They usually can’t even offload worth a damn that young, let alone kick like that.”

  “His birthday,” Nic insisted. “When is it?”

  Rob sighed. “Hang on, then.” He pulled a ring binder from the bag he’d been loading, found the sheet. “February 15th. Barely made it under the cutoff. Happy now?”

  Nic felt his mouth go dry as he subtracted in his head. Saw those dark eyes again, raised to his own. The way they turned down at the outer corners to give him a sleepy look, fringed by lashes his mum had always said were wasted on a boy.

  “I need his mum’s address,” he told Rob.

  “Mate. You know I can’t give you that.” Rob was puzzled now, and a bit alarmed as well. “What’s this all about? Better not be something about you I don’t know.”

  “Don’t be bloody stupid,” Nic said impatiently. “I need his mum’s address. Emma’s address. Because that’s my son.”

  Chapter 2

  Emma pulled the parking brake with a jerk and pressed the button to unlock the doors. The ancient Nissan seemed to be running a little rough, she thought worriedly. She really couldn’t afford a repair bill, not this month. But that bit of hesitation wasn’t going to improve by itself. And she didn’t need a breakdown on the Harbour Bridge.

  “Can you grab a grocery bag, please?” she asked Zack. She didn’t like having to stop again after picking him up from childcare, when they were both tired. But she hadn’t realized he’d eaten the last of the bread until she’d gone to make his sandwich this morning. It seemed like he ate more all the time, and he was still only six.

  She’d been too distracted yesterday to notice the state of her pantry, that was the truth of it. Had Nic got a good look at her? She didn’t think so. It didn’t matter anyway, she reminded herself firmly. He’d made his feelings clear a long time ago. He’d sure taken his time chatting to Zack, though. Her son and Graham had talked of little else during the drive home the day before. Nic hadn’t realized who Zack was, obviously, or he wouldn’t have bothered. Or, more likely, would have taken himself off in the opposite direction, as fast as those speedy legs could carry him.

  She gathered her purse, gym bag, and the remaining groceries and finally stepped away from the car, shifting the heavy load and feeling the lumpy green fabric bags bang against her knees. Zack struggled along with his own backpack and bag as they climbed the steep driveway together in silence. Until Zack stopped dead at the sight of the tall, dark-haired figure perched on the steps leading to the main house.

  “Nic.” Emma stared at him stupidly, unable to process his presence. “What are you doing here?”

  “Came to see you.” None of his famous self-possessed good humor was visible as Nic rose to his feet. The well-formed mouth was grim, his expression set. No humor in the dark eyes that stared into hers.

  “Cool,” Zack breathed. “D’you want to see our flat?”

  “Yeh.” Nic looked down at the boy, his face relaxing a bit. “Yeh, I do.”

  “Come on,” Zack said. “I’ll show you my room.” He led the way around the side of the building on the concrete path, down the few utilitarian steps to the wooden door that was the entrance to their ground floor flat at the back of the house.

  Emma followed behind, her mind racing, as man and boy stepped aside to allow her to unlock the door. Nic reached for the bags of shopping, and she surrendered them reluctantly. She didn’t want to let him in, didn’t understand why he had come, but she didn’t know how to avoid it, either. And Zack wasn’t helping.

  “We can put the shopping down here,” Zack said excitedly. It was only a few steps to the kitchen doorway, and inside to the small table where they ate. “Then I can show you my room.”

  “In a minute,” Nic told him. “I need to talk to your mum first.”

  “You can have your bath, Zack,” Emma decided. “I’ll run it for you now. By the time you’re done, Nic will be ready for his tour.”

  “Promise you won’t leave first.” Zack looked at Nic beseechingly.

  “I won’t leave,” Nic assured him. “Come get me when you’re clean.”

  “Wait here, then,” Emma told Nic helplessly. “I’ll be a few minutes.”

  Nic was sitting on the small slipcovered couch in the tiny lounge, frowning absently at the painted coffee table, but stood as Emma reappeared from the little hallway that led to the bedrooms and bath.

  “Come into the kitchen,” she said warily. “Since you’re here.” She took a deep breath, tried to calm her racing heart, to still the anxiety that rushed through her, threatened to overwhelm her. Nic, in the flesh. The solid, hard flesh. Taking up way too much space in her flat.

  “Do you want something to drink?” she asked as she waved him to a chair at the kitchen table. “I don’t have much, I’m afraid. Water? Juice? Cup of tea?” She snapped her mouth shut on the words. Why was she trying to make him comfortable? Because she felt so uncomfortable herself, she supposed.

  “Cup of tea, thanks.” She could feel his eyes on her as she pulled bread and milk from the grocery bags and moved to put them away. She was aware of a pang of embarrassment for the modesty of the little room. No dishwasher, just the ancient faucet over the dented stainless-steel sink. Nothing new or flash here. Nothing like the house he shared with his fiancée, which she’d seen profiled in the Herald only a couple months ago. How she’d envied that big, gleaming, modern kitchen—although she’d wondered if anybody had ever prepared a meal in it.

  Well, whose fault was it that he had all that, and she had only this? She had nothing to be ashamed of, she reminded herself fiercely. She switched the electric jug on, then turned and leaned against the bench, her hands gripping the tiled edge behind her. “Why are you here, Nic? What’s this all about?”

  “What d’you think? I met Zack. Then I saw you, and I knew. He’s mine. Isn’t he?”

  She stared at him. “Are you trying to pretend you didn’t know? That this is the first you’ve heard of him? I’m going to ask you again. What’s th
is all about?”

  He shook his head as if trying to clear his ears. “What?” he asked in obvious confusion. “Of course I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know? You didn’t tell me.”

  Emma looked at him a moment longer, searching his face for the truth, then turned at the sound of the water boiling, busied herself fixing the cups. She really had become a Kiwi, she thought briefly. She was completely discombobulated, so she was making tea.

  By the time she had turned around again, she had herself back under control. “I think we need to start over. Yes. He’s your son. And I did tell you. But you didn’t want anything to do with him. Are you trying to tell me that didn’t happen? Because I can show you the letters. Refresh your memory.”

  “I think you’d better.”

  “Fix the tea, then.” She left the room abruptly, and he found the milk and sugar, prepared his own mug. He paused as he tried to remember what she took in hers. How could he have forgotten that, when he remembered so much? The way she’d looked that last morning, pulling herself up in the big bed, wrapping her arms around him to kiss him goodbye, her eyes huge and soft, mouth swollen from an early morning of lovemaking.

  Her face was as pretty as ever, the broad forehead and cheekbones together with the pointed chin giving her the same adorable kitten look that had captivated him from the beginning. But there was a wariness about her now, as if the kitten had found the world to be a more hostile place than she’d expected. And none of the softness he remembered when she turned those big blue eyes on him.

  He heard her talking to Zack, the sound of the water beginning to run from the tub before she came back to join him, a slim manila folder in her hand.

  “We need more time to talk about this,” he told her abruptly. “Could I take you somewhere?”

  “I don’t want to talk in front of Zack,” she said.

  “Can’t he stay here for a bit? Or go outside and play, or something?”

  She looked at him aghast. “He’s six, Nic. What do you want me to do, send him down to the pub? I need to make dinner, anyway. Maybe we should talk about this another time.” She pulled her hair back from her face in a tired gesture he’d never seen.