Page 107

So I’m sort of… in the middle. Close enough to the piano to hear the music, but right where I need to be to see the screen, to keep an eye on things – not that there’s anything I can do now.

The good news is that England are winning – the bad news is only just. One of the biggest issues, as far as someone with my limited knowledge can tell, is that Eddy and Jamie just aren’t gelling. Their different play styles should complement each other, but instead they’re clashing. They’re playing for the same team, but they don’t look like teammates. They barely even acknowledge each other. When Jamie receives the ball, Eddy is often available, but Jamie chooses another pass or takes the contact himself. And Eddy, he moves forward without ever looking towards Jamie, even when Jamie is standing close enough to help.

It’s nothing too dramatic, or chaotic, but it doesn’t win games, that’s for sure. They’ll be lucky to keep their lead at this rate.

It’s almost funny, because even when one is clearly in the wrong, the other makes it worse. Like Jamie clapping sarcastically after Eddy decides to run instead of giving him the ball – that’s only going to make him do it again.

‘There doesn’t seem to be a lot of love lost between those two tonight,’ one of the commentators says as the camera follows Jamie jogging back into position.

‘There never has been, but they’ll need to put the club rivalry behind them when they’re in an England shirt,’ another replies.

‘They’re both used to being the biggest figure in any side,’ the first guy continues. ‘Can they make space for each other tonight?’

I take a sip of my cocktail. Why oh why are they like this? And they were like this before I came along, so I know it’s nothing to do with me really.

This morning should have been enough. They both said things they shouldn’t have said, dragged me into an argument that had begun long before I knew either of them and behaved as though winning my attention would somehow settle the score.

I told them to stop, and I hoped they would listen, but instead they have carried the whole thing onto the field – for the world to see. Sol is going to be fuming. Bryan too – I really, really hope this doesn’t affect my job, because that would really suck. I refuse to let my life be ruined by another bloody rugby player.

I glance at the screen. God, it’s like they are consumed by it. Jamie has always been competitive; it’s as much a part of him as the flirting and the raging confidence. He sees a challenge and moves towards it, even when the sensible option would be to step back. I guess he’s younger, although not by that much – not enough to make a difference. Less experienced maybe. I suppose now I have the context of his upbringing, growing up without much, now clearly so scared of losing it. Every win, award and headline means something because they all prove he has escaped the life he started out with. Of course, none of that excuses his behaviour, but it explains it.

Eddy is thirty-three. He has played finals, won awards, represented his country and spent years dealing with rivals, journalists and younger players attempting to ‘take his crown’. He should understand that Jamie wanting something does not mean he has to defend it… but I can see where he’s coming from too. He’s getting older (by rugby standards), his family are trying to encourage him to settle down, he can’t be far off the age when his dad died – that’s bound to make him panic.

The ironic thing is that they probably have a lot in common. They could be good friends, support each other, if they could only let their rivalry go.

Fiji score and some people cheer. It’s hard to say who has the most fans here – to be honest, I think a lot of the Aussies in the bar just don’t want England to win, so they’d probably cheer for anyone else.

The camera cuts to Eddy. He is breathing heavily after making a tackle. He looks stressed out in a way that he doesn’t usually, not when he’s playing. On the field is usually his happy place, one of the few places where he seems truly himself.

My heart sinks when I look at him. He doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself, and I’m worried that I’ve contributed to that, whether it was warranted or not, by getting mad at him and refusing to come to the game.

Fiji break through England’s defensive line, and everyone in the bar starts shouting, making me jump.

‘England need to be careful,’ one commentator says. ‘There’s an intensity between Hood and Royle that could help England if they channel it properly, but right now it feels like they’re trying to outdo each other.’

I’m sure the coach will chew them out, after this game, and they’ll suck it up for next time, but for now it’s not great. At least it’s a friendly, I suppose, but I don’t think this is what Bryan had in mind when he talked about showcasing UK players on a world stage, do you?

‘Oh my God!’ one commentator cries out. His voice changes so suddenly that every conversation in the bar stops.

I look up and, for a moment, I don’t really know what I’m looking at – that’s not new – but it doesn’t look good.

The live picture has already cut away. Players are gathering in a circle, several standing with hands on their heads.

Then the replay begins. A high ball travels through the air towards Eddy. He is underneath it, moving backwards slightly, his arms ready to catch it. There’s nothing unusual there… Until Jamie comes running in, out of nowhere, trying to replicate Eddy’s catch from the Grand Final. He jumps high, trying to get the ball before Eddy – which doesn’t make sense; they’re on the same side now – and he does, but as he comes back down, part of his body collides with Eddy – with his head.

Eddy drops to the floor – not falls, drops. I can’t tell if it’s a knee or an elbow that hits him, but it knocks him out cold.

The rest of the players react immediately, some throwing their arms up, others moving towards Eddy. No one touches him, though, and I recall Eddy telling me you’re not supposed to do that if a player is hurt.

They accidentally cut to Eddy briefly, on the floor, motionless, medics rushing around him, then quickly replace it with a wide shot of the crowd. Everyone looks worried sick as they stare towards the pitch.

‘No,’ I whisper to myself.

I can still see him, even though they’ve cut from the pitch camera again. I’ve seen players stay down after tackles before. They’ll take their time – sometimes they’ll wait for a physio to examine a shoulder or knee – but this is different. His arms were lying beside him. One of his legs was bent at an awkward angle, and maybe it’s just the way he landed, rather than an injury to his leg, but it doesn’t look good either way.

The thing that I noticed, that has stayed with me, is just how motionless he was – and continues to be.

In the wide shot you can’t see Eddy but you can see more medics running out, people carrying stretchers, and other equipment – although I don’t know what.