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As Charlie came and went with what seemed to Sarah to be increasing frequency, the idea that had come to her the day after the party kept returning. She'd knock on the door and hear whispers and giggles; the two of them stood in the entry for half an hour at a time saying good-bye; and if she walked into a room they both turned to look at her like she was interrupting something.
But that could just be boys being awkward about someone's mum, she told herself. Occasionally, at dinner or during movie night, she wanted to ask Nick outright, but she stopped herself. If there was something he needed her to know, she had to let him to tell her. Nick had never lied or kept secrets from her; she would trust him now.
In the days leading up to the St. John's match, he had been uncharacteristically tense, even snapping at her once or twice, which was always a sign that he had something on his mind. It was on the tip of Sarah's tongue to ask, but Nick didn't respond well to direct questions. You had to let him come out with it on his own, or he just pretended everything was all right and buried things more deeply. And this match always keyed him up a little—the St. John's boys were tough, and he wanted badly to beat them.
She picked him up that day after the match, sitting in the car watching him walk toward her and looking him over anxiously for any sign of injury, as she always did after a rugby match. While she was happy he had found something he loved to do, an outlet for his energy, a way to work out his feelings physically so he could sort them out mentally, Sarah couldn't help worrying about his safety. Fortunately, he had been cured of trying to play through an injury in year 7 when he had sprained his wrist and lied about it to keep playing and ended up in a brace for most of the summer while it healed. Although, Sarah thought fondly, it had led to many afternoons watching movies together. He'd been a snuggly one at that age, too, tucked up with her and Nellie. Those quiet days were a favourite memory of hers.
"All right, Nicky?" she asked as he got into the car.
He shrugged and turned away, looking out the window, but not before she'd seen the paleness of his face and the wideness of his eyes.
"Final score?"
"Thirty-five to zero," he said, his voice flat.
Well. That certainly explained some of the mood.
The car was silent for a bit as she drove, then Nick suddenly burst out "I should never have let him do it!"
"Let who do what?"
"Charlie. Play today. I knew—I knew what they were like, I knew …"
"Surely that was the coach's decision, though?" Sarah had to admit to being a bit surprised, however. Charlie wasn't built like a typical rugby player, and she could imagine him next to some of the lads from St. John's. It certainly wouldn't have been her choice for his first game, but sometimes you had to make these calls. "Is Charlie all right?"
Nick shrugged. "I think so. I don't know. I don't— God, why is everything so complicated? Why can't people just be left to be who they are and not forced to …"
He trailed off.
Sarah glanced at him in concern. "You and Charlie have a fight?"
"No." He winced, though, looking distressed. "Not really. He got knocked down, and … It was my fault."
"Did you do something on the pitch that made that happen?"
Nick gave her a look and she realised that had been a foolish question. He was very careful of his fellow players—Charlie in particular.
"Sorry. I just meant—how was it your fault?"
"I'm the one who talked him into playing! I thought—I thought we'd have fun, and he wouldn't have to play in any matches, at least, not like this, and then today …" He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against the car door, away from her.
"Charlie is a very intelligent boy," Sarah observed carefully. "If he hadn't wanted to play rugby, he wouldn't have played. If he hadn't wanted to keep on, he wouldn't have kept on."
"Yeah. Maybe." Nick sounded doubtful, though.
Sarah had to wonder if their growing friendship was the reason Charlie kept playing, and if perhaps Charlie didn't feel like he could stop without jeopardising that. "You would still be friends if he didn't play, wouldn't you?"
"Of course!"
"Does he know that?"
Silence. She left it at that. "You hungry, Nicky?"
"No."
All Sarah's alarms went off again. He was always hungry after rugby, even after a losing match. Immediately she started sorting through in her mind what was in the cupboards and if she could make anything that would tempt him to sneak down from his room and grab a portion later. She wanted so much to pull over and just hug him and tell him everything was going to be all right. But since she didn't know what the 'everything' was, it was so hard to know if that was really true.
Looking over at him, she recognised the turned-away face and the hunched posture as her own response to uncomfortable situations. He was so much like her, so ruled by his emotions and so reluctant to name them or deal with them. They got along so well because they mutually respected each other's space—but in a situation like this, where somehow she needed to get into his space in order to help him with whatever was going on, and she knew that any attempt would cause him to close off further … she was at a loss.
They got home, and he bent over Nellie immediately, burying his face in her fur, holding on tightly, and for at least the ten thousandth time since the dog had come into their lives, Sarah blessed her.
The two of them went upstairs, and she went into the kitchen to try to find something to tempt his appetite … wishing it were as easy to find some way to tempt him to confide in her.