Page 14 of The Game

"Sure I did little guy." I smiled with more conviction than I felt on the inside.

"Can't wait to meet him myself," Dad piped up and my stomach sank again in that unique way it seemed to associate with the Lancashire Lion and the fact he was a complete prick. "I need to shake that man by the hand for everything he did for English cricket."

I pulled a face and Dad laughed loudly. "Come on, Lyssi. You aren't still annoyed about that comment he made to you all those years ago, surely?"

I stuck my tongue out which made Sammy giggle. "Nope, not at all." And I wasn't. The past was the past. It was more all the many ways he'd made my life difficult in the last few weeks that made me want to clock him a solid one on the jaw—sod the past.

Maria joined us for dinner, and it was a relaxing evening. The house that was normally so empty once the little guy went to bed, was full, and glasses clinked, although my own glass was full of elderflower pressè instead of wine.

When Maria had left for the drive home, I tucked the little guy into bed—my absolute favourite part of the day. I snuggled next to him on the duvet, stretching my legs out alongside his little ones. We stared at the ceiling dotted with glow in the dark stars. "Do you think Mummy and Daddy are up with the real stars?" His little fingers entwined with mine. I tried so hard to keep my emotions around Sammy on an even keel, but exhaustion washed over me, and a tear slipped out of the corner of my eye.

"Is there a constellation in the shape of a cricket bat?"

The little guy nodded. "Yes, there is. I saw it."

I gasped. "You saw it? Wow! Can you show me tomorrow after the game?"

He thought about this for a long moment. "Sure, if I can find it again."

I tightened my arms around him, breathing in the scent of outside that lingered on his hair. "I'm pretty sure if there is a cricket bat in the sky then that's where your mum and dad will be."

Bloody hell, the emotional tidal wave was too much, so I kissed him quickly on the head, and rolled off the bed. "Get some sleep. It'll be a late night tomorrow."

I shouldn't have mentioned the big game because he kicked his legs into the bed and gave a little squeal.

Oh blimey.

"Sleep," I told him as I pulled the door closed behind me. He made some snoring noises, and I started to cry again.

Taking a few moments to myself, I splashed my face with water and pulled my hair into a high ponytail. I stared at my face long and hard. The scar on my right eyebrow where I'd been smacked by a flying cricket ball when I was sixteen had faded to a silvery line, but the hair of my brow refused to grow over the shimmering scar. I could still remember the explosion of the ball against my face and it made my stomach twist. I’d lived in hope that the person who’d put the scar on my face had lived with some element of regret, but I was no longer going to bank on it. Moving on, I turned my attention to the all year round freckles I was sure constituted sun damage despite my excessive use of factor fifty suntan lotion.

Oh well. I frowned at myself. I'd given up my vanity a long time before in the pursuit of my dream career, and I'd won. That was all that mattered.

Mum and Dad were waiting for me expectantly when I made it back to the kitchen. Dad was flipping through my training folder filled with the pages and pages of notes I'd spent the evenings writing, as I recorded what I'd seen during the day.

Dad was straight to the point. "Why hasn't he bowled?" My stomach lurched as I knew whose file he was studying.

I shrugged. Hell, I didn't know. Because he was an idiot, maybe?

"Isn't he going to bowl tomorrow night?" Dad continued ignoring my silent response.

"I guess. Waller wants him to take centre stage."

Dad's face flickered in consternation. "But that's crazy. He hasn't practised."

"Meh," I struggled to find anything positive to say. "He's the superstar. I'm sure he won't let the team down." My lie would have been smoother if I hadn't ended it with a questioning lilt to my words.

Dad's eyes flashed onto me, but Mum intervened by talking about another one of my worst subjects. "Have they said anything?" I didn't have to ask who 'they' were. Her tone told me everything. My brother's wife's parents were a 'they' in our vocabulary. Things had been awkward a year ago. I didn't know if any of us would come back from what we'd said in the heat of the moment and the depth of our grief.

I slid onto the stall and pulled my glass of juice towards me. "Nope."

"Are they still coming to visit every month?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Of course they are, Mother. They are Sammy's grandparents, it's not like they are just going to forget." I shouldn't have snapped, and I regretted it instantly but thinking of the frosty monthly collection and drop off made me cringe inwardly. "Sorry, it's just there is so much pressure on me now. I feel like everyone is watching me.” My mind flicked to those ice-filled eyes, but I batted it away as if I was knocking a red ball across a green using smooth wood. "The last thing I need to worry about is Vanessa's parents and what they are planning on doing next."

Mum shook her head. "The last will was clear and legal. They haven't got any leg to stand on."

My fingers tingled like I was still holding the piece of paper signed by my brother and sister-in-law that made me the guardian of their only son. It had always been joked about in passing, as morbid as that sounds, but I never expected that I would need to step into my guardianship role. No one ever expects that. My eyes flitted to the fridge where the little guy's latest drawing of The Flash was stuck with a magnet shaped in the letter S.