Page 4 of The Game

I gave my head a firm parental nod, and it felt comfortingly natural. "Not on a school night it's not." I hated being the grown up. If it was me I’d be on the trampoline until midnight, but it wasn’t the done thing, apparently, as I’d found out last year when Sammy’s teachers had talked to me about him being too tired in class. How was I supposed to know? He didn’t come with a user manual.

Sammy groaned and ran ahead, Jasper chasing in his wake and I laughed knowing full well he would reappear with a scrunched sheet of A4 in his palm in five minutes time.

Turning, I took in the shape of the house, a solid detached affair, with patio doors opening from every downstairs room. It was part mine, part inheritance. I loved the Britishness of it, with its landscaped gardens and light, airy spaces. Being here made me feel this alien tightness in my chest that I didn't think I would ever fully understand.

In the kitchen, I found Maria stirring a sauce on the cooker. She flashed me a warm smile and waved the spoon at me. Maria was my saving grace, and I didn't know how I got through one day before she appeared like an unexpected fairy godmother. She cooked, cleaned and turned my former solitary existence for one, into a semblance of a family life.

"What's cooking?" I peered over her shoulder, giving her plump shoulders a squeeze and peeked at the perfect smelling Bolognese. I breathed in the herb and wine scent and my stomach growled loudly. "That smells divine." I almost drooled into the pot but managed to catch it back in time.

"Pasta. Are you carbing it tonight?" she asked. “Or do I need to shred my fingers through the spiraliser?”

I thought of all those laps around the field. "Hell, yes." I grabbed a teaspoon and dipped it in the sauce. "Was Sammy okay at pick up?"

"Fine, although he was moaning about PE." She grinned at me and I rolled my eyes. The little guy always moaned about PE.

"Oh I know, he's already told me all about it." Maria laughed and placed the spoon down. "You okay if I head off now, or do you need me for a bit longer?"

“Do you need me to need you a bit longer?” I laughed at my backwards question. Maria’s daughter Scarlett was sixteen and turning into a handful. I think Maria liked the quiet solitude she found at our house. It made me wonder where I would be able to go and hide when Sammy was a teenager. Although, while I didn’t know much about boys, I did seem to remember the teenage ones at school just cocooned themselves in their smelly rooms and masturbated a lot. Shit, I’d definitely need to hide if that was going on.

Shaking my head from a future I couldn’t quite comprehend, I focused on Maria.

“No it’s okay, I think the Princess has plans,” she said.

"Well, off with you then, enjoy the peace. I am more than capable of boiling pasta."

She laughed again and shook her head with slightly more intensity than I thought she needed, motioning to a saucepan on the back burner, lifting the lid and revealing buttery strands of spaghetti nestled inside. "Oh I know, but I've done it for you." I nearly fell at her feet in gratitude. Last week I burnt rice to the bottom of a pan so bad we'd had to throw it away. Not the rice, that was a given in the circumstances, but the pan itself. "You are good at many things, Lyssa, but cooking is not one of your skills."

I grabbed another huge dollop and jammed the spoon into my mouth. "I run, you cook," I said around the silverware jammed between my lips.

Maria patted her curved hips. "You do not get handles like this from participating in running."

Grinning, I clapped her on the back. "I'll see you in the morning, enjoy your night. Oh and tell Ricky that I haven't forgotten about his autographs."

When the Red Cats had their first game, I'd wangled Maria and her husband some tickets, but I'd promised that in the meantime I'd get some scrawls from the top players to tide her cricket-loving husband over. I repressed a shudder when I thought of asking Mr. Icy Stare for an autograph. I'd rather shove the pen up his arse.

"Everything okay?" Maria hesitated, as she grabbed her purse and searched for her keys.

I offered her a well-practiced shoulder lift. "Everything's dandy."

Her eyes narrowed and then she turned for the door. "Ciao, Lyssa," she sing-songed from the kitchen door.

“Ciao, Maria." I sang back but not quite as tunefully. Singing not being my thing.

Shovelling pasta was my thing. I ate two helpings without it touching the sides. That run had been hard, and it had taken all my willpower not to let the pain show. I already knew I'd be strapping my knees tonight and praying to the gods of cartilage that I hadn't inflicted any more damage. And if I could walk downstairs tomorrow I would accept that as a bonus.

"So what was it like?" Sammy asked, his head resting on his hand. I knew if my mum was there she'd be telling him not to put his elbows on the table, but I couldn't quite make myself partake in grown up things like that. Hell, I liked to put my elbows on the table, especially when I was knackered. If he hadn't been there slurping pasta right next to me along the high gloss, white, breakfast bar in the kitchen, I would have had my head on it.

"It was okay. You know, different." I trailed off a little.

"Did you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Playing?"

I chewed my food for longer than I needed and glanced at Sammy’s dark eyes. The little guy was so perceptive and that little mind of his was a mystery to me. "Nah, and no one was playing anyway. I was making them run like crazies."

Little guy offered me a weak smile, and I rolled my eyes at his face. Yeah I know, it wasn’t very grown up. "What? Spit it out, or you're going to choke on your pasta."