Games People Play (24 page)

Rachel

I can’t believe it. Dad wouldn’t do anything like that! He’s worked with kids for years, ever since he became a coach. He knows the implications; how careful you have to be – for God’s sake, he won’t even be alone in the clubhouse with an underage kid, male or female. If one of his Juniors gets stranded without a lift home, he’ll take them himself, but only if another adult accompanies him in the car. I’ve heard him saying a million times that you have to cover yourself at all costs, he’s seen what even the most spurious of allegations can do to a coach’s career. There was that guy in Essex, a colleague of Dad’s, who got taken to court for fiddling with little boys. Even though he was cleared of all charges, he still lost his business, because his reputation was in tatters. It just takes one peeved teenager with a grudge, Dad says – perhaps someone who wasn’t picked for a squad, or who got shouted at for being lazy; anything really – to complain that their coach ‘touched’ them inappropriately, just to cause trouble, then before you know it, it’s tribunals, maybe court proceedings, and bingo! Instant career death and shame, even if only by implication.

Surely nobody will believe that Dad, who is so conscientious, has been downloading filth off the Internet?

They might. Oh, what will they be saying down at the club? Poor Gordana. How are we going to show our faces? A hot piece of gossip in the Intermediate and Midweek sections would be somebody wearing a top on court with a zip and hood, instead of the regulation sweatshirt; or bringing a soggy quiche to the Committee Meeting lunch. This will blow their minds. For the first time, I’m glad I’m injured and off the circuit. At least I don’t have to face anybody.

But the club is practically our second home...

Pops just called me from the kitchen door, asking me to phone Kerry, and I will, but I need a minute first. I needed to get out in the fresh air.

It’s cold out here. I can see my breath, in small anxious clouds, as I breathe fast. I’ve been sitting on a bench on the patio, but I’ve only got a thin cotton top and jeans on, so I get up and walk around and around the garden on my crutches, leaving little dents in the grass, muttering furiously to myself and stopping every now and again to get the tears off my face by hunching up my shoulder and wiping them on the top of my sleeve. My knee is absolutely killing me, a deep, throbbing pain radiating through the rest of my body, into the already sore place on my hip, down to my swollen ankle, but I don’t care. Somehow, I want to feel this physical agony, because I can’t bear the pain of how I feel about Dad and what he’s been accused of doing.

What will Mark think? He’ll probably believe the worst: that Dad did it. Maybe he’s even gloating; telling his team-mates: ‘I knew he was a dodgy git, you can just tell…’

I haven’t heard from Mark since my accident, despite leaving him a voicemail message saying I was bound to get really bored stuck at my grandparents’, sitting on my backside all day convalescing, and wouldn’t he just pop round, as a friend? I am hurt that he hasn’t responded immediately, but afraid that he won’t at all. Now he’s even less likely to, isn’t he? I think about him all the time.

I feel so alone. There’s something wrong with Gordana – apart from this, I mean. She has been so distant lately, and I can tell it’s making Ted fidgety. Perhaps she knew about it all along and kept it quiet – although she seemed as surprised and shocked as we did. I want Mum. I want Mark. I want the mindless rhythm of hitting tennis balls over a net to clear my mind of the picture of that newspaper headline, or the image of the thrilled and appalled clusters of gossips in the clubhouse.

But what if Dad did do it? What if all those elaborate efforts to ‘cover himself’ were for a reason, because he did have something to hide? It’s not as if he didn’t have the opportunity, if he decided that young girls – or boys – were his particular bag. I think of all the hundreds of girls he’s coached over the years, our smooth muscley tanned legs, our short skirts and tight tops, our sweaty bodies jumping around and panting with exertion. I remember the way he looked at that Natasha Horvath before that match.

My breath is coming even faster and whiter around me as I swing along on the crutches. Out of the corner of my eye I can see movement through the kitchen window, and I know I ought to go inside again, but I don’t try to focus on who it is or if they’re calling me in. The tears in my eyes make the house waver and swim like a mirage.

What is this going to mean for all of us? Especially Gordana, the erstwhile proudest mother in the Home Counties. And it’s not going to do my own career any favours either, is it? Suddenly I stop feeling cold and start sweating with pure outrage. Guilty or not guilty, Dad seems to have a knack of ruining everything for me. I’m not sure how any of us are going to get around this one...

Gordana

Finally Rachel comes back into the kitchen, hopping and crying. She needs both hands for her crutches, and her nose is running. She said earlier she is meant to be on her feet as much as possible and not in the wheelchair, but I push it towards her and she sit down gratefully. She look exhausted. I pass her a tissue and she blows her nose with a big noise. She will not look at her father. Somehow, her being in this wheelchair, so pale and with pain, makes it all seem so much worse.

Rachel so badly injured, Ivan maybe soon in jail, I perhaps soon ...Well. I don’t need to think it. But what a state we all are in, all at the same time! Now we just need Ted to discover that his prostate is up the blink – on the spout – whatever the expression is – and that Susie – I don’t know. I hope nothing is wrong for Susie either ...Bad things come in three, though, so I pray this is it for now.

‘Right,’ I say, putting my hands on my hips and trying to sound like I am in control. ‘We must not panic. We must be strong. Ted, please get out the brandy; this is a big shock for us all.’

Ted leaps up and gets busy with the Waterford crystal, fetching in the decanter from the dining-room sideboard. We all have a small glass, except Rachel, who says it would not mix with her painkillers.

‘Ivan,’ I continue, ‘you must keep a low profile. I expect since this story is now out there, all sort of unpleasant people will probably try to make you talk to them and give you a hassle. Journalists and so on. How did the newspapers find out these secret things when your family don’t even know them?’

Ivan has his jaw set tight, staring at the table. ‘I have no idea. Somebody could have leaked it. Now everybody will know and think I’m a paedophile. Perhaps your “friend” Elsie. They’d have given her cash for the story.’

Rachel sniffs, I think just because she has been crying, but Ivan is too sensitive and believes her sniff is saying something else.

‘I’m not a sodding paedophile!’ he yells at her suddenly, making us all jump. ‘This is ...not fair! Some evil bastard’s set me up. I never downloaded anything, ever. I’ve never paid for porn. Is it really too much to expect my own family to believe me?’

Rachel bows her head, tears running down her cheeks again.

Say you believe him, darling, I beg her inside my head. He is your daddy. He would not do these things.

But she say nothing.

‘We believe you, Sonny Jim,’ I tell him softly. Ted clap him on the shoulder in a manly way of agreeing with me.

‘So, now, please tell us what happens. Do you have to go to court and prove you are innocent? Do you have a good lawyer? What happens next?’

‘Yes, I have a good solicitor,’ Ivan says, sounding like his voice comes from a long tunnel of exhaustion. ‘He managed to get me bail so I could go to the Zurich tournament with Rach. But I’m not allowed at the club – well, you read it in there.’ He jabs at the paper. ‘Imagine: banned from my own club.’

He downs his brandy in one big gulp, and pours another one with a shaky hand. It is not like my boy to talk and talk, especially under pressure like this, but we all – apart from Rachel – have our sympathetic faces on, and I guess this is a secret he has been holding inside him for a long time now. I hope this is not going to make him start drinking too much every day.

‘Does Anthea know, darling?’

He nods miserably. ‘She’s been supportive ...I suppose. I think she’s in shock too. But she says she believes me. It’s hard for her too. You know how worried she is about what people think of her. Guilt by association, and all that . . .’

I see Rachel roll her eyes and shake her head. For a moment I feel angry with my granddaughter. She is mocking Anthea, but at least Anthea believes Ivan.

Still, Rachel is in pain, I can tell. I must make some allowance for her. The poor girl hasn’t even had time to get over the shock of her accident yet, let alone this too.

‘So what has happened so far? Have you been into the court yet?’

Ivan drums his fingers on the table, talking to a bit of kitchen ceiling and not to any of us. ‘I appeared at the magistrates’ court in Kingston, just after we got back from Zurich, to ascertain if I was going to face criminal charges. They decided I was, and bailed me to appear at Kingston Crown Court. I don’t have a date yet, but it’ll probably be in another couple of months. If I plead guilty then, they’ll sentence me.’

He glares around the room at us, like we’re the jury declaring him guilty. ‘But there is no way I will ever plead guilty to something I didn’t do, so I’ll plead innocent. Then they’ll set a date for the actual trial. It’s going to take months and months to sort through all the computer stuff, let alone waiting for the trial. It’s a complete nightmare. Sometimes I just want to . . .’

He stops, and I feel my lip trembling with fear and pity for him. My poor baby. He doesn’t even know there is more bad news to come. Although perhaps my little bit of bad news will not seem quite so bad now.

He takes a big deep breath. His voice sounds flat and muddy. ‘This is it for me. I’ve had it. I thought if I kept it quiet enough, I might escape with my reputation, once they found me not guilty. But now it’s in the papers, I’ve got no chance. José’s already had to hire another coach to look after my squads – they think I’m on sick leave. All the juniors’ parents will take them out of the academy, of course, because mud sticks. I expect all my squads will go elsewhere too. The club will close. I’m finished.’

Ted refills our brandy glasses. ‘You don’t know that, Ivan. You’re a brilliant coach, old chap. I’m sure more than you think will be loyal to you. And the truth will out. There’s no way you’ll be convicted. You’ll be found not guilty, you’ll see.’

‘If I can only find out who set me up, I’ll kill him,’said Ivan with such anger that I was afraid for him all over again. ‘All that work, all that money. All my dreams, for nothing. One nasty vicious little lie, and it’s all over.’

He kicks the leg of my kitchen table hard, and Ted has to reach for the decanter to stop it wobbling over. I would have been very upset if that had broken; it was a wedding present.

‘Don’t kick, please,’ I say sternly, and it’s like Ivan has shrunk to seven years old again. Only in a heap more trouble.

Rachel hasn’t said anything this whole time. She is so white that I think she might faint. I fetch her a glass of cold water, and she nods thanks to me, her eyes pink and her face spaced-out, no tears left. It is awful, just awful, to see her like that, especially in the damn wheelchair.

At least Ivan is still angry – but as usual he is too angry. He acts like it is our fault that this has happened. He glares at each of us, even me and Ted who are supporting him. I would suggest those classes you can do called Anger Management, but he might hit me.

‘Darling, please, we are trying to help you. You can stay here with us, if you like.’

‘Thanks, Mama, but haven’t you got Saint Susie coming tomorrow?’ he says sulkily. ‘Besides, I know you don’t want Anthea here, and I can’t very well leave her, can I? We might go away for a bit – not abroad, I’m not allowed to any more. Maybe just B&B round the UK. I can’t handle the thought that there might be journalists or TV cameras outside the house.’

‘Darling, please keep your calm with the reporters,’ I say anxiously, all the while thinking he is living in Cuckooclockland if he believes there won’t be reporters. ‘You have to remember that everything will be one thousand times worse if you get angry with them, you know that, don’t you? Just say “no comments” in your politest voice. You will do this for me, you promise?’

He tut-tuts. ‘I’m not a total moron, Mama, I do know that.’

Ted speaks up. ‘Dana, they might ring here, too, if they find out our address, you know. Or try to talk to Rachel – but at least you won’t be at home, Rach. We have to agree that we’ll all just say “no comment” if anyone asks us any questions. Or just say nothing at all.’

‘Can’t you just say “he’s innocent”?’ asks Ivan. ‘"No comment" sounds like you think I’m guilty.’

‘Well, it’s better to say nothing, even though we know you’re not guilty, son,’ says Ted quickly. ‘If you say anything else, they think they can get you into a conversation, and that’s what you want to avoid. Heads down and walk away, that’s what I advise.’

‘That’s what we agree, then,’ I say, patting Ivan’s leg. ‘Darling, do you need money to pay your solicitor?’

Ivan has that furious look again, like someone has pushed him into a corner with a big pointy stick.

‘No, Mama. I can manage. For now. I already owe you enough, I don’t want to owe you more.’ He hates to talk about money, especially when he doesn’t have it.

Rachel lifts her head up then. ‘I’m not feeling too good,’ she says. ‘My leg really hurts. I’m going to lie down for a bit. Could someone push me, please?’

How am I ever going to tell them? I must wait till Rachel’s better, and Ivan’s calmed down, or been to court, and this is sorted out ...But by then, I will have had my operation. Oh, it will never be a right time.

I must tell them now, while they are both here. Get it over with. I take huge deep breath. Poor Rachel; she will have to wait one more minute for her lie-down.

‘There is something else . . .’ I begin. It hurts very much to see the anxious faces of the ones I love the most.