A Crowded Marriage by Catherine Alliott Read Free Book Online Page A

wouldn’t tell him, I resolved quickly. But he’d find out, I reasoned even more quickly. Sebastian would tell him Orlando was in the team. My hands felt sweaty on the wheel. I glanced at my apathetic son beside me.
    â€œRufus, don’t you like rugby?” I said crossly.
    â€œIt’s OK.”
    â€œSo, if you were in the team, that would be OK too?”
    He shrugged. “I suppose.” He turned. “I’m not very good at it, though, Mum.”
    â€œWell, that’s hardly surprising, is it?” I shrieked. “You haven’t been given a chance!”
    The following morning I strode into school and ran the games master to ground in the long corridor. He was in his tracksuit, pinning up another list, this time for the Colts.
    â€œMr. O’Callaghan, Rufus seems to be the only boy in his year not in a rugby team—is that fair?” As I said it, I nearly cried. Honestly nearly sobbed. Keep breathing, keep breathing.
    Mr. O’Callaghan turned and frowned. “He’s not the only one, Mrs. Cameron. There’s Magnus Pritchard.”
    â€œMagnus Pritchard has a broken leg!” I yelped. “OK,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “he’s the only boy with two legs not in a rugby team!” For one surreal moment I felt Pete and Dud’s one-legged Tarzan sketch coming on.
    Mr. O’Callaghan fiddled nervously with his whistle. “Well, the list stands for Wednesday’s match, I’m afraid, but I’ll see what I can do for next week, OK? It obviously has to be entirely on merit, though.”
    â€œOh, obviously,” I’d purred obsequiously, and I’d scurried away, hugging my precious secret to me. Next week. Next week he’d be in.
    The whole of that week I’d prayed to God, to Allah, to anyone who was listening, to give strength to Mr. O’Callaghan’s pen; to empower him to write Rufus Cameron, in bold letters on the nine and under B list.
    The following Monday Rufus and I hastened into the school together. By now even Rufus had caught my excitement and had admitted last night, albeit with rocketing sugar levels after three Ribenas—the closest I could get to getting him pissed—that he’d actually quite like to be in the team. His disappointment was all the more acute, therefore, when he realised he wasn’t.
    â€œI’m not there,” he said, his eyes quicker than mine.
    I couldn’t speak I was so angry.
    â€œI’m in again!” came a voice from behind, and I turned to see Orlando, his face wreathed in smiles.
    â€œOh, well done, darling.” Kate’s eyes scanned the list. I wanted to hit her. Wanted to hit my best friend hard in the mouth.
    â€œNot you, Rufus?” she frowned. “That can’t be right, surely?”
    â€œOf course it’s not right!” I said in a shrill, unnatural voice.
    Kate looked startled. “Oh, well, maybe next week,” she murmured.
    â€œNo,” I said breathing hard through clenched teeth. “No, this week.” And I strode off towards the staff room.
    I’m not very proud of what happened next. Kate, to this day, swears I pushed Mr. O’Callaghan into the PE cupboard, locked the door and threatened to take all my clothes off, but of course that’s nonsense. What really happened was that I saw Mr. O’Callaghan already in side the PE equipment room—cupboard, Kate insists, snorting—followed him in, shut the door, and rationally asked him to reconsider. I do remember seeing the naked fear in his eyes as he backed into a pile of clattering hockey sticks whimpering something like, “Help me!”—I expect I misheard—but I have no idea why the top button of my shirt came undone nor why he was seen running, wild-eyed from the cupboard, grabbing a pen from a passing child and writing “Rufus Cameron” in large, shaky letters at the bottom of the B team list.
    I