Reginald Hill

The Only Game


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rock to light cigarettes.

       ‘What are you two playing at? Didn’t you hear Miss Marks tell you to keep close?’

       We’ll be along in a minute, miss. We’ll soon catch up with them wallies.’

       ‘You’ll get along now. Come on. Put those fags out and move yourselves.’

      The girls exchange glances, neither wanting to show weakness.

       ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t act so stupid. Don’t you know how dangerous it can be out here in the mist?’

       ‘We’re almost down, aren’t we? And who are you calling stupid?’

       ‘Don’t give me any of your cheek, Betty. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Move it.’

       One girl rises, the other lowers her head sullenly, draws deep on her cigarette, mutters, ‘Get stuffed, you smelly dyke.’

      Mist on Ingleborough. An experienced teacher might play deaf, save it for later.

       ‘What did you say, Betty?’

       A glance at her friend. Too far for retreat. The cigarette dangling from the side of her magenta mouth. ‘Everyone knows what old Ma Marks is like. Same with all PE teachers, I expect. Is that what the hurry is? Can’t wait to get us in the showers?’

       ‘You foul-mouthed slut! And put that cigarette out!’

      A hand snakes out. Flesh cracks on flesh, the cigarette goes flying in a trail of sparks.

       ‘You rotten slag! I’ll get the law on you for this! My mum’ll have your eyes out when I tell her.’

       ‘Betty, come back. Not that way. Betty!’

      ‘No need to shout,’ said Mrs Maguire. ‘You always were too sensitive, even as a child. Stop dwelling on things. You’ll never get anywhere if you’re always lugging the past along with you. Oliver, that’s not to play with. Oliver, put that down … There, now look what you’ve done. Are you not going to chastise him then? It’s the only way he’ll learn.’

      ‘There’ll be none of that, not with my son, Mam.’

      ‘No? Well, it’s your business, I suppose. And it’ll be you who gets to suffer later. But I’ll tell you this, my girl. I kept that ornament on that shelf all the time you were growing up, and it never got broken. So make what you like of that!’

      

      The streets of home, unchanged but measuring change, familiar sights that no longer include her, that make her a ghost.

      Then suddenly a welcoming and welcome voice.

      ‘Jane? Jane Maguire! I’d know that hair anywhere. I didn’t know you were back in Northampton.’

      ‘Jimmy. How are you? It’s good to see you. Still running the club?’

      ‘Such as it is. Tell you what, Jane, we could do with a few young prospects like you. Remember the Junior AA? By God, you shifted that day! I thought, another two, three years, next Olympics maybe … Anyway, what are you doing now? You went to PE college, didn’t you?’

      ‘That’s right. But I didn’t take to teaching. I worked as a recreation officer with a cruise firm for a while, but now I’m back on the market. Any ideas?’

      A shrewd examination. ‘Still in good shape? You look it. PE qualifications? Aerobics, physiotherapy, that kind of thing?’

      ‘I did a bit on the liners. And I specialized in sports injuries at college. Why?’

      ‘Chum of mine, George Granger, has started a health centre and I know he’s looking for qualified staff. Trouble is, it’s down in Romchurch, just outside London, so it won’t be cheap living and I doubt if he’ll be paying a fortune.’

      ‘Romchurch in Essex? I did my training in Essex, near Basildon, not too far away …’

      The returning ghost clings to the familiar …

      ‘Jimmy, can you give me a number? Essex would suit me very well.’

      

      ‘Going?’ said Mrs Maguire. ‘But you’ve been here no time at all.’

      ‘Nearly a month. It’s long enough.’

      ‘This job. I thought you said you weren’t starting till the beginning of September?’

      ‘I’ve got things to do, arrangements to make.’

      ‘About Oliver, you mean?’

      ‘About Noll. Yes. And other things.’

      ‘I don’t see how you’re going to be able to work and look after him. He’ll be a tie. You’re not settled inside yourself yet, I can see that. Why don’t you leave him here till you see how things work out?’

      ‘Leave him with you, you mean?’

      ‘No need to sound so disbelieving. I’ve got used to him. He’s a bit on the spoilt side, maybe, but that’s the Yank way, and he’s young enough not to have suffered any lasting damage. His old gran will soon lick him into shape …’

      ‘No way!’

      ‘Well, it’s a fair offer and for the child’s sake, I’ll let it stand. Remember that when things start going wrong for you, as they surely will. It’s not your fault, you take after your da, God rest his soul, and like him, you’re proud and stubborn, never admitting you’re in the wrong, always looking for someone else to blame …’

      ‘How dare you! You of all people, after what you did to him and me …’

      ‘There you go. What was it I just said? Well, blame me all you like, my girl, but remember, there’ll be no excuse for blaming little Oliver, not when he’s got a good home waiting for him here.’

      She left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

      Jane stood for half a minute, perfectly still. She forced herself to relax, but when she looked down she saw that her hands were still tightly balled into fists. Slowly, finger by finger, she opened them wide.

      Her power over me is finished, she told herself. The power of family, the power of priests. It’s all in the past, everything is in the past, my mistakes, other people’s mistakes. The future is mine to make it what I will. Mine and Noll’s. Together.

      Nothing will make me leave him here.

      I’d rather …

       Nothing!

       2

      It was still raining when Jane Maguire came out of the pub.

      She’d had three gin-and-tonics and a packet of crisps which she’d only bought because the barman had said, ‘You OK, darling?’ as she ordered the third gin, as if buying something to eat changed her from a woman with a problem to a working girl on her lunch break.

      Coatless, she ran across the car park, feeling as light and easy as when she’d been fourteen and one of the best sprint prospects in England. She hadn’t bothered to lock the car. Once inside, only a madman would steal it. There were spoors of rain down the windows where the sealing had perished, and the carpet was soggy through the rust holes in the floor.

      But at least it started first time. There was always something to be grateful for, as her mother used to say. Including presumably slaps across the leg.

      She didn’t want to think about that, not after this morning.

      She