The Big Match

Irene takes a deep breath and with the delicacy of a surgeon cracks the last organic egg into the Mauviel M’Heritage frying pan George bought for her last birthday. George likes to dip his bacon and links into a soft, runny yolk. He prefers Irene to spoon the hot oil over the egg rather than having it flipped. Irene glances at the clock. 10. 45 Am. She lifts the lid off the Vera Wang teapot and gives the contents a gentle stir. Two more minutes she thinks. She knows. George told her how to make the perfect pot of tea: switch off the kettle just before it boils and pour the water into the teapot before putting in the teabags; never stir it vigorously, let the flavour flow naturally at its own pace, leave it for seven minutes and pour into a pre-heated cup. She got it wrong once. Just the once, though.

Her mum says he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Irene also used Typhoo instead of Tetley once too.

She climbs the stairs and enters the bedroom where a fully dressed George lies face down on top of their Jesse Baldo bed. Placing the breakfast tray on the bedside cabinet she opens the window just enough to allow a bit of fresh air to roll in. She leaves the curtains closed but straightens them up a bit like always as they’re a wedding present her mum bought for the happy couple up The Barras.

“George,” she whispers. “Here’s your breakfast. Better get up and eat it before it gets cold. There’s a nice pot of tea here for you too.”

George groans before rolling onto his back. It’s then Irene notices what looks like bloodstains on his Armani shirt but shifts her view before he sees her looking. There are no marks on his face but some on his hands.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“It’s nearly eleven o’clock. I’ve made you a nice fry-up.”

“A fry-up? What you doing? I never asked you to make me anything, did I? You know I can’t eat much after a night out.”

“I just thought, what with the match and all on today.”

George pulls his large frame upright and rubs his eyes.

“What did you think, darling?”

“I thought it would give you strength for what’s going to be a long day.”

“And what would you know about that?” he asks, tilting his head and looking right through Irene.

“Not much. But I know it’s a big game today. I know you…I mean we need to win today.”

“So you’re an expert now, are you, darling?”

Irene shakes her head as George lifts the tray onto his lap and fingers the egg to check its consistency.

“I just heard you saying the other night about how we had to win on Sunday or else.”

“Aye, well, we better. This is the big one. The cup final.”

“I’m sure we will,” says Irene, wiping a mark on the bedside cabinet with her dressing gown sleeve. "It's a lovely day for it."

“Have you got that window open? I can feel a draught.”

“I opened it a wee bit…just to let some air in. It really is a lovely day out there today.”

“Aye well, shut it, will you, darling? You can open it again once I’m out of here.”

“Of course, George. I just thought that…”

“Where’s my fork? How am I supposed to eat a fry-up without a bloody fork?”

“Is there not a fork there? I was sure I put a fork on the tray.”

“I wouldn’t be asking for one if there was one here, would I?”

“I’ll run down and get you one then. Do you need anything else while I’m downstairs?”

Irene closes the window and caresses the folds in the curtains again.

“Bring me up the paper,” George says while holding a slice of bacon in his hand and dipping it into the perfect yolk.

Irene stops in her tracks and turns around, colour draining from her face.

“I’ve not made it out for the paper yet. I was too busy making your eggs.”

“Well you can run round now. I’ve got my breakfast. By the way, the bacon’s a bit cold.”

“But I’ve not even done my make-up yet, not to mention the state of my hair.”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Nobody’s interested in your hair.”

“But look at the state of me.”

George rolls his eyes, lets out a sigh through his nose and stares at Irene while chewing a bit of toast.

“Please…darling. In fact, pretty please with sugar. Be a doll. That’s a good girl.”

Irene rushes to the kitchen, grabs a fork and some coins from the jar on the worktop. As she heads back upstairs there’s a knock on the front door.

“See who that is, will you?” George shouts down. “I told Jamesy boy to make sure he gets me up. It’s probably him. And don’t worry about a fork. I found one on the tray right enough.”

Irene fixes her hair in the hall mirror and opens the front door.

“Alright there, sweetheart,” says Jamesy, dressed in club colours and wearing his usual broad smile. “You’re looking good today. Is that man of yours up yet?”

Irene smiles nervously and glances upstairs.

“Come in, Jamesy. Good to see you. How’s Jessica?” she says, subconsciously stroking her cheek under her right eye. “He’s still in his bed, but he’s awake. Do you want a cup of tea?”

“No tea for me, sweetheart,” says Jamesy, holding up a Co-op plastic bag whose contents clink with the familiar sound of trouble. “She’s fell out with me again because I never made it home last night. You know what she’s like. Not like yourself. You know the score.”

“Aye, well, I hope you two can make up tonight.”
“No chance of that tonight, sweetheart. She’s away to her sisters for the rest of the weekend. You know how she hates the football, especially games as big as this. And do you know what a big game like this deserves?”

“Aye. The same as every other big game,” says Irene.

“That’s right, sweetheart. A big swally. I’ve brought me and George a couple of bottles of Buckfast for breakfast.”

“Aye, well.”

Irene moves to let Jamesy in the door and up the stairs. In doing so he brushes against her causing her to jump back.

“You all right there, sweetheart? I didn’t mean to give you a fright there.”

Face flushing, Irene turns to move back into the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Just remembered I left the grill on.”

In the kitchen Irene lights a cigarette and makes herself a latte before sitting at her Bentley Designs dining table. She thinks about putting a washing on but decides to phone her mum first.

“Hello Mum. How are you today?”

“I’m fine, Irene. What about yourself?” her mum answers sounding cheerful as ever.

“I’m okay. Just a bit tired."

“I take it George is going to the game today?”

“Aye, he is. That’s Jamesy just turned up with a couple of bottles of Buckfast for a starter. Is dad going today?”

“Aye. Your dad left for the social club an hour ago. The bus doesn’t leave until one o’clock so he’ll no doubt be steaming by then. He might not even see the game. You know what he’s like.”

“How is he anyway?”

“He’s been going on all week about how this is the most important game for years. I’ve never seen him so wound up.”

“Aye. George has been rattling on like that all week too. ”

“How’s he been recently anyway?” asks her mum adopting a more serious tone. “You know what I mean. Is everything okay?”

“He’s been fine, Mum. Really. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Have you told him about the other thing yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, if you want to come over here after the game, you know you’re more than welcome.”

“I know, Mum. What's your plans for today?”

“Don’t worry about me, Irene."

“Aye, but, well, you know what I mean.”

“Aye, maybe. Anyway, he’s past all that now.”

Irene sips her latte and looks out the window at the neighbours’ children playing football in the garden just as George and Jamesy burst into song upstairs.

“Why don’t you just come over here tonight?” says Irene. “The spare room’s made up.”

“I can’t stay tonight. I told your dad I’d be here when he got home. Told him I’d have his dinner ready in case he comes straight home.”

“Well, if you change your mind you know where…hold on I better go.”

George and Jamesy dance into the kitchen embracing and with open bottles of wine in hand.

“Was that your mum on the phone?” asks George. “Hope you told her to tell your dad his team’s going to get gubbed today.”

“Aye, I told her that,” says Irene, stubbing out her cigarette and reaching for another. “Is that you two off then?”

“That’s us off to the piggery, sweetheart,” says Jamesy. “No doubt we’ll need a good wash when we get home tonight.”

Irene feels the blood rush to her face. She knows Jamesy means well. It’s just his way. He’s always been the jovial type; likes a good drink but never violent with it, as far she knows. What he doesn’t know is George punched her in the face for flirting with Jamesy the last time he called her sweetheart in front of him. All behind closed doors of course. George doesn’t take his eyes off her as he gulps from his bottle.

“By the way,” Jamesy continued. “I saw your wee mum down the town last week. I take it the old fella hasn't changed.”

“You know what they’re like, Jamesy,” says George. “Animals. Once an animal always an animal. They’re different from us. Always have been, always will be. They don’t know how to behave in a civilised manner.”

“Aye, you’re right there, George,” says Jamesy in between swigs from his bottle. “You wouldn’t catch any of us acting like that. They should be rounded up and shipped out.”

“Too right, Jamesy. We’re a different breed altogether. We’re the pedigrees and they’re the mongrels.”

“ Aye, as well as the mongols,” adds George, raising his bottle in a toast that Jamesy is only too happy to join.

As they both laugh Irene places a hand on her stomach and thinks of the seed growing inside and her recent nuchal translucency scan.

“Aye, you’re a lucky girl, Irene. You landed on your feet when you married George here. Got you right out that scheme and all.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her, Jamesy. She doesn’t know how lucky she is. Three hundred thousand this house cost. Three hundred thousand. I could’ve bought a whole scheme for that.”

“Aye, it’s a beautiful house, George. I’m sure Irene appreciates everything you’ve done for her.”

“Aye, she’s one of us now: God’s people. Aren’t you, my wee darling? Come here and give me a kiss for good luck.”

Irene embraces George with all the passion of a teenager being made to cuddle a smelly Grandmother but forces a smile nonetheless. George pulls her in close and holds her in a loving embrace for as long as he thinks will look the part. Jamesy nods approvingly while gulping another mouthful from his bottle.

As they leave through the front door George turns around as if to say something but changes his mind and just winks instead, then changes his mind again and says:

“Some of the lads are going to the supporters club tonight if we win. But I’ll come straight home if we don’t. Make sure you’ve got some dinner ready, just in case.”

“What would you like for dinner?” Irene asks before he disappears.

“Obviously I don’t know yet. That all depends on the result, doesn’t it?”