Sidelines, page 7
Kosta sighs and stands up. Then he smirks. ‘Maybe Socrates can do the dishes for us. All we have to do is put our plates on the ground and he’ll lick them clean.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ Carmen says. ‘Dogs lick their bums.’
‘Can’t we drink our beers first?’ Ricci pleads, hands in prayer position.
Ilya frowns. ‘No. Do the dishes now. We all have to help when there are so many of us.’
Ricci sets his beer on the deck and trails Kosta to the kitchen. He grabs a tea towel and starts whipping Kosta’s legs. Lots of shouting and laughter. Kosta stacks the dishwasher while the dog swipes his tongue over all the plates, trying to get the crumbs and meat juice.
While Ilya fetches the bottle to top up her wine, Carmen checks her phone. There’s a message from Dominik confirming her as team manager. When Ilya comes back out, she tells him, and he grins and calls out to the others, ‘Hey, everyone, Carmen’s going to be Katerina’s team manager this year.’
Frankie jumps up and rushes over to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Good on you, Mama. You deserve it. You’re the best. Maybe you can manage my team too.’
She fends him off, secretly pleased. ‘You don’t need a manager,’ she says. ‘You’re an adult. And one team is enough. Especially when I have to manage you lot at home too!’
Everyone laughs except Katerina, who pouts. ‘Does that mean you’ll be at all my training and games?’
‘That’s what a manager does, my little flower,’ Ilya says. ‘So get that scowl off your face. Your mama is doing it to help you.’
‘What’s Carmena doing?’ barks Baba from his high-backed chair at the head of the table. ‘I didn’t hear.’
‘She’s going to be team manager for Katerina,’ Frankie says loudly.
‘Good girl, Carmena. You make me proud. You’ll be a good coach.’ Baba’s craggy face spreads into a smile, a few teeth missing. Carmen has been trying for years to get him to the dentist, but he won’t go, doesn’t want to spend the money.
‘Not coach, Baba,’ she explains. ‘Only team manager.’
‘Team manager is good,’ Baba says. ‘Like Alex Ferguson at Manchester United.’
‘He’s retired now, Pa-pous,’ Frankie says. ‘And it’s different overseas. In Europe, team manager means head coach. Here, it means chief organiser.’
Baba tilts his head. ‘Carmena is a very good organiser.’
Laughter all round, except for Katerina who is still scowling. ‘How does it help to have Mama as my team manager?’ she grumbles. ‘I don’t want her checking up on me all the time. Why can’t someone else do it?’
‘You’re lucky your mama will be there to look out for you,’ Ilya says.
Carmen twiddles her crucifix; she can’t help feeling a little rejected. She touches Ilya’s arm. ‘When we get home, we should have Dominik over to dinner. I’ll cook for him in my new kitchen.’ Ilya recently renovated the kitchen, and it’s a beauty. White cupboards and drawers. Stainless steel island-bench. Freestanding oven and cooktop with six gas rings. An overhead beam with hooks to hang her pots and pans.
Ilya places his hand over hers. ‘Good idea. What will you cook?’
‘I was thinking of that Jamie Oliver recipe you liked, the one with the pumpkin.’
Ilya pats her arm. ‘You’re so clever. Dominik will be a bird eating out of your hand.’
‘Is he Greek?’ Mama shouts.
‘Yes, he is,’ Carmen says.
‘Then you should cook moussaka. That’s how to win him over.’
‘Just because he’s Greek doesn’t mean I have to cook Greek food, Mama,’ Carmen says. ‘There are other good recipes too.’
‘Why does he have to come to our house?’ Katerina demands.
‘For you,’ Ilya says. ‘Your mother is only thinking of you.’
‘I wish she wouldn’t,’ Katerina sulks.
Dishes finished, Kosta comes out to show Frankie something on his phone. Katerina leans in to see, but he shields the screen from her. She pinches his stomach, and he grabs her by the arms and drags her from her chair. Frankie leaps up to help him, and together, laughing, they tip Katerina over and wrestle her, kicking and struggling, onto the floor of the deck.
Unable to resist a bit of horseplay, Ilya jumps up, rests his cigarette on the railing, grabs the watering can and sprinkles water all over them. The boys yell. Katerina screams. Everyone laughs.
Carmen loves watching her family mess around. Katerina is spicy and strong-willed, much cheekier than Carmen at that age: teasing her brothers, stealing their clothes, picking fights, backchatting. Football keeps her steady, and she’s good at it, almost as good as Carmen was. Katerina isn’t quite so ambitious, but with the right coach and training, she could go far. She can have the football career Carmen never had. Carmen has loved the game since she was small, and she might have played for Australia if things had gone differently.
The boys tickle Katerina and she thrashes around, her dress creeping up. Carmen sees a flash of muscular thighs and white underpants. She looks around and catches Ricci leering at Katerina. ‘Hey, you!’ she yells. ‘Keep your eyes off my daughter.’
Ricci laughs, his face a mask of innocence. ‘I’m not doing anything.’
Carmen isn’t fooled. She recognises that look in his eye. She glares at him.
‘Don’t be silly, Carmen,’ her brother snorts. ‘Ricci’s not interested in Katerina. She’s just a baby. A moro.’ He knocks Ricci playfully across the head. ‘Keep your eyes to yourself or Carmen will have your balls for breakfast.’
The others laugh and Carmen tries to smile too. It’s fine for them to joke, but Katerina is nearly fourteen and her body is changing. Men are starting to notice her.
Later that night, they all go for walk on the beach, except Baba and Mama who are too old and tired. Carmen pads barefoot on the sand. The night is warm and the air soft and sticky on her skin. It’s still, no wind. Tiny waves tip onto the beach and hiss in the sand. In the distance, lightning streaks the sky and flashes on the underbellies of clouds.
The teenagers rush ahead, shouting and wrestling like puppies. The adults follow but Carmen hangs back; she knows Ilya will drop back to join her. Soon his square shoulders loom from the night. He moves close, folds her against him, squeezing her to his chest. Pressing his thigh to her groin, he slides a hand under her top to cup a pendulous breast, kisses her. They crush against each other, then walk along the beach, hand in hand.
When they catch up with the others, Carmen notices that Katerina and Ricci aren’t there, and a knot tightens in her stomach. ‘Where’s Katerina?’ she asks.
‘She and Ricci went ahead,’ Kosta says. ‘Don’t worry, Mama. They’ll be back.’
‘Why didn’t you go with them?’ she asks.
‘I didn’t want to walk that far,’ Kosta says.
‘They’ll be fine, Carmena,’ her brother says, a smile in his voice. ‘You worry too much.’
She pulls her phone from her pocket and calls Katerina. No response. She sends a text: Where are you? Still nothing. ‘Kosta, call Ricci and tell them to come back,’ she says.
Kosta shrugs. ‘I can try, but I think Ricci left his phone at home.’ He calls, but there’s no answer.
‘Ilya and I will go find them,’ she says. ‘You can all go back. You don’t have to wait for us.’
She takes Ilya’s hand and they walk along the beach, leaving the others behind. A tide of anxiety floods her chest and she can’t push it down.
Ilya rubs his thumb over her knuckles as they walk. ‘Do we have to go so fast?’ he says. She can tell by the careful tone of his voice that he thinks she’s overreacting, but he knows what’s eating at her and squeezes her hand.
‘I just want to find them,’ she says.
‘I know you do. But panicking and hurting your knee won’t help.’
She tries to slow down. The sand is heavy, and Ilya’s right, her knee is sore by the time they reach the surf club and its halo of light on the shore. She injured her knee a few years ago, coaching Katerina’s team in Under 10s, and it’s never been the same since, despite a clean-out by a sports surgeon. When it flares, it can take months to settle, and she wants to be right for Walking Football in April. She and a group of girlfriends joined last year and had fun. Who’d have thought she would, after playing at such a high level when she was young? But it keeps her physically in touch with the game and gets her blood moving—you need to do something when you spend all day behind a receptionist’s desk at a medical practice.
She drops Ilya’s hand and limps to the top of the dune where she stands, all sweaty, under the fluoro light with insects buzzing around. She swats them away, peers along the beach, but can’t see Katerina and Ricci anywhere. Beyond the clubhouse, everything is shadowy and the sea is black. At the far end of the beach, rocks and forest form a dark headland. Maybe they went up there, among the trees. To the west, lightning flickers.
Ilya joins her and takes her hand again. ‘Try not to worry. They might have gone home the other way.’
Carmen keeps straining to see down the beach. She imagines Katerina in the dark, Ricci’s rough hands under her clothes.
Ilya threads his arms around her from behind and pulls her against his chest, murmurs in her ear. ‘She’ll be all right. Ricci won’t do anything to her. He’s Kosta’s friend.’
‘Didn’t you see the way he was looking at her this evening?’ Carmen says.
Ilya rests his chin on top of her head and strokes her hair with his hand. ‘Just breathe,’ he says. ‘Ricci’s been coming to our house for years. He hasn’t suddenly turned into a monster.’
Carmen sighs. ‘Do you think I’m being paranoid?’
‘Maybe just a little bit.’
In the lounge room, Carmen sits on the studded leather couch, still waiting. She and Ilya haven’t been back long, but Ilya is already asleep in an armchair, head tipped back, mouth open, snoring. The other adults are watching TV in the living room, and the boys and their cousins are downstairs, playing pool and watching a movie.
When the first fat raindrops spatter against the windows, she dashes outside to rescue the beach towels from the railing just as the rain comes pouring down. It hammers on the deck, sweeps through the trees, rattles on the rooftop. She closes the doors and windows and hangs the towels on racks in the lounge room. Then she sits back on the couch while the storm rages. A crack of thunder, lightning raking the sky and flashing in the clouds, wind stripping foliage from the trees.
Another crack of thunder, and the front door opens. She hears rustling in the foyer. Ricci’s deep chuckle. Katerina’s giggle. Relief gushes through her, followed by a hot jag of anger. She jumps up to confront them. There they are, at the door, dripping water onto the floor, hair plastered to their heads, faces flushed with surprise.
‘Where have you been?’ she demands.
‘Just walking, Mama. We haven’t even been gone very long.’ Katerina shivers, hands clutched together, shoulders high.
Rain drums on the roof and wind buffets the windows.
‘Why didn’t you send a message or answer your phone?’
‘I had it on silent.’ Katerina pulls her phone from her shorts pocket and inspects it mournfully. ‘It’s all wet. Should I put it in rice?’
Impatiently, Carmen reaches a hand. ‘Give it here. I’ll take care of it for you.’
Katerina hesitates. ‘It’s my phone, Mama. I’ll look after it.’
Ricci hovers behind her, head down.
‘Kosta tried to call you, Ricci,’ Carmen says. ‘Why didn’t you answer?’
His dark eyes lock briefly with hers. ‘I didn’t take my phone with me.’
Ilya peers into the foyer, rubbing his eyes. ‘Let them dry off, Carmen. They’re soaked.’
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But we need to talk, later, Katerina. And no more wandering off without telling us. Stay with the others from now on.’
Later, when Ilya is taking a shower, Carmen calls Katerina to her room. Katerina plonks on the bed and looks at her expectantly. ‘What do you want, Mama?’
Carmen twiddles her crucifix necklace for reassurance. How can she explain without seeming like a prison guard? ‘I was worried about you tonight,’ she says. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’
Katerina frowns. ‘You can’t know where I am all the time, Mama. That would be weird. And I was fine. All we did was walk on the beach and talk about football.’
‘Mothers worry about their daughters. It’s normal. Boys can take advantage of you. They say nice words, but they only want one thing.’
‘Nothing happened, Mama. And not all boys are bad. Are you worried about the boys in my team too?’
‘That’s different.’
‘How is it different?’
‘You’ll be busy playing football. And you won’t be off walking with them in the dark.’
Katerina sighs. ‘You shouldn’t get so uptight, Mama. I can look after myself. I’m almost fourteen. I promise I’ll be careful.’
Carmen regards her daughter. ‘Good,’ she says, but she’s still annoyed. Katerina thinks she knows everything, but she knows nothing. Fourteen is not an adult.
‘Can I go now?’ Katerina asks.
‘Not yet. I want to discuss your confirmation while I have your attention.’
Katerina sighs as if she’s just run a marathon. ‘Why do I have to do it?’ she groans. ‘We hardly ever go to church.’
‘That’s because we’re busy with football. But confirmation is important. Your pa-pous and yia-yia expect it. And my brother has already bought your crucifix necklace. That’s what godparents do.’
Katerina screws up her face. ‘Can’t he just return the necklace and get his money back?’
Carmen glares at her. If there was ever a child that needed confirmation, it is this one. ‘Of course not! We’ll buy a nice white dress. And afterwards we’ll have a special dinner. You can invite a couple of friends.’
‘Who would even want to come?’ Katerina huffs. ‘Nobody that I know.’
‘Enough, Katerina!’ Carmen snaps. ‘Don’t be so ungrateful!’
Katerina sighs again then jumps up and holds her arms out for a hug. ‘I’m sorry, Mama. I’m not ungrateful. I’m just tired. Of course I’ll do confirmation.’
Carmen folds her arms around her daughter and strokes her damp, glossy hair.
‘Good,’ she says. ‘Tomorrow we can look for a white dress on the internet.’
Saturday morning, late January, Carmen pulls on the blue Minotaurs T-shirt she’s been given by the club, and a pair of black tracksuit pants, then brushes her hair smooth. Recently, she had it cut into a bob and it looks more professional than a ponytail, not only for work but also for a manager at the team briefing.
Since summer holidays, everything has been going well with the team. On training days—Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays—she finishes work early so she can pick up Katerina from school and be at the field on time. Punctuality is noted and appreciated by the coaches. And it also allows Katerina to hang out with the team and show off her skills.
Carmen is always busy at training. She unlocks the toilets and storeroom, lays out cones, strings up goal nets, and pumps up the balls. She also makes time to smile and joke with the coaches and listen to their gossip. She’s learned many things. Like how Dominik’s baby never sleeps through the night, and how tired he is of his irritable wife and pernickety mother-in-law. How he hurt his back playing football and might lose his horticulture job at the golf course because his back’s so sore he can’t keep up anymore. The coaches also talk about players and parents, like Jonica and Ben, who keep emailing to find out whether Audrey is in the team. Dominik is holding off on a decision in case someone better shows up. But he’ll have to decide soon; the player list has to be finalised six weeks into the season. No new players after that.
Sometimes, though, the whole thing irritates her. Like when it starts raining while she’s off doing a job and Dominik forgets to zip up the kitbag and everything gets wet and she’s the one who has to dry it all. Or when he lets the kids kick balls all over the field then decides to have a lengthy discussion about tactics and she ends up having to collect the balls. Or when he forgets a cone on the far side of the field and sends her over to fetch it.
She applies red lipstick and a quick spray of Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue, then it’s time to wake Katerina who is snuggled up in bed with their black cat, Zorro, curled up beside her.
‘Why do we have to go so early?’ Katerina groans, squeezing her eyes shut and rolling towards the wall. ‘No one else will even be there.’
‘We have to help Dominik and make a good impression.’
‘We already did,’ Katerina whines. ‘That’s why he came to dinner.’
‘Just get up.’ Carmen tries to keep the fire from her voice, but she’s annoyed that Katerina doesn’t appreciate the things she does for her. The dinner for Dominik was a success. Good food cooked in her beautiful kitchen. It was a shame his wife couldn’t come—apparently she’s not interested in football. Carmen can’t imagine being married to someone who doesn’t love football. ‘We need to go soon,’ she says, frowning at Katerina.
‘Can’t Baba take me later?’
‘Your baba’s not here. He’s working to pay for those new football boots we just ordered.’ Last week Katerina found some fancy boots online for three hundred and forty dollars and Carmen agreed to buy them, plus another fifty for her name in curly silver writing on the sides. Carmen’s first boots were second-hand from her brother and after that she had to get a job, delivering local papers, to save for her own. Back then, boots were nothing like as good as they are now, and nowhere near as expensive. But she doesn’t mind paying for Katerina. Good boots will help her play better.
Katerina kicks her feet under the doona like a baby, and Zorro leaps to the floor with a disdainful backward glare. ‘Why do we have to do this?’ she moans. ‘Leave me alone. I want to sleep.’ She pulls the covers over her head.
‘We have to do whatever it takes to make sure you get game time,’ Carmen says, ripping the doona off and rolling it into a bundle.
‘That’s disgusting,’ Carmen says. ‘Dogs lick their bums.’
‘Can’t we drink our beers first?’ Ricci pleads, hands in prayer position.
Ilya frowns. ‘No. Do the dishes now. We all have to help when there are so many of us.’
Ricci sets his beer on the deck and trails Kosta to the kitchen. He grabs a tea towel and starts whipping Kosta’s legs. Lots of shouting and laughter. Kosta stacks the dishwasher while the dog swipes his tongue over all the plates, trying to get the crumbs and meat juice.
While Ilya fetches the bottle to top up her wine, Carmen checks her phone. There’s a message from Dominik confirming her as team manager. When Ilya comes back out, she tells him, and he grins and calls out to the others, ‘Hey, everyone, Carmen’s going to be Katerina’s team manager this year.’
Frankie jumps up and rushes over to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Good on you, Mama. You deserve it. You’re the best. Maybe you can manage my team too.’
She fends him off, secretly pleased. ‘You don’t need a manager,’ she says. ‘You’re an adult. And one team is enough. Especially when I have to manage you lot at home too!’
Everyone laughs except Katerina, who pouts. ‘Does that mean you’ll be at all my training and games?’
‘That’s what a manager does, my little flower,’ Ilya says. ‘So get that scowl off your face. Your mama is doing it to help you.’
‘What’s Carmena doing?’ barks Baba from his high-backed chair at the head of the table. ‘I didn’t hear.’
‘She’s going to be team manager for Katerina,’ Frankie says loudly.
‘Good girl, Carmena. You make me proud. You’ll be a good coach.’ Baba’s craggy face spreads into a smile, a few teeth missing. Carmen has been trying for years to get him to the dentist, but he won’t go, doesn’t want to spend the money.
‘Not coach, Baba,’ she explains. ‘Only team manager.’
‘Team manager is good,’ Baba says. ‘Like Alex Ferguson at Manchester United.’
‘He’s retired now, Pa-pous,’ Frankie says. ‘And it’s different overseas. In Europe, team manager means head coach. Here, it means chief organiser.’
Baba tilts his head. ‘Carmena is a very good organiser.’
Laughter all round, except for Katerina who is still scowling. ‘How does it help to have Mama as my team manager?’ she grumbles. ‘I don’t want her checking up on me all the time. Why can’t someone else do it?’
‘You’re lucky your mama will be there to look out for you,’ Ilya says.
Carmen twiddles her crucifix; she can’t help feeling a little rejected. She touches Ilya’s arm. ‘When we get home, we should have Dominik over to dinner. I’ll cook for him in my new kitchen.’ Ilya recently renovated the kitchen, and it’s a beauty. White cupboards and drawers. Stainless steel island-bench. Freestanding oven and cooktop with six gas rings. An overhead beam with hooks to hang her pots and pans.
Ilya places his hand over hers. ‘Good idea. What will you cook?’
‘I was thinking of that Jamie Oliver recipe you liked, the one with the pumpkin.’
Ilya pats her arm. ‘You’re so clever. Dominik will be a bird eating out of your hand.’
‘Is he Greek?’ Mama shouts.
‘Yes, he is,’ Carmen says.
‘Then you should cook moussaka. That’s how to win him over.’
‘Just because he’s Greek doesn’t mean I have to cook Greek food, Mama,’ Carmen says. ‘There are other good recipes too.’
‘Why does he have to come to our house?’ Katerina demands.
‘For you,’ Ilya says. ‘Your mother is only thinking of you.’
‘I wish she wouldn’t,’ Katerina sulks.
Dishes finished, Kosta comes out to show Frankie something on his phone. Katerina leans in to see, but he shields the screen from her. She pinches his stomach, and he grabs her by the arms and drags her from her chair. Frankie leaps up to help him, and together, laughing, they tip Katerina over and wrestle her, kicking and struggling, onto the floor of the deck.
Unable to resist a bit of horseplay, Ilya jumps up, rests his cigarette on the railing, grabs the watering can and sprinkles water all over them. The boys yell. Katerina screams. Everyone laughs.
Carmen loves watching her family mess around. Katerina is spicy and strong-willed, much cheekier than Carmen at that age: teasing her brothers, stealing their clothes, picking fights, backchatting. Football keeps her steady, and she’s good at it, almost as good as Carmen was. Katerina isn’t quite so ambitious, but with the right coach and training, she could go far. She can have the football career Carmen never had. Carmen has loved the game since she was small, and she might have played for Australia if things had gone differently.
The boys tickle Katerina and she thrashes around, her dress creeping up. Carmen sees a flash of muscular thighs and white underpants. She looks around and catches Ricci leering at Katerina. ‘Hey, you!’ she yells. ‘Keep your eyes off my daughter.’
Ricci laughs, his face a mask of innocence. ‘I’m not doing anything.’
Carmen isn’t fooled. She recognises that look in his eye. She glares at him.
‘Don’t be silly, Carmen,’ her brother snorts. ‘Ricci’s not interested in Katerina. She’s just a baby. A moro.’ He knocks Ricci playfully across the head. ‘Keep your eyes to yourself or Carmen will have your balls for breakfast.’
The others laugh and Carmen tries to smile too. It’s fine for them to joke, but Katerina is nearly fourteen and her body is changing. Men are starting to notice her.
Later that night, they all go for walk on the beach, except Baba and Mama who are too old and tired. Carmen pads barefoot on the sand. The night is warm and the air soft and sticky on her skin. It’s still, no wind. Tiny waves tip onto the beach and hiss in the sand. In the distance, lightning streaks the sky and flashes on the underbellies of clouds.
The teenagers rush ahead, shouting and wrestling like puppies. The adults follow but Carmen hangs back; she knows Ilya will drop back to join her. Soon his square shoulders loom from the night. He moves close, folds her against him, squeezing her to his chest. Pressing his thigh to her groin, he slides a hand under her top to cup a pendulous breast, kisses her. They crush against each other, then walk along the beach, hand in hand.
When they catch up with the others, Carmen notices that Katerina and Ricci aren’t there, and a knot tightens in her stomach. ‘Where’s Katerina?’ she asks.
‘She and Ricci went ahead,’ Kosta says. ‘Don’t worry, Mama. They’ll be back.’
‘Why didn’t you go with them?’ she asks.
‘I didn’t want to walk that far,’ Kosta says.
‘They’ll be fine, Carmena,’ her brother says, a smile in his voice. ‘You worry too much.’
She pulls her phone from her pocket and calls Katerina. No response. She sends a text: Where are you? Still nothing. ‘Kosta, call Ricci and tell them to come back,’ she says.
Kosta shrugs. ‘I can try, but I think Ricci left his phone at home.’ He calls, but there’s no answer.
‘Ilya and I will go find them,’ she says. ‘You can all go back. You don’t have to wait for us.’
She takes Ilya’s hand and they walk along the beach, leaving the others behind. A tide of anxiety floods her chest and she can’t push it down.
Ilya rubs his thumb over her knuckles as they walk. ‘Do we have to go so fast?’ he says. She can tell by the careful tone of his voice that he thinks she’s overreacting, but he knows what’s eating at her and squeezes her hand.
‘I just want to find them,’ she says.
‘I know you do. But panicking and hurting your knee won’t help.’
She tries to slow down. The sand is heavy, and Ilya’s right, her knee is sore by the time they reach the surf club and its halo of light on the shore. She injured her knee a few years ago, coaching Katerina’s team in Under 10s, and it’s never been the same since, despite a clean-out by a sports surgeon. When it flares, it can take months to settle, and she wants to be right for Walking Football in April. She and a group of girlfriends joined last year and had fun. Who’d have thought she would, after playing at such a high level when she was young? But it keeps her physically in touch with the game and gets her blood moving—you need to do something when you spend all day behind a receptionist’s desk at a medical practice.
She drops Ilya’s hand and limps to the top of the dune where she stands, all sweaty, under the fluoro light with insects buzzing around. She swats them away, peers along the beach, but can’t see Katerina and Ricci anywhere. Beyond the clubhouse, everything is shadowy and the sea is black. At the far end of the beach, rocks and forest form a dark headland. Maybe they went up there, among the trees. To the west, lightning flickers.
Ilya joins her and takes her hand again. ‘Try not to worry. They might have gone home the other way.’
Carmen keeps straining to see down the beach. She imagines Katerina in the dark, Ricci’s rough hands under her clothes.
Ilya threads his arms around her from behind and pulls her against his chest, murmurs in her ear. ‘She’ll be all right. Ricci won’t do anything to her. He’s Kosta’s friend.’
‘Didn’t you see the way he was looking at her this evening?’ Carmen says.
Ilya rests his chin on top of her head and strokes her hair with his hand. ‘Just breathe,’ he says. ‘Ricci’s been coming to our house for years. He hasn’t suddenly turned into a monster.’
Carmen sighs. ‘Do you think I’m being paranoid?’
‘Maybe just a little bit.’
In the lounge room, Carmen sits on the studded leather couch, still waiting. She and Ilya haven’t been back long, but Ilya is already asleep in an armchair, head tipped back, mouth open, snoring. The other adults are watching TV in the living room, and the boys and their cousins are downstairs, playing pool and watching a movie.
When the first fat raindrops spatter against the windows, she dashes outside to rescue the beach towels from the railing just as the rain comes pouring down. It hammers on the deck, sweeps through the trees, rattles on the rooftop. She closes the doors and windows and hangs the towels on racks in the lounge room. Then she sits back on the couch while the storm rages. A crack of thunder, lightning raking the sky and flashing in the clouds, wind stripping foliage from the trees.
Another crack of thunder, and the front door opens. She hears rustling in the foyer. Ricci’s deep chuckle. Katerina’s giggle. Relief gushes through her, followed by a hot jag of anger. She jumps up to confront them. There they are, at the door, dripping water onto the floor, hair plastered to their heads, faces flushed with surprise.
‘Where have you been?’ she demands.
‘Just walking, Mama. We haven’t even been gone very long.’ Katerina shivers, hands clutched together, shoulders high.
Rain drums on the roof and wind buffets the windows.
‘Why didn’t you send a message or answer your phone?’
‘I had it on silent.’ Katerina pulls her phone from her shorts pocket and inspects it mournfully. ‘It’s all wet. Should I put it in rice?’
Impatiently, Carmen reaches a hand. ‘Give it here. I’ll take care of it for you.’
Katerina hesitates. ‘It’s my phone, Mama. I’ll look after it.’
Ricci hovers behind her, head down.
‘Kosta tried to call you, Ricci,’ Carmen says. ‘Why didn’t you answer?’
His dark eyes lock briefly with hers. ‘I didn’t take my phone with me.’
Ilya peers into the foyer, rubbing his eyes. ‘Let them dry off, Carmen. They’re soaked.’
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But we need to talk, later, Katerina. And no more wandering off without telling us. Stay with the others from now on.’
Later, when Ilya is taking a shower, Carmen calls Katerina to her room. Katerina plonks on the bed and looks at her expectantly. ‘What do you want, Mama?’
Carmen twiddles her crucifix necklace for reassurance. How can she explain without seeming like a prison guard? ‘I was worried about you tonight,’ she says. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’
Katerina frowns. ‘You can’t know where I am all the time, Mama. That would be weird. And I was fine. All we did was walk on the beach and talk about football.’
‘Mothers worry about their daughters. It’s normal. Boys can take advantage of you. They say nice words, but they only want one thing.’
‘Nothing happened, Mama. And not all boys are bad. Are you worried about the boys in my team too?’
‘That’s different.’
‘How is it different?’
‘You’ll be busy playing football. And you won’t be off walking with them in the dark.’
Katerina sighs. ‘You shouldn’t get so uptight, Mama. I can look after myself. I’m almost fourteen. I promise I’ll be careful.’
Carmen regards her daughter. ‘Good,’ she says, but she’s still annoyed. Katerina thinks she knows everything, but she knows nothing. Fourteen is not an adult.
‘Can I go now?’ Katerina asks.
‘Not yet. I want to discuss your confirmation while I have your attention.’
Katerina sighs as if she’s just run a marathon. ‘Why do I have to do it?’ she groans. ‘We hardly ever go to church.’
‘That’s because we’re busy with football. But confirmation is important. Your pa-pous and yia-yia expect it. And my brother has already bought your crucifix necklace. That’s what godparents do.’
Katerina screws up her face. ‘Can’t he just return the necklace and get his money back?’
Carmen glares at her. If there was ever a child that needed confirmation, it is this one. ‘Of course not! We’ll buy a nice white dress. And afterwards we’ll have a special dinner. You can invite a couple of friends.’
‘Who would even want to come?’ Katerina huffs. ‘Nobody that I know.’
‘Enough, Katerina!’ Carmen snaps. ‘Don’t be so ungrateful!’
Katerina sighs again then jumps up and holds her arms out for a hug. ‘I’m sorry, Mama. I’m not ungrateful. I’m just tired. Of course I’ll do confirmation.’
Carmen folds her arms around her daughter and strokes her damp, glossy hair.
‘Good,’ she says. ‘Tomorrow we can look for a white dress on the internet.’
Saturday morning, late January, Carmen pulls on the blue Minotaurs T-shirt she’s been given by the club, and a pair of black tracksuit pants, then brushes her hair smooth. Recently, she had it cut into a bob and it looks more professional than a ponytail, not only for work but also for a manager at the team briefing.
Since summer holidays, everything has been going well with the team. On training days—Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays—she finishes work early so she can pick up Katerina from school and be at the field on time. Punctuality is noted and appreciated by the coaches. And it also allows Katerina to hang out with the team and show off her skills.
Carmen is always busy at training. She unlocks the toilets and storeroom, lays out cones, strings up goal nets, and pumps up the balls. She also makes time to smile and joke with the coaches and listen to their gossip. She’s learned many things. Like how Dominik’s baby never sleeps through the night, and how tired he is of his irritable wife and pernickety mother-in-law. How he hurt his back playing football and might lose his horticulture job at the golf course because his back’s so sore he can’t keep up anymore. The coaches also talk about players and parents, like Jonica and Ben, who keep emailing to find out whether Audrey is in the team. Dominik is holding off on a decision in case someone better shows up. But he’ll have to decide soon; the player list has to be finalised six weeks into the season. No new players after that.
Sometimes, though, the whole thing irritates her. Like when it starts raining while she’s off doing a job and Dominik forgets to zip up the kitbag and everything gets wet and she’s the one who has to dry it all. Or when he lets the kids kick balls all over the field then decides to have a lengthy discussion about tactics and she ends up having to collect the balls. Or when he forgets a cone on the far side of the field and sends her over to fetch it.
She applies red lipstick and a quick spray of Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue, then it’s time to wake Katerina who is snuggled up in bed with their black cat, Zorro, curled up beside her.
‘Why do we have to go so early?’ Katerina groans, squeezing her eyes shut and rolling towards the wall. ‘No one else will even be there.’
‘We have to help Dominik and make a good impression.’
‘We already did,’ Katerina whines. ‘That’s why he came to dinner.’
‘Just get up.’ Carmen tries to keep the fire from her voice, but she’s annoyed that Katerina doesn’t appreciate the things she does for her. The dinner for Dominik was a success. Good food cooked in her beautiful kitchen. It was a shame his wife couldn’t come—apparently she’s not interested in football. Carmen can’t imagine being married to someone who doesn’t love football. ‘We need to go soon,’ she says, frowning at Katerina.
‘Can’t Baba take me later?’
‘Your baba’s not here. He’s working to pay for those new football boots we just ordered.’ Last week Katerina found some fancy boots online for three hundred and forty dollars and Carmen agreed to buy them, plus another fifty for her name in curly silver writing on the sides. Carmen’s first boots were second-hand from her brother and after that she had to get a job, delivering local papers, to save for her own. Back then, boots were nothing like as good as they are now, and nowhere near as expensive. But she doesn’t mind paying for Katerina. Good boots will help her play better.
Katerina kicks her feet under the doona like a baby, and Zorro leaps to the floor with a disdainful backward glare. ‘Why do we have to do this?’ she moans. ‘Leave me alone. I want to sleep.’ She pulls the covers over her head.
‘We have to do whatever it takes to make sure you get game time,’ Carmen says, ripping the doona off and rolling it into a bundle.
