Playing Away

Playing Away by Neil McCall

Matthew had explained that he was an all-rounder; he could bat a bit,
bowl a bit and field quite well; a bit-part cricketer, a bit of this, a
bit of that and a bit of the other.
Especially a bit of the other, thought Estelle as she curled up on the
sofa and loyally watched him sprint round the boundary and cut off a
certain four runs, the camera focussing on his tight buns as he
returned the ball. He played for one of the Home Counties and this was
a televised day-night match against Glamorgan in Cardiff, so that night
she'd be sleeping alone, unlike Matthew who'd probably get picked up by
a cricket groupie. She hadn't believed there were such creatures, but
being in an open and honest relationship Matthew explained that a lot
of women were attracted to a man who took physical risk in his stride,
and that cricket had moved on from the lazy old days; the exertions of
the one-day game meant that all the modern county players were virile
young athletes.

She had read the cricketing memoirs of an older icon who, thirty years
ago, took turns driving down A-roads in a Ford Anglia with a teammate
with whom he also shared a hotel room. In those days they all left
behind hatchet-faced wives with names like Elizabeth and Elspeth and
Enid who would feed them meat pies in linoleum-floored kitchens on
their return, and put their grass-smeared whites in the twin-tub on a
hot boil setting. They'd also threaten their men that if they strayed
from the marital line during away fixtures they'd no longer need the
protection of a box. Modern-day cricketers were well paid - though not
in comparison to soccer stars - had the privacy of their own hotel
room, enjoyed a county laundry contract and drove smart cars, thanks to
corporate sponsorship. But their women - and occasionally wives - had
to compete with determined groupies in Prada and Versace who knew all
the team hotels and lurked there like crocodiles in the Zambesi,
crossing and uncrossing their long legs as the players finished their
steaks and drifted into the bar.

Estelle knew she couldn't compete on that level, for she was short,
wore glasses and was renowned in the dressing room as "a bit of a
brainbox". Matthew told her tenderly that these girls meant nothing to
him, but that as one of the glamour players in the team he was always
targeted and, if he began to turn them down, the rumour would go round
that he was gay. Or they might instead hunt down a married cricketer
with a family, who would otherwise be left in peace; you might even say
that he, Matthew, was sacrificing himself for the sake of the team,
like the famous run-out in the West Indies match when he stood in the
middle of the pitch and let his captain gain his ground. And he assured
her that he always used a condom and never gave his telephone number
and the girls at rural Taunton were absolute dogs, they'd have been
better suited to mucking out the local cowsheds and he was lucky to
have such a clever and talented girlfriend; he was the only one in the
team who knew what a graduate was let alone lived with one. And so on.
She reflected that he'd been a much nicer guy when he was struggling to
get into the second team and she was struggling at University, and they
couldn't afford a decent bat between them, let alone a decent
flat.

Estelle managed to graduate and became a pharmacist; a well-paid and
responsible job but, oh, so dull! She worked, somewhat reluctantly, for
a large chain of chemists; most of the independent shops were owned by
bitter, balding old men who had failed to get into medical school and
had to settle for second best, or by pushy Asians who had developed a
young-boys' network with local GPs and drug companies. If Matthew
secured an England contract - and he was apparently the third-best
all-rounder in the country, so still had an outside chance - she could
perhaps become a kept woman, but there was always the nagging doubt
that if Matthew didn't need her share of the household income, he might
just find that he didn't need her full stop. She picked up the "Daily
Telegraph" and began to scan the job section for pharmaceutical
vacancies.

The following month there was a four-day match against Yorkshire at
Headingley. Matthew always enjoyed the trek up to Leeds, there was
always some talent on display in the studenty Northern cities, though
they were sometimes a bit clueless - often he had to take the
initiative and chat them up himself! On this occasion he'd had to
choose between a Jamaican dancer named Donna and her friend, a white
P.A. whose name he'd forgotten; he'd gone to bed with Donna, partly
because he fancied a black girl for a change but mostly because she'd
got the bigger tits, and left the white girl for the wicketkeeper, a
young lad who looked like a frog and spent most of his playing time
crouching like one. Donna had been hot and showed him some new tricks
which he'd have to share with Estelle - on second thoughts, maybe not.
They'd had to field for the last day and a half whilst Yorkshire tried
gallantly to score 450 to win, and he was knackered - bloody captain
had over-bowled him again. He arrived home aching, to find Estelle
packing a bag. She was dressed in a skimpy top, short skirt and sheer
black tights, a combination he'd never seen her wear before.

"Where do you think you're off to?" he demanded, with more asperity
than was necessary.

"Cambridge in the morning, then up to Newcastle," said Estelle
cheerfully. "Then Sheffield on the way back, and across to Liverpool.
I'll be away three nights, maybe four, depends on how many men in white
coats I get to see. Doctors, that is, not umpires."

Matthew stood blinking uncomprehendingly, and she suddenly realised how
stupid he looked. Or, rather, how stupid he was.

"Do keep up, dear - I did tell you I'd got that sales job with the
pharmaceutical company. They haven't got a Northern rep, so I'm likely
to be away a lot, using up the entertainment budget. We might meet up
some time when we're both playing away," she added meaningfully.

And with that she strode down the drive, put her things into a
brand-new company BMW, and wiggled her way into the driving seat. She
wound down the window.
"There's some meat pies in the freezer," she suggested, and drove off
into the late evening.

Matthew followed the cooking instructions, but the meat pie was crap,
and he threw most of it in the bin. He thought of ordering a pizza
instead, but he was just too tired to eat and took himself straight off
to bed, only to find he couldn't sleep either. He wasn't used to being
in a bed by himself, it was too wide and cold. He put on some pyjamas,
and opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet to find a men's
magazine, the one he read for the articles not the pictures. It was
then that he found that Estelle had taken with her their entire supply
of condoms, every single one.