Archive of Our Own ^beta

Remember now, be here now
As it's not like it was before
The past was, be here now
And it's not what it was before it was

--Be Here Now (Living in the Material World)

If asked to describe his mother, Jamie says that she smells of biscuits and cigarettes, she likes laughing, and makes good shampoo mohawks. 

She also gives the “bestest” hugs. 

Tonight, she gave him a shampoo mohawk and put him in a pair of dinosaur pyjamas with threadbare knees. They had dinner with Jamie running around in the living room until he finished his mouthfuls of food and then he got to stay on the floor with his colouring books and supplies; markers with mismatched lids and blunt pencils with his teeth marks imprinted into the wood.

“C'mon Jim Jam.” She picks him up, gently pulling him away from the fish he was colouring with a red glittery pen, and cradles him to her chest. “Time for bed.”

“Noooo.” He whines as he looks over her shoulder trying to grab at something. “Footboy.” She stops and looks around the room spotting the soft toy football with Jamie’s name stitched on it. She crosses the floor quickly. “Ta,” he mumbles when she gives it to him, and immediately begins to chew.

“I’m gonna need to wash him, Jaim,” she warns, tugging the toy out of his mouth. “He’s getting grotty.” 

Jamie shakes his head; fringe falling into his eyes. That’s a mean thing to do to his friend. “He don’ like the water.” 

She laughs and squeezes his leg. “Neither do you, and then once you’re in, it’s like I’m committing murder when I try to an’ get you out.”

They move past Jamie’s name on the door, the letters done up in bright blue and red, and she’s mindfull of avoiding all his Lego on the floor. She tucks him into bed, makes sure that Footboy is in his arms, and his nightlight remains visible and not hidden beneath his toys. “Sleep tight, Jim Jam,” she says, closing the door behind her.  

He wakes to a crash and sits up in bed, a little disoriented at first until he hears a man yelling and his mother’s voice. 

A glass shatters. 

This is familiar.  

As quietly as he can, he gets out of bed and crawls across his bedroom floor, Footboy’s tag is clutched in his first, accompanying Jamie on the journey. Through the crack in the door he can’t see much. Just shadows playing across a wall.

“Be quiet James - he’s sleeping!” he hears her say. 

“Fuckin’ shite, ‘course he is.” It takes him a few moments, but then he recognises the voice. His dad. “Sleeps more than I fuckin’ do - an I work an’ all.” 

“He’s three . And don’t give me that shit, what do you have to show for all your ‘ work’ ?” 

Voices rise and then his dad shouts: “Jamie! Wake up you little-” The shadow gets smaller. Footsteps thud heavily across the floor and Jamie pulls Footboy to his chest, scooting a little away from the door. 

“I just said to leave ‘im alone! Fucking here - take this and no more. You come back and I’ll call the police. I mean it James. We’re done.” The thuds then change direction. The shadow gets larger, the footsteps quieter as they move away from his door.. 

“You little bitch. I oughtta–”  

“Get. Out.” 

A sharp cry. 

Jamie chews on a corner of Footboy, one of the black shapes so no one can tell. Maybe she won’t wash him if she can’t tell. 

“Go to sleep boyo! Both of you, fuckin’ waste of good air!” The front door slams. 

“Shit”.

Jamie takes Footboy out of his mouth. Quietly he sneaks through and stops at the doorway of the living room. There’s a few broken dishes laying on the floor. New marks and cuts on the wall to match the old ones. The coffee table is at a funny angle. There’s a boot print on one of Jamie’s pictures. It's a drawing of him and his dad. He tried to get the sky right but ran out of blue, so there’s a bit of green and grey in it as well. 

“Mummy.” His mother looks up and offers him a bright smile before her face changes; its’ sad now.  

“Oh, sweetheart don’t come here, you’ll cut your feet.” She crosses over to him quickly and picks him up. “Sorry we woke you.” 

“He’s real loud.” Her mouth twists but she doesn’t reply. “Real loud,” he says again.

“Yeah - he is a bit isn’t he. Hopefully next time he comes round he’ll be a bit quieter; won’t wake you up.” She strokes his face. “You need your beauty sleep. Let’s get you to bed.” 

“He liked my drawin’? Didja tell him ‘bout the sky?” 

She nods. 

He hums happily and kisses the colour that’s high on her cheek. 

She takes him back to his room and tries to put him down but he finds that he doesn’t want to unlatch his arms. “Do you want to stay with me tonight?” He nods his head against her neck, he wants kisses and cuddles and tickles in the morning. She squeezes him a little tighter moving quickly into her room. She drops him onto one side of the bed, disappearing and then reappearing with his night light. “Now, we’re in business. Sleep - or you’re gonna give me grief tomorrow.” 

“I want a song,” Jamie counters and tugs at the covers one handed because Footboy’s in his other hand and Footboy doesn’t want to be let go of. He can tell. 

She sighs but smiles, quickly tickling him. “One.” She pulls him in close, her arms around his body, and sings softly into his ear. He’s asleep by the time she finishes.

She smoothes the hair away from his forehead and plays with the strands, letting them fall through her fingers. His colouring is all her. “Things are gonna be good for you, Jaim. I can’t say when. But they will be.” She settles herself, moving him slightly away from her body because he’s a kicker. 

Watching a dream appear
Tumbling through a thousand centuries
You don't know where you'll land, it's so dark in mythology

--Dream Away (Gone Troppo)

Jamie is a joy to have in class. He has developed close friendships with the other children and is always willing to provide support to the other children –Ms Williams, Year 1

Jamie tries hard in class. He finds some of the work challenging but is willing to ask for help. He is a popular student and was voted class captain –Ms Rashid, Year 2

Jamie demonstrates kindness towards others. In regards to his classwork, he shows great persistence although he finds reading challenging –Mr Chadwick, Year 3

Jamie can be disruptive in class –Mrs Mitchell, Year 4

Mr Latham keeps him in class an extra ten minutes during playtime so Jamie finishes his work.

Jamie is restless during class. He always is. He wants to be on the oval. He can see it from his classroom window and it drives him mad because he just wants to be out there. Running. Kicking. Scoring goals. 

He’s only ten so he knows he doesn’t know much, but he knows that he's good . God knows his dad tells him often enough in those short bursts of time when cares  to remember that he exists.

Football just makes sense to him, in a way that school doesn’t. But he’ll keep trying at school because his mum likes to pin his work on the fridge next to whatever picture she's gifted from her kinder kids. 

“Alright, Jamie - off you go,” Mr Latham says, checking over his work. “If you quit looking out the window so much, you would get your work done, and you wouldn’t have to stay in,” he says. 

“I know.” 

“And you’re gonna do it anyway.”

“Probably?” 

“Right, go outside.” Jamie immediately starts running. “Walk! Christ. Please don’t break any windows, lad.”

He walks home with a few other lads and lets himself into the house. He can hear his mum singing in the kitchen. He thinks he should tell her about being kept in but decides against it.

“Mum, if I wanted to be a magician, could I?” 

“Hello love, how was school? His mum puts a plate down in front of him and then stares at his feet. “I told you not to wear your shoes inside, Jamie. I did the floors yesterday,” she says, batting him lightly across the shoulder. “Forgetful little man, you are.” 

Oops. 

“It was ok.” He starts unlacing his boots there and then, not seeing her roll her eyes. “So?”

“Yes, you could be a magician.” 

“Could I be a doctor?” 

“If you do your homework, of course.” He stares at her and can’t tell if she’s fibbing or not. He knows that his teacher last year thought he was thick - he overheard her talking to his mum, telling her that he wasn’t getting the work. Mr Latham’s patient with him, but he knows he works a little slower than the other kids.

His mum doesn’t crack, and continues to meet his gaze. “What’s the point of havin’ a teacher for a mum, if you can’t give me the answers? I’m meant to be your favourite,” he whines. 

“You’re my favourite son. Jenny Mitchell is my favourite student - she’s also four. You’d probably fail if I did your work for you.” She sticks her tongue out at him. 

He replies in kind and he forgets what they’re talking about for a few moments because they keep pulling faces at each other until he stomach hurts from laughing so much and she has tears coming out of her eyes.

“I can’t-mum, I can’t breathe.” She giggles. “Stop it! I’m gonna die!” He rests his head on the table, gulping in air. “Alright-I’m-I’m okay now.” 

When he raises his head, he catches her looking at him, a smile on her face. “You can be whatever you want. You just have to want it.” 

He nods. “I wanna be a footballer.” She doesn’t look surprised. “I’m gonna play for United.” She grins at him. “D’ya think dad’ll come to my games, even if I’m not playing for City?” 

She looks down for a moment and then raises her eyes, leaning forward to hold his forearm. “Jaim, don’t you pay your dad any attention. You play for whoever you want alright? Whatever makes you happy - you do it.” She grins. “But wherever you go, please for the love of Christ, take your shoes off at the door.” 

She ruffles his hair and tells him to eat. 

Two months later he walks into his bedroom and sees a box on the bed. There’s a big colourful bow on it, and ribbons that have been curled by kitchen scissors because he knows that’s how his mum does it when she does presents. “Mum!” He pulls the box into his hands and shakes it trying to guess what they are. “Mum! I’m opening the box!” He feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “Holy shit. Holy shit! ” he screeches. Immediately he shoves the football boots on, and bounces on his toes. “Mum! Can I go out? Please!” 

He runs out of his room, crashing into her as she rounds the corner. “Like them then?” she says with a grin. 

“Thanks! They’re sick! Can we go? I gotta try them!” 

“Go on then. Grab your ball.” 

He finds the card half under his bed the next day.  

United, City, it doesn’t matter. Wherever you play, I’ll be watching. Love Mum xx 

There'll come a time when most of us return here
Brought back by our desire to be
A perfect entity
Living through a million years of crying
Until you've realized the Art of Dying

--Art of Dying (All Things Must Pass)

Amsterdam is unreal. He looks at his dad who gives him a grin, his hand on his shoulder, a solid presence. It’s easy. 

When his dad found out he got offered a place at the academy he had hugged Jamie tight, picking him up off the ground. Crowing: “That’s my fucking boy!” to the neighbourhood, while his mum looked on unimpressed with her arms crossed over her chest. 

James didn’t belong in the house - not this one. They had moved from the flat when Jamie was nine. When James had toured it, there were pictures of Jamie across the walls, pictures of mum with her friends and family, Jamie’s clothes and belongings across surfaces, his mum’s craft projects in corners of the rooms. There’s no conceivable space for James to be present in the house and truthfully, Jamie didn’t want to try and make any. 

His dad had looked around, poking and prodding; said, “Nice set up you have here.” 

Jamie had just shrugged looking at his mum who frowned and ushered James out telling him that Jamie had homework to complete and it was a requirement of the academy, so best let him get on with it, yeah?

And his dad had let them get on with it until there was a break in school and he showed up saying, “I’m taking you to Amsterdam.”

It takes Jamie a few hours to cotton on. This isn’t really father-son bonding. His dad keeps patting him on the back or the shoulder, sounding chuffed and saying, “You should tell your mum about this.” About me being a fucking great dad. And in the same breath saying, “Jamie, this trip is for you - let’s get you some culture. What do you want to see?” 

Jamie isn’t prepared for the question, but he offers some ideas, like going to the museums, or hiring some bikes, and his dad grumbles at him, taking him to the museum, but acting like a kid, wanting to leave as soon as they enter. James vetoes the bikes immediately with a firm, fuckin’ no, son, and suggests a they head to a football match in a few days time. Jamie agrees to it immediately, and his dad pumps his fist going, that’s my boy! 

On the fifth day, his dad plops down in front of him. “You been havin’ a good time lad?”

Jamie gives the expected answer. “Yeah, it’s cool.” 

“Good, good - I got a surprise for you after the game. You’re gonna love it.” His dad nods and gives him a wide grin. 

Jamie doesn’t know what it is yet, but he already does not love it. 

Later, when the sky slowly turns dark, they make their way to wherever the surprise is. Jamie walks over pathways and cobblestone and then hears voices rise in the distance. Not good , goes through his mind as he follows his dad through the abyss and when he sees the first window, he drops his eyes to his shoes. He walks with his gaze firmly on the ground, unsure as to where to look. He doesn’t really want to be here, but his dad is powering on, yelling his name, telling him to hurry the fuck up. 

“Alright lad, today’s the day you become a man,” James says, pausing near the doorway of a building. 

Jamie feels himself freeze. “What-”

His dad pushes a bottle into his hands. “Drink this.” When Jamie is too slow, James uncaps it for him and tilts the bottle into his mouth, Jamie grabs it quickly and then pulls away, spluttering. His throat burns and tears immediately sting in his eyes. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and tries to hand the bottle back. 

James doesn’t take it. “You’re givin’ me alcohol?!”

“It’s to loosen you up.”

For what? “I don’t-dad, can we leave?” he asks, warily staring at the windows. A lady blows him a kiss. 

His dad glares at him. “Fucking hell, Jamie, you should be droolin’ son. You’re getting the good parts of a woman without all the other fucking shit that comes with them.” 

I wanna go home. “What about the windmills? Mum said-” 

“Windmills,” his dad says with harsh laughter. “I take your to fucking Amsterdam to get your dick wet, and you want to see windmills?” Jamie looks at the window again. His mum would flip if she knew. She might actually kill them both. James’ voice drops low. “Are you a fag?” Jamie feels his stomach flip, unsure if the queasiness is from the alcohol or the question. “I need to know these things, son.” His dad looks at him concerned but something in Jamie’s brain is telling him, ‘danger - you say something, you aren’t coming back to England’’ in big red flashing letters. 

“I’m not gay,” he says quickly. Because he’s not gay, he’s just…occasionally confused. His dick thinks independently of him sometimes. 

His dad nods like he’s relieved and gestures for Jamie to drink again waiting until he finishes the bottle before ushering him in through the door. “Alright then, go, have fun.” 

He has no idea what happens but from one breath to the next he’s in a room with a lady who’s mouthing at his neck and she isn’t wearing clothes and somewhere along the lines, he’s not wearing clothes, and he tries to cover himself because she’s objectively fit and he’s still kind of scrawny and his heart is beating fast in his chest and he wonders if other kids have a first time like this. He can hear his dad yelling through the door, shouting at him like he’s doing it wrong, as if he can see Jamie panicking and that makes him want to throw up. He tries to lean away from the lady but the lady follows him; fucking following him with laughter in her eyes and fingers that crawl up his spine, and he can’t get away and his senses are confused and he thinks the alcohol is finally hitting him and he 

just 

disappears…

When he emerges from the room, his dad is nowhere to be seen. He guesses the direction of the motel and stumbles his way along, only stopping to throw up in a bush, and between an alley. I could disappear into the river, he thinks, and he would never find me again, but his legs don’t carry him in that direction, and he’s thankful that the universe seems to know where he’s going. 

He makes it back to the motel hours later, begs the owner to let him into his room, and threatens to vomit on their floor if they don’t. He slinks into the room seeing his dad snoring into the mattress. 

Fuckin’ prick. I hate you. I fucking hate you.

He gets to the bathroom, sticks his fingers down his throat and tries to throw up more of the alcohol. Get it all out Jim Jam, he thinks he hears his mum say as he rests his head against the edge of the toilet bowl wishing she was here to hold his head and stroke his back. When he feels like he has nothing more to give, he crawls into the shower, fully clothed, reaching up and only turning on the cold tap. He doesn’t want to touch his skin. When he undresses, he does so slowly, still leaning against the walls of the shower.

He feels a slight burning down his back where he thinks her nails raked over him. 

He leans forward, letting the water wash over him. Stays there until his teeth chatter and his body goes numb...

His dad wakes him up with a shake to his shoulder. “Rise and shine. New day, and a new man!” he crows. “Listen, when you tell your mum about Amsterdam, leave this part out of it yeah? She’ll have me head and we don’t want that do we. If we play this right, we can be a proper family an’ all - you know, livin’ together. Wouldn’t it be great, me being back in the house?” 

He groans, tries to bury his head further under the pillow. His head is killing him. 

“Jamie!” his dad barks and he quickly responds. He knows that tone well enough.

“Yes dad.” He pushes himself into an upright position, and stares blearily at his dad who’s fucking whistling. 

“Good. We gotta go. Pack your shit.” 

.

He had a grand time. We saw the sights. Went to a football match, you know us, couldn’t resist could we? He’s a bit tired though. Might not say much. 

She walks into the lounge and stares at him once the front door closes and James disappears. “You had a good time?” 

“Saw a football match,” he reports dutifully. “Screamed until me throat was sore.” He stares at the TV. His mum’s been watching her DVDs from the library. Old-timey stuff from those sisters who write books about posh blokes being idiots and ladies dealing with them being idiots. At least that’s how she’s explained it to him.

“Did you see some windmills? Tulip fields? Oh, did you wear clogs?”

He startles as she sits down next to him. “What the fuck are clogs? Ah, shit,” he says. Her hand is on his forearm. Light pink manicured nails like- Stop. He forgot she was doing that; that she had a hens for her best mate while he was-he was-

“Jaim?” He blinks, tearing his eyes away from her hand and looks at her. She tilts her head, curious and then asks quietly, as if she’s afraid of the answer. “Did you-did you really have a good time?” 

Don’t fuckin’ tell her. She’ll never hug you again, he hears his dad’s voice wash over him. He doesn’t think James actually said that, but he isn’t certain, he can’t remember much and the memories keep getting hazier. He shrugs. “Yeah, it was fine mum, don’t worry.” His mum nods and pats his arm twice before she shuffles back and gives him some space. “Mum? Could we go together one day? Like, a proper trip? Dad wasn’t-all about the historical stuff so…” 

“That’d be wonderful! What should we see?” Jamie looks around until he spots his schoolbag. He pulls out a notebook and sits next to her. “You gonna write it down?” 

“We can tick it off the list when we go. That way we know we’ve done everything?” he explains, writing down clogs with a question mark at the end of it. 

“They’re shoes. Wooden shoes.” 

He frowns. “That sounds wrong. How can you ‘ave wooden shoes?” He crosses out the question mark and writes shoes instead...

His dad never makes it back into the house. He curses a blue streak, blames everyone but himself. 

There’s the smash of a bottle against the front door. 

Jamie turns in his bed and looks at his wall. 

Roy Kent stares back at him. 

At both ends of the road
To the left and the right
Above and below us
Out and in, there's no place that You're not in
Oh, won't you hear me Lord

--Hear Me Lord (All Things Must Pass)

A distant aunt is the one to tell him. He comes back from training late, is at the door fiddling with his keys when it opens up. He blinks at her and is ushered inside after receiving a stiff kiss and a tight hug. His steps slow. More family. “Jamie, come have a seat love.” 

She thought she had bought some time but Sharon went around to check on her and found-and found...She went quickly, like that’s a consolation.  

She had been sick. 

She didn't tell him.

She didn’t want to be a distraction.

She started planning a funeral so he wouldn’t have to. Just in case, she said. She didn’t want you to have to deal with the bomb in her head…sorry, those were her words.

He had a mum and now he doesn’t. 

He had asked her if she needed anything. She kept telling him it was just a headache and it would right itself. He mostly believed her but told her to go to the doctors just in case. That was less than two weeks ago. He had sat with her, cross-legged on sky blue sheets as she asked him about school and football and tried to convince him to do more than one A-Level he already had.  

You’re bright, Jim Jam-

I’m seventeen, stop calling me that.

-no matter what you do. Jim Jam, my son. My Jimmy-Jam. Jimbo-Jambo-

Alright, stop that, yeah?

Never!

People tell him to get some sleep. The house feels wrong. He moves up the stairs and drops his bag in his bedroom. And he can’t help it. He moves across to his mum’s bedroom, slides in through the smallest opening he’s willing to create. Childhood photos on the dresser, some makeup and perfumes on a small table. Her world’s greatest teacher mug filled with paint brushes. He avoids looking at the bed but pulls a pillow from it. Puts it between the side of the bed that his mum slept on and the wall and settles down for the night with his jacket for a blanket and dust bunnies for company.

Days later, he sits in church in a suit jacket that is too tight for his shoulders, borrowed from someone who won’t miss it. Next to him, his mum’s best friend, Leanne, takes his hand and only manages to say, “Sorry bub.” No one asks him to speak and he doesn’t volunteer. 

The casket is closed, but he had gotten in hours earlier, waiting, spoke to someone and managed to choke out: she was me mum, I wanna see her, I didn’t get to see her . And he does and it’s awful, the tightness in his chest growing. He thought seeing her would help but it doesn’t, it makes it worse. He clutches the side of the casket and thinks, I can’t touch you, I’m sorry, because if he did, he would break.

He doesn’t know where he’s going until his knees hit the grass on school grounds. He sits on the grass and screams himself hoarse. 

They find him there the next day. His suit, damp and crumpled and sticking to his skin. “You've been out here all night, son?” someone asks. He nods his head. “You're off school and training today.” He can’t. If he goes back to the house he has to deal with…he’s going back to an empty house. What good will that do him? 

“I’ll go to training.” 

Someone else takes him gently by the elbow. “Get your head on straight. Kid, you just lost your mum. You should be around your family.” His mum was his family. 

His dad was at the funeral. He sat at the back of the church, even while people stood to pay their last respects. He smelled of booze. Jamie walked past him, and for once in Jame Tartt’s life, he kept his mouth shut. 

“I’m like Oliver Twist innit.” 

Someone's driving a six wheeler
Seems the world is all blurred
Knows he's in a show stealer
With a sound that's uncompared

--It’s What You Value (Thirty Three & ⅓) 

Keeley’s fucking fit. 

It’s the only thought that goes through his mind. It's the only thought that ever goes through his mind when she’s around him these days. He’s sure that it’ll fade eventually. He’s a fucking catch as well. Mutually assured fitness and orgasms. 

"Babes, we should help each other out." She pokes him in the shoulder whilst brushing her hair with her fingers, trying to undo the damage. There’s no way it goes back to her pre-shagged state. 

"Howd ya mean?" He slurs ever so slightly; too fucked out to really be listening. 

They’re at her house with all its pink and fluffiness. It’s nice. She’s really nice. Not like the other girls he’s been with. But it doesn’t really mean anything - not in the long term. 

She hums. "Well…you're an up and comer - you can get into parties and shit."

He turns and looks at her. "So can you."

She waves him off. "Yeah, but it’ll be good for us-” 

Well shit. 

Us.

“A little stability,” she continues. “Shows the club you can take something seriously outside of football.”

He doesn’t want an ‘us’. Not really. He wants someone who looks good on his arm and will show him their tits. He’s too young for an ‘us’.

“But I only give a shit about football.” 

She rolls her eyes. “I know that, Jamie. Christ, I’m not asking for marriage. Fix your face, you look like I’ve told you I’m pregnant.” 

“You’re not,” he asks just to be sure. He doesn’t want kids. He likes kids, they’re a gas, little drunk humans. But his own? That is a no-go zone. Not with James’ blood in his veins. Poor little non-existent sod; having him as a dad, and James as a granddad. Kid’s bound to be fucked.

“No, fucking hell. That’d be mental. Me up the duff?”  You’d make a great mum, he doesn’t say as he leans up to kiss her shoulder and then mouth at her neck. He can tell she’d be great. She’s got the patience of a saint.  

“So, like, you want to date?”

She leans back against him. “Just for a while.”

Okay, he could deal with that. “Can I fuck around with other people?” 

She turns her head and squints at him before pushing him onto his back. She straddles him and pulls off her shirt. “I'm not gonna stop you but…”

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

Ding dong, ding dong
Ring out the old, ring in the new

--Ding Dong, Ding Dong (Dark Horse)

When he finds out he’s going to Richmond, well, he’s not thrilled… but he’ll do it. If he can prove himself there, City is sure to actually let him play. Maybe he’ll be the miracle that Richmond needs. Fucking hell, there’s no maybe about it. Richmond’s shite. 

He gives Penny, his neighbour and cousin a copy of his keys. Tell her to be good and to not throw parties in his house. Penny agrees readily. The whole family is extremely respectful of the house.

When he gets to London, he settles into a house with next to no furniture but he’ll get that sorted…eventually. 

It’s not until he gets to Nelson Road that he realises what’s going to happen. He feels like he’s vibrating out of his boots as he gets shown around, trying to imagine where he might encounter Roy. He’s not sure how to play this; whether he should be fawning, or disinterested because that’s cooler isn’t it? I don’t care , but I really do? 

When his dad found out that Jamie was on loan, he had cuffed him on the back of the head, and called him a talentless moron. Jamie had tried…god, he had tried to explain that this was what he needed to do, but all his dad took from it was you’re not fuckin’ good enough to play for City. 

He rounds the corner and spies the locker room. The attendant brings him over and he finds a lacklustre group of people looking in his direction. “Hey-” 

“Fucking get out of my way.” The growl is deep and unmistakable and Jamie needs to get his shit together instead of letting his knees turn into jelly. 

He turns and meets Roy’s gaze. Roy is…Jamie feels something hollow out in his chest. Roy is different. He can sense it. It’s like an old dog that used to live on the estate, and used to hide when the kids came past, licking its wounds and unable to be coaxed into going anywhere. 

He wonders what Roy sees when he looks at him. 

Whatever Roy see’s it must not be good. “You need to learn how to pass.” Roy snaps, shouldering him out of the way.

He had wanted to say ‘hello’. He had wanted to say, ‘I had a poster of you on my wall’. He had wanted to say, my mum loved you. But Roy keeps glaring at him from over his shoulder and what Jamie says instead is, “What the fuck? You haven’t seen me-” 

Roy straightens up, no longer looking in his bag. The room is quiet. Everyone’s watching them. “I have and you need to fucking learn how to pass the ball, you selfish prick.” 

Fuck. Jamie wants to leave already.What Roy says is law.  He’s a selfish prick. It’s been spoken aloud, and that’s what he now is to Richmond AFC. That’s him; Selfish Prick. He wonders if Roy and James met up and had a beer before Jamie got to London. He squares his shoulders, tilts his chin up in a challenge, and says, “Alright grandad.” I will make your life miserable . “I know you want to impart your wisdom but I know how to play. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” 

This seems to anger Roy. This is familiar, he can do anger. James gave him a primer just before he left, a few punches to the rib, and slaps to the face. Roys anger is different from James’. Jamie knows this but can’t quite figure out where the difference lies outside of, there are consequences for hitting me at Richmond.

“Listen, you can be as fucking upity as you want - I don’t give a shit what you do - but if you’re gonna be on this team, you are going to be a part of the team.”

Catrick comes in, and if possible Roy gets angrier. There’s a subtle shift in the air. “Tartt! Good, you’re here,” he says, clapping Jamie on the shoulder. “Okay lads, this is our saviour. Get the ball to him and he’s gonna put it in the net. We’re going up with Jamie here.” He watches Roy's jaw clench and can’t help but stare. “Kent, fucking shower, mate.” 

Jamie frowns at Roy’s back; the captain disappearing from view as he’s led back out into the corridor to follow the gaffer. 

Perhaps it's the color of the sun cut flat
An' cov'rin' the crossroads I'm standing at,
Or maybe it's the weather or something like that,
But mama, you been on my mind.

--Mama You’ve Been on My Mind - Demo (Early Takes, Volume 1)

He’s at home when he gets the call. He’s ready to go to Richmond. He’s dressed, his head still smarting a little, hoping that Lasso will take it easy on them. He can’t believe Dani brought Mezcal. He didn’t know Richmond could be like that. He’s not friends with the team, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he felt good , with Dani’s arm around his shoulder, and Richard singing off-key, and Roy smiled and actually called him Jamie. 

He thinks Coach might be right. Maybe he can be one of eleven. Maybe he can learn to pass. Not all the time, of course, he’ll still make shots where he can, because he’s a fucking football god, but he can afford to share the glory around…maybe…he’ll try it first and see how he feels. Maybe he’ll be safe and…

He drops his phone after the call, his breaths come out in small quick gasps and all he can think is:

I burnt my boots for nothing.

He stuffs his clothes into bags, not caring about creases, movements frantic and so upset. “Shit!” he shouts to no one, clutching his head in his hands, wiping away tears that spill from his eyes. Lasso’s a fucking liar - and you’re a fucking idiot, falling for his goddamn fucking bullshit. He hits his head with the palm of his head trying to get his dad out of his head. 

He needs to let Penny know. He’s going to leave now. Fuck, staying here. He’ll send up for all his things. “Jamie!” she says in greeting when the call connects.

“Hey Pen,” he sniffs, can’t help himself, as he’s sitting on the bed, barely holding it together. 

“Jamie, are you okay?” she asks. He can hear the worry in her voice. 

He doesn’t want concern from anyone. “I’m just a bit under the weather. Listen, Pen, has the house been okay?”

“Yeah Jamie - I’ve been looking in for you.”

“Has me dad been by?”

“A few times, but he hasn’t caused any trouble.” 

“Okay, I’m coming up. My loan ended.”

Penny’s quiet for a few moments. “You really moving back up here?”

“Yeah. Got told to come back to City.” 

Penny clucks unhappily. “Watch out for your father.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Oh mate, I’m not gonna argue with you about him. I’ll stock you up with some basics. I figure you’d be getting meals from the cafeteria what with your diet an’ all but I can’t make a few salads to tide you over. You can eat salad right?” 

“Yes, I can eat rabbit food. That’d be good - thanks.”

“Just ‘cause I don’t wanna kill animals-” 

“I’m not arguing about vegetarianism - I’ll eat your rabbit food, get off me back.” He hangs up. Knows that he’ll get a message from her anyways just to say goodbye properly because she’s sweet like that, always has been, ever since they were kids. 

He stares up at his ceiling. Hates that he can still smell fire and smoke in his nostrils. Hates that he lost more than just his boots.

Talking to myself
Crying out loud
Only I can hear me, I'm
Stuck inside a cloud

--Stuck Inside a Cloud (Brainwashed)

The army man sits in the middle of his dining room table. Sometimes he sits, with his chin on folded arms and stares at it as if it's got all the secrets in the universe hidden under its helmet. 

Lasso gave him up. 

Lasso’s proud of him.

Lasso walked away from him. 

“What do you want from me ya yankee bastard?” he mutters, still staring. The off-season started. He hasn’t left the house. “Why haven’t you left the house?” he asks the soldier. The soldier doesn’t reply. The soldier knows though. His dad’s out there on the streets of Manchester. It’s not safe. His dad’s friends are not good people. 

His dad comes by every couple of days. Jamie hears him scream at him through the letterbox when he’s pissed enough. Other day’s he gets a knock on his door, his dad smiling at him saying, hey son, you couldn’t spot me a few, promise I’ll pay you back. 

“I fucking ended Roy’s career,” he says. He thought about taking the poster down but he couldn’t face him. His childhood bedroom is a spare room more than anything, but it’s still got all his shit in there. The soldier remains mute. “I really thought I was going to be okay,” he sighs.

He’s in bed. Two loud bangs that jolt him from a disturbed sleep. 

‘Jamie!” He hears his dad shout. “My fucking useless cunt of a son!” He squeezes his eyes until they shut as tight as they can be and he borrows his head under his pillow. Someone will call the police and get James to move on. The lights are off across the house, James doesn’t know he’s inside. 

He can’t do it anymore.

His dad is showing up all the time. Screaming about him or money or…

The next morning, he drinks most of the alcohol in the house,  calls his agent, quits Manchester City, and agrees to fuck his way through an island...or something like that.  

Watch out now
Take care, beware the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night

--Beware of Darkness (All Things Must Pass)

His mind goes blank - he doesn’t think of anything as his dad falls to the floor. He tried to hold his boundaries like Dr Sharon said to. He tried but it didn’t work and- 

I’m sorry. 

Laughter, acidic, harsh, mean, curling into his heart, crawling through his veins. “Okay you can have that one for free-” He tracks his dad as he struggles to his feet and wipes his nose with his hand. 

Dead man walking. 

I’msorryI’msorryI’m-

It’s what he should say because if he doesn’t atone he’s going to have his ribs broken, and boot prints on his skin and spit in his hair. He’s going to leave this stadium in a body bag because his dad is lunging towards him and it’ll all be over when he makes contact. No one will be able to stop him and-

Beard throw his dad out and-

I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry-

He braces himself as the dark shadow comes fast from the side. 

I’msorryI-ohgod-holdonanddon’tletgo. 

He can’t feel his body but he tries to make his hands work and holds on for dear life. He’s in the middle of the ocean and a storm is overhead, the waves are crashing and he’s holding on for dear life. Everyone knows now. Weak. Pathetic little boy. He can’t hear anything. Plunging underwater over and over and over again. Jamie, you’re a dead man, I’ll make you join your dead mum. He’s holding on for dear life, and someone’s reaching out and holding him too. He feels arms press against his back and he scrabbles wanting to hide, tucking his face into a neck. Someone’s holding on to him and keeping him afloat. 

He hears sounds and then quiet and then. “Jamie, I’m gonna drive you to mine.” 

Let go.

But he can’t. 

He makes a noise, he must, because Roy clutches him tighter. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” 

Now the darkness only stays the night time
In the morning it will fade away
Daylight is good at arriving at the right time
It's not always gonna be this grey

--All Things Must Pass (All Things Must Pass)

He opens the door to Ted standing on his doorstep. 

“Coach?” 

Ted spins a little, admiring the houses on the street. “Hi Jamie! Sorry to bother you. I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop by.”

“Ah…yeah sure, come in.” He leads Ted through to the kitchen, knowing that he’s sticking his head through doors with a smile on his face. This must be like Christmas for him, getting to see his players at home. 

Ted gets up onto a stool and swings back and forth as he takes in the rest of the house. “Nice place you’ve got here, Jamie. It’s very you.” It’s not really, but he doesn’t say that out loud. 

“Cheers. Can I get you something to drink?  I-I dumped my alcohol after-you know.” He just needs some space from it all. Dr Sharon said it was okay to draw a different kind of boundary. “Water? Tea?”

Ted winces, mouth looking like he sucked on a lemon. “Ah…I'm gonna do a hard pass on that.”

“Not a fan?” Roy fucking loves tea. It’s a weird thing to know about him. 

“It’s leaf water,” Ted whines like it physically pains him. “You know it looks like piss.” 

He can’t help but snort, pulling down two glasses and filling them with water. “Coffee is just bean juice.” He pushes one of them over and takes a drink of the other. 

It takes a few moments for Ted to process this. He looks unconvinced. “We'll thank you for that perspective. I hadn’t quite thought of it that way.” He takes the glass and primly takes a sip. “Still ain't gonna make me change my ways.” 

“Suit yourself.”

Ted puts the glass down and taps at the counter. “Did Roy get you home alright after the game?” 

“He…” Jamie pauses. I kissed him, he doesn’t say. “Did he say anything to you?” 

Ted looks at him completely serene. “No - said if I wanted to know how you were doing, I’d get my butt over here myself. So I took his advice. Here is my butt. Sitting on a stool in Jamie Tartt’s house.” 

“Well I’m great,” he responds automatically.

Ted waits him out. 

“Good…okay…sad…depressed…I keep crying.” 

He hates it, but he can’t stop it. Crying is apparently healthy but it fucking hurts. Human bodies are shit. 

“I can understand that.” Ted takes a breath and then kicks the other stool out a little. “Jamie, I got some things to say, and I need you to sit down for me. Can you…can you give me that?” He looks at Ted who seems a little nervous and moves to the stool. When he sits down, Ted waits a beat and then says, “I wanted to apologise. For the transfer back to City. What it meant for you. And for not stepping in after what I saw the first time.”

He immediately opens his mouth to absolve Ted of his missguided guilt, “Its okay-” 

But Ted holds his hand up, stays Jamie’s voice, just like that; offers gives him a wane smile as if it’s an apology. “Just let me explain, please?” So he listens as Ted explains how proud he was for Jamie to show up on the night of the curse breaking and what happened with the recall. Ted tells him just how upset he was and how he wished for bad biscuits for Ms Welton with a look on his face that tells Jamie that he really is ashamed of himself for wishing so. And then he says, “I have a hard time with dads.” 

“You an’ me both,” he says, trying to make light of it because Ted’s quiet and that’s…not how he usually is.

There’s a small shrug. “Yeah that's true. Listen, that night, when you saw me at the door at the Man City game, I should’ve stepped in. In the course of doing nothing - I did something, and it was the wrong something. It was probably the worst something I could’ve done to you.” 

“Nah, it-it woulda been worse for me in the long run, if you had stopped him. You did me a favour, staying away.”

“It-” Ted frowns and then takes in a deep breath like he’s centering himself. “I’m gonna say some things that are in poor taste but I hope it’ll tell you where my head was at. Why I stood there, why I left…both times. Christ, you really got the worst of me those nights ,” he mumbles more to himself than to Jamie. 

“Okay.”

“My dad passed away when I  was sixteen. I don’t like talking about him. It hurts me deeply.” He opens his mouth to say you don’t have to, we don’t have to, but Ted stops him with a tremulous smile and glassy eyes that are trying to smile. “I love him. But I hate him too. On some days, I hate him more than I ever think I could hate someone.” Ted wipes his eyes with the palm of his hand. “I lied,” he says, his voice thick. “He didn’t pass away. Passing away is something peaceful and accepted by everyone. No, my dad, he killed himself. I found him.”

“Coach-” 

Ted shakes his head quickly and Jamie stops. “When I saw you and your dad,  Jamie. God, I felt so ashamed of myself. Growing up…after he-” Ted makes a hand gesture, leaving him to fill in the blanks. “I hated him. I hated what it did to my mom, and me, and that he couldn’t see that we were there. We were right there and we would’ve held him through anything. You can’t hate a dead man, Jamie, and you’re not allowed to hate a depressed man. And I didn’t know where to put that. So I would think, I wish he had hit me, why didn’t he beat the shit out of me…because then that’s permission to be angry, you see?” Ted's voice becomes more ragged and Jamie can only stare. “But then I saw you and your dad, and I was so glad that he never did. I would thank Christ that he never did. And I feel sick in those moments because they didn’t happen to me and I’m thankful, but they’re happening to you-” He brings his hands over his mouth, rubs over his skin, more tears appearing and disappearing from his face. “Hey Jamie?” Ted stares at him through red-rimmed eyes. “You’re a good kid, and it’s got nothing to do with football. I’d trade my left arm for you to have a dad who could see that.” 

“I wish my dad would keel over. When you said your dad passed away, all I thought was you lucky bastard.” He checks in with Ted whose lips are pursed. 

Ted rubs his moustache and hangs his head. “I can understand that,” he says quietly. They sit together quietly for ages. Some small measure of peace floating between them.

“You’re kinda fucked up.” Ted looks up, a shoulder shrug, and resigned look on his face. “So am I. But like…we can change that. Baby steps, right?” It’s both an offer and a look for reassurance.

Ted holds his glass of water out to him, a small smile on his face, and he clinks it with his own. “To ‘baby steps’.”

You're blowing like a wind, you don't let me see.
You know I feel a pain (you know I feel a pain)
I'm tired of playing games with you
Though there's nothing else I want that would set me free.

--Fish On the Sand (Cloud Nine) 

"I have no idea what I'm doing." Jamie stops himself from chewing on his sleeves, but just barely.

From the other end of the white leather couch, Roy, dressed in a pair of his sweats and a black ICON jumper sighs. "That makes two of us.”

“Are we…are we…” he frowns. Roy looks at him waiting. “Are we dating?” 

Roy blows out a breath, his head tipping back. “Fuck. How did we get here?”

“You took me home. I kissed you by the door. You threw me into that wall,” he points behind him without looking. “We then had sex in that chair.” He points to the debauched red leather chair. "And then we cleaned ourselves up and are having an extensive crisis."

“Existential,” Roy mutters. “Thanks for the recap. I meant…how did we ” he gestures in the air between them, “Get here.” 

I kissed you months ago. You told Keeley. I told Keeley I loved her. I told you. Everything was fine for a bit. Then you broke up with Keeley and I…I needed to get better and you showed up at my house at 4 am and now we have breakfast together and dinner sometimes and your niece knows me so I carry money for her and you make me laugh and I like you more than you like me and I can't tell you any of this.

So Jamie says: “I’m fit and have shitty standards.” 

Roy growls. 

“Let’s look at this logically.” 

Roy snorts.

“Logically,” he emphasises. “We spend a lot of time with each other so…Stockholm Syndrome.” He hazards a look at Roy. Roy’s impressed. He can tell. The reasoning works. He spends a stupid amount of hours with Roy and he loves every second of it except when he's throwing up his guts.

“It’s Lasso’s fault." Roy concludes but he doesn't sound as sure as Jamie thinks he should.

“Yeah, it’s Coach’s fault.” Silence again. 

“Great.” 

It’s not actually great. “I don’t think it’s just that." Roy looks pretty, he thinks as he looks at the light coming through the window. "I think we might actually like each other.”

Roy sighs in frustration, moving along the coach so his good knee is bent, touching Jamie’s thigh. “Fucking hell. Sometimes, I wanna punch your face in because it’s cute and I can’t concentrate.”

“Cute aggression.” He knows about this. “Keeley told me about it. She used to have screen savers of baby animals. I’d wanna to squish ‘em.” He then double takes and points at himself. “I–” he starts to mouth, but then falters leaving, give you cute aggression going unsaid. Roy just stares at him. “Is it happening now? You’ve got punching face on, I think. Your face kinda always looks like punching face. Do you find me cute all the time?” 

Roy stays unmoving. 

Wow, I’m the fuckin’ cutest thing on this planet.

“That must be exhaustin’. No wonder you’re so angry.” 

Roy’s eyelid twitches. “The more you talk, the further away we get from the point of the conversation.” 

Right. “Okay, let’s say for argument's sake-”

“You were using logic first-”

“What-”

“Nevermind. Go on.” 

“Argument’s sake. We’re dating. How does this-we obviously don’t tell anyone.” He hates this part of it. Doesn’t know how Colin could keep it a secret for so long because he wants hang off Roy all the fucking time. But he can’t because football comes first. It has to. 

Roy shakes his head. “I’d need to tell Lasso. He’s my boss.”

“But he might tell Ms Welton.” 

“She’s all our bosses.” Roy says. Jamie’s not sure if Roy realises that he’s stroking his arm but he doesn’t want Roy to stop so he stays quiet about it. “You need to tell someone.” 

His body jerks. “Are you mental?”

“Jamie, I’m your coach. I’m…older than you-” He opens his mouth for the joke, but Roy beats him to it, with a glare. “For once in your life, try to stop yourself  from calling me granddad.” He shuts his mouth. “You need someone to support you if this goes tits-up.”

We’re already gonna fail. “And you think this is gonna go badly?” 

Roy shrugs, removes his hand, turns so he’s pressed along Jamie’s side from shoulder to hip. “I guess that’s up to you.” 

“That’s fuckin’ bullshit. Two to tango and all that.”

“I need to tell Lasso - we need things in place to make sure you’re okay. Beard can be a bit of my second when it comes to you on the pitch. Fuck, Lasso can’t teach you game play.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Coach is great at many things, but football strategy is questionable when he doesn’t know all the rules…even after three years. “Okay, I like you-” 

Roy frowns. “I like you to, you know.” Jamie feels a little squeeze in his chest because he didn’t know…he needs words, actions are great, but he needs words and Roy fucking delivers like he’s reading his mind. “You’re so different from before…or this was always there you wouldn’t let anyone see it which is a shame because, this, Jamie, you…you’re fucking special.” Jamie can only stare and he stares for a bit too long, because Roy clears his throat like he’s revealed too much. “Have you been seeing anyone else?” 

Jamie tries not to laugh, he feels a little delirious. “No. Me with what time, man? I don’t even stay out with the lads. I’m too fuckin’ tired from all the 4am.” Roy frowns. “I don’t have time for anyone else, now do I?” he says smiling.

Something becomes unsettled on Roy's face and Jamie feels that he’s said the wrong thing but doesn’t know what. “Do you want to reduce training?”

The answer is quick. “Fuck no! I…I like us training together. I like that we're this. This is what I wanted when I first got to Richmond.”

“You wanted to date me?” Roy asks sceptically.

“What? No, I wanted to be friends.”

Roy snorts. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

Jamie frowns, thinking back to his first few months at Richmond, his first meeting with Roy and figures, he’s gonna correct some history. “Well if you weren't such a massive cock–” Roy opens his mouth to retort. “Shut up, you were. You stuffed me into a box and you wouldn't let me get out of it. And fuck I had me dad in me ear feedin’ me shit about you and the team now didnt I?”

“I was a bastard to you for no reason, and then longer than I should’ve been. I’m sorry about that, yeah?” He pulls on his sleeve and Roy’s hand drifts onto his, warm and grounding. 

“Sometimes me dad brings a marker and graffiti’s the seat. you know? There’s a few out there with ‘Roy Kent is bent’. He told me there’s one in Richmond- I haven't found it yet.”

“Well if he could see me now.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says softly. “I dont want this to fuck me up.” 

“It doesn’t have to. We can leave it now. I can continue to coach you if you want or I can step away. No more 4am. We go to Richmond and we only deal with each other at Richmond.” That sounds horrible.

“What do you want?”

Roy tilts his head in his direction. “I can't be the one to say it first.”

“I’m not actually a kid, you know?”

A small smile appears on his face. “Trust me, I know.” Sober now, he says, “But I can’t make a call on this. You're too in my head. I’ve gotta do right by you.” 

“If I tell you what I want, you can’t lie to me then. If I say it and it's not what you want, you can’t just go along with me for my sake.” Roy would never do that but he says it anyway. Putting everything on the table.

Roy nods, turns his face away from Jamie as if he’s giving him space nevermind they’re as close as they can physically get without sitting on each other. “So tell me what you're thinking?”

Some times are good, some times are bad
That’s all a part of life
And standing in between them all 
I met a Mr Greif, and he said
I welcome you to Crackerbox Palace

--Crackerbox Palace (Thirty Three & ⅓)

For some reason, Jamie’s interview with Holly and Phil is doing the rounds again. 

Jamie scowls at the screen as he viciously pushes the buttons on the microwave, the microwave moves back a few centimetres in protest at its rough handling.

“What did the microwave ever do to you?” Roy says rounding the corner, towel around his waist and chest on display. Jamie ignores him and Roy steps closer, peering around and catching the headline on the iPad screen. “Oh.” 

“Who else should I know about?”

“What?” 

“Who else’s died? Harrison was in a band, yeah? Did Ringo die…or who’s the other one that was shagging the Lennon guy who’s definitely dead. ” 

“Ringo’s alive. McCartney’s alive and he wasn’t fucking Lennon although maybe he did - who’s to say.” Roy nudges his arm. "You sound…spirally."

“Maradonna died - I knew about him dying.” 

“The whole world knew about him.” 

Right, the world knows things and the internet never forgets.

“Jamie, c’mon,” Roy prods gently. 

“I’m actually an idiot.” He says it quietly. The microwave dings but he ignores it, turning to face Roy. “I didn’t care before. I’m rich, and fit so who gives a fuck. But this better person shit’s fucked it all up and now I care which means this bullshit-” he taps at the screen, “-makes me feel like shit.” 

Roy takes the iPad from the bench and presses play and then pauses. “What did you see there?” 

“My idiotic face.” 

“Ease up - I like that face," Roy murmurs. Roy's sweet. Keeley had told him that and sometimes he still finds himself caught off guard. "Imagine we’re rewatching a match. Dissect this.” He goes back and presses play and Jamie watches himself again. Internally cringes as he says the words, and receives the correction. Roy pauses it on his face again.

“I played it off.” 

“Even when you were a dickbag, you gave a shit. You hid behind your stupidly pretty face because no one expected more from you until Lasso came on the scene. Since you’ve stopped trying to actually sound profound, you’ve said less stupid shit.” 

“You think my face is pretty?” 

Roy rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’re fishing.” He is. “Someone else has already said the next something stupid of the news cycle - you just have to wait it out. You’re not an idiot but you act like an idiot. Are you done moping?” He nods.“You’re gonna have to warm that up again.” Roy opens the microwave and pulls out the bowl, taking a second glance down at its contents. “What the fuck is this?” He brings the bowl up to his nose and sniffs. “Are these off?”

“It’s donuts stuffed with baked beans.” 

Roy blinks at him and then puts a hand over his stomach, fingers skating under Jamie’s shirt to do so. “Is this a craving? Are you pregnant?”

“Fuck off, you fucking carpet,” he shoves Roy away. 

In turn Roy shoves the bowl under his nose, brows drawn down, a look of concern on his face. “Seriously Jamie, this is a crime. There’s actual food in the fridge. I know this because I do all the cooking.” 

“You know, I can actually cook - you’re just really possessive over the kitchen. Colin found a list of gross food combinations. We’re all doing it - figured if something actually disagreed with us, we have the recovery time of off-season.” 

“You’re kind of proving my point about behaving like an idiot.” Roy says. 

“This is one of the less offensive ones. Van Damme thinks some of these are going to make Richard throw up. Isaac reckons Jan Maas is gonna eat ‘em all without blinking.” Jamie picks up the call that's been trilling for the past few minutes and tilts the screen to show the team ready with their baked bean filled donuts. 

Roy stares at them with all, his arms crossed over his chest in disapproval. “You’re all fucking morons.”

Various iterations of “Hey Coach” and a few waves of hello are given. When they told the team of their relationship, Colin had stared at them for a few moments, and then asked slightly horrified, have we been watching you do foreplay all these years…is this what the dick strings were about?! To which Roy had said if any of you fucking ask me an inane question like that again, then I will fucking bring back the dick strings. That had firmly been the end to that conversation.

“Jamie, bruv, are we doing this or what? You’re late to the meeting,” Isaac says. 

The team looks various shades of grossed out. Dani’s looking at the donut dubiously and then into the camera with a smile. “Let’s go amigos!” 

“Yeah, yeah - let’s do this.” They do a countdown and then it’s on.  It’s not as gross as he thinks it’s gonna be, but he’s never gonna include it as a snack choice. He holds out a bit for Roy to try, but he just jerks his head away growling a low you can fuck right off with that. 

After they call time, Colin shakes a small clear bowl with a bunch of papers in it. “Alright, next week we’re doing…” Some of the lads have their fingers crossed. Jamie watches Colin’s face and swears that Colin goes green. Off screen, Michael asks him what’s wrong but Colin just stares at the paper. 

“Oh shit,” he says quietly. “It’s here.” He sees Roy shoot him a look and he smiles weakly. 

“Read it.” Isaac says. 

Colin shakes his head. 

“It will not be as bad as we think it is.” Sam says - ever an optimist. “And if it is, we will be doing it together.”

“Banana slices and raw fish bits.” 

Richard gags. 

“Alright, Arlo, Declan, Jack, you lads are out of this.” There’s some swearing and Isaac frowns. “Richard, put your hand down man, you ain’t allergic to either thing. Don’t play me. If you hurl, you hurl like the rest of us.” 

“Are we blending this like a smoothie? Or eating it it?” Moe asks. “I need to get a blender if it’s the first one.”

“You’re not fucking using my blender for that Jamie.” 

Dammit. “Aww c’mon, 

"Use your own."

"I dont have one."

Roy sighs. “Fine - just…please for the love of god, watch it with soap. Properly.”

He tries not to be offended at the extra instructions. “Yeah, of course.” 

“I’m gonna go. If any of you fucks are in the paper for something stupid I’m gonna make you do burpees until you die.” The team promises Roy good behaviour and chat amongst themselves. “I’ve got a meeting with Rebecca - it’s gonna run fucking late because Beard’s calling in Ted for some reason-” Roy shakes his head. Ted’s back in Kansas wanting to be more present for Henry. His leaving sucked, but Ted showed them a calendar that has them all pencilled in for phone and video calls so that’s something. “They share one fucking brain-cell I swear. You need to get Phoebe for me.” 

“Done.” He leans in for a kiss, but Roy claps a hand over his mouth. Jamie’s tempted to lick, but doesn’t. 

“I’m not kissing you immediately after you do these projects.” 

He pouts.

Roy shakes his head.

“C’mon, Roy! You’ve kissed me after worse!” he shouts at Roy’s retreating back. Roy flips him off and disappears from view..

He’s startled by cries from the team. “Sorry!” 

“Mute you’re fucking mic, if you’re gonna say that kind of shit - I don’t need to know details about you an’ Coach,” says Isaac. 

Seems as if you heard a little late
I warned you when we both was at the starting gate

--Dark Horse (Dark Horse)

His house is more for appearance sake. They made rules. Roy seriously sat him down and said that when Jamie plays for England they have to stay separately. It’s fucking dumb but Roy’s fucking superstitious (he says he’s not), and thinks the moment they move into together everything is going to go to shit (it won’t). 

Jamie’s slowly working on changing his mind. 

When he steps up to the gate he sees a figure slumped in his doorway and thinks, Roy, you fucking win this one. 

“Oi!” he says, not wanting to get closer. His dad sits up. Dischevilled. A stain on his shirt, his hair a mess. “Piss off!” he yells. 

James smiles at him. “Jamie! Hello lad! You’ve been avoiding me?” 

Jamie doesn’t step through the gate; he keeps himself on the street, he’s sure as fuck not letting his dad into his house. 

“I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t leave.” 

His dad comes closer, and closer, genial, but there’s an undercurrent. There’s always an undercurrent. “You wouldn’t do that to your old man would ya? I’m just here to visit my favourite son. Check in on his well-bein’, hope he’s interested in mine.” 

“What do you want?” The faster he can make him leave the better. 

“Couldn’t lend me some money, could ya? Bit of a tough spot-”

“No.” Jamie takes out his phone, dials 999, and shows the screen to James. “I’m not doing this with you.” 

His dad’s demeanour changes, where he once stood cocky and congenial, he now hunches his shoulders, the expression on his face nervous. You’re being played.  “Jamie…c’mon, I’m in a bit of trouble-”

“I am not doing this with you.” He repeats. Hold your boundaries, he hears his therapist say. Dr Sharon referred him on to someone else. He likes them.They’ve talked a lot about his childhood. They know all about his dad and now so does he. 

They wait, out on the street, together. No. Apart. Never together, always apart. Do you think my dad loves me?

That’s not a question to ask me. You know what love feels like, you’ve experienced it with your mother, and your friends, and your partner. If I ask you, do you think your dad loves you, what answer would you give me?   

His dad’s face changes again. “Jamie, I’m not playing - give me the fuckin’ money.” 

“I am not doing this with you.” 

His dad lunges at him, a hand clipping his cheek, but he pushes him away, and thanks his mother above him that James is still a little drunk, because he loses his footing and falls to his side allowing Jamie to run. 

“I’m gonna make your life miserable.” His dad shouts, the wind barely carrying the words away. 

Jamie knows it’s not quite an idle threat but it takes a few months for anything to actually happen. The week after he’s capped for England again, it comes out. An exclusive interview with James Tartt. All the gossip rags run it and Jamie gets hounded for comment. His agent assures him that this has no effect on his place in the team but Jamie can’t help but wonder if that’s true.

Roy’s frowning at his phone, silent as he reads the article. “We already knew your dad was a prick.” 

“Yeah, we fuckin’ know that. But, I’m playing for England now, and the non-football public is gonna think I’m a rich heartless bastard.” 

“You are a rich bastard,” Roy says. 

Jamie kicks him in his bad knee. “Fucking unhelpful.” 

Roy lets out a soft ‘oof’ and glares at him. “I left out ‘heartless’.” 

“What am I meant to do? I’ve blocked him on me phone, he’s banned from the grounds and he doesn't have your address. He’s dropping me in the shit from a distance.” He catches the look on Roy’s face. “Oi, you’re not breakin’ into his house at 4am and beatin’ him with a paint covered rope you nutjob.” When Ted had told him that particular story, Jamie wasn’t sure what it said about him that he found it both really disturbing and kind of hot. 

Roy continues to be silent and then: "I could turn him into a eunuch." Roy's looking at him earnestly. Jamie would be more flattered if he understood what eunuch meant but it's the thought that counts.

"You’re mental and I love you."

Roy grunts.

"That wasn't permission."

A few days later, Sam’s the one who helps him figure out what to do. “There’s a proverb,” he starts, looking over as Jamie tries to drive Bowser around the Rainbow Road. Phoebe’s got a bet on - he stands to lose a lot of money. 

“Alright, hit me, mate.” 

Sam says it and Jamie thanks him, too focused on not trying to fall off the road. “I haven’t told you what it means in English yet.” 

“Oh right…continue.”

“Basically it means, “The wind has blown, the buttocks of the fowl will be revealed” . 

Jamie hears all those words separately but they make no sense to him together. He pauses the game and turns to face his friend. “Alright. Am I the fowl?” 

“No you’re the wind, your dad’s the fowl.” 

He pulls a face. “I don’t need to see me dad’s arse, mate. Seen it once, and it was more than enough.” 

“No,” Sam smiles, shaking his head. “It means that you cannot keep secrets, something will come along and reveal everything.”

Jamie thinks about it for a few more days and then calls Lauren. KJPR is slowly becoming the best of the best and Keeley now has people working for her. Lauren is amazingly efficient. She scares me sometimes, Keeley had said, tilting her calendar in Jamie’s direction, showing him Lauren’s schedule, which seemed to suggest that she survived off air instead of food. 

“I want to do an interview.” 

Lauren notes this down. “About what?” 

“Growing up. Responding to all the shit me dad said. I want him out of my life - this may be the way to do it.” 

“Okay, I can set that up with someone.” 

“I have someone in mind.”

It’s arranged quickly, in a matter of minutes really, and Jamie agrees, yes, Lauren is scary. 

It comes together so fast that he forgets to let Roy know. Roy’s on Phoebe duty for the next few days and Jamie has training but finds time in his schedule to sit down and do this because maybe then he won’t have to think about his dad anymore.

They’re about half way through when he hears the front door open.

Shit . 

The question hangs in the air and Jamie turns, ready to see Roy’s expression.

“Babe?” Roy’s keys hit the dish. Phoebe had a change of heart, fucking wanted to go with her friend to spot a seal or some shit at the zoo…Jamie, you said you weren’t doing anything today so I thought I’d come by-” Roy freezes at the kitchen doorway, face hardening ever so slightly, chin up as if to say I fucking dare you . 

“Coach Kent.” Trent says pleasantly, closing his notebook, with his finger and pen still marking the page.

“Old Trent.” 

“Yeah…” he says quietly. “So… I’m doing the interview with him.”

Roy’s head dips in acknowledgement as he steps behind him, Roy’s chest pressing against his back like a wall. “I can see that.” 

Trent looks at them, happy as can be, unafraid of Roy’s deep stare. “You know, just Trent is fine.” 

“I’ll get confused with New Trent.” 

“New Trent was at least three Trents ago.”  

“Fine - I’ll use a number system. Current Trent is…Trent Four-”

“Five.”

“Fuck, fine, Trent Five. Better?” 

“Roy, I’m not going to write anything about your relationship. I’m just here for Jamie to say what he needs to, to get his father to leave him alone.” 

That seems to be the right thing to say as Roy’s springlike anger seems to disappear. “Good. Decent journalists are hard to come by.” Jamie feels the kiss pressed to the back of his head. He guesses Roy’s making eye contact, staring Trent down. “I’m gonna go home. Bye.” 

“I’ll come to your’s when I finish up here!” he shouts as Roy disappears.

The door slams shut. “I don’t know why but I thought he’d be different in a relationship.” Trent says. 

“He is different…kinda.  He likes being around me a lot,” he says, unable to help himself. “Which works for me, ‘cause I’m kinda obsessed with having his attention.” 

Trent stares at him. “This explains a lot about your on-pitch relationship.”

.

When Trent’s article gets published he deals with an avalanche of calls and messages on his phone, from friends to family, and media which he hates and deletes immediately. 

He takes his time responding to each, finding times where he can call or video chat. 

"Dani!"

Dani looks wonderful; his hair now short like when he first came to Richmond, and face ever smiling. 

"Jamie, my friend! I miss you!” 

"Miss ya too, muchacho." And he does. So much. Mexico is lucky to have him. 

Dani puts his hand up like a school boy asking a question and somehow smiles even wider when Jamie gestures for him to go ahead. "Jamie, I would like to start and say that I read the interview. You are a brave man and one of my dearest friends.”  

Jamie just nods. 

“My father said that he would be honoured if you would visit him one day. I will accompany you and show you Guadalajara-”

“Dani, man-”

“As you are part of my family, and we are brothers, yes?”

Jamie finds himself speechless and can only smile softly. “That sounds awesome, mate.” 

“How is your Spanish coming along Jamie?” Jamie dutifully repeats a few words and Dani nods encouragingly. “You are making very good progress.”

“Yeah, well, the owl was gettin’ threatening.” 

.

When he speaks to Roy later that night he just gets a long drawn out fuck that sums it all up quite well. Roy’s three hours away with Jamie at the training camp.

“I want to kill him,” Roy says.

“Yeah, but don't’.”

There’s some heavy breathing down the line. It’s not…Roy doesn’t sound right, and Jamie wonders whether he should call Sarah. “Babe, I'm switching to video.”

After a few moments, the video connects, but he doesn’t see Roy’s face. He sees the Coaching office, what used to be Ted’s desk, but now Roy’s, and the doorway into the locker’s highlighted by a sick greenish glow. “Turn on the lights.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

He hears Roy shifting. The phone moves and Jamie stares at the ceiling. “Too upset. Fuck!” he hears Roy shout. And then a quieter, plaintive, “ Fuck .” 

“I didn’t think to get an advanced copy. I should’ve so you would know.” He never actually told Roy everything. “It's alright now.”

There’s a pained little laugh. Bitter. “That fucking cunt put you in hospital more than once when you were growing up. And we fucking put you-you were in City all those fucking months.”

“It’s had nothin’ to do with you. If you’re feelin’ guilt, it ain’t gonna help me,” he explains gently. “I'm alright now - that's what matters. I’m speaking to the police. They’re gonna put stuff in place to keep him away from me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then in a careful voice, Roy says, “You’re a fucking-you’re a fucking marvel. Do you get that Jamie? You’re so fucking…” It takes Roy a few tries to find the word, but eventually he just lands on, “-kind,” quiet and hushed. Awed.  

.

The next night is his scheduled video call with Ted. “Hey Jamie!” Ted greets him warmly. "All the congratulations; sending through a virtual hug." And the camera is blocked by Ted's chest as he hugs the computer before he moves back into view. "Did you get it?

He’s so fond of this man. "Yeah thanks coach," he says, a hand over his heart.

"Great - I wanted to make sure you were being supported. When your name kept popping up through the google alerts I figured something was a-brewing.” Ted is contemplative as he stares at him through the screen. “I'm real proud of you. A powerful thing you did there.” 

“I just hope it works. How’s it over there?” he asks, wanting to move on from being the topic of conversation.

“Same old, same old. Henry's not quite a fan of me at the moment. I'm a bit too ‘Kansas’ for him…whatever that means. I think I’m at that stage where I am severely uncool and I can do nothing right. It’s pretty rough. I’m telling myself it’s all the hormones, you know? Just gotta continue being present for him, even if I gotta hush my butt.” 

Jamie sees some stress on Ted’s face. “Henry’s a good lad.” 

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t stop me from worrying. Speaking of worrying, is Roy doing ok?”

Jamie narrows his eyes. “Has he stopped texting you?” There’s a small wince. “What did you do Coach?”

“I sent him gifs.”

“How many?”

“A lot. He said something and then I said something, and it was a thing and I got carried away. He stopped replying after number seven.”

“Nah you’re fine. If he stopped after one you’d be in trouble.” Ted waits. “Yeah he’s fine. Same old, same old.”

“And you're doing okay together.”

He grins. "Yeah, yesterday was hard for him, but I talked him down. We’re doing well."

"Nice - if you ever send out invitations,” Ted says with a wiggle of his eyebrows, “Just give me a heads up so I know to be on the lookout."

"That’s a waste of paper."

"Oh good call. Love me some sustainable thinking."

"We're not like that…white picket fences and shit. And can’t really do that without messing with me career." 

There’s a brief silence and then Ted looks at the screen. "Jamie, picket fences are overrated. And white is a terribly inconvenient colour for them to be ‘cause you can see all the dirt on them. All I'm saying is you won’t be playing forever, son, and when you stop, you’ll have a different kind of freedom afforded to you.” Ted claps his hands and it makes Jamie jump."I'm gonna let you go. Give my love to everyone. We'll speak in a few weeks but reach out if you need me.” Ted finishes with a small hand wave 

“Speak soon. Coach.”

Strange we hold on to things that have no grace or power
While death holds on to us much more with every passing hour

--Writing’s On The Wall (Somewhere in England)

“Mr Tartt. May we come in?” He frowns and quickly ushers the officers inside. When they tell him, he’s not sure what facial expression he’s got on, but they trade uncertain looks and ask, “Is there anyone we can call for you?” 

He convinces them that he’ll be fine, and they leave with another cautious look back at him. 

He calls in sick to training, turns off his phone and curls up in his bed wondering why he doesn’t feel happier.

Hours later, it’s dark outside and he hears a thump at the door. Dad? “Jamie!” Roy, not dad. He moves slowly from his room to the stairs, hesitating at the steps. “Are you at home? Shit, if you’ve left your phone at home and are out…then I look like a lunatic out here.” He stumbles at the door, wrenching it open. “What the fuck happened to you?” 

“Roy-” 

“You look like shit.” 

“Roy,” he says, and something in his voice is enough to clear the haze from Roy’s eyes. “The police were here. Dad, he died.”

Roy shifts immediately into caretaker mode. “Jamie, I’m going to hug you.” 

“Yeah, alright.” 

He feels the kiss pressed to his temple. “Wish you had called me. You don’t need to deal with this alone.” 

“I don’t even know what this is. I don’t know how to feel. I can’t fucking cry not that he fuckin’ deserves it, but he was me dad and I have to plan a funeral-”

“Shh,” Roy says gently. “You’re breathing too fast.” Oh, he hadn’t realised. He presses his face against Roy’s neck, and thinks he can feel Roy’s pulse fluttering against him. “Did you eat?” He shakes his head. “Okay, that’s where we start.”

.

“Hi Jamie.” 

“Coach.” Jamie blinks, because he must be dreaming, but Ted is standing in front of him. Same moustache on his face, same khaki pants, and jumper making up his fashion sense. 

“Jamie.” Beard greets, popping up from behind Ted. 

“Coach Beard? What are you-” 

“I’m a bit jet lagged - not quite firing on all cylinders so this plan might be nine kinds of special stupid with fries on the side. But anything you need Jamie, let me know and I’ll do it, or, I’ll get Beard to do it since, you know, he remained here. He’s got the local knowledge now, so really, you don’t need me at all. And I might get in the way actually. Beard, you didn’t make me think this through at all, man.”

Beard shrugs at Ted’s wounded look. “I tried to be your impulse control, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh.” 

Jamie ushers them both inside. “You’re here to help me?” 

Ted tilts his head slightly, and claps Jamie on the shoulder, grounding him. “I’m here to be here for you.” 

.

James Tartt is dead and buried in under four days. The funeral is small and simple, and Jamie didn’t plan any of it. Ted and Rebecca did it for him and when he asked why, Ted had simply said, we’ve done this before. 

He sits next to Roy, wanting to but unable to hold his hand, as he stares at James’ coffin. Some of his dad’s mates are here, quiet and subdued, only a few openly sneering at him, but not saying or doing anything because Roy looks like he’s going to kill someone, and the people Jamie has around him are likely to help. 

.

“I fucking hate you.” Jamie says to the headstone, just James’ name and date of birth on it, no ‘survived by’ and no words of sentimentality. “We fucking deserved better from you. I fucking deserved better. You are a piece of shit. I’m glad you’re dead.” He wants to leave it there. He should leave it there. A final fuck you but he can’t. 

He touches the headstone and says goodbye.

I feel it and my heart knows that we share it together
And I feel it and my heart knows you're the one

--Your Love is Forever (George Harrison, self-titled)

“You have records...” 

Jamie looks at the shelf and shrugs. “Yeah…vintage innit?” Roy sighs, pulling another pile out and leafing through them. Jamie’s tastes are eclectic. 

“But you don’t own a record player.” 

“So I’ll just play ‘em on yours.” 

“ I don’t have one.” 

Jamie frowns. “How can you not have one - you’re old.”

Roy takes in a breath. “Believe it or not but I’m not actually a fucking granddad. I use apps like everyone else. You love my fucking playlists, and if you tell me you don’t you’re a fucking liar.” 

“They’re passable,” he says with a shrug, turning to face the bookshelf. Roy mutters under his breath about ungrateful little pricks, and Jamie grins . “ We’ll just buy us a record player then.” Jamie hums, flicking through paperbacks and putting them into boxes, respectful of his books. He knows that pre-relationship, Roy would’ve expected him to just throw them into boxes, but he plays tetris with them, packing them as efficiently as possible. “I’m gonna donate my books unless you don’t have ‘em.” 

“Sounds good. If they’re appropriate you can give them to Phoebe.”

“Alright. I reckon we can donate, and sell whatever furniture we don’t want. Most of it will be my stuff.” 

Roy stops. “You’re getting rid of yours?”

“Yeah, I don’t care about it. I didn’t pick it out. I had some decorator lady come in…I came back from training one day and all this shit was here. Everyone keeps talking about ‘my style’ but like…I wouldn’t have picked any of that. You’ve seen me house up in Manchester.” 

“Why didn’t you change it?”

“Seemed like a waste ‘cause she already did everything. Babe, I’m tellin’ you, I’ll take what we need but the rest of it can go. I like your stuff better. Colin and O’Brien will be here in a few to help us.” He steps forward cupping Roy’s head and butting it gently against his own. “It's moving day, Roy! You’re never gettin’ rid of me now.” 

“Yay,” Roy deadpans but he’s soft about it.

A week later he comes home to an old school record player sitting on a table in the living room. 

“Where’d you find this?” It’s a mossy green colour, a few scuff marks. It seems ancient; three weird knobs and a handle on his side like a briefcase. “Are you sure it works? We could’ve bought a new one…you know all the mod cons. There are these ones that have Bluetooth, or like, have a USB cable and you can connect your phone...”

He sees Roy open his mouth and then close it. “I…I’m going to make dinner.” 

“Roy…what did I say?” 

Roy doesn’t say anything. He tells Jamie that everything is fine and that he really should make dinner.

Dinner is a quiet affair and Jamie doesn’t push even though he probably should but there is a weird undercurrent and it's only been a few days since they officially moved in together. He was hoping that arguments could be delayed until like three months in.

Two days later the record player disappears and is replaced by the new one with all the things that Jamie spoke about. Roy doesn't say anything and stares vacantly at the record player. Jamie presses a kiss to his cheek in thanks, and Roy gives him the barest of smiles, leaving the room as he picks a record to play. 

Sarah and Phoebe, come over for dinner - the first official one at their place. Sarah’s eyes sweep the rooms as they give her a tour. Phoebe states that they need to add an egg chair in one of the rooms for her to read in. Roy agrees immediately and says he’ll take her shopping on the weekend as Sarah hits him lightly in the chest. Dinner is a little stilted, but Phoebe, eleven going on fifty, fills the room with gossip about school and declares that she’s gonna learn how to draw hands. Roy lets out a sigh of relief. 

As they’re wrapping up desert, Roy and Sarah disappear into the kitchen, and Phoebe goes through the books he no longer wants, picking a few to keep. He offers to take her finished bowl of ice-cream, and she waves him away as she reads a blurb. 

He pauses at the doorway of the kitchen. 

"...where'd you hide it?" Sarah says, leaning against the counter with a dish towel over her shoulder.

Roy’s at the sink, water running, cleaning the plates. "I didn’t hide it. Jamie saw it but wanted a new one so I put it back."

Sarah’s eyes widen. "That little fucker - how could he say that knowing–” And he watches Roy’s back tense. “Oh you idiot." Roy growls and sends her a sharp look. "You didn't tell him?!" 

"Jamie wanted a new one."

"You didn’t give him a chance to love the old one-”

He’s startled when he feels a pull to the back of his shirt, Phoebe stares at him and pulls him away from the door.

“It’s rude to listen in.” 

Busted. “Look, you’re right. I shouldn't have been doing that...but what I overheard will help me make your Uncle Roy a bit happier yeah? And we like that don’t we? Please don’t mention anything to him.” She looks at him dubiously. “You can tell your mum though, alright, cause I think I’m gonna need her help.” She thinks about it and then nods her head. “Alright, you get back to reading and I'll get you another scoop of ice-cream.”

She looks at him, a little offended. “Are you bribing me?”

“Uh…yes? Is it working?”

“Yes.” 

“Good. Go on then,” he says with a quick tilt of his head, directing her away. 

When he pushes through to the kitchen, he feigns good cheer and charms Sarah into allowing Phoebe extra ice-cream.

When they say goodbye - he pretends to find Phoebe's scarf, that purposely shoved under the cushions and runs out to the car, tapping at the window to get Sarah to put it down. He hands the scarf over to her and checks for Roy, but he’s back inside the house. "Where did he put it?"

"She filled you in about the record player,” Sarah looks impressed. “Your brother’s a martyr by the way."

She laughs wryly. “Trust me, I know. He said he returned it to my attic. I'll get it down for you tonight and you can pick it up tomorrow?” 

“That’d be awesome.” He lightly hits the top of her car, bidding them goodbye. 

"Jamie?" He turns and she sticks her head out of the window. "Sometimes he forgets that memories of our grandfather aren’t sad.” 

When he picks up the record player, he asks her to set it up so he can do it by himself later on. She looks at it nervously; says, that was more Roy’s thing than mine . They spend a few minutes fiddling with it until it crackles to life and plays a record that Jamie brought along with him. 

Later when Roy’s home and seated on the couch watching Planet Earth, he drops himself onto Roy's lap and looks at him thoroughly annoyed. 

“Hi,” Roy says, one hand automatically moving to Jamie’s waist to steady him, whilst ducking his head around to watch a gazelle run for its life. 

"Oi!” He looks for the remote and turns the TV off. “Do I have a crystal ball?" Roy blinks at him. He shakes Roy's shoulders. "Hey, I'm not having a laugh. I'm asking serious questions here."

"You’re asking about crystal balls."

"Do I have psychic powers?" Roy takes a second too long to answer and Jamie snaps his fingers in his face. "The answer to both those questions is no.” 

“Is it?” Roy asks sarcastically. 

Jamie doesn’t let it deter him. “Fuck. You know that. I fucking know you know that.” And then he drops the bomb. “So why the fuck did you think I was psychic and not tell me about your grandad’s record player." He feels Roy tense under him, the other hand moving to join the other at his waist. "If you can’t talk to me about things like that then why am I even here?" He moves his hands down, over Roy’s wrists and tries to unclamp them but Roy's hands conitnue hold him in place.

"Wait-" Roy grits out. "Who told you?"

"Fuck you man. No one told me, I heard you. You kept saying that I wanted a new one. Like I bitched about it until you got sick of hearin’ me complain.”

Roy blows out a breath and lets Jamie go. “Shit,” Roy says to no one as he disappears and returns with the record player in his arm, waiting expectantly, as Roy stands up and takes the newer model away. "Jamie, fuck, wait a second-" 

"We’re not talkin’ about this.” He sets up the player quickly, and selects a record, allowing music to flow into the room. He gives it a gentle pat and then sits down on the table, waiting for Roy to resume his position on the couch. "You're a prick." He says, feeling like that’s an important place to start from. "This was me mum’s favourite record. She preplanned as much as she could before she died and this made up most of the playlist. She thought he had better solo music than the rest of them…I don’t know if I agree…some of it’s pretty naff.” Roy frowns and looks between the record player and him. “Your turn."

"It was my granddad's. He liked playing classical music and it used to bore me to tears. The year before I went to Sunderland I saved up all my money and begged my mum to chip in the rest, so I could buy him an Elvis Presley album. I thought Elvis was ancient even though he only died about five years before I was born.. He laughed when I gave it to him and told him why I bought it, but played the whole thing through that afternoon." There’s a tiny smile on his face, just a hint, and Jamie promises to learn more about the man that Roy adored so fiercely.

"Do you still have the record?"

"I dunno…it might be with my parents...or Sarah’s got it somewhere. I didn’t trust having it at home. Just in case some ex decided to steal it which is stupid because it’s fucking old and no one cares about it except me.”

“And me.” He sighs. “Roy, I like knowing what's important to you…I just wish it weren’t like pulling teeth to get it out of you."

"I want to…I want you to be happy."

"Cool," he says, reaching out, draping his arms over Roy's shoulders and holding onto his wrist with his other hand to lock Roy into place. "I want to be happy…and believe it or not…I also want you to be happy too so like fucking help me out yeah?" 

Roy's gaze eventually locks with his and he nods. "I've been a twat." 

"Yeah you absolutely have - twattiest bastard I've ever met." Roy growls at him , but there's no fire there. "Don't worry, we'll take it in turns to be a twat. We’ll grow out of it by the time I’m like eighty.”

Roy looks at him gravely. “I’ll likely be dead.”

Right, Roy and death don’t mix well together. 

“You’re ruining my romantic statement. I’m tryna show my commitment to you and you’re already planning on leaving me.” For some reason that makes Roy laugh and something in him lights up. “Menace.” He pulls Roy into a hug, and says quietly, “We’ll be together until one of us carks it. It could be me, you know.” Roy’s grip on him tightens. “And if it’s you,” he swallows. “I’ll do the full Queen Victoria and wear black for the rest of me life. I look dead sexy in black.” 

But oh Lord we've got to fight
With the thoughts in the head with the dark and the light
No use to stop and stare
And if you don't know where you're going
Any road will take you there

--Any Road (Brainwashed)

“Hiya!” Keeley greets him excitedly and gestures for him to come inside. “This is a nice surprise! I’m sorry you had to actually book an appointment, but like it’s the only way I can block out time these days. What are you up to?”

Jamie hesitates, drops into the chair opposite Keeley’s desk and blurts out: “What if I'm thinking about leaving football?”

Keeley drops her pencil in surprise, her eyes wide at his words. “Whoa, that's a big decision babe. What brought this on? Are you okay?” She quickly moves around to his side, sitting in the chair next to him. 

Honestly, he’s not totally sure. He’s been thinking about it more and more and he’s a little terrified because of it. “I’m forward planning…right? Roy said that the hardest thing about retiring was figuring out what comes next. You had to deal with that, yeah? When you were together?” 

She bites her lip and then nods. ‘Yeah, it wasn’t super fun, but I wasn’t prepared for it either.” 

“Well, I…I don’t want to be lost like he were.” 

She nods her head, encouragingly. “That’s really brave of you. You know, you should talk to Dr Benson - the new shrink - they should be able to give you some guidance.” 

“I will, yeah...I just wanted to tell and see what you thought.” She knows him well - she’s impartial enough to him that she’ll tell him if it’s a bad idea. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Roy to do the same but Roy is his partner and played until his knee literally gave out from under him. He doesn’t know whether thinking about leaving before his body breaks down that much is an insult and he doesn’t want to find out.

“One of the things I love about you, Jamie, is your absolute conviction. If you feel this is the right move for you, don't let anyone stop you.” 

“You’re the first person I’ve told this to.”

She smiles at him and gestures for them to move onto the couch. “You’re like one of my best friends. I’m glad you can come to me with things like this.” She takes her shoes off and folds her legs under her, really settling in to listen to him. “What made you think about it now?” 

“It’s like I said: I didn’t want to be lost. I’ve been luckier than most but…” he trails off and shrugs. Things are beginning to hurt.” 

“Your head’s not bothering you is it?” She looks at him concerned. “I knew you left the hospital too early.” 

He brushes her off. “I stayed as long as I needed to. I’ve had worse.”

“You were unconscious Jamie. They had to treat you on the pitch.” 

He doesn’t remember that. He doesn’t remember anything really. When he watched the footage later…much later, when his eyes were no longer sensitive to light and screens, he thought, shit , as he saw himself go down, and watched as his teammates called for the medics. “I’m fine now though.”

“You’re still getting headaches and it’s been like two months already. Roy told me.” 

“Yeah. PCS is a bitch. I’m not actually invincible.” He catches a smile on her face. “What’s that look for.” 

“Just thinking about how you used to be. The shit you’d give Roy. ‘Oi! Fucking grandad, this right here is where I’m gonna dig your grave!’’” she says with a horrible accent, and her chest puffed out. He can’t believe she remembers that. He doesn’t even remember that. “You were such a prick to him. I don’t want you hurt, but it’s nice to see you humbled.” 

“Hey! I’m still at the top of my game.” He’s still keeping up with the younger lads on the pitch. It’s just off the pitch where he’s showing his age. He moves slower, groans a little more after training; stays in recovery for longer than he used to. He’s had a little run of bad luck; a fractured wrist, a fractured foot and he’s torn his hamstring. For a while, he was worried that Roy was going to make them live in separate houses again. “I run fucking rings around them.” 

She gives him a knowing look but doesn’t call him out on it. “So do you have a timeline for any of this?” 

“Nah, not at the moment. I just want to let it sit for a bit. Like I said, you’re the first person I've said this to. Maybe I’m just feeling off and I’ll wake up tomorrow and tell you to ignore what  I said. Me, give up football? Fucking daft.” 

But I feel that a heaven's in sight
And I can't let him down
Got to do what I can

--Far East Man (Dark Horse)

He’s not sneaking around. No matter how Keeley puts it. 

Jamie finds that he spends more time in the library now than he ever did as a kid. When the Education team said that they could adjust his course load given his experience he should’ve said yes. Biology sucks. 

Although his tutor is great; kind and patient and doesn’t make him feel like an idiot.

Jamie only wishes he could translate that patience across to other situations. 

He holes himself up in their office, Roy never using it since he prefers to go to Nelson Road, but when Roy’s home, he feels antsy. He thinks about his next reading or assignment and calculates how much time is left before it’s due, and how much he can feasibly do given how slow he reads. 

When deadlines get closer, he gets snappier, and he hates that Roy looks at him with slightly hurt eyes when he says that he’s going to stay up late. 

One day, Keeley corners him at Nelson Road. She has a meeting with Rebecca but she stops by to see the lads and check in with them, getting updates on their various campaigns. She pulls him into the boot room. “Fucking forgot how much it smells in here,” she coughs, her face scrunching up. “You need to talk to Roy and tell him what you're doing. He’s freaking out.” 

He rolls his eyes. “He’s fine.” 

But Roy is not fine and Jamie doesn’t realise how not fine he is because he’s trying so hard not to let anything slip. 

One weekend he comes home to an empty house. He counts back and thinks back to when he last saw Roy and freaks out a little when he counts more than two days. He pulls out his phone and rings him. “Where are you?”

Roy sounds distracted. “I’m away. I put it on the fridge.” 

He quickly moves to the fridge and sees that indeed, Roy’s absence from home is listed there. “Yeah, I see that,” he says, squinting at the calendar. “I didn’t know that you had this.” 

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t.” Roy doesn’t expand. 

“Well, you’re back on Tuesday? We should catch-up?” He winces as the words leave his mouth. Catch-up. Like Roy is a mate passing through town, instead of his partner. He’s turned in an assignment so he has a bit of breathing space. 

“I’m staying at my sister’s when I come back. She’s going to a conference so I’ve got to keep an eye on Phoebe.” 

“She can’t stay with us?” 

“Phoebe’s growing fucking mould for science. I’m not letting her fucking do that here; it’s fucking disgusting. She checks on it every two hours like its a fucking child. She’s set an alarm and everything.” Roy sounds thoroughly grossed out.

“I’ll come by and bring dinner then.” 

Roy’s silent for a moment and then says, “If you want.” 

.

He’s been at the library for what feels like hours.

He comes home and turns on the lights, dropping his bag onto the foyer floor. “Roy?” 

He’s been studying. Trying not to panic at the thought of sitting an exam at the age of 32. He checks his phone, realises that he’s set it to Aeroplane Mode instead of Do Not Disturb and thinks, oh shit. The flood of incoming messages and missed call notifications are insane. He goes through the texts trying to figure out what happened. 

Roy: I’m here - why did I agree to this? 

Phoebe: Mum just told me about it! I can’t wait to see it - drive carefully!

Roy: I’m a grown fucking man. This is unnecessary. 

Roy: Dani keeps looking at the door for you. Sad fucking golden retriever.  

Roy: Rebecca’s here. 

Roy: Nate’s here too. He’s not scared of me anymore. Gave me a hug. When are you coming? 

Sarah: Hi Jamie, please tell me you’re late because of the cake. 

Dani: Amigo! I am waiting to see you! We have much to catch up about!!!! 

Keeley: Jamie, how late are you running? 

Phoebe: Uncle Jamie. I’m swearing in my head. Where are you?

Roy: Jamie, ring me now. Calling hospitals if you don’t respond. 

Ted: Hey! Jamie - just checking in, I’ve got a few texts from across the pond and they sound really worried. Ring your man? 

Jan: I’m apologising preemptively if you have a good reason for not being here instead of what I actually suspect you are doing. 

Keeley: You promised you would bring the cake.

Beard: Dumdum 🙁

Cake? Cake.. . His stomach flops and panic races through him. “Fucking shit!” he curses and presses Roy’s number. “Shitshitshit. C’mon pick up-” The call connects. “Roy-” 

“Are you lost?” Roy asks him.

“No, see-” he starts, but Roy cuts him off.

“Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine. Listen, I’m so-” He pulls his phone away from his ear. “Roy?” His screen is blank. He tries the number again but he keeps getting sent to voicemail. Eventually he does leave a voicemail, and can’t help himself from being annoyed. “I know you're pissed at me but you're a baby twat for doing tit for tat.” The next time he rings the call doesn’t even go through because Roy’s phone is off. Fine. He rings Keeley and when it connects he thanks everything under the sun. “Keeley, is Roy with you?” 

There’s a beat of silence and then Keeley explodes, her voice going a mile a minute. “Jesus fucking hell, Jamie! Where have you been?! We spent the night ringing fucking everyone. I even called Sam! And do you know where Sam is? He’s at home in Nigeria because it’s his cousin’s wedding. I’m pretty sure he was at the reception and he managed to take my call, so where the hell were you?” 

Right, that’s not good. “I was in the library.” 

“Oh boy.” Keeley says, blowing out a breath. “Do you have any idea how much grovelling you’re going to have to do? We had a birthday party without a birthday cake.” 

“I know. Look, I know.” 

“The lads were being right dicks about it. Well…Jan was,” she amends. “He said you were probably out with a boyfriend.” 

He groans. “Fucking Dutch arsehole.” 

“I told you to tell him!” 

“I know! You were right and I was wrong and I fucked up real badly. Where is he?” 

“I don’t know,” she says tentatively. “He’s not at home?” 

“I--Roy?” he tries even though he’s not expecting a response. He knows Roy’s not at home. The jeep  is missing and there’s no movement in the house. “What time did you finish?”

“A little after nine. We weren’t really in the mood after calling around the hospitals.”

“I’ll ring Sarah.” He’s going to have his arse handed to him. 

Keeley doesn’t respond but eventually sighs. “Jamie - wait me out all you want, I’m not calling her.”

“Fine! Fine, I’ll ring her.” Keeley hangs up on him. He presses her number and hopes that her phone is off but it’s not and he immediately asks, “Is he there?”

“Hi Jamie! Hi Sarah!” Sarah starts, and continues the one sided conversation with herself, leaving no space for him to interject. She even drops her voice and changes her accent - it’s not flattering, but he guesses it’s not meant to be. He apparently just has to ride this out. “Did you have a nice night? Oh, you know, it could’ve been better. Oh really, why’s that? Well it was my brother’s birthday and we were waiting on a cake but more importantly we were waiting on his partner to show up and guess what? He never did. He didn’t show up? What a dick! I know! My night was  fantastic. A sad birthday boy; just what every little sister needs.” 

She seems like she’s finished. “D’ya feel better? Getting it out and all?”

“Barely. He was really upset.” And then, because she is nice, she asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine - I lost track of time and it’s stupid but I didn’t get my messages. I completely forgot about the party.”

“You texted this morning that you’d be there.” 

“I know!” 

“This isn’t like you. Roy’s been worried for a while now.”

“Worried about what? Me?” She hums. “Shit, Sarah…I’m going to school. I’m doing me A-Levels…or getting a few more. I’ve got an exam in a few days and…” he laughs. “I’m shitting myself. Roy doesn’t know.”

“Why on earth not?”

“In case it doesn’t work. I don’t want to tell him I failed.”

“Do you think he’d care?” 

“No,” he says softly. “But I care. I want to do this, right? And if it's just me, whatever happens hurts less. Like, if I fail…I’ve just disappointed meself.” 

She lets out a frustrated groan. “How can you be emotionally intelligent and emotionally dumb at the same time.”

“Sarah, is Roy there? He doesn't need to talk to me. His phone is off anyways, but I just want to know he’s okay.” 

“He’s fine. Phoebe took him for ice-cream. He’s probably coming home once he’s dropped her back.” 

“Okay. Guess, I'll wait here then.” 

“You should work out what to tell him.”

“The truth?” 

“That’s probably for the best.” 

.

Jamie hears Roy quietly shut the door. His palms are sweating. They have been since he got a text saying that Roy was on his way back. 

He gets up and moves into the foyer. 

Roy spots him immediately. His brows go down. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a navy blue shirt. He looks good except his face is unmoving. 

“Are you gonna say anything?” Roy stays mute. Jamie swallows. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve been there.” 

“We need to talk.” 

Oh fuck.  

Jamie tries not to let the panic show on his face as Roy strides past him into the kitchen. Roy’s at the sink, filling a glass of water. Purposefully, Jamie goes to the other side of the island, unwilling to crowd him.

“Roy?” 

“I fucking hate this shit,” Roy mutters to himself after taking a drink. “I need to know what you need.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I tried drawing back being less around you because I thought it would fucking help, but somehow it made things fucking worse. And then when I'm around you, you want to be fucking anywhere else. And then, somehow it's okay for a bit and then it starts again. And I don’t know how to fix this, or if you even want to fix this, and if you do, I need you to tell me because fucking hell. You’ve checked out and it makes me feel like shit . You-” Roy stops and looks away.

-make me feel like shit, Roy doesnt say, but Jamie hears it anyway. Roy is tense. So fucking tense and Jamie hates this.

"If you need to pursue something or someone-" Roy stumbles over the word, “-else. Just fucking tell me."

“I fucked up. Everyone said I should’ve told you but I thought it would be okay, so I didn’t. I’m-I’ve been going to school…kind of,” he winces.

“What-” 

“I ain’t lying. I…I can-you can speak to me tutor, she’s real patient with me. And like…I’ve been doing homework and when I actually went to school, it was hard for me cause, I’m like, dyslexic, so reading takes me fucking forever but, like now, I’m getting it this time…like I’ve got strategies and stuff. And I have an exam that I’ve been studying for.” Roy’s eyes are wide. “Say somethin’?” 

“You’re going to school.”

“I-yeah?” 

“Fucking hell,” Roy says tipping his head back with a laugh. “I feel like I’ve been living in a fucking nightmare…and you’re just going to school.” 

"You believe me?"

Roy snorts. "Who the fuck lies about going to school?" 

He feels like an idiot. How could he think that Roy would be anything but supportive. “I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah, you should have.” 

“I didn’t want to be disappointing to you. I can let myself down and deal with it, but I couldn't let you down and deal with that. I’m sorry for…everything. I’ve been a prick. The last thing I wanted was to make you feel like shit, I swear.” 

“Okay.” 

Jamie blinks. “That’s it. You forgive me.” 

“Yes?” Roy frowns. “You love me, right?” 

“Shit, yes…fucking boatloads.” 

“Right. So we’re good then. Now I know, I can actually support you. If things go well, we celebrate, if things don’t go well we commiserate - either way you’re not alone in any of it and I don’t care which it is as long you actually let me be there for you.” 

He can’t help it. He rounds the island and flings his arms around Roy, pressing his face against Roy’s neck. He didn’t realise how much he needed this, how much he was going without. He can’t remember the last time they spent any length of time together in the last few weeks. “I fuckin’ missed ya.” He feel like he’s actually home.

Roy holds him close, face pressed into his hair. “I never fucking left, you prick.” 

“I’ll make it up to you.” 

“You will. You can start by getting me my fucking cake if you know whats good for you.” 

“Babe, the shops are closed.’ 

“It was a Kermit the Frog cake. And Kermit was sitting on a log like when he sang Rainbow Connection. My sister made a special order for it.” 

“How’d you know that?” 

“Because she fucking told what it was so I would come to that fucking party.” 

“I thought you were going ‘cause I asked you nicely? And ‘cause Phoebe begged you.”

“I went for the cake,” Roy stubbornly affirms.

“Alright. I’ll get you a Kermit cake.” 

“Good. Can we go to bed? Sex or sleep, I don’t care which. I just want to go to bed with you at the same time, and wake up with you in the morning.” That sounds nice. “Or…do you still need to study? I can make you some tea?" Roy starts drawing away but Jamie tightens his hold. 

“Take me to bed?” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Roy’s mouth. 

Roy smiles. “Yeah okay.”

I'm grateful to anyone,
That is happy or 'free'
For giving me hope
While I'm looking to see
The light that has lighted the world

--The Light that has Lighted the World - Demo (Early Takes, Volume 1)

Jamie decides to retire at the age of 34 at 2.46 in the morning. It’s just been rolling through his head. He’s not unfocused, but there’s a small part of his brain that’s been asking, what’s next?  

"Babe." He turns to his side, seeing Roy curled up on his side, back towards him, and the bedsheet pulled over his shoulders.

He pokes Roy a few times in the shoulder, knowing that he’s being a nuisance but unable to help himself.

Roy grumbles and he pokes harder until he hears the sleep gravelled voice say, "Go th'fuck t'sleep, Jaim."

He turns on the bedside lamp, and rolls Roy onto his back. He stares at rapidly blinking eyes as they adjust to the light. "Roy, I need to tell you something. It’s important and it can’t wait."  

Figuring that he's probably not going to get any sleep, Roy struggles and sits up, back against the headboard, and a baleful look in his eyes. "Fine. What’s so important that you had to wake me at-" He cranes his neck to see the clock and Jamie only feels a little sorry. “Christ, it’s almost three. Well, spit it out.”

"I wanna announce my retirement at the end of the season." 

Roy blinks like it’ll clear his ears. "But you’re Jamie Fucking Tartt." 

"I'm always gonna be him. I'm like the greatest football player of all time.” Roy rolls his eyes. “Well I’m like, at least in the top five.” 

Roy ignores that. “You still have years left.” 

“I don’t want them. I wanna go out on top. I wanna…” he bites his nail. “I wanna go to uni. Aside from me mum, no one’s been. Do you think it sounds dumb?”

“What do you want to study?” 

“Physiotherapy. Look see, I've got these.” He reaches into his bedside drawer and pulls out a stack of paper. They're course guides and campus maps and Keeley’s neat handwriting on pink post it notes. "The PFA said there might be a way for me to do the placements at Richmond, or at least some of them.”

“Is this what you took classes for?” Roy sifts through the brochures and what looks like Jamie’s life over the next few years. 

“Yeah, kind of. I knew I wanted to do something after football and it be football related but I didn’t really know what. I didn’t say anything about this because I didn’t want you to be upset over nothing. I didn’t know I’d pass Biology.” He passed with an A. Roy took him on holiday as a present. “That's why I didn’t tell you sooner and you know…like, for you it probably seems like I'm throwing away the opportunity to play more ‘cause I know you would trade everything to still be playing.”

“Not everything. I'm good. I’ve been good for years.” Roy takes his hand. “You're going to uni. When you graduate I'll fuck you in your robe.”

“I think you rent them.” 

“You’re Jamie Fucking Tartt. You can buy one."

“So it's okay?”

“It's your career. I'm with you wherever you decide to go.” Roy kisses him close mouthed and quick. “Now can I fucking sleep?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He gathers up everything from the bed and dumps it back into the drawer. 

“Don't be sorry - be sleepy,” Roy says, tugging Jamie into a position he deems satisfactory before he rolls over. 

He wakes a few hours later to some light coming through the window, and Roy pressed against the length of him with an arm draped over his side. He expects to feel crushing weight having said it out loud. He actually gave a timeline. He’s out. He looks for the sense that he’s made a mistake but it's not there, no matter how much he searches for it. 

The arm around him tightens. A kiss presses into his shoulder through his t-shirt. He holds onto Roy’s hand, feels him shift to move a little above him. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“We got work.” He doesn’t move; finds that he can’t. Roy hums against his cheek. “We’ve got some time.”

Jamie smiles, turns his head requesting a kiss before turning back to face the window. "I just wanna lie here with you for a bit-" and soak up the fact that life is good, and he's content and it's better than he ever imagined it being.