The Reluctant Wag

Chapter 12


Merise rarely had the time or inclination to go to the student bar in the evening, but that Saturday there was a jazz band playing and Erica had persuaded her to go along. They sat at a large table near the back of the room and were gradually joined by friends and acquaintances who floated in and out as the night went on.

It was around nine o’clock that a tall young man approached their table.

‘Hi, Erica,’ he said. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Andy!’ Erica looked up in surprise. ‘I thought you were still in Japan.’

‘Just got back,’ he said as his eyes strayed to Merise, and he smiled a wide, warm smile. She couldn’t help but respond.

‘Oh, this is my friend, Merise Merrick; Merise, Dr Andy Carew, fresh from adventures overseas.’

He put out his hand and as Merise shook it, he bent to kiss hers. ‘Your servant, ma’am,’ he said playfully, but his eyes never left Merise. Erica moved over and made space for him between them.

He was a handsome man, with deep dimples in his cheeks and that combination of brown eyes and blond hair that Merise had always found so appealing; and he was looking at her with frank admiration.

‘Andy’s been volunteering with Doctors Without Borders, helping out the victims of the tsunami,’ Erica told Merise, leaning across Andy.

‘Really? That must have been a great experience.’

‘Yes – the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done,’ he said quietly. ‘Not that it was much. They need so much more help and support.’ He had a certain manly modesty about him and she liked that. Not even a shade of arrogance.

‘Are you back to work?’ asked Erica.

‘Yes. I’ll be working at the Austin Hospital. I start next week.’

‘What’s your speciality?’ Merise asked.

‘Pediatrics,’ he said, with another of those winning smiles.

That made perfect sense, she thought. That was something worth spending your life on. And he’d be great with kids. He’d be great with anybody. He was clearly a popular guy. People came up to him all night, welcoming him back and inviting him to parties and barbecues, and he had time for everyone. He wasn’t at all like Cal, who could be so standoffish if he didn’t want to talk; and the very fact that she even thought of Cal frustrated her. Why did she have to think about him? Was she always going to compare every man she met to him?

‘Wouldn’t he just have a great bedside manner?’ giggled Erica as they walked home around midnight.

‘Oh yes, very soothing,’ laughed Merise.

‘You’d never know it, but his family’s really well off and very well connected – Old Melbourne. They have a mansion in Canterbury, and a beach house down at Portsea.’

‘Ah! A very eligible prospect for any young lady, I’ll be bound.’

Erica laughed. ‘You’re not wrong. And he was totally smitten with you.’

‘No. Really?’

‘Geez, Merise, you’re so blind when it comes to men. Of course! He sat hugging one warm beer all night because he didn’t want to lose his seat next to you.’

‘He was sitting next to you, too.’

‘Yeah, but he wasn’t looking at me the way he was looking at you. Besides, we’re old mates and there’s nothing like that between us. Bet he tries to see you again.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Merise scoffed. But Erica was spot-on. A few days later her mobile buzzed. She didn’t recognise the caller number.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Merise?’ It was a man’s voice, and she thought she recognised it.

‘Yes, hello. Who is this?’

‘Andy Carew. I hope you don’t mind my calling. I ran into Erica and she gave me your number.’

‘Er, no, that’s fine. How are you?’

‘Great, great. Um, I was just wondering if you’d like to go out sometime.’

There was a short silence, during which the image of Cal came into Merise’s mind. She instantly banished it and said quickly, ‘Yes, that would be lovely.’

When she put the phone down a few minutes later, part of her was already regretting agreeing to a date with Andy but she seriously needed to put the past behind her and get a life, and she might as well start with one of Melbourne’s most eligible bachelors.



It was another lousy weekend for Cal. For the first time in his career, he’d played a string of bad games in a row. If he had been any other footballer, his form would have been acceptable, but for him it was dismal. It was becoming the talk of the sporting airways, the big issue on the social networks and sports forums, and every day the papers carried an article by one expert or other dissecting Cal McCoy’s form-slump.

He was struggling to understand it himself. He’d had a flawless career to date, so maybe it was inevitable that he’d also have some bad times. But they were usually triggered by injury and he’d never felt better physically. And why should it happen this year of all years when the Wolves had been tracking so well? Was it the stress of the captaincy? The effect of carrying so much responsibility while striving for the ultimate prize? He couldn’t say. In the end, it was something the coach said to him that finally opened his eyes and forced him to confront a truth he’d known instinctively, that his father had hinted at, but that he hadn’t wanted to admit.

Cal had stayed behind after training to work on his goal-kicking. When he finally left the ground the senior coach, Mal Breen, walked with him to the change rooms.

‘How’s it going?’

Cal shrugged. ‘Could be better. I can hit’em at training, but not in games these days.’

Mal placed his arm around Cal’s shoulders in a fatherly way. ‘Mate, you’ve played your whole career like a champion, always going one better than anyone had a right to expect. This will pass.’

‘Yeah, but soon enough to get where we need to be this year?’

‘Listen, Cal, you’re as good a player as you’ve ever been. You’ve played some great footy this season. But you’ve lost your focus over the past few weeks and you’re not yourself out there. You haven’t been yourself since that damned business at the Windrush. That’s understandable; you took a lot of crap and you didn’t deserve it. But you gotta get over that and refocus. Forget about playing finals for now, just take it one game at a time.’

Cal thought long and hard about what Mal had said. It wasn’t the hotel incident itself, he knew that; he’d have been able to handle that. It was Merise’s reaction to it that had killed him, because he cared about her too damn much. And however much he tried to reason with himself, he just wasn’t prepared to give her up, even if she didn’t care for him. He thought bitterly of their meeting at the Ladco dinner. She’d been so busy drinking in the drooling admiration of all the hungry-eyed idiots who spent the evening staring at her that she’d barely looked at him. She’d blown him off. That was just too bad. He only had himself to blame. He’d never done anything but antagonise her, without even meaning to – perhaps because he sensed that she could really get under his skin.

The sight of her that night had kicked him right in the heart. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He’d known dozens of stunning girls, but none like her. It was that mix of looks and class that got to him. That moment when she looked up at him with those enormous eyes, that was when he knew beyond any doubt that he loved her; she was the one.

It was ironic, he thought grimly – just when he needed all his energy to achieve the goal he’d been working towards his entire life, just when he didn’t have time for love – she had to walk into his life.

One thing was sure: he was going to marry her – but not yet. He’d have to win that premiership, and then he was going to woo her properly. He’d make her fall in love with him, whether she liked it or not. He knew that he could. He’d seen something in her eyes when she’d looked at him – an involuntary response that maybe even she wasn’t fully aware of. Maybe he was completely wrong. Maybe he’d just imagined it because it was what he wanted to see. But he was prepared to take the risk. She was worth it, and whatever he’d seen in her face, he sure as hell didn’t ever want her to look at any other man like that.

Not too much longer to go. The Grand Final was set for September 25th. Then right after Yarraside won, he was going to go see Merise Merrick, and he was going to haunt her and charm her and love her until she fell in love with him. Then he was going to ask her to be his wife. And she’d agree. He was as sure about that as he was about the fact that he’d be holding up the premiership cup before the year was out.



Merise and Andy arranged to meet for lunch at the Fairfield Boathouse on the Yarra. It was just outside the city, but it felt like the bush, with the river winding in front of the restaurant and the gum trees rising all around it. Andy was waiting at the edge of the water, feeding the ducks, as she walked down the path. He came towards her, looking positively dashing in a light blue shirt and black jeans. He bent to kiss her lightly on both cheeks.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, ‘you look gorgeous.’

She had made a special effort to look good because she had to move on from Cal. She needed something more in her life than memories of his intense gaze and his rich deep voice. Stop it, Merise, she’d told herself as she’d prepared for her date with Andy; and she deliberately took off the plain dress she’d planned to wear and instead put on a stunning red, low-cut dress that had taken all her courage to buy, never mind wear in public.

They had a terrific time. They sat at one of the tables on the verandah where the river was at its broadest and watched people, mostly couples, float by in small boats. The meal was delicious and afterwards they sauntered across the suspension bridge that spanned the Yarra and followed the walking track along the river bank, talking and chatting easily the whole time. Andy was a delightful companion – funny, interesting and considerate, and he was an admirable human being. He was already planning to spend his next holiday working with sick children in Somalia. How could she not be strongly attracted to him?

Later that afternoon, he drove her home and as they stood talking at her front door he bent and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. She stepped closer, put her arms around his neck, felt the solidity of his shoulders and turned her face up to him again. Their lips connected, but there was no thrill. She tried again, moving her mouth against his with more urgency this time, and nothing stirred within her.

Andy, however, felt very differently. His hands slid down her slender back and he pulled her to him and whispered huskily in her ear, ‘Can I come in?’

She pulled back and suddenly felt cold. She could see herself as if from a distance, standing before this lovely man who could never mean anything to her because he wasn’t Cal. She pulled herself together.

‘Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry,’ she said in a low voice. He was too decent a guy to do anything but draw back, smile and say lightly, ‘No worries. I had a great time. I’ll give you a call.’ He walked briskly away as she went inside.

She turned on the light and the first thing she saw was the little bonsai tree in the centre of the table. She immediately fetched the tiny watering can and slowly dripped water around its roots. She’d have to face it: Andy wasn’t Cal – and only Cal counted with her. She didn’t like that, but there was no point trying to fool herself that she could stop caring about him, stop loving him madly.

It hurt so much not seeing him. But she’d rather ache for him for the rest of her life than be with anyone else. Maybe that feeling would fade over time. People said you got over your first love, and that time healed all wounds, that out of sight was out of mind. If only she could get Cal out of her mind for one hour. But then she didn’t want to stop thinking about him, despite how much it hurt her, because the pain and the love were all bound up together; and she’d sooner be miserable without Cal than happy with any other man.