Always on My Mind (Stanmore FC Soulmates #2)

21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The door to Jamie’s childhood home in north London loomed before her like a great abyss. Unlike the neighbors’ doors, there was no indication that the holidays were upon them. No wreath, no cheesy sign, not even candles in the windows. The door was the same black color it had always been, with a big brass knocker at the top. Jamie found herself wishing she had gone to Derry, after all. Even Ma Gallagher’s disapproval of her English origins would be easier to endure than an entirely un-festive Christmas dinner with Dexter Hupp.

It was too late for wishing, though. With a sigh, she knocked on the door. The maid, Katie, answered. She was a slender woman with graying brown hair tucked into a French twist at the back of her head. She always wore jeans and a jumper with comfortable trainers. Dexter did not insist on his maid being formal, only that she got the job done. Which she had. The house was spotless, as always.

“Ah, hello, Jamie,” she said brightly. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Katie,” Jamie returned.

“Let me take your coat, darling.”

Jamie allowed it, but held out a bottle of wine she had tucked under her arm. “I brought this.”

“Set it there,” Katie said, nodding to the entryway table. “I’ll take it to the kitchen.”

Jamie did as she was told. Once Katie had the coat, she hung it on the rack in the corner. Unsurprisingly, there were no decorations inside or a Christmas tree. The Hupps had not celebrated Christmas since Theo’s death. Jamie had dinner with her father, and that was the extent of his acknowledgment of the holiday. Jamie almost laughed as she recalled Tessa calling him a Grinch.

“Your father is in his office. I’ll let him know you’re here,” Katie said as she led Jamie to the kitchen and placed the wine in the refrigerator.

The kitchen smelled wonderful. Right away, Jamie knew what they were having—Cornish hens, green beans, and scalloped potatoes. The same meal they had every year.

“And then you’ll be off home?” Jamie asked. “Surely, Dad doesn’t make you work all day on Christmas.”

“No worries there,” Katie assured her. “I’ve got a few more things to get your dinner taken care of and then I will be on my way. He’s given me all of Boxing Day off.”

“Can I help?”

“Oh, no, darling, you sit and relax. Pour yourself a glass of wine. Your father will be right down.”

“And. . . ” Jamie hesitated. “My mother?”

She normally didn’t ask, but she’d talked it over with Lila, and Jamie wanted to see her mother. To talk to her. To create a chance for a new relationship to form. Lila said it could be healing for both of them.

“Sorry, darling,” Katie said. “Mrs. Hupp is in no mood to come down.”

Jamie pressed her lips together. Even though she expected the answer, it hurt to hear. “Yeah, alright.”

“You might go up and see her after dinner, though. She asks after you.”

“Does she?”

“Oh, yes. It might raise her spirits to see you for a few minutes. It is Christmas, after all.”

“Right. Thank you, Katie.”

Katie disappeared back to the entryway, and Jamie listened to her quiet footsteps as she made her way up the stairs. Jamie sent a quick text to Tessa, asking how her Christmas was, but knew she would likely not get an answer for hours. Tessa said at the Gallagher home, Christmas was a sacred day, spent with family, away from phones. After mass, they would all gather and play games, drink tea (or something stronger), and sing carols while her grandfather played piano. It was the kind of Christmas that Jamie longed for.

Her father’s approaching steps made Jamie look up. It was the first time they had seen each other in person since he had triggered her panic attack. They had texted and called, but nothing more.

“Hello,” he said stiffly. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas.”

“Katie will be down to finish dinner in a moment. Would you like something to drink?”

“I brought a bottle of wine,” Jamie said. “It’s in the fridge.”

“I suppose one glass won’t hurt. But no more. You have a match tomorrow.”

Jamie waited a moment to see if there was any concern about the recent concussion as well, but it didn’t come. She only watched as her father retrieved two wine glasses from the cabinet. He poured a light portion into each glass before returning the bottle to the fridge. He picked up his glass to taste it, licked his lips, and set it back down.

“Not quite cold yet,” he said. “Ice?”

“Sure,” Jamie replied.

“Probably better to water it down, anyway.”

“Right.”

While he dropped two ice cubes into each glass, Katie made her way back in. She checked the oven.

“Looks like everything’s ready,” she said.

“Jamie, help her get the dishes out,” Dexter said.

Jamie nodded and obeyed. Katie thanked her as they placed everything on the stove top. The smells wafted toward Jamie’s nose and her stomach rumbled with anticipation. Katie was a damn good cook. She was the one saving grace about coming to Dexter’s house.

Katie insisted she could plate everything on her own and shooed Jamie and her father to the table to be seated. Once served, Katie wished them a good Christmas, and was gone. Leaving them in painfully awkward silence.

It was always like this. Quiet and cold. Katie’s food warmed Jamie’s belly, but there was no conversation. No lighthearted banter. Nothing to make it feel like a holiday. Dinner seemed to take years because of it.

When they finished, Jamie started to rinse the dishes.

“Leave them. Katie will get to them when she’s back,” Dexter said.

“She won’t be back until the day after tomorrow. You can’t leave them sitting out,” Jamie replied. “I don’t mind cleaning up.”

It gave her something to do other than sit there with her father saying nothing.

He shrugged. “If you want.”

He picked up his wine, downed the remaining swallow that was in his glass, and brought that over to her too.

“Can these go in the dishwasher or are they real crystal?” Jamie asked.

“How should I know?”

“Weren’t these the ones from your wedding?”

“Yes, but that was thirty years ago. I can hardly be expected to remember that.”

“Never mind. I’ll hand wash them to be safe.”

“Fine by me.”

He took a seat at the kitchen island and opened up his phone. Jamie got a washcloth good and soapy. It was good to be doing something with her hands.

“Oh, wow,” Dexter said suddenly.

“What?” Jamie asked.

“Manchester City women just fired one of their assistant coaches,” he said. “Do you remember Brett Cooke?”

Jamie froze. She remembered Brett very well. He was the one who had driven her to leave City in the first place. Another thing Lila had suggested was being truthful with Dexter about what happened there. Jamie had outright refused. She knew it was something her father could never understand. But perhaps this was a sign. The universe’s way of opening the door for that conversation.

“Yeah, I remember him,” she said, clearing her throat. “Did they say why he was sacked?”

“Apparently, several of the athletes complained about sexual harassment.”

If Jamie was still a person who believed in coincidences, she might have dismissed it. As it was, she knew that nothing was coincidental. Not even when she first met Tessa.

She turned off the water and faced her father. “Oh?”

“Yeah, it was nearly half the squad,” he said. He looked up and met her gaze, eyebrows raised. “Is that. . . did he do that to you too?”

Fear gripped at her heart, but she swallowed it down. “Yes, Dad. He did. He followed me home and tried to kiss me.”

“Jesus. Did you report him to the club?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I left the club.”

He frowned. “That’s why you left?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He let his phone fall onto the counter and put his head in his hands. “Fucking hell, Jamie.”

Given that his face was hidden, she couldn’t tell whether it was sympathy or exasperation. Her heart pounded as she waited for him to say more and perhaps give her a hint one way or the other. When he looked at her again, she knew it was the latter.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he demanded. “Clearly, you had other women on your side. They would have believed you all, and you could have stayed at a better club.”

Jamie blinked, but shock yielded quickly to rage. “What?”

“You threw away your contract over that? An issue that could have been resolved?”

She swallowed hard, seething. “Is that all that matters to you?”

His brow furrowed. “What are you getting at?”

“Never mind. I know the answer. Football has always been all that matters to you. Never mind that I might have been scared or hurt. Never mind that I had no idea it was happening to anyone else because in case you haven’t noticed, these things are nearly impossible to talk about.”

“Football is what has given this family everything. I wouldn’t be so harsh about prioritizing it. What else would you have me do?”

“I dunno, maybe just once, act like my father instead of my manager.”

Jamie could hardly believe what she was saying, but once she started, the words wouldn’t stop. Anger had given her the courage to speak up. She had tried to be vulnerable and honest with him, and he had made it—like everything else—about her footballing career. And she was disgusted by his frigid heart.

He glowered at her. “I am your father, Jamie. I manage your career because I care about you.”

“You care about my career because I am your daughter and a reflection on you. Not because of any affection.”

He got to his feet. “Don’t talk as if you know how I feel!”

“I know how I feel!” she shot back. “And I have never felt affection from you. No comfort, no kindness. Only harsh, lashing words, and always, always about football!”

He reeled back as if she’d swung at him. “How can you say that? After all I have done for you?”

She schooled her face back to neutral, but anger still seethed beneath the surface. “What have you done for me that isn’t about football, Dad?”

“I—” he stopped short. “You should be more grateful.”

“You should learn some compassion.”

With that, she swept from the room.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, following her.

Jamie trotted quickly up the stairs. “I’m going to visit my mother. Alone.”

“Fine,” he snapped, stopping at the bottom. “But don’t go upsetting her. I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but I won’t have any disturbances in my house!”

She didn’t answer. She only continued her flight up the stairs and retreated down the hall. She stopped at the door she knew to be her mother’s. The main bedroom. Her parents slept separately now, as her father had taken to the guest room. Jamie raised her hand and rapped her knuckles against the wood.

“Come in, Katie,” a weak voice called from the other side.

Jamie turned the knob and stepped through. “It’s me, Mum. Sorry.”

Natalie Hupp lifted her head. She was where Jamie got most of her looks. Her hair was the same chocolaty brown, though it had lost its former luster. Her eyes were a lighter shade of blue, but they were blank behind her irises. Jamie almost flinched at her mother’s protruding cheekbones and gaunt face, but she resolved herself. She needed to have this conversation.

“Jamie?” Natalie croaked.

“Yeah. Is it alright if I visit with you?”

“Of course.”

Jamie pulled up a wingback chair and sat at her mother’s bedside. Up close, she could see more of Natalie’s frailty. Her collarbones were visible through her nightgown. Enough pill bottles sat on the bedside table to supply a whole pharmacy. Jamie reached for the first bottle, but didn’t recognize the medication.

“You’re taking all of these, Mum?” she asked.

“Yes. They keep me safe.”

Jamie set the bottle back down. “I suppose so. Are you alright?”

“As alright as I can be,” Natalie sighed.

Every visit was like this. It was why Jamie avoided it. It seemed too cruel that her mother should grieve for this long. She wondered if what her mother needed was someone like Lila to help her through her grief. Maybe then she wouldn’t be on a diet of whatever was coming out of the orange bottles. Not that Jamie was against medication, but her mother was once a vibrant woman. Medication was supposed to make her better, not sink her further into depression.

“How are you, Jamie?” Natalie asked.

“I’m alright,” Jamie answered. “Mostly training and matches. The usual.”

“Are you still with City? Or have they let you come home for a visit?”

It occurred to Jamie that she had not seen her mother at all during the three years she was in Manchester. Guilt gnawed through her belly.

“Oh, no, Mum, I’m back in London now. I’m playing for Stanmore,” she said. “Sorry, I should have mentioned that sooner.”

“S’alright.”

It didn’t feel alright. And there was much more that Jamie wanted to talk about. Things a daughter should be able to discuss with her mother. Her relationship, her job, her progress in therapy. It didn’t seem right to burden Natalie with all of that, though. Not in this state.

“I thought Dad might have told you.”

“He hardly tells me anything anymore.”

“Maybe he thinks football is a sore subject,” Jamie said. She swallowed hard. She’d already done one difficult thing today. What was one more? “Since. . . ”

She trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. What if it sent her mother into a spiral? She didn’t want to cause unrest. Natalie slid her gaze sidelong to Jamie.

“Theo?”

Jamie nodded. “Sorry to bring him up.”

“You’ve apologized to me three times since you came in here. None of them were necessary.”

Jamie opened her mouth to apologize again but snapped it shut.

Natalie latched her gaze onto Jamie’s face. “He’s taken you too, hasn’t he?”

“W-what?” Jamie stammered. “How do you mean?”

“Your father. He’s got his claws into you.”

Jamie didn’t know what to say. Her father’s hold on her was strong, but she had taken some big strides only moments ago. The momentum was there for her to tear herself free. But then what would become of her mother?

“Dad’s. . . involved in my career, yes,” Jamie said. “But I’m fine.”

“That’s what Theo used to say,” her mother replied. “And your father still managed to take him from me. My first born. My baby.”

Her eyes welled up with fresh tears. Jamie snatched a tissue off the side table and placed it in her mother’s hand. Natalie dabbed at her cheeks.

“When you stopped visiting, I thought it was because you’d finally gotten away,” Natalie said, her voice catching in her throat. “But now you’re here and you’re telling me he’s still in control.”

The shock of such a statement hit Jamie full force. She leaned back, as if she could escape it, but it was there in the room. Expanding like a balloon. Perhaps about to burst.

“Jamie, you’ve got to get out from under him. Theo’s gone, and I’ve become this, all because of him. I can’t lose you too.”

“Mum. . . ”

“This is what he does. You’ve lasted a long time because you’re strong, but the moment you fail to meet his expectations, he will destroy you too.”

Natalie choked on the last word. Her chin wobbled as more tears spilled down over her cheeks. A mist formed over Jamie’s eyes and her throat got tight. Had her father done this to his wife? He didn’t want the grieving mother, so he pushed pills down her throat to sedate her and hide her away? All signs pointed to it. She reached for her mother’s hand.

“I can’t lose you both, Jamie,” Natalie said.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mum.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’m working on making myself stronger,” Jamie said. “I’m in therapy. I’m learning how to manage all my relationships and my trauma. I’m healing. Getting better.”

Natalie sniffled. “You are?”

Jamie nodded. “I am. And. . . you could get better too, y’know. If you want.”

“I dunno. . . ”

“You can. You’ve never been allowed to grieve for Theo. Dad packed it all away, every trace of him. But you couldn’t do that, could you? Compartmentalize and forget? Because you’re a good mum who loved her son.”

Natalie let out a sob, but covered her mouth with her free hand.

“If you found someone to talk to, you could process that grief and have a life again,” Jamie said, gripping her mother’s hand tighter. “I promise you, I’m not leaving you. Not that way. Can you promise me in return that you’ll try?”

Natalie nodded and let out a muffled whimper.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that?” Jamie said, a light tease to her voice.

Natalie lowered her hand and swallowed hard. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Jamie said. She smiled. “And Happy Christmas, Mum.”

“Happy Christmas, darling.”

Jamie was glad she had taken Lila’s advice. She had a small breakthrough with her father, but an even greater one with her mother. And she could be nothing but grateful for that.