Page 93 of Polo Fever
I clear my throat and force myself to look at him. ‘You said, “nothing” will get in your way, but I think you mean no one. That’s why you’ve always kept everyone at a distance. You never let them down; no one lets you down. You don’t have to walk on the pitch worrying about an argument you had the day before or how you’re going to make time for anyone else. All you had to do was focus on scoring the next goal. Easier that way.’
His gaze locks with mine, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. ‘But then you came along,’ he says quietly.
‘But then I came along.’ I nod slowly. ‘So what happens next?’
I watch his throat bob as he swallows audibly.
‘I don’t know,’ he whispers.
It’s strange. I didn’t know it could hurt like this. Like the sadness is so heavy, you feel you can’t stand upright. Like your heart is being squeezed so tightly in your chest, all the blood has stopped running through your limbs so your body becomes numb. And you feel so fucking stupid.
‘I guess that’s our answer, then,’ I manage to say, the brain cells left functioning doing a much better job than I expected them to.
‘Ash,’ Mateo croaks, panic in his eyes, ‘I don’t want to lose you.’
‘I’m not going to beg you to love me, Mateo. I’m done feeling like a burden. And I don’t want to continue like this only to face more disappointment down the line.’
Desperately trying to retain composure, I turn to look for a taxi, spotting one waiting and flagging it over.
‘Wait, Ash, let’s… let’s talk about this,’ he says, his eyes darting at the car in panic.
‘I think it’s best for me to go,’ I say earnestly, opening the door to the taxi and hovering there a moment. ‘You have more networking to do.’
‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘You need to give your all to polo. That’s the only way you’ll be happy. And I can’t stay with you, Mateo, knowing that I’ll never be enough and you’ll only grow to resent me if you don’t achieve the sporting greatness you crave. I deserve more than that.’
He stares at me, speechless.
‘Please don’t follow me. I don’t want to talk more tonight. Go back to the party. It’s important for the team,’ I conclude sternly.
Then, sliding into the back seat of the car and slamming the door shut behind me, I ask the driver to go, refusing to look back at Mateo as we pull away.
Thirty-One
When Lady M suggests I have some time off after Sotogrande, I take her up on the offer. The season has come to a close, people are going their separate ways, and they can spare me. It’s good for me to get away from Maycourt for a bit – any time I hear footsteps around the yard, I’m terrified and hopeful it might be him, even though he flew straight from Spain to France. Everything here reminds me of him.
He’s called. I didn’t answer the first couple of times and then when I did pick up, the relief in his voice made me want to cry, so I kept it as short as possible so I could stay composed, telling him we needed time and space. I felt like I’d said all I needed to say in Soto. I want Mateo to win in Argentina and achieve true happiness. But not at the cost of mine. What hurts the most is that I believe we could have had both. If only he’d been able to remove his blinkers to see that, too.
I haven’t been neglecting my duties at the yard – whether you’re having a good day or a bad day, the ponies needtheir breakfast and exercise, no way around that – but it’s been hard to put my heart into the job. I’ve been on autopilot, struggling through every motion, every task with a debilitating ache. As the season has come to an end, it’s a good time to have a break and I feel like I may need it.
‘Ash, I know you have a lot to think about,’ Lady M says, leaning on the fence with me as we watch Serafina and Byron graze in the field on a cloudy afternoon, her dogs clustered around her feet. ‘We never discussed further than the polo season. I asked you to help us get the best out of Serafina and you did just that.’
‘Mateo did most of it,’ I mumble earnestly.
‘You gave us the first steps with her that we needed to earn her trust. Please don’t brush that away as nothing. It’s not and I’m grateful to you.’
‘Likewise.’ I turn to offer her a small smile.
‘If you do decide that you’d like to work in a polo yard for the long-term, perhaps you and I could have a serious conversation. I know Jules would like to have you as a permanent fixture around here, as would I, but I’m also aware that you had a life in London before us and you never planned for this to be forever. Take some time to think about it. Let me know.’
She pushes herself off the fence, her dogs scrabbling to their feet and whining with excitement, wondering where they’re off to next.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘And if I may be so bold as to offer some personal advice,’ she places a hand on my arm, ‘it sounds obvious, but sometimes, it’s not: make that decision based on whatyouwant from life. Don’t let the actions of anyone else havesway over it.’ She pats her fingers on my sleeve, lowering her voice to a hushed tone as she leans in conspiratorially. ‘He won’t be around here much the next few weeks, so you don’t need to worry about seeing him.’
I don’t say anything, but I nod appreciatively.
