Connor
The second half was war.
From the first whistle, South Africa came out swinging and England swung right back.
Up in the suite, the air got thinner with every minute. No one was talking anymore. Gran had her hands wrapped around her tea cup so tight her knuckles were white. Hamish was perched on the edge of his chair. Even Melanie had gone quiet, her phone forgotten on the table beside her.
On the pitch below, Edward was a constant. Calling moves. Organizing the backline. Kicking when he had to. Taking the hits and getting straight back up.
"Come on," I breathed, my nails digging into the armrest. "Come on, Ed."
Vasili stood behind me, one hand resting on the back of my chair. "He's doing it, kotyonok. Look." And he was. He wasn't dropping his head. Not once.
With ten minutes left, England were up by two. With five minutes left, South Africa slotted a drop goal and took it back.
The suite went completely silent.
"One minute," Hamish said quietly.
