Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
NOAH
‘I told you to behave. Not get yourself all over social media. I’ve had a tip off – a very reliable one – that a certain TikTok reel featuring you and a fetching elf has gone viral and the Sun is asking who she is.’
‘You’re shitting me,’ I said and fell back against my pillows. I scrolled through my apps to Instagram and searched for Evie Green. Just one look at the results told me all I needed to know.
‘Fuck.’
‘Indeed,’ said Lara. ‘I told you to keep a low profile. Instead, you’re pictured, feeling up a festive fucking elf.’
I winced and looked back at the image of me with a filthy smirk on my face as if I’d got evil designs on the very sexy elf. It reminded me of what I was thinking at that very moment. Let’s just say those thoughts weren’t the least bit pure.
‘Sorry, Lara. It’s not how it looks.’
She sighed heavily. ‘Nothing to be done about it now. They’ll print the usual, “Sanderson was unavailable for comment”.’
‘Do you want me to issue a statement?’
‘No, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I’ll try and come up with some damage-limitation strategy.
We don’t want to draw any adverse attention to you at the moment, not while management are appealing the length of your suspension.
If you’re going to appear on social media, we want Mr Nice Guy, not the villain of the dirty tackle, and definitely not Mr Playboy.
It’s the sort of thing the press will lap up and won’t do your cause any good. Public opinion could sway the FA.’
She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know.
‘Who is this girl and why is everyone so interested?’
‘She’s Evie Green, the sobbing girl.’
‘That’s her. How funny? She’s … pretty, and she looks a hell of a lot better than she did in that video. So, what’s she doing at The Plaza? I thought she was crying because she couldn’t go.’
‘They felt sorry for her,’ I drawled, making my disapproval apparent, ‘and they’ve given her a complementary stay.
She’s documenting her visit – a promotional campaign run by the hotel.
’ I learned this from the restaurant manager after Evie had danced off on her tinkling toes.
It’s called @EvieAtThePlaza. Like Eloise at The Plaza. ’
‘Who’s Eloise?’
Sometimes things come up that are a stark reminder of the cultural differences between the UK and the US. It’s not just the difference between sidewalk and pavement, sweater and jumper. There’s a whole popular-culture divide.
‘It’s a famous series of kids’ books.’
‘Right,’ said Lara but even from across the miles, I could tell her mind was elsewhere. ‘Leave it with me, Noah. I might have something.’
‘Like what?’ I asked, immediately suspicious. Some of Lara’s ideas could be a little off the wall. For the last two years she’d been trying to get me to do Strictly. I fancied the Dancing on Ice gig – but the higher likelihood of injury put the kybosh on that one.
‘Like I said, leave it with me. I need to make a few calls!’ And with that, she disconnected the call.
I laid back on my pillows in the dark, deeply regretting my foolish impulse to tease Evie in the Palm Court Restaurant.
There was just something about her that got under my skin and made me act out of character.
I needed to stay away from her, because I never knew what she was going to say or do next.
Like Lara said, my appeal was going to be heard in a matter of days.
I was hoping my six-match ban would be overturned and I could get back to the UK to play the Boxing Day fixture.
Surely in a hotel this size, I could stay out of her way.
* * *
I woke up several hours later to a dozen text messages, including a very pissed-off missive from my manager.
He was not impressed by the low-profile approach.
With the transfer window coming up, the last thing I wanted to do was upset Marco, the Fulham manager.
I rather liked my Chelsea apartment, and after living in Central London for the last three years, I’d got to know my way around.
Even though I was a long way away from my family, London was starting to feel like home.
Mom and Dad had come to visit several times and got a kick out of visiting the city and playing tourists.
I phoned for room service and ordered breakfast. At least that was one way of avoiding the curly-haired menace. Man, her hair was wild, and again, I wondered what it would feel like under my fingers, fanned across her naked back. And whoa! Where had that thought come from?
Despite her annoying, perky attitude and ability to turn up everywhere I went, there was a definite pull between us.
Even though it wasn’t my style, or maybe because it wasn’t, I liked her unpredictability and the way she pushed me off balance.
And those quick comebacks… It was more, though, there was the way she’d instantly plunged into rescuing me at the airport, not even pausing for thought.
Clearly there had been a touch of empathy there because she’d suffered at the hands of anonymous keyboard warriors, but she’d done it because she wanted to help.
Help a complete stranger. Not many people stepped up like that.
* * *
At this time in the morning the traffic was quiet, headlights flickered through the trees on the edge of the park and a refuse truck chugged along one of the inner paths collecting the trash.
I liked the sensation of peace before the city woke, and felt slightly pleased with myself that I got to enjoy it before everyone else flooded in.
I passed a few other runners, all of whom acknowledged me in that running-community way with a quick nod.
The brief interaction reminded me of the camaraderie and power of sport, the joy of your body working in sync along with the miracle of the power of muscles, tendons and bones all coming together.
Nearing the brightly lit rink, I slowed, my breath steaming out in foggy puffs.
Now I’d warmed up a little, I kept up an easy jog.
There were a couple of skaters out on the ice.
Two men happily chatting away, arms loose and casual as they circled the rink at a leisurely pace looking as if they were out for a gentle stroll, completely at home on the ice.
One skater caught my eye, a girl in the middle of the rink.
She wore a red cap over a long plait that hung down her back, a short red skirt and black tights, top and gloves.
I smiled. The red skirt which fanned out as she moved was trimmed with a border of white fur.
Very Christmassy. She looked like Santa’s granddaughter as she moved across the ice with fluid, easy grace.
I stopped to watch her as she suddenly flipped and started skating backwards, weaving across the glassy surface in a smooth figure of eight.
Then she skated to the far end and gathering speed raced across the centre of the rink executing a series of jumps and spins in the air.
I watched mesmerised, appreciating the discipline she must have exercised to perfect those moves.
It reminded me of all the hours of practice I’d put in.
Playing soccer was all I’d ever wanted to do.
I might not be the best player on the field, but I worked the hardest and I was the hungriest. I thought of both Gabriel and Rick Menzies.
Not everyone made it, and even if they did, it could be taken away again with one bad tackle or a series of bad decisions.
Gabriel had never made it back to football, his well-publicised addiction problems making him an outcast.
I almost tripped over a tree root as I carried on watching the girl gliding across the ice, her arms outstretched and clearly enjoying every moment.
As a kid, I’d loved watching ice hockey, I still caught a game now and then, and envied the way the players were so at home on the ice.
Skating for me had been out of the question because my mom had broken her arm very badly on the ice once and was fearful I might do myself an injury and ruin my chances at playing soccer.
The girl’s limbs were long and lean, her arms graceful and there was sheer joy in the way she moved, embracing the speed and space around her.
It reminded me of those magical days on the pitch when everything all came together and that moment when I’d draw back my leg knowing I’d score. There was nothing quite like it.
Talent like that took dedication. When I was partying hard, I’d eased up on the practice and it had showed.
I nearly lost my first-team place – and would have, if my mom, in a rare temper, hadn’t reminded me that life was about moderation and balance and that she hadn’t continued a career in teaching to put me through soccer academy so I could throw it all away having an excess of good times.
It had been a timely intervention. It would have been nice to have a connection with someone who understood the relationship between hard work and making it.
A lot of the women I met were more interested in me being a professional soccer player, assuming that my life was fast cars, bougie nightclubs and big bucks.
And yes, sometimes it was, but most of the time I was putting in the hard yards to maintain my fitness and keep my skills at optimum level.
Not everyone understood the sacrifices that had been made along the way or the time I put in, week after week.
I upped my speed, keeping an eye on her in the distance as she sat down to unlace her skates. By the time I reached that side of the rink, there was no sign of her.
I grinned to myself, there was no harm in coming back this way again tomorrow at the same time. Who knew, she might be interested in a post-skating coffee? I could do with a distraction from Evie Green, who was popping into my thoughts a little too often.