Chapter 19
19
Tony does come and find me right after training, but his eye contact is more fleeting than usual. I think this conversation needs to be just us, so I take him out to our little outdoor eating area. It’s not scenic, tucked between the car park and one of the training pitches, but it’s private.
Only when we sit down, I can see flaws. Tony isn’t the right build for picnic benches, so he’s got his usual problem over where to put his feet. It’s also way too early in ‘let’s be friends’ for me to be comfortable, sitting so close our heads almost touch as we hunch over my laptop. I force myself to ignore how close Tony’s fingers come to brushing mine as we flick back and forth through his calendar, and focus on how it makes perfect sense that he’s feeling overwhelmed. All the first team’s diaries are busy, but Tony’s looks like it’s covered in rainbow vomit, there are so many coloured block-outs. But as we go through, each time I try to delete something, he says there’s no need.
Like we’ve just been over two meet-and-greet slots. I’m not going to claim M&Gs don’t matter. It might only be fifteen minutes or so of the player’s time, but it means a lot to the fan who gets the one-on-one. Only it doesn’t need to be Tony doing it. It could just as easily be a player who’s not making the team that week, or who won’t be travelling for our European matches. But when I point that out, Tony shakes his head emphatically.
‘Nah. Media’s already sent me the little bios they does for these two. One’s a kid who’s had a hard time, the other’s an old bloke who’s likely seeing his last season. I’m not going to back out on ’em.’
That’s sweet, but unhelpful for the diary pruning. I move on to the next appointment, blocked out in an ugly tangerine colour. Tony’s hand tenses around the edge of the table. That’s odd. It’s an interview, but with Felicity Landon, the tamest journalist in Monica’s menagerie, so no reason for Tony’s knuckles to go white against his tan. Except maybe the date?
‘You have an actual rest day then, don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ He doesn’t sound all that bothered. But the first team are so heavily scheduled, it’s hard for the coaching staff to find them a whole day off. When they do, it’s best they grab it.
‘Then I don’t know how this ended up on your off day. Shall I have media reschedule?’
There’s an uncomfortable twist in his mouth. ‘Do you think you could get ’em to cancel, instead?’
‘Probably. But you’d owe them a serious favour. She’s one of our preferred sources.’
I suspect Tony’s more than familiar with just how helpful a friendly journalist can be. And he does say, ‘OK. I’ll do it.’ But he sounds not so much reluctant as truly miserable, and his fingers haven’t relaxed. If anything, he’s pushing down harder.
‘But let’s move it to a light training day.’ My voice is smiley, like I’m offering something delightful instead of a mild reduction in inconvenience.
Tony gnaws at his bottom lip, then asks in an unusually small voice, ‘Do you think we could do it by phone, or have her come here, instead?’
That’s when I notice the interview involves a London trip. Tony’s reluctance begins to make sense. ‘Of course.’ I open up the appointment and look at the details more closely. ‘Actually, Tony, I’m sorry, I think there’s been a mix-up. They’re sending a photographer to do some shots with you at the stadium, so I can’t think why this was scheduled for you to have to travel. I’ll speak to the media department and try to get it straightened out. But yes, definitely, we’ll make sure you don’t have to trek down there just for this.’
Tony lets go of the table, stretching his fingers. ‘Thanks, love.’ He leans in closer, frowning. ‘Only don’t that being orange mean it got set up by you guys, not the media people?’
I’ll never understand why the diary entries have to be colour coded, instead of the responsible department being written in actual legible words. I bend in too, trying to ignore the not unwelcome physical proximity between Tony and me.
‘Yes, you’re right. That is ours.’ I’d already spotted this and had been puzzled by it, thinking it must be some kind of error.
But how did it happen? We never schedule interviews. So, this is another of those weird little mistakes that on their own don’t mean much, but seem to be adding up to something more. Then I remember, my problems aren’t Tony’s problems, and smile briskly. ‘But whoever, I’ll sort it.’
He nods, quick and serious, like this is a major relief. ‘Yeah, that’d be great.’
‘Do you have any more like this, where you have to travel?’ This has got to be about Tony worrying he’ll slip into old ways, if there’s something better on offer than the distinctly limited delights of Covenly’s nightlife.
Tony scrolls through, grim-faced. He’s going fast, like he knows exactly what he’s looking for. ‘Just this.’ He pulls a going-to-the-dentist face. ‘It’s a photoshoot.’ He mentions the name of an athleisure brand that most players would kill to get into bed with.
‘You’re not keen?’
He shakes his head quickly.
‘Are you locked in, or can your agent get you out of it, if you don’t feel like doing it?’
It’s not like Tony needs the money, surely he can duck it, if it doesn’t appeal?
Tony’s doom-laden expression deepens, the lines on his forehead turning to furrows. ‘They’re like allied to my agency, so it’s not that simple.’
I narrow my eyes and look at him closely. He’s tapping a toe, and he only does that when he’s really bothered. Maybe I’m wrong, and this is about more than going to London. Except I can’t get any other vibes from Tony. Though I’ve got to admit, my intuition failure might be connected to how, each time Tony moves his foot, his joggers brush my bare knee. In the end, I resort to simply asking, ‘What would make it less bad?’
Tony struggles free from the bench and walks a few strides away, hands deep in his pockets. Without turning he says, ‘It was in my diary from before I transferred, yeah?’
I make an agreeing noise.
‘So, there’s someone who’ll know ’bout it, and I don’t wanna see ’em.’ He turns back to me with a less-than-convincing smile. ‘Sorry, I’m being a right baby over this, aren’t I?’
‘No, if it makes you uncomfortable, we need to fix it.’
He looks down at the floor. ‘All it is, is the last girl, the one from before I got here. I don’t wanna see her, and end up going back over old ground. Do you get me?’
That sounds like Angharad is currently out of the picture. But if that was ever my business, it certainly isn’t now. I make sure nothing in my face pries for details. ‘I understand, you’ve other things to think about, with the games you’ve got coming up.’
‘Yeah, only I don’t wanna put you out over something I ought to sort for myself.’
I shake my head briskly. ‘No, this is an easy one. I’ll get in touch with their PR, say you have a club commitment, and you need to reschedule.’
He runs his fingers across his hair, so his face is hidden by his forearm, as he says, ‘If you could, that’d be good.’
‘Although, actually, Tony, I might have a better idea. You know LeMar’s got a deal with them too?’
‘Yeah, maybe. It’s hard to keep track.’
I smile. ‘It certainly can be. But I know LeMar’s got a shoot scheduled for tomorrow. He’s going to leave straight after training. Why don’t I see if you can go together?’
Tony laughs, though it’s not massively happy. ‘You thinking he’s the best sheepdog you’ve got for a trip to the big bad city?’
‘Well, can you think of anyone less likely to lead you astray?’
He nods, eyes amused. ‘Fair point. Only do you reckon I’ll have to take him to the Science Museum after?’
It still surprises me, LeMar being blessed with sporting talent when he seems so much better suited to coding. But I shouldn’t laugh, and I almost don’t.
‘If they’ve got an exhibition on gaming technology, I can’t see how you’ll avoid it. But think of it as teambuilding.’
Tony grunts, then runs a hand along the line of his fade, which is getting progressively higher with every game. ‘Do you reckon this is OK, or do I need it cut for this?’
‘Put your head down a second.’ He sits beside me, bending his neck so I can study the shave. ‘It looks fine to me.’ He has these three darts that I’ve been dying to touch ever since he had them cut in. And I’m going to take my chance to run my fingers over them, even if we are just friends. ‘Except, is it OK that these feel the tiniest bit furry? They still look clean enough.’
‘Nah, they’ll do, I reckon.’ He straightens and smiles. ‘And I can see the vanity, so don’t feel you’ve gotta point it out.’
‘I wasn’t going to. I’d be even less enthused than LeMar about having my photo taken over and over.’
He gives me the smile that sends shivers up my spine. ‘Pity. Cos you’re a whole lot prettier than either of us.’ He looks up under his lashes. ‘If I’m allowed to say that to a mate.’
‘You are, but I doubt Katia would agree.’ The look between us isn’t the between-friends sort. I’m not sure we’re going to be great at our new arrangement. But maybe it’s just a question of practice? ‘Is that everything? Because if it is, I should go and make these things happen.’
‘Yeah, it is.’ He looks at the floor, lines up a few pebbles with his trainer, then darts a quick glance at me. ‘’Cept what you said, ’bout working with Chrissie, I wanted you to know I’m going to give it a go.’
I’m glad, but I don’t want to make it into a big deal. I start picking up my things, waving away Tony’s offer to help. I want him to go home and relax, not trek back to the office with me.
At the bottom of the stairs, Tony stops to say goodbye. His hand skims my upper arm, just as the manager glides round the corner, blessing us with his most beatific of smiles. ‘Ah, Tony, I had heard you and Genie were becoming better acquainted.’
Tony smiles, half respectful, half amused. ‘We are, boss.’
The manager nods sagely. ‘In my experience, Genie is a woman worth knowing.’
The ratio tips in favour of amused. ‘Yeah, I reckon I’m finding that out.’
‘And of course, she is always so ingenious in the face of a problem.’
Tony’s clearly unsure if that’s a pun or a genuine observation. Personally, I’d lean towards the latter, but I wouldn’t put money on it. Tony settles for, ‘Um, yeah, she’s that, all right.’
‘Indeed. A woman to value.’ The manager strokes his perfectly manicured beard before drifting away, his expression serious and his mind presumably full of false nines and inverted fullbacks.
Tony waits until he’s rounded the next twist in the corridor, before asking, ‘Why’d that feel like he was wishing me interesting times?’
‘Did it? I thought he was being sweet. But then he always is, except when he’s flustered.’
‘Dunno as you’d say that if it was you he was screaming at from the sidelines.’
I pout. ‘But he is flustered then. And you’ve only got yourselves to blame.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Try tracking back like you mean it, and maybe he’ll stop yelling.’ There’s more irritation in my voice than is strictly merited.
Annoyance flickers between us, then Tony laughs like he’s thoroughly entertained. ‘Christ, don’t tell me I’ve been treading on his toes.’
‘No, of course not.’ I can’t help smiling. ‘Though honestly, it’s lucky he’s never asked. I simply can’t say no to him.’
‘Thank God for that then, cos I’m way too old to be playing away with the manager’s missus.’
I touch Tony’s elbow. ‘Hang on, are you telling me that story’s true?’
So, Tony does end up walking me back to the office, sharing a salacious story from early in his career. It’s farcical, to the point that I have to redo my eye make-up afterwards, I’ve been laughing so hard. Perhaps we’ll be better at just friends than I’d thought.