10
Just thirty-three hours later, Dad and I watch from the sidelines as Cassie kicks off our first ever full training session. Straight away she makes it very clear she’s the boss as she addresses the players fanned out in a semicircle in front of her, despite most of them towering over her.
‘You’re not always going to agree with my methods. Some of you have been to the top academies in the country and might think you know better than me. But you’re not there now, you’re here, and I expect the same respect from you that you’d give a coach at Manchester United. Understood?’
She doesn’t make it obvious she’s directing it at anyone in particular, but as both of us have now had a taste of Craig’s flirty comments, I’m fairly sure this is mostly intended for him.
The players, who are dressed in a mishmash of sports gear, from Jacob’s Arsenal shirt– which must be galling for Craig– to Elliot’s black running vest, all nod in agreement.
‘Good, then let’s get warmed up and after that we’ll work our way through short passes, long passes and set pieces. We’ll do some body conditioning work at the end, but I expect each of you to take responsibility for your own physical fitness. Over the next couple of sessions I’ll be drawing up an individual programme for each of you to work on in your own time, at the gym if you have access to one, at home if you don’t. We’re already close to the end of May, which means we’ve got about seventy-five days to prepare before the first game of the season. Let’s make them all count.’
I make a mental note to approach the local gyms about potential player discounts– then nearly jump out of my skin as Dad’s phone starts shrilling in his hand. Cassie shoots an unimpressed look our way, and he raises a hand in apology before excusing himself to take the call.
‘And one more thing,’ Cassie says sternly, turning back to the players. ‘Absolutely no phones at training. Your penalty is laps. We’ll start with two now. Let’s go!’
As they head off round the perimeter, I double-check mine’s on silent. I’m going to be filming a lot of the session, so there’s an exception to the phone rule for me. But I don’t want to interrupt Cassie’s flow again.
Dad is still not back by the time she has warmed the players up and started them on shadowing practice. I didn’t think anything would take him away from watching the session today so it must be serious. But I put it out of my mind so I can stay focused on filming the nominated followers trying to stay within a metre of their leaders.
I’m so absorbed that I don’t look up when someone moves in beside me and says, ‘They don’t look too shabby.’ It’s not Dad’s voice, but we did tell Barbour and a few of our other supporters that they were welcome to come and watch, thinking it might help the team get used to playing in front of spectators. It’s not Barbour either, though– it’s not a voice I’m familiar with.
‘If she can just get them to stop trying to outdo each other, like they’re still at the tryouts, and get them to work together as a team...’ the man continues, which instantly gets my back up. It’s Cassie’s first adult training session and I won’t hear a bad word said about it.
‘And what makes you such an expert?’ I snap, spinning round to face him. And I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced the sensation where it feels like all your hair follicles have been sprayed with deep freeze, but that’s how my body reacts when I realise it’s not, as I’m expecting, an opinionated former Hamcott Park fan or even one of the academy staff standing next to me and sharing their unwanted point of view. It’s disgraced Millford City footballer Ben Pryce. Here. At Upper Hamcott Academy. At least I think it is.
He has a cap pulled down low over his face, so I peer a little harder. Yes, it’s definitely him. On a second glance, there’s no mistaking those dusty blonde curls or his tall, lean body. But what on earth is he doing here?
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he tells me he may have had a bit of experience of training with a football team and I’m momentarily lost for words. I should probably mention at this point that Ben could be a catwalk model if he wasn’t a footballer. He’s impossibly good-looking– even more so than in the photos I’ve seen of him online and in the papers. No wonder he gets pictured with a different girl every other week.
‘You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here,’ he adds, as if he can read my mind. ‘My brother’s on your team, but I’m guessing he probably hasn’t told you that. He’d hate anyone to think he got his place because of who he is, not what he can do.’
Of course. Bailey Pryce, with a y. It never occurred to me they have the same surname.
‘He told me spectators are welcome,’ Ben continues, ‘and I’ve got a fair bit of time on my hands at the moment, so I thought I’d swing by to see how he’s getting on. Unless he was wrong about the spectator part, that is?’
‘Not at all, and thank you for your observations,’ I finally manage, hoping he can’t tell how rattled I am, even if my cheeks are clearly on fire. ‘But it’s day one, so we’re not expecting the team to be perfect yet.’
‘Can you tell me anything about them as individuals?’ he asks. ‘You know, from what you’ve seen so far.’
And a small part of me wants to say it’s none of his business, but another part of me wants to carry on talking so I’ve got an excuse to sneak another look at him. Plus it’s not like I’ve got anything bad to say about anyone, so what harm could it do?
‘Well, we’ve got Jamie over there– he’s been chasing balls around since before he could walk. He’ll be playing up front,’ I tell him, resisting the urge to fan my face. I don’t want to draw attention to how flushed it is. ‘And Nico, in the green top there, is such a ball of energy. He’s unbelievably competitive, but we think that will fire the others up when we get to playing matches.’
Ben nods and waits for me to continue, so I plough on, inexplicably feeling the need to prove to him that I’m well acquainted with all our players, even if it’s not entirely true yet.
‘Aaron, on the left there, he’s used to playing five-a-side, so we need to work on his fitness a bit. And I’d say we’ve got some work to do with Scott on his confidence, but overall we’re very happy with our choices. We have faith in everybody on the team.’
‘Including my brother?’
‘Absolutely.’ But then I hesitate.
‘Tell me,’ Ben says, and I debate how honest to be. In the end I decide to go with the truth.
‘It’s nothing to do with his ball skills– that’s clearly something that runs in the family. But I do worry that when he comes up against some of the bigger opponents in a tackle, they’re going to send him flying. He’s fast enough to be able to dodge the majority, but when they see what a threat he is in the midfield there’s always the risk the opposition might start targeting him.’
Ben nods again, but doesn’t agree or disagree. Instead he changes the subject entirely and asks, ‘So how do you think your coach is going to cope surrounded by all that testosterone?’
Which instantly makes me bristle as it occurs to me that this bad boy of football, with a somewhat shady reputation with the ladies, might really just be here because his brother’s told him there’s a hot female coach. Well, he’ll be disappointed if that’s the case. Cassie would never leave her fiancé, no matter how tempting the proposition might be.
‘You don’t need to worry about her,’ I reply tersely. ‘She’s no wallflower.’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it.’ He holds his hands up to mollify me. ‘But I was wondering, all the same, if perhaps I could offer her some assistance.’
‘Because you’re a man, so you think you know better than her?’ I snap, still on the defensive.
‘Because three years in the Premier League has taught me a few things,’ he counters. ‘And I’d be happy to share what I know with the team.’
I eye him suspiciously, with no idea what to make of him. I still want to put this down to arrogance, and yet it doesn’t come across that way. ‘Why?’ I ask sharply.
‘Why don’t we discuss that over a drink?’ he suggests, so casually I think I must have misheard him.
‘A drink,’ I repeat, ignoring the fluttering sensation this sets off in my stomach. ‘With you?’
He chuckles. ‘You’re not scared it would tarnish your reputation, are you?’
Well yes, of course I am. I’m not about to join his list of conquests.
‘Pity,’ he says. ‘I didn’t have you figured for a wallflower either.’
‘I’m not!’ I protest, increasingly flummoxed by this turn in the conversation. ‘But I’d rather be tackled by Roy Keane than be seen out with you!’
‘Roy sends his apologies but he’s got other plans this evening,’ he fires back, with an infuriating grin. ‘So I guess I’ll have to do.’
‘I’ve got other plans as well. I’ve got lots of... lots of important things to do.’ Not that I can think of a single one of them all of a sudden. It annoys me that I sound so flustered. What the hell is wrong with me?
‘More important than talking about football with someone who knows a fair bit about it over a pint and a bowl of chips?’ he asks, his tone mock incredulous.
My mind goes completely blank under the gaze he’s now directing at me and I can’t think of a single comeback. He pretends to thumb through an invisible dictionary. ‘Let me just check that definition of wallflower. Oh yes. Shies away from opportunities ...’
‘Fine,’ I snap. I suppose I might as well hear what he has to say. ‘But you’re buying.’
He turns back to face the pitch with a smile still on his face, while my brain screams at me, What just happened? Did Ben Pryce, Premier League footballer, occasional sports brand promoter, full-time lothario, really just suggest we go for a drink– and I agreed?
‘I don’t want my dad to know,’ I blurt out, glancing back at where he’s still pacing in the distance. Whatever’s going on, he’s got enough on his mind this evening without me throwing this into the mix. I already know he wouldn’t approve.
‘Fine with me,’ Ben says. ‘I’ll wait for you in my car round the corner when the session wraps up. I’m used to sneaking off without people seeing.’
And then, without another word, he heads back towards the exit, leaving my mind in a whirl as I force myself to keep my eyes on the Crawford players and not look over my shoulder and watch him go. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone were to tell me I’d imagined the whole thing, particularly as it seems like everyone else was too busy to have even noticed him.
Dad reappears not long after that and I finally get to find out what was more important than watching Cassie put the team through their paces.
‘It was the financial adviser I’ve been waiting to hear back from,’ he explains. ‘To talk about loan options. Not the greatest timing, eh?’
‘What was the verdict?’ I ask.
‘There are a few different ones to consider. I need to go over it all carefully. Not tonight though. Right now I just want to watch the rest of this then grab a pint at The Fox, if you fancy it?’
‘I’m sorry, Dad. I told Phoebs I’d nip round there to run through some course notes,’ I fib, although I’m already thinking that might be a better idea than going for this drink with Ben. Now he’s not in front of me, I can think more clearly. Yes, he’s hot– and yes it would probably be an interesting conversation– but I don’t think he’s the kind of person I should be associating myself with. Not when he’s mostly known for having a combative nature and womanising– which, if they knew what I’d agreed to, Dad and Cassie would be the first to remind me.
‘No problem. Your revision’s more important,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll see if Cassie’s interested, and if not I think Barbour said he was heading over.’
We mostly chat about the players after that, until it’s time to thank them all for their hard work at the end of a spirited first session. Cassie’s cheeks are flushed and I can tell she’s pleased with how it went– her eyes are positively glowing.
We take our time saying goodbye to everyone. We want to make sure they all know how much we appreciate them putting their faith in us and committing to being here. I’m conscious that with it taking so long, it’s unlikely Ben will still be waiting for me but, to be honest, I’m okay with that. If he hasn’t hung around, it saves me from having to put my reservations about him aside so I can find out whether he has any useful advice regarding the team.
Cassie turns down Dad’s invitation to The Fox because she wants to catch up with her fiancé, so after a quick discussion about the evening– the general consensus being that it was a success– Dad heads in that direction alone.
‘You head off too,’ Cassie says. ‘It’ll only take me two minutes to load up the car.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It’ll help bring me back down to earth a bit,’ she insists.
So I leave the academy in the opposite direction to Dad, having decided to forget about the drink with Ben. It was a stupid thing to agree to anyway. But while I’m halfway through texting Phoebs to see if I can pop by– I know she’s just at home studying– a set of headlights flashes me twice and I realise it’s Ben letting me know which car he’s in.