11
I’m momentarily frozen with indecision– because I suspect Ben’s real motive for asking me to go for a drink with him is to boost his already inflated ego. But despite that, it’s hard not to feel flattered on some level that he’s waited for me.
I haven’t forgotten that tingle I got from the way he looked at me earlier either– but I’d be willing to bet it’s the same look he gives every girl he talks to, which would explain why he ends up with so many of them. He probably practises it in the mirror.
So no, I tell myself, I won’t go for this drink, even if his intention was also to talk about football. He’s clearly used to everything going the way he wants it to and I’m not about to reinforce that for him. Too polite to leave him hanging though, I walk over to his open window to let him know I’ve changed my mind.
‘I thought I’d been stood up,’ he says with a warm smile as I approach.
‘There’s been a change of plan.’
‘You want to take your car instead?’ he surmises.
I’m not sure it even occurs to him that I might have decided not to go. He probably doesn’t get turned down very often, if ever.
‘I don’t mind driving, honestly,’ he adds. ‘The pub I was thinking of is only ten minutes from here. It’s really quiet– I think you’ll like it. No one will bother us there.’
Ignoring my irritation at the presumption that he has any idea what I might like, I can’t help replying, ‘Is that where you take all the girls?’
He laughs. ‘On the contrary, most of them want the whole world to know they’re going on a date with me.’
Which pulls me off my high horse and makes me feel a bit sorry for him. I guess it goes with the territory when he’s usually out with models and reality stars, but it must be hard never knowing if someone wants to date you because of who you are rather than how much publicity you can bring them. Not that this would have been a date, of course.
‘I thought it would be a good choice given that you don’t seem to want anyone to see us together,’ Ben says as he reaches across and pushes open the passenger door. He looks at me expectantly. ‘So are you coming?’
It feels too awkward to say no now the door’s hanging open, so with a sigh I tell myself just one drink will be tolerable. I can put my misgivings on hold so long as I think of it as something I’m doing for the possible benefit of the team. At least if the pub is as empty as he says it will be, I don’t have to worry about getting spotted by anyone.
I fire off a quick text to Phoebs as he pulls away from the kerb, to let her know Dad thinks I’m at hers. ‘Just in case he asks how our revision night went next time you’re round,’ I type.
‘OMG are you shagging one of the players already?’she writes back. ‘Unbelievable. You haven’t even introduced me to them yet.’
This makes me laugh. ‘Nooo, nothing like that. I’ll explain later, okay?’
‘This better be good,’she replies.
I know she’ll think it’s worth missing another study night for.
‘Everything okay?’ Ben asks. ‘Something to do with the change of plan?’
‘Just my best friend jumping to the wrong conclusion as always,’ I tell him. And then, for reasons I can’t explain– perhaps because I still can’t quite believe I’m on my way to a pub with a Premier League footballer for a casual chat about our mutual love of the game– I’m hit by a sudden attack of honesty. ‘She thought I must be hooking up with someone from the team.’
‘Would you?’ he asks.
‘No! That would be so inappropriate.’
‘You’ve come out with me.’
‘You’re not part of Crawford. And we’re not about to hook up.’
‘I’ll ring ahead and cancel the candles.’ I whip my head round to look at him, but he’s grinning. ‘I’m just kidding. But I could be part of Crawford... if you let me help coach the team. I meant what I said before, you know– I’ve got plenty of time on my hands.’
I study his face while he’s concentrating on the road and try to picture what it would be like to have him at training every week. From a purely aesthetic perspective, I can’t say I’d find it too hard to get used to. There is the slight matter of why he’s not currently playing at Millford to be considered though.
‘I can suggest it to the others, but I don’t know what they’ll say,’ I tell him. They’re well aware of his reputation, so I can hardly imagine them welcoming him with open arms.
Ben doesn’t seem to have any such qualms though. ‘I think they’ll say, “See you on Thursday,”’ he replies with a self-assuredness it’s hard not be drawn to.
He eventually pulls up in front of a small pub on a residential street that looks like it used to be someone’s front room. Inside, there’s a row of men sitting on stools in front of the bar and I’d say their average age is well over sixty. They don’t seem remotely interested in his arrival, which, I guess, is exactly why Ben comes here. It certainly isn’t for the decor. The walls don’t appear to have been painted for several decades. There’s a lot of burgundy. It’s not what I was expecting.
‘They don’t play music so it doesn’t appeal to anyone else under the age of thirty,’ Ben explains. ‘But the beer’s good and the landlady’s a friend of my dad’s– and you can always get a seat.’ He nods towards the two empty tables on either side of the room.
‘All right, Ben, pint of the usual?’ the landlady asks from behind the bar. When he gives her the thumbs up, she adds, ‘And for you, love?’
‘I’ll take the same,’ I confirm.
This gets a nod of approval. ‘I’ll bring ’em over. You choose yourselves a spot.’
‘Don’t say I don’t take you to all the best places,’ Ben jokes as he holds out a rickety chair for me, which wobbles ominously when I sit on it. ‘Oh, and maybe don’t go to the loo until you get home, unless you’re desperate. They’re a bit—’ He crinkles his nose up.
‘Oi, I heard that,’ the landlady interrupts as she puts our drinks down on the table. ‘You might be used to all that fancy stuff now, but don’t ever forget where you came from.’
‘As if you’d let me.’ Ben grins up at her. ‘And anyway, you know I love it here really.’
She huffs and walks away.
‘So, where were we?’ Ben asks, turning back to face me.
And despite my scepticism about him, we fall into a surprisingly easy conversation about Crawford United and how much he admires what we’re doing and how happy he is that Bailey has finally got a break.
‘He’s such a good footballer; he just never pushed himself as hard as I did. He used to worry he wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of always needing to win. But now he’s watched me having some shockers and seen that I’ve survived it, he’s more comfortable with the idea of just rolling with the breaks. Although of course it’s always much better when you win.’
He asks how I got into football– Dad’s doing, of course– and reveals why he did. ‘It was that or learning guitar to impress the girls. And I’m shit at guitar,’ he admits.
It’s while I’m laughing at this that I realise I’m actually enjoying his company and struggling to reconcile the person I’m sitting opposite with the one who’s essentially on suspension for an act of aggression. I know this is a very different environment to the noise and adrenaline of a football pitch, but he seems so laid-back. It’s hard to imagine him getting angry about anything.
He surprises me again when I ask him what he does when he’s not playing football. I thought he might say something like playing golf or video games, but he tells me he’s just finished a degree in computer science.
Noticing the rise in my eyebrows, he asks, ‘Did you have me down as a high school dropout?’
‘Not at all. It just seems like a lot to take on alongside a football career. Although I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if you’d told me you were expelled for flirting with the teachers.’
He laughs. ‘I did have to do my degree remotely. I couldn’t have all the professors swooning in my lectures. You know what it’s like.’
I’m not sure if he means literally. If he does, it’s a very nice compliment.
‘I got a two-one,’ he adds. ‘Not just a pretty face. But in all seriousness, I worked hard for it. I know the football isn’t going to last forever and I didn’t want to get to the end of it without a plan B.’
‘Oh God.’ I clap my hand up to my face.
‘What?’ He sounds alarmed.
‘After all the things they’ve said about you in the papers, I didn’t realise your deepest, darkest secret would be that you’re sensible.’
He cracks up at this. ‘It’s not something I’ve ever been accused of. But I’m not the loose cannon they’ve made me out to be either. They create their own reality when they don’t know all the facts, so you can’t believe everything you read.’
‘That must be hard.’ I certainly hope it never happens to anyone at Crawford.
‘The people who count know I’m not a bad person. I fucked up for sure, but I had my reasons. It certainly won’t happen again. I’m just going to have to ask you to trust me on that.’
There’s a pause then, while I contemplate it, until I realise I’m probably looking at him a little too intensely. He really does have a very nice face and I need to stop staring at it. He doesn’t seem fazed, though– I imagine he’s used to it.
‘So do you want to stay for one more?’ he asks, nodding his head towards my nearly empty glass.
And I find that I do. He’s such easy company I could chat to him for hours. But I haven’t completely forgotten that I came here specifically to talk about Crawford United, so I request just a half this time and tell him it’s so I can remember all the good advice he’s about to pass on to me.
‘Now who’s the sensible one?’ he says with a grin.
But I flip this back at him when he orders himself a sparkling water, even if it is because he’s driving. He tells me he doesn’t usually drink at all during football season– it’s only during the summer break that he occasionally indulges.
We end up staying till closing time, the minutes slipping away as we talk about match strategy, team bonding and training regimes. By the time the final bell rings and Ben excuses himself to brave the bathroom before we leave, I’ve come round to thinking that he could indeed be quite handy to have at Crawford’s training sessions.
The landlady comes over to collect our empties and tells me, with a conspiratorial wink, that she’s never known Ben to bring a girl here before. This takes me by surprise, but I don’t really know what to make of it. Should I feel privileged that he’s shown me a bit of what I suspect might the real him away from the glare of the Premier League? Insulted that he didn’t think I was worthy of a swankier venue? Or should I not be reading anything into it? There may have been some flirty banter throughout the evening, but I think that’s just the way Ben is.
If tonight was about persuading me there’s more to him than the temperamental attention-seeker he’s been described as in the press recently, then he’s done a good job of it. But my main takeaway is what I think he could bring to Crawford United– if Dad and Cassie will let him.