17
I really have to fight with myself not to get to Ben’s too early ahead of our grand day out. While he will have been busy in his gym since the crack of dawn, I’ve shaved my legs, painted my nails, plucked my eyebrows, styled my hair, worked my way through multiple outfits before settling on jeans and still had time to pace round my room for over an hour. I can’t wait to get round there.
It’s not that I’ve forgotten his questionable pitchside behaviour or the fact that he’s only in Hamcott temporarily, but I’ve decided not to dwell on it and just enjoy it for what it is, happy now in the knowledge that the attraction is mutual and that, although I might be the latest addition to his list, from what he’s said that list is nowhere near as long as everyone imagines it to be.
Yesterday’s exams– effective leadership and managing change in the morning, data analytics and financial decision-making in the afternoon– were predictably tough, and afterwards Phoebs and I went back to the Mexican, having decided it should be our wind-down routine on all our exam days.
While we were waiting for our tacos I admitted I was worried about my grades, but she was full of reassurance. ‘I know you want to get a first, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t score a hundred per cent– a degree’s a degree.’
Then she confessed she hadn’t been studying quite as hard as I thought she had either– after she dropped me at Ben’s on Tuesday she decided to invite herself to Craig’s. ‘Then I kind of didn’t leave till the morning,’ she said, grinning as she told me she’d already planned his next post-training warm-down.
I might not be Craig’s number-one fan, but if this makes her even half as happy as I feel about seeing Ben then I can keep my opinions to myself.
Ben is fresh out of the shower and bouncing with energy when I get to his, only seven minutes ahead of our agreed meeting time. He still smells of soap as he pulls me towards him for a kiss.
‘Do you fancy going for a drive today?’ he asks.
‘Sure, where to?’
‘Down to the coast? I’ve not had a chance to take my little roadster out for a spin yet this year, and I reckon we could get away with putting the top down today, if you don’t mind a bit of wind and noise, that is.’
‘I think I can manage.’
‘Great.’ He pulls a bulging bag from the fridge and admits he’s already made a picnic. ‘I’ll find a jumper you can borrow too. Your legs will be warm enough in those jeans, but your T-shirt probably won’t cut it.’
He digs out a pair of socks too, in case I want to slip them on instead of the gold strappy sandals I’m wearing.
The car is a pale blue 1950s Mercedes convertible, which looks as good as new despite its vintage. ‘I love her– she’s got so much more character than that modern box you usually see me driving,’ Ben says proudly. ‘Your hair might get a bit messed up and it does make conversation a little limited, but I hope you’ll agree it’s worth it.’
I nod, feeling excited. ‘Let’s do it.’
It only occurs to me as we speed away from his house that I didn’t ask exactly where we’re going. It could be anywhere between Bournemouth and Broadstairs, but luckily I like surprises, so I decide to just wait and see. As the shops and houses of Hamcott are replaced by the fields and forests of the Surrey countryside, it feels like we’re setting off on an adventure that could take us anywhere.
Ben reaches across and squeezes my leg periodically to check I’m okay, but I think the grin I can’t wipe off my face tells him I’m loving every minute.
We eventually arrive in Deal on the Kent coast and Ben finds a parking spot on a road right next to the sea. He retrieves the picnic from the boot and we wander across the pebbles to a stretch of beach where there are just two other couples making the most of the sunshine.
‘This’ll do,’ he says, unfurling a blanket and spreading it over the stones. ‘We shouldn’t get bothered by anyone here.’
He doesn’t want me to have to deal with any unwanted intrusions, which he says are more likely now his name’s been back in the press, even if it is for positive reasons this time.
‘They usually just want me to sign something or pose for a selfie, but it can still feel quite invasive when you’re not used to it,’ he tells me.
He starts pulling pots from the cool bag and laying them out on the rug.
‘Are we expecting friends?’ I ask, my eyes widening.
He looks down at the spread and laughs. ‘I have gone a bit overboard, haven’t I? I wanted to make sure I covered all the bases so there’d definitely be something you wanted to eat.’
‘I eat everything!’
‘I should have just asked you. But we can chuck whatever’s left back in the cool bag. It’s good for twenty-four hours so it won’t go to waste. We can always have the leftovers for dinner.’
Which is fine by me– the assortment of salads and cold pasta dishes looks amazing.
There’s a half bottle of wine too, but despite how organised the rest of the picnic is, Ben has forgotten to bring cups. ‘How do you feel about swigging wine out of a bottle?’ he asks.
I can’t help laughing. ‘My favourite way to enjoy a chilled rosé.’
He hands me a plastic plate. ‘At least I remembered forks.’
While we eat, we watch two paddleboarders wobbling unsteadily on their boards until they both fall into the sea. They’re giggling as they scramble back up, only to topple over again almost immediately.
‘Ever tried that?’ Ben asks.
‘Only on a very flat lake, which must be a lot easier because I didn’t fall off once.’
‘It’s more fun when you’ve got a few waves to contend with. Next time we come to the coast, I’ll chuck my boards in the car– you can see for yourself.’
Next time. The words send a shiver of excitement through me. Against the odds, could this actually turn into something lasting?
‘Yet again I’m wishing I’d worn my bikini,’ I admit, after we’ve packed away the excess food. It’s far warmer than the forecast suggested, not that I knew we were coming to the coast.
Ben looks from me to the water then back to me with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
‘There was no one around last time,’ I remind him, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘They won’t be able to tell from over there whether you’re wearing a bra or a bikini,’ he says. ‘Unless you’ve gone commando. But I assume not– that would not be comfortable under jeans.’
‘I haven’t, but I’m not sure my knickers won’t be see-through.’ They’re pale blue and unsurprisingly I’ve never worn them when they’re wet.
‘I’m not sure my boxer elastic is up to the task, either, but I’m willing to risk it,’ he says.
It’s enough to have me pulling my T-shirt up over my head. I will crack up if they end up floating down round his ankles.
‘Is this becoming our thing?’ I ask as we scramble out of our jeans.
‘There are worse things that could be our thing,’ he points out. So true.
‘And I presume it’s another race into the water?’ I check.
‘If you insist.’ Said with his usual grin.
But no sooner has he taken off across the shingle than he stops and turns back to me with a pained expression on his face. ‘Bloody hell, I’d forgotten how brutal these stones are on your feet. Let me give you a piggyback. We’ll call this one a draw.’
I don’t feel very sexy jiggling up and down against his back as he starts off across the beach again, but it’s a really sweet thing for him to do for me.
As Ben’s toes hit the water, he shudders and says, ‘I hope you’re ready for this.’
‘Is it cold?’ A silly question– it’s not the Med.
‘I’d like to say refreshing but I’m going to shoot for ball-numbing,’ he warns.
‘Maybe I’ll just head back and wait with our stuff on the beach.’
But he doesn’t release me– he’s already thigh-deep, the chilly water creeping up over my ankles. ‘On three?’ he asks.
‘Oh boy.’ I take a deep breath.
‘One, two...’
I shriek as he plunges us both into the waves.
Once the shock has subsided, it’s not as bad as he made it out to be. And when he wraps his arms around me I forget about the cold altogether. We kiss for a long time, tasting the salt on each other’s lips, and I forget about the other people on the beach too.
Once he’s established that his boxers will in fact stay in place, he shows off with handstands under the water. It’s only when we head back up the beach after a lazy swim that we remember we don’t have towels with us, so we stretch out on the pebbles to dry off, enjoying the warmth of the stones against our skin.
‘Could you see yourself ever properly dating a footballer?’ Ben asks, rolling on to his side to face me.
I turn my head towards him. ‘With all those lonely Saturdays and score-related mood swings?’ I don’t know why these are the first things that pop into my head, rather than thinking about why he might be asking.
‘I know it’s not ideal with all the weekends away and the strict regimes to contend with. And there’s the odd story in the media, but you do get used to ignoring them pretty quickly and it’s not like I’m on the same scale as David Beckham. On the flipside there’s the long summer break, the days off after match days and we don’t train round the clock twenty-four-seven. There is time for all the fun stuff as well,’ he says.
And the penny finally drops when I see how earnestly he’s looking at me. ‘Are you saying you want me to be your girlfriend?’
‘I want you to know I’m not just messing around. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I really like you, Lily. So what do you reckon? Do you think you could put up with all my madness on a more official basis?’
All thoughts of this just being a summer fling fly out of my head. ‘Well I do very much like all the fun stuff,’ I tell him.
He mini punches the air and whispers, ‘I think that’s a yes.’
I wriggle closer to him. ‘It’s a definite yes.’
He leans in to kiss me. ‘Does this mean I no longer have to keep my distance from you at the academy?’ he asks. ‘It’s so hard trying to make out like I don’t fancy the pants off you.’
But I still think we should stay under the radar and I tell him as much. Some people– Dad and Cassie specifically– might not be so cool with it, and I don’t want anyone else on the team to think I’m unprofessional. So Ben promises to behave himself and not give anything away.
Once we’re dry, we put our clothes back on and go for a stroll, hand in hand, along the coastal path, and I ask Ben which of the houses he’d want to live in if he didn’t have the Whitehouse, my nickname for his Redmarsh mansion. He picks a modern detached structure with a mostly glass front and a huge south-facing terrace on the first floor, giving a perfect view of the sea.
‘I’d choose that one for the balcony alone,’ he explains. ‘Imagine having a coffee there in the morning, a glass of wine to watch the sunset.’
‘For the six weeks when it’s warm enough.’
He laughs. ‘There’d be eight or nine at least. It doesn’t make me want to move abroad though. The weather might be better but I like the fact that I can pop home from Millford whenever I have time to. I couldn’t do that if I played for a club overseas.’
‘It’s not something I’ve ever seriously considered either. I do love holidays, but I didn’t even move to a different city for university. I’m pretty sure I’d get homesick.’
‘How much do you reckon a place like that would cost?’ he asks, still looking at the terrace. ‘It must be a lot– I suspect even I’d need a lottery win.’
‘Let’s buy a EuroMillions ticket, pick half the numbers each and split the winnings,’ I suggest. ‘You can buy this place. I’ll cover Crawford’s running costs for the next ten years.’
‘You’re on,’ he says with a grin. ‘Next shop we see.’
At the end of the long stretch of houses, we find a pub with tables and benches set out on the beach. We stop for a pint of orange and lemonade each– him because he’s driving and me because I’m already feeling giddy from the earlier wine and the fact that I’m now officially dating him.
I look around at the other customers. ‘Everyone seems so relaxed here. They all look so happy.’
‘Maybe we need a dog,’ he says, pointing out there’s one at almost every table.
‘I’d love one. It’s always been my retirement plan.’
‘Mine too, when life gets a bit more settled. I draw the line at matching anoraks, though,’ he says, nodding towards a couple with his and hers red cagoules. ‘Even when we’re seventy.’
I laugh, because I can’t believe he’s even joking about us being old together. ‘I think it’s sweet. But they were probably just on a two-for-one offer.’
‘It’s still a no,’ he says. ‘No matter how in love you might be.’
And I roll my eyes, but his use of the L word doesn’t escape me.