19
Hard as it is to force myself to be sensible after that realisation, a whole week passes before I get to be alone with Ben again. Although we see each other at Crawford United’s Saturday social and the two midweek training sessions, we reluctantly agree not to sneak off together afterwards until my last two exams are done and dusted. I desperately need to do some last-minute cramming.
We FaceTime each other daily though, which alleviates any fears I might have had about him backing off now I’ve slept with him, and we make plans for a romantic night at his house on Friday that he promises will feel even more special after the seven-day wait.
Wednesday’s paper on strategic human resources management doesn’t cause me too much trouble, but my confidence dips again come Friday morning. As global communication in the digital age is a fairly new module for the university, there aren’t many past papers kicking around, which makes it far harder to predict which questions might come up. But I try not to fret about it and just focus on how good it will be to be reunited with Ben afterwards.
He texts me while I’m on my way to knock for Phoebs so we can walk to the examination hall together. ‘How do you feel about an evening out on the town tonight instead of coming to mine? Get our glad rags on and properly celebrate the end of your exams?’
‘Where are you thinking?’I type back, thinking perhaps I should actually do something special to mark my last day of being a student and that I’ll still be able to have him to myself back at his place afterwards.
‘I’ll surprise you. My treat. Can you be ready for seven?’he writes.
‘Of course.’My exam will be over by five, so I’ll even have time for a quick drink at the Mexican with Phoebs before I go home to get ready– holding the tacos this time as I’m sure Ben’s plan will involve food.
He tells me he’ll message me again later to check the coast is clear before he comes to collect me and wishes me luck in the meantime. I debate whether I should just come clean to Dad about our relationship, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say I’m being foolish and I don’t want anyone to burst my bubble yet.
By the time I’m sitting at a desk in the exam hall, waiting for the invigilator to say we can turn our papers over, my stomach is twisting at the thought of the three hours ahead. And it really does turn out to be my worst nightmare. Of the six questions we have to answer, only one relates to a subject I went over this morning, and another two are about things our course barely touched on, which hardly seems fair.
I glance across at Phoebs on the desk alongside mine and she mouths ‘what the fuck?’ at me. It doesn’t make me feel any better. If she’s thinking that, even with all the work she’s been putting in, I don’t see how I’m going to stand a chance of doing well. I turn back to my paper and scribble down anything I can think of that might be deemed relevant.
‘That was a stinker,’ Phoebs complains afterwards, when we’re sipping mango margaritas at the Mexican. ‘I wanted to end today on a high but I’m really pissed off. Who even came up with those questions? There are so many other things they could have asked us.’
‘I’m holding on to the fact that we both thought economics was a disaster last year, but we both passed that,’ I admit.
‘I guess we’ll find out in six weeks,’ she huffs. That’s when the results come out. ‘At least Craig can take my mind off it later. I’m going to nip round to his when you go off to meet Ben.’
‘You’re seeing quite a lot of him, for someone you’re not in a relationship with,’ I point out.
‘The sex is fun.’ She shrugs. ‘But I’m only twenty-one. I don’t need to find someone who’s boyfriend material yet.’
As we toast the end of our university adventures, she asks if I’ve thought any more about what I’m going to do next. She’s applied for six jobs already and can’t wait to get a foot on the career ladder.
I’m glad to have a bit of breathing space before I have to look for paid work. Dad is happy to support me while I’m ploughing my time into Crawford United, my latest task being to finalise all the player contracts. It might not be doing anything for my bank balance, but I do think having this experience on my CV will ultimately make me more employable than a lot of graduates.
‘Do you reckon you’ll end up working at one of the big football clubs?’ Phoebs asks. ‘Now you’ve started out along that path.’
‘Maybe, but my real dream would be for Crawford’s ticket sales to generate enough revenue for me to stay working there. As a paid employee, I mean.’
She clearly thinks this is madness. ‘Surely it would be more interesting to be somewhere like Arsenal, where there’s more of a challenge. Bigger budgets, tougher decisions. Craig said he’d go back at the drop of a hat.’
She realises she probably shouldn’t have said this as soon as it’s out of her mouth. ‘Not that he isn’t loyal to Crawford,’ she adds hurriedly, seeing how unimpressed I am. ‘He’s really grateful to be playing for you. All I’m saying is, at some point some of your players will probably start thinking about career progression and earning potential– I just think you should keep that in mind for yourself as well.’
I don’t know why this hits such a nerve. Probably because Crawford is only just finding its feet so I don’t want to already be thinking about the possibility of our players using it as a stepping stone to get into a better squad.
‘Maybe let us at least get a season under our belts before you have all our players leaving and me managing a club a hundred times Crawford’s size,’ I suggest.
She cringes. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive. I know Crawford means a lot to you– and to your dad. I was just... no, let’s talk about something else. Tell me more about your big night out with Ben this evening. You said it was somewhere fancy. Have you got an outfit planned?’
I admit I haven’t got a clue what to wear. Something tells me Ben would say I looked gorgeous even if I turned up in the hoodie and leggings I’m in now, but I want it to be something that makes me feel sexy. As we finish our drinks, Phoebs gives me her top three suggestions from what she’s seen in my wardrobe, then we say our goodbyes so I can head home and decide on my favourite.
What I end up in is a midnight blue Grecian-style minidress I bought a couple of years ago to wear to one of my cousin’s weddings, with gold hoop earrings and my trusty gold sandals for that extra bit of glamour. And Ben does shower me with compliments– sort of– when I climb into the taxi he picks me up in.
He kisses me and tells me he had no idea I could scrub up so well, but he’s laughing as he says it and I tell him, as I mock punch him on the arm, that he could have made more effort himself. In reality he looks gorgeous in a slim-fitting black shirt tucked into smart grey trousers with white trainers on his feet.
‘So where are we headed?’ I ask.
‘Chelsea,’ he replies, but he doesn’t elaborate. He takes my hand and asks how I got on with the exam today and I admit it didn’t go brilliantly. But I know he’s right when he says there’s nothing to be gained by worrying about it now. I can’t turn the clock back so I might as well forget about it and just enjoy myself.
It’s only when we pull up outside Gordon Ramsay that he tells me this is where we’ll be spending the evening. ‘So I hope you’re hungry,’ he says, his grin expanding.
‘Are you serious?’ My eyes are wide. First of all, I thought places like this usually have a three-month waiting list. But more than that I can’t believe he’s remembered from our frisbee game that this was my number-one request.
‘But you didn’t lose the triathlon,’ is all I can think of to say.
‘No matter. I quite fancied checking it out myself and I managed to get us in on a cancellation.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘I’m looking forward to it. I’ve read only good things.’
The dining area feels sophisticated without being stuffy– white tablecloths, simple table settings, low-key decor. It’s not as grand as I thought it might be, but perhaps that’s because they don’t want anything to outdo the food, which is exquisitely presented and filled with flavour. From the lobster ravioli in a perfect circle of foamy sauce and topped with edible petals to the neatly stacked tower of sweetness in the pecan praline parfait, every dish is delicious, not to mention photogenic.
I tell Ben I’m going to have to get Dad to up his game. While he often comes up with a tasty new creation, it invariably looks like it was just dropped onto the plate.
‘Maybe he needs a lady in his life– someone he wants to impress,’ Ben says.
‘Dad?’ I can’t imagine it. He’s been single since Mum left.
Unless he hasn’t, and I’m not the only one who’s been keeping my love life to myself. It is possible that on some of the nights when he said he was meeting his football buddies, he was actually on a date. But no, I can’t imagine it and I’m sure he would have told me. ‘I think the only long-term relationship he’s interested in right now is with Crawford United.’
Ben laughs. ‘No shame in that. As you know, it does require a lot of time and dedication.’
I tell him about my conversation with Phoebs earlier and her suggestion that I perhaps could do better. ‘She seemed to think I should be more ambitious.’
‘More ambitious than setting up your own football club from scratch?’
‘She was talking about me getting a job with a Premier League team– you know, where the pay might be better. But I really want to see it through with Crawford, even if it fails.’
He reaches across the table and threads his fingers through mine. ‘You only get so many chances to follow your dreams so I don’t think you should worry about what Phoebs said. And besides, Crawford’s not going to fail with you, Mike and Cassie behind it– because the three of you won’t let it.’
It warms my heart to know he has such faith in us.
‘Of course if you did ever decide you want to do something different, and I say this purely selfishly, I could always check if there were any vacancies at Millford City,’ he says.
‘So you can see me every day?’
I’m only half serious when I say it, but he grins and says, ‘I think I could get used to it.’
I’ve been trying not to think too much about what might happen when he goes back to Millford, whether this could work with him based up there and me down here. But I’m not ready to delve into that minefield just yet.
In the taxi home at the end of the night he confesses that while he loved every course of the meal, he still feels hungry. I guess that’s what happens when you burn through as many calories as he must do with the amount of training he still does every day.
But despite talk of rustling up a midnight snack, it’s quickly forgotten when we get back to his. With a week of pent-up desire boiling over in both of us, there are other things on our minds and a good few hours pass before we get any sleep.