22
With my exams out of the way, we see each other every day for the following fortnight. While Ben’s training in the mornings, I make sure Crawford’s accounts and membership register are up to date, liaise with the other clubs in the league about the match schedule for the upcoming season and look into setting up a couple of friendly games over the next month so we don’t end up playing our first competitive match having never faced another team.
Ben and I fall into a pattern of lazy afternoons by the pool, with sunny evenings spent walking hand in hand on Box Hill, driving down to the coast with Ben’s paddleboards or cuddled up on his sofa in front of a movie– although the latter invariably ends up with us kissing till we realise we’ve missed a good number of the key scenes.
We play the board game triathlon I suggested, which I win, and another three-part tournament involving shuffleboard, bowling and darts, which I don’t. He treats me to a chef-prepared fairy-lit dinner in his back garden for my victory. I buy him fish and chips in a newspaper to celebrate his. In my defence, the Ledbury was fully booked.
When we lie in bed with our arms wrapped round each other, it seems impossible that we’ve only known each other for a matter of weeks. I’ve never before felt so in tune with someone, who seems to think like I do and wants to do all the same things. I know, in normal relationship terms, this is more like how things might be six months or even a year in, but with the clock ticking till Ben goes back up north, there’s been a natural acceleration. And now it’s hard to imagine ever not wanting to be with him.
By now Dad has worked out I’ve got a new man in my life, from the number of nights I’m spending away from home, but he’s never been a prier so he doesn’t bring it up. It amazes me he hasn’t sussed out it’s Ben, even if we do try to be professional at training. But both he and Cassie are so absorbed in the players, I don’t think either of them notice how my cheeks glow whenever I’m standing near Ben.
There’s only one moment when we almost give the game away and that’s on the Saturday before the fundraiser, when Dad’s latest idea for building the bonds between the players involves heading to a golf club out of town for a game of footgolf, which is essentially like crazy golf but played with footballs on a much larger course with bigger holes.
On arrival, he tells us to split up into nine teams of three– with all the players plus himself and Cassie, Barbour, Ben and me making up the numbers. Bob and Marge are at a family party they felt they couldn’t miss. The game is simple– the teams take it in turns to hoof their ball towards the green and the aim is to get it in each of the nine holes with the lowest number of kicks.
I team up with Ben and Bailey, and when it’s our turn, being gentlemen, they insist I go first– and Ben falls about laughing when I chip the ball straight into the rough.
‘What was that?’ he half splutters, half squeaks.
‘Don’t be mean! I’m not a footballer!’ I give him a playful shove.
He can’t stop chuckling. ‘Yes, but you have seen a ball being kicked before?’
Bailey rolls his eyes at his brother. ‘Just ignore him– we can still rescue this,’ he says to me.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ben says, instinctively reaching for my hand and only dropping it when he remembers someone might see.
‘I don’t know why you two don’t just be open about it,’ Bailey says. ‘No one’s going to be bothered.’
‘I’m not sure my dad’s quite ready to be okay with it,’ I admit.
‘Lily, Bailey, Ben, you’re up,’ Dad shouts at that exact moment.
We look up to see the other teams have advanced a fair way up the field. Which has probably saved us from having to answer some awkward questions about the hand-holding.
‘Coming!’ Bailey shouts back before flicking the ball, as promised, out of the long grass and a decent distance in the direction I’d originally intended to kick it in. We’re still a bit behind the others but as Ben will take our next shot, we’ll soon be back in the running.
And things do level out over the next few holes. Thanks to the uneven ground and unruly tufts of grass, everyone has at least one misfire. Which is less frustrating for me than the actual players– having only ever kicked a ball around as a kid, I didn’t expect to be good at it.
Dad keeps track of the scores, so he can do a grand reveal in the bar afterwards, and to my surprise my team doesn’t come last. It’s Elliot, Bob and Caspian from the reserves who bring up the rear and their penalty is to pay for the first round.
‘Thanks, lads,’ Dad says, ignoring their groans. ‘Much appreciated.’
‘Are we hitting the driving range next?’ Elliot asks, nodding his head towards the line of bays outside the bar window. ‘Give me a chance to redeem myself.’
Several hopeful faces turn Dad’s way– mine included.
But when Dad checks with the reception desk, they’re fully booked. ‘So it’s back to plan A, a couple of beers then we’ll head back to Hamcott. Let’s just enjoy one of our last opportunities to have a pressure-free Saturday. The first game of the season is creeping up on us, so after next week’s fundraiser, it’ll be football all the way. It’s time to get serious.’
‘We’d better get another round in then,’ Aaron says, which is met with a chorus of cheers.
I get a cab home afterwards with Cassie and Dad, who’s in a particularly jovial mood. ‘You know, as much as I might have doubted Ben in the beginning, I have to hand it to him for recommending us to build up the team not just with football. I think these last few weekends have made a real difference. It feels like the lads are more than teammates now– they’re proper friends.’
‘Which can only be a good thing,’ Cassie agrees. ‘It’s going to get significantly tougher from this point forwards, so they’re going to need that strong foundation. Especially when Ben’s no longer here to help them see how important it is.’
I wonder if now is the time to confess that we’re dating, while they’re both feeling so positive towards him. But the reminder that he won’t be in Hamcott forever makes me think twice about it. Ben and I haven’t discussed what will happen when he goes back to Millford so, much as I don’t want to admit it to myself, there’s always the possibility I won’t even need to come clean.
His ears must be burning, because my phone pings with an incoming text from him, to tell me he’s got an idea for an evening adventure.
‘That your mystery man?’ Dad asks. ‘We promise not to bite if you let us meet him.’
But I’m already back to thinking I’ll cross that bridge later, and only once I know whether Ben is going to be in my life for as long as I want him to be.
Ben’s adventure involves another drive to the South Downs. He doesn’t tell me where we’re going till we pull up at a golf club high up in the hills, which has a driving range alongside its swanky clubhouse that faces out over a lush green valley.
‘I saw the look on your face when your dad said the bays were full earlier, so I thought you might like to come and have a little hit,’ he explains.
‘This is stunning.’ I look out at the hillside surrounding us. ‘It’s such an amazing spot for it.’
‘You’re welcome to share my clubs,’ he offers, ‘or we can borrow a set from inside. Mine are designed specifically for my height, so you might find them a bit awkward.’
‘Is now a good time to mention the reason I looked disappointed earlier is because I’ve never actually hit a golf ball before?’
‘Are you kidding? I thought...’
‘I’ve played mini golf and I do like that, but I haven’t ever tried the real thing.’
‘Then I’m even happier I brought you here. What a great place to start. And this is far more satisfying than mini golf once you get the hang of it. I’m not sure how good a teacher I’ll be but I can tell you some of the things my coach told me, to get you started.’
‘Your coach? Is this going to be another thing you’re a secret expert at then?’
‘I wouldn’t say I’m a pro, but I do have a respectable handicap.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Come on then. You’d better show me how’s it done.’
And he drives his first ball so far I can barely see where it’s gone, until it plops into the lake at the bottom of the valley.
I have a go after that, to see if I have any natural talent before he starts trying to guide me. I don’t. I miss the ball completely on my first two attempts and move it only an inch on the third and only then because it’s rolled off the tee.
I’m suddenly grateful we’ve got the place to ourselves. Despite the beautiful surroundings, there’s no one else using the range, either because it’s dinner time or because we’re in the middle of nowhere. With only four tee-off spots, people might not want to drive all the way out here without the guarantee of a space being free.
Ben manages to control his giggles as I swing and miss a fourth time, just about. But that’s largely down to the fact that he moves in behind me after that, placing his hands on top of mine so he can show me what to do. With his arms wrapped around me I think we both start thinking about other things beside golf, so a lot of kissing happens in between working on my swing.
‘Is this how you got taught?’ I ask.
‘Not exactly. My coach was a middle-aged man,’ he says, laughing. Then he releases me and backs away so I can take another shot. ‘Not because I don’t trust you, but I do quite like my teeth.’
‘I’ve got this,’ I assure him, determined to pull off a shot that will impress him.
But although I do connect with the ball, the momentum of the club makes me spin right round till I’m facing him instead of the valley. He stifles a snigger, then apologises, but his eyes are brimming with amusement. When my next try hits the fake grass rather than the tee, he snorts as he tries not to laugh and I get the giggles myself from watching his reddening face trying to hold it in.
‘You look like you’re trying to murder a seal,’ he gasps, which sets us both off even more.
‘You’re the one who taught me!’ I’m clutching my stomach now.
‘I know, and I can only say I’m sorry. I did say I might not make the best teacher.’
‘If you hadn’t kept distracting me...’
‘I can’t help it. You’re very distracting.’
I turn away from him and line my club up again, taking a deep breath and mentally willing the ball to behave for me. I’m going to do this, I am not going to let it beat me. And thankfully– at last!– I manage to send it sailing down the hill for the first and only time.
‘Oh thank God,’ Ben gasps. ‘That was killing me.’
‘I was just waiting for my moment,’ I tell him. ‘And now I’ve had it, I might just stop so I can go out on a high. And so you can make it up to me for taking the piss out of me.’
‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. There’s a really nice gastro-pub up the road. Do you fancy that? My treat?’
I pretend I’m still offended. ‘That’ll do for starters. Let’s see what else you can come up with while we’re eating.’
‘What about a romantic night away after the fundraiser next weekend?’
I’d been thinking more along the lines of what we could do back at his place later, but if that mini break back at the vineyard is what he’s suggesting, I’m a hundred per cent there for it.