25
For a second my insides turn to ice. This was not supposed to happen. Not at all, but definitely not like this. I scan their faces to see how they’ll react and Marge seems uncharacteristically lost for words, a silent ‘oh’ forming on her lips. Cassie, on the other hand, looks like she has plenty to say.
‘We can talk about this later,’ I quickly tell her, releasing Ben and ushering him away. ‘The event is the most important thing right now so let’s just try to stay focused on it.’
‘I’ll get back to work,’ Ben says, winking at me before scooping up his bin bag and heading back out into the melee.
I step through the tent flap to join Cassie and Marge, who finally finds her tongue and says, ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘No,’ I admit. ‘But he’s funny and thoughtful and all the things the press don’t make him out to be, and I want to enjoy it for as long as I can.’
‘I genuinely had no idea,’ she says, shaking her head.
‘I had my suspicions,’ Cassie admits, but from the frown on her face I’d say she’s far from impressed by it. ‘Even if you hadn’t started disappearing off to see a mystery man just after Ben arrived on the scene, the matching his-and-hers cakes were a bit of a giveaway.’
This hadn’t actually occurred to me. So does that mean we’ve accidentally outed ourselves to everyone? Even Dad? But surely he would have mentioned it, and I didn’t get the impression from Craig earlier that anyone else on the team had guessed.
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ I ask Cassie.
‘What am I supposed to say? That I think you’re making a huge mistake? I know he’s been generous with the time he’s invested in Crawford, but let’s not forget why he’s got so much free time in the first place.’
‘I promise you, he’s not a bad person once you get beyond his public image.’
She folds her arms in front of her chest, still not convinced. ‘Hasn’t he dated every wannabe WAG from here to Scotland? You’re not one of those girls, Lily. I don’t know why you’d want to be.’
‘You’re right, I’m not, and that’s why this is different. It’s not about being seen together– we genuinely like each other. We really click. He makes me happy.’
‘She does look happy,’ Marge points out.
‘But for how long?’ Cassie sighs. ‘It’s not that I’m trying to rain on your parade, sis. I just don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘And I have considered that possibility. But I can’t just never take a risk on anything in case it doesn’t work out. If that’s how I lived, there’d be no Crawford United.’ I put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘He’s treating me nicely and I enjoy his company. So let’s just leave it at that and get back to enjoying the day, shall we?’
‘It does look like the auction’s about to begin,’ Marge says, nodding her head towards the makeshift platform where Dad is taking his place.
‘We’d better get out there then,’ I say firmly, leading the way.
Olly’s voice booms out over the Tannoy, asking all the prospective bidders to make their way to the stage. ‘And don’t forget all the proceeds are going to Crawford United, so bid as generously as you can, please.’
Dad can’t stop grinning as I step up on to the stage beside him– for him, this is the highlight of the day. My role is to help him keep track of who’s bidding, and Cassie joins us after Dad has announced that the first lot on offer is a personal training session with her, starting at the bargain amount of thirty pounds.
‘We haven’t got an official system so just stick your hand up or shout out if you want to make a bid,’ he tells the crowd.
Ben gets the ball rolling with a ten-pound increase, even before Cassie’s fiancé has had a chance to jump in. I know it’s his way of encouraging other people to get involved and sure enough it precipitates nine more bids, taking the total to eighty-one pounds. It’s one of Cassie’s twelve-year-old students who makes the final offer. Dad frowns in his direction, and I know he’ll be thinking he should have specified an age limit. But the boy shouts out, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve just got a louder voice than my mum. She’s paying.’
‘As long as she knows she is,’ Cassie warns.
There’s a thumbs up from the woman standing next to him and Dad breathes a sigh of relief. He wants this to go smoothly, not come unstuck with the very first bid.
‘Thank you, Mrs Jennings,’ Cassie calls out. ‘Come and see me afterwards and we’ll talk about a date.’
She jumps down off the stage and Levi and Scott step up to join me and Dad in her place. They’re offering their car-washing services to the highest bidder, as suggested by Bob. Dad kicks things off once again at thirty pounds and this time the final amount creeps up to an incredibly generous hundred and twenty-five. It seems a lot for a car wash until Dad says to the winner, ‘Do you want to tell them how many cars you’ve got or shall I?’
It turns out he’s a colleague of Dad’s, with a penchant for classic Minis. He has seven in total. ‘At least they’re small,’ he says jovially. But when he sees the looks of horror on the two lads’ faces, he adds, ‘But only three of them are dirty.’
The third lot is Craig and his life-modelling afternoon. There’s a collective ‘ooh’ as he struts up on to the stage, flaps his T-shirt to flash his abs, flexes his biceps then poses majestically with his hands on his hips and his chin up high. I look over at Phoebs and she’s laughing her head off. I wonder if he’s noticed, but somehow I think his ego would remain unscathed regardless.
Marge makes the first bid, and throws a few more into the mix as the price starts climbing, to keep it moving steadily upwards. At least I’m assuming that’s why and not because she wants to win. But she needn’t have worried. There’s a fierce to and fro between two other women, neither of whom we know, and the sale eventually closes out at two hundred and thirty pounds.
‘Oh thank God,’ the winner exclaims. ‘My original plan for my stepdaughter’s hen party fell through– this has saved my life.’
‘Then I’m happy I bowed out,’ her rival gracefully concedes.
And this brings Dad to the final lot. ‘Last, but not least, up for grabs is a three-hour practice session with a bona fide Premier League footballer. Not to take anything away from the Phoenixes of course.’
A hand shoots up in the crowd before Dad has even announced the starting price. ‘A hundred pounds,’ comes the accompanying cry.
Dad laughs. ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves an opener.’
The bidding climbs in bigger increments this time, right up to ￡400. But just when Dad is about to declare the winner, there’s a new shout from among the crowd. ‘Five thousand pounds.’
The speed at which everyone’s heads spin round to see who has spoken is enough to give them all whiplash. People start moving aside so the bidder can make himself known. Like me, I suspect they’re probably thinking it’s either a crazed superfan or someone pulling a prank.
‘Fuck’s sake, Dad,’ Craig mutters when he realises it’s his father William. ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to embarrass me?’
‘And how many times do I have to tell you I want this club to work out for you. So just let me help make that happen. And if you get to learn something while I’m at it then I can only see that as a bonus.’
There’s an uncomfortable moment where they stand glaring at each other, until Craig eventually says, ‘Fine, whatever, it’s your money.’
‘Yes it is,’ William says firmly. ‘And this is how I choose to spend it. Mike, I’ll grab the details off you and do you a transfer, unless anyone else wants to make a higher offer?’
You could hear a pin drop. I think Dad is in shock and everyone else is afraid that the slightest sound might be interpreted as a counter bid.
‘Congratulations, Mr Campbell,’ I say quickly, to break the tension. ‘Lot four, three hours with Premier League footballer Ben Pryce, is yours for five thousand pounds.’ I get goose bumps saying the amount out loud. ‘Crawford United is incredibly grateful. To everyone here, in fact. We’d like to thank you all for your generosity today. It means the world to us.’
I look at Dad, but as he doesn’t seem to have recovered yet, I continue. ‘And that concludes our auction, but please stick around and come and chat to us and the team. There’s still cake to be eaten, the raffle to draw and a keep-up target to beat.’
All of which keeps us busy till Olly rings for last orders and we’re all dead on our feet.