28
I do my best not to let the thought of him leaving ruin the precious time we have left after that, but it’s never too far from my mind. As we’re already into July, the new football season starts in just five weeks. By now I’m used to seeing him every day, so it’s going to feel utterly heart-wrenching when he goes away. But at no point do I ever regret having met him. Not when I think he just might be my soulmate.
On the Saturday between our two mini breaks, I arrange a night out in central London to thank him for both the glamping and whatever he’s planned for the following weekend. It’s my chance to surprise him for a change.
Figuring his ideal evening would include a bit of romance, good food and some kind of challenge, I book a floating hot tub in the Canary Wharf waterways to kick things off– a throwback to our stay in Dorset. After that there’ll be a steak dinner and we’ll round off at a bar that has computerised clay pigeon shooting. I think that covers all the bases.
‘So where to?’ Ben asks when he meets me at the Tube station, showered and refreshed after Crawford’s Saturday training session.
‘East,’ I reply cryptically. It seems only fair that I take a leaf out of his book and don’t give away more than that till we get there.
He eyes the backpack I’m holding, but that won’t give him any clues. The bottle of wine inside is wrapped up in two towels– and he has no idea I sneaked a pair of his swimming shorts into my bag the last time I was at his house.
I notice a couple of people looking at him on the journey, but no one tries to talk to him so it might just be because he’s so insanely handsome rather than because they recognise him. Ben either doesn’t notice the stares or is used to ignoring them.
When we change on to the Jubilee Line, he starts trying to guess what I’ve planned for the evening. ‘Is it a band at the O2?’
I shake my head. ‘They don’t allow backpacks in there.’
‘Please tell me you’re not taking me shopping in Stratford.’
‘We’re definitely not trawling round shops on a Saturday night.’
‘Thank goodness for that. Okay, last guess– are we doing that walk over the top of the O2? I’ve always liked the look of that.’
I tell him we’re getting off at the next stop, and when he sees that puts us in Canary Wharf, he knows he’s guessed wrong again.
As we pull into the station I’m hit by a sudden wave of doubt. When I told him I’d planned a surprise for him, he said he trusted me to pick something good. But what if he has an aversion to guns or thinks the hot tub experience is naff? Climbing the O2 didn’t even occur to me, so maybe I was wrong to assume that because I’ve loved all his surprises, mine would go down just as well.
My fears are short-lived though. When we arrive at the hot tub hiring hut, he starts laughing. ‘Ah brilliant, I’ve seen people doing this on Instagram.’
I finally show him what I’ve got stashed in my bag and he tells me I’ve thought of everything– although we find out during the safety briefing that whoever drives the hot tub isn’t allowed to drink any alcohol.
‘I’m happy to abstain if you’re okay with me doing the steering,’ he says.
There’s a dressing room where we can get changed and lockers for our bags. On the boat there’s a dry box for our valuables and an ice box for our drinks. I buy some sparkling water from the venue so there’s something for Ben, and so I can cool down when I need to– for some reason I didn’t expect the hot tub water to be quite so hot.
After a quick chug round the practice area– it doesn’t take Ben long to get the hang of it– we set off, cruising between the towering buildings and raising our glasses to the other tubs we pass. Each one has a different vibe. There’s a raucous hen party cackling at anything and everything, other couples enjoying cosy date nights, and a group of lads on a floating barbecue, who try to give us sausages to apologise for nearly crashing into us, then almost tumble overboard when they realise they’ve just made chipolata jokes to Ben Pryce. I’m not convinced they’re abiding by the sober driver rule.
Ben’s still laughing about it when we’re back in the changing room afterwards. ‘I’ll be amazed if they all make it back to base dry. That was really fun, thank you.’
‘That’s not the end,’ I tell him. ‘There are two more things planned.’
‘Is one of them food-related?’
‘Of course, then there’s an after-dinner activity.’
‘And is that what I hope it will be?’
I laugh. ‘I think you’re thinking of the after activity activity.’
‘I can’t deny it. So what’s on tonight’s menu?’ He catches me smirking. ‘To eat, I mean. Have you got somewhere specific in mind or are we just going to see where we can get a table?’
‘I’ve booked a steak place. I was thinking a sirloin and a nice glass of red.’
His smile widens. ‘It’s like you know me or something.’
Bailey calls him while we’re on the way to the restaurant.
‘Do you mind if I get this quickly?’
‘Not at all– go ahead.’
‘He’s been working through some stuff,’ Ben explains afterwards. ‘So I always try to be there. He’s fine, though. He’s just been talking to our mum and she’s decided to do a family roast tomorrow lunchtime. We’re both invited– she’s keen to meet you. What do you reckon?’
It only seems fair given how many times he’s met Dad and Cassie, even if the circumstances aren’t exactly the same.
‘I should probably warn you though, I haven’t taken anyone round since I’ve been up in Millford,’ he adds.
I’m not sure if this makes me feel special or terrified. ‘No pressure then!’
‘It’s nothing to worry about– they’re all really easy-going,’ he assures me. ‘The only one to watch out for a bit is my nan. She’s lovely too, but she’s very nosy.’
‘Am I meeting the whole Pryce clan?’
He grins sheepishly. ‘Is that okay? I promise I’ll jump in if Nan asks too many questions.’
I tell him it’s fine. Luckily, I’ve never been too intimidated by the prospect of meeting my boyfriends’ parents.
By the time we’ve finished our meal, Ben admits the wine, which we’ve drunk fairly quickly, has gone to his head. And I’m half a bottle ahead of him after the hot tub, so I’m even more tipsy.
‘I hope whatever’s next doesn’t require a lot of dexterity,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure I could drive a hot tub in a straight line after this.’
‘How about firing a gun?’
‘Is that a serious question?’
I tell him where we’re headed and he laughs. ‘That’s a lot less concerning.’
‘Have you done it before?’
‘Never, so it’s another great choice. I’m feeling quite spoilt. It feels like my birthday.’
It’s a short walk to the venue, and when we get there we’re shown to a booth and given a brief explanation of how everything works. The first thing that strikes me is how heavy the gun is, and the host explains it’s a real gun, just not real bullets. There are sensors that will figure out where we’re pointing the barrel.
She shows us how to reload, tells us which of the five games are most suitable for beginners and explains the system for ordering drinks.
‘Would you say a cocktail improves your aim?’ Ben asks her.
‘An espresso martini maybe, but I’ll leave you to be the judge of that,’ she says.
It’s hard to tell if the cocktails have any effect or if we just us get the hang of it as we work our way through the games. While my accuracy averages a meagre eleven per cent in the first game, it’s more than doubled by game three.
Ben doesn’t do much better. He has a slight advantage in that his hands are bigger so he can reach the reload button more easily, but he’s just as perplexed by the speed of the ‘pigeons’, so there are only a few points separating us as we enter the fourth game– and I’m in the lead.
With everything to play for, I think we both get a little more competitive, which might explain why we both do really well in this round, despite it being harder than the previous three. At the end of it, I’ve just about clung on to my advantage, but Ben could easily overtake me in the remaining few minutes. He’s up first in what will be the fifth and final game, and there’s a danger I might not get another turn as the clock ticks down towards the end of our time slot.
‘Hurry up,’ I mutter as we wait for the screen to load. Ben’s already in position, ready and waiting.
‘Go, go, go,’ I shout as the first pigeon appears and in his haste he tracks, shoots and misses. But as he’s used to refocusing after a misfire, he just slows down for the next one and smashes eight of the remaining discs. He’s looking more than a little pleased with himself as he passes the gun back to me. It has left my score trailing and we’re now into the last thirty seconds.
With nothing to lose, I scatter bullets at will as soon as my turn begins, and my score creeps back up until I need just one more five-point pigeon to steal a victory.
‘No!’ His arms fly up in disbelief as I hit it at the exact second the screen freezes. ‘You lucky devil.’
I can’t resist a celebratory dance, which he pretends to be annoyed about until he relents and congratulates me. ‘It just goes to show, quantity over quality can be very effective,’ he says mock begrudgingly.
‘Let’s leave that theory in this room though,’ I suggest. And he laughs– he knows exactly what I mean.
‘So are you ready to head home now?’ I ask, now he’s got me thinking about the quality time I want to spend with him. He nods with an enthusiasm that tells me the next activity is one we’re both going to win.