31
Ben is sympathetic when I tell him Bruges isn’t going to be quite the celebratory trip we’d anticipated. ‘Do you still want to go?’ he asks. ‘I could always rebook it for a later date.’
I point out it might be the last bit of fun I get to have for a while, so I’m keen for it to still go ahead.
When I speak to Phoebs, she assures me we’re not cancelling the graduation piss-up we’d planned either. ‘After sitting through three years of lectures together, I’m not doing it without you,’ she says. ‘I’ll just have a cheeky glass of champers with Craig for now and the big party can wait till August, when we’ve both got some letters after our name.’
Dad manages to bite his tongue when it’s time for me to head to Bruges and begrudgingly tells me to enjoy it. I do keep my promise of studying on the way there though. And instead of downloading a film to watch on the train, Ben volunteers to test me from my revision notes, which I happily agree to. It might even help me remember things better if I associate them with him.
By the time we arrive in Belgium, he probably knows more than he’ll ever need to about corporate social media strategy.
We check into our hotel– a stylish boutique on the edge of the old town– and take our bags up to our room, which manages to be both modern and ornate at the same time. Peacock blue walls are adorned with gilded frames containing black and white photography of the city, and in the green and white mosaicked bathroom there’s an elegant rolltop bath and a shower big enough to fit half a football team in.
‘We can have some fun in there,’ Ben says, his grin wide.
‘I do want to see at least a bit of Bruges,’ I say with a laugh. But that’s not to say I don’t also want to make the most of this gorgeous room.
We do venture out of course, wandering hand in hand through the pretty streets, admiring the architecture and peering in the windows of the many chocolate shops. We share a waffle and a bowl of frites, and stop off at a bar late in the afternoon to sample beer that’s served in a test tube, beer with more foam on top than beer and– my favourite– beer that is only brewed on a full moon.
We go for dinner in a candlelit bistro and as we’re walking back to the hotel afterwards– taking the longer, more scenic route along the canals to burn off some of the day’s excesses– we pass a tiny, dimly lit bar where a band is setting up, and there’s one table empty, which feels like it has our name on it.
We head inside thinking we’ll just stay for one drink, but once the talented band starts playing its melodic rock set, the little space around us quickly fills up and we realise we were lucky to get seats. Two full hours pass before we eventually decide it’s time to call it a night, the tiredness finally catching up with us after our early start this morning.
‘That was a real find,’ Ben says, putting his arm round my shoulders as we turn towards our hotel again. ‘We would never have stumbled across it if we’d stuck to the main tourist streets.’
‘It was the perfect end to a magical day.’ I slide my arm round his waist and snuggle into him. With each new memory we create I feel even closer to Ben. And when he stops and pulls me into his arms for a kiss, it’s the best feeling in the world knowing he feels the same way.
He insists I spend the next morning studying and disappears off to the gym to give me some peace– but he makes sure he’s back in plenty of time for us to make the most of that shower, so we’re not just glowing from the heat of the water when we check out of our room and hand back our keys.
We leave our bags at the reception desk and head out for an al fresco brunch in the market square, followed by a romantic boat trip along the canal. Then we round off our trip with a private chocolate-making workshop Ben has arranged, and I’m hopeful that when I give Dad the wonky-shaped pralines I come away with at the end, it will stop him grumbling that I should have stayed at home revising.
But instead of making him less annoyed about me going on this trip, what they actually do, unintentionally, is out my relationship with Ben to the rest of Crawford United. It starts when Ben passes his own chocolate creations round at Tuesday night’s training– a fact I’m not aware of as it’s the first session I skip to focus on the course notes I’ve dragged back out from under my bed.
With just over a week now till the Mayfield North game, Dad invites the players back to our house after the session so he and Cassie can talk to them about tactics– and I take a break from my books to squeeze into the kitchen with them because I don’t want to miss out on everything.
Dad starts by promising he won’t keep them long as only eight people have seats. ‘Perhaps going forward I’ll look at having smaller groups here for tactical training– defenders Tuesday, forwards Thursdays, just for half an hour extra, before any of you start panicking.’
He’s done some research on our opponents and, while Cassie passes round Lucozades and waters, he tells us Mayfield North have progressed to the Isthmian league on three separate occasions since they formed in 2002. ‘But they’ve always gone straight back down again, so no matter how good they look on paper, they’re not infallible,’ he tells the team.
Which is when Elliot spots the confectionery bag that matches Ben’s on the counter and says, ‘Hey, aren’t those the same chocolates Prycey had?’ I can almost see the light bulb go on in his mind as he works out the connection. ‘So that girl in the hot tub picture... Aaron was right when he said it looked like Lily?’
It feels like the whole room comes to a standstill as everyone turns their eyes in my direction. I glance at Ben and he nods, letting me know he’s happy for me to spill the beans.
‘It doesn’t change anything,’ I tell the players quickly. ‘Our first priority will always be Crawford United.’
‘Get in.’ Scott cackles. ‘No wonder she wouldn’t look twice at you, Craig mate.’
Craig rolls his eyes. ‘I’m very happy with Phoebs, thank you very much. But maybe if you put yourself out there from time to time, you wouldn’t have to spend all your nights home alone in your bedroom.’
He winks at Scott, who laughs and concedes it’s a fair point, then apologises to me and Dad for being inappropriate in the first place.
Bringing the focus back to the football, Dad highlights where he thinks Mayfield’s main weaknesses are, based on the few videos he’s found on their fan site, then runs through how Crawford can best take advantage of them. And at the end, he reminds everyone of the kind of behaviour he expects from them on the pitch.
‘I don’t want to see anyone diving, pretending you’re injured if you’re not or challenging the ref’s decisions. I want you to be proud of your performance, and I want it to stand up to scrutiny.’
He looks round the room to make sure everyone’s listening. ‘So no dirty tricks and no throwing your toys out of the pram. It’s not what we want Crawford to be known for. And that stands for all future matches, not just any friendlies.’
‘What if our opponents are doing all that shit?’ Scott asks.
‘Rise above it,’ Dad says. ‘Keep your cool and know you’re the better man. With the right attitude on Wednesday, I believe we stand a really good chance of winning.’
‘I second that,’ Ben says, which sparks a murmur of agreement.
Dad wraps things up then, and thanks everyone for this extra bit of their time. ‘Get plenty of rest between training sessions over this next week,’ he advises. ‘And if you haven’t already done so, remember to arrange it with your work so you can be here promptly at four next Wednesday for the drive down to Mayfield. I don’t want anyone finding out on the day that their boss won’t let them leave before six.’
He shakes everyone’s hand at the door on their way out, then when it’s just Ben and me left he heads up to his room to give us some privacy– although not before reminding me my textbooks are upstairs waiting. As if I could forget.
‘So we’re fully official,’ Ben says when we’re alone.
‘It looks that way,’ I agree, smiling up at him.
‘Then you won’t mind if I do this.’ He leans forward to kiss me. Like I’ve ever wanted to stop him.
It’s the first time it’s happened in my own house though, and I’m so glad we no longer have to be sneaky. But we do say goodnight eventually– I think it’ll still be a while before Dad’s comfortable with a cosy breakfast à trois.