37
‘I might have to fill my boot up with cans of Red Bull,’ Ben says over breakfast, referring to the four-hour drive he’s got ahead of him.
‘Do you have one of those hydration backpacks, with a straw?’
He laughs, but it’s a hollower sound than usual. ‘That’s not a bad shout, but I wouldn’t want to get it all sticky.’
‘When’s your first meet-up with your teammates?’ I ask.
‘Tomorrow. But they’ll be fine. They’ll rib me a bit for letting the side down then we’ll just crack on. I’m not worried.’
‘And your new girlfriend, when does that get announced?’ I ask.
‘This evening.’ He looks away. ‘That’s why I have to get back today– there’s some event I have to be seen at. Then they can coincide breaking the news of our relationship with announcing I’m back on the team. Quite the diversionary tactic,’ he says bitterly.
I swallow my surprise. I don’t know why I thought it wouldn’t happen so quickly.
‘I’ll probably just fall asleep on her, though,’ Ben adds. ‘She’s not going to get any sparkling conversation out of me when I’m this tired. She’ll probably wonder what she’s got herself into.’
I can’t say I’d be too sad if she decided he was too boring to keep up the fa?ade.
All too soon it’s time to say goodbye. Ben holds on to my hand for the longest time on his doorstep, and tells me again that he loves me before he finally releases me. On my drive home, it takes all my strength not to let our new reality overwhelm me.
Ben will call Dad and Cassie later to apologise for not saying goodbye in person. They might be disappointed but they’ll understand. I can’t say the same for when I explain about his new ‘relationship’, though. Like me, I think they’ll find that harder to get to grips with.
I’ll need to choose the right moment for that conversation. It will go much better if I can explain it without sounding upset. For now I’ll just throw myself into Crawford business and try to put it out of my mind.
We’ve sold more season tickets off the back of Saturday’s game and there are some requests for interviews that I need to look into following the Herald’s piece about the debut match. But for a good while I just stare at my inbox without taking anything in. How am I supposed to get into any kind of rhythm when all I can think about is how much I already miss Ben?
He’s promised to call me as soon as he’s settled in, and I keep my phone close, checking every few minutes in case I’ve missed him, even though he won’t even be off the motorway yet. Hours later, when I’m certain he must have arrived, I check several times that the volume is set to full and contemplate sending a test text to Phoebs to make sure it’s definitely working, but I know it is. Ben will have been swept up in a whirlwind upon getting back to Millford, with ‘back to work’ meetings to prepare for, friends to catch up with, food to buy and... her. He’ll call me when he can.
When Dad gets home from work, I finally fill him in on everything, which sends him into full ‘I warned you he was trouble’ mode. I think he’d been getting used to me and Ben being a couple, but now he’s back to thinking it was never a sensible move.
Later in the evening, a knock on my bedroom door interrupts my moping and Phoebs pokes her head through. ‘I thought you might need some company. Craig told me about Ben.’
I can’t help smiling. He must have let the rest of the team know he’s had to leave now. She must have known I’d be devastated.
‘Wanna talk about it?’ she asks.
‘He’s only been gone a few hours and I already hate it,’ I confess. Then I fill her in on Ben’s ‘PR campaign’, after she’s promised not to blab about it to Craig. Thankfully she understands there could be serious repercussions if we don’t keep this between ourselves.
‘It sounds really tough,’ she empathises. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help you deal with it, just say.’
I thank her and glance down at my laptop. ‘I’m just glad I’ve got Crawford to keep me busy– otherwise I’d probably drive myself insane.’
She props herself up against my pillows at the other end of my bed. ‘Speaking of Crawford, if it ends up being successful– I mean when– do you think you might be able to find a job for me?’
So far her search for employment hasn’t amounted to much.
‘Wouldn’t you rather do something you’re interested in?’
‘Well yes, but I’m hardly in a position to set up my own business as a party organiser, am I?’
‘Why not? People are always having parties.’
‘True, but now it’s so easy to order everything online, do people still pay for someone else to do all the organising?’
‘You should look into it,’ I tell her. ‘I think you’d be great at it.’
‘Can we have a look now?’
‘Sure.’ I move up the bed to sit beside her, more than happy to have another distraction, and we spend the rest of the evening investigating what’s already out there and throwing ideas around about how she could add her own spin.
‘Maybe I should put a portfolio together on Instagram and see if it gets any interest,’ she says. ‘Hasn’t your dad got a big birthday coming up?’
It’s his fiftieth in September and I don’t imagine he’ll get round to organising anything more than a nice dinner round our kitchen table. Getting Phoebs to make the occasion more special would be a lovely surprise for him. ‘It’s in a couple of weeks and I think you should go for it. It could be the start of something really amazing.’
‘And when Crawford win the league, maybe I can organise the celebration for that too,’ she says. It’s kind, but I tell her she might have to wait another season or five before we get to that stage.
‘I’ll get Craig to step things up a gear,’ she promises. ‘I’ll tell him no more blow jobs until he starts scoring goals.’
This makes me cringe-laugh. It’s not how I want to think about him.
‘Oh come on, you know we don’t sit around at his playing board games,’ Phoebs says, rolling her eyes. But that gets me thinking about Ben again. I was blissfully happy the night we played our games triathlon on his terrace. I’d do anything to do that again with him.
I pick up my phone and wake up the screen. Still nothing. Should I call him, to see how he’s getting on? I’m not used to feeling needy but I’m desperate to hear his voice.
The phone chooses that exact moment to buzz in my hand, making my body jolt so hard I nearly drop it. It’s him! A WhatsApp message rather than a call, but at last, it’s him.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Phoebs says, kissing my cheek and standing up to leave. ‘But call me any time you’re finding it hard and I’ll be here.’
I thank her for being such a good friend and wait till she’s closed the door behind her before I open Ben’s message. My heart races with excitement as I wait to read it.
‘Sorry this is so late. It’s been a loooong day. I’m only just getting back to the flat and I’m shattered,’he’s written. ‘Texting because I doubt I’d make much sense if I called, but I’ll speak to you tomorrow. I hope you’ve had a great day. Love you xx.’
I read it again. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been hoping for more. Despite how chatty he usually is, he doesn’t even hint at what he’s been up to– specifically no mention of this evening’s event. But maybe he thinks I don’t want to hear about his ‘other woman’. To be fair, yesterday I didn’t even ask what her name is.
I pull up Google and type ‘Ben Pryce’ into a news search. Nothing yet. Why didn’t I even ask who she was? Perhaps because I knew I’d spend the rest of today looking at pictures of her, possibly even watching the show she was on, and I can’t let myself go down that rabbit hole. It won’t do me any favours.
But the devil on my shoulder still taunts me. Maybe she was so engaging he didn’t even think about me till it got so late. Maybe there’s a more sinister reason why he texted rather than called. Maybe he’s not beyond temptation while I’m down here and he’s up there.
A wave of paranoia takes hold. Am I a fool to believe all his talk about wanting to date a real girl who’s happy to talk about football over a nice draught beer in a pub with sticky carpets, when he could have a party lifestyle filled with champagne, VIP enclosures and glamorous TV stars? What if I really was just a convenient summer hook-up for him while he took a break from the endless stream of wannabe WAGS trying to get him to fall in love with them?
But then I bat those jitters away. If any of that were true, he wouldn’t have messaged me at all. He could have just ended things before he left if he wanted that other life. He certainly wouldn’t have signed off with love and kisses.
‘So just stop it,’ I tell myself sharply. I might have only known him for a few months but I know he’s not that guy. And all this fearing the worst? That’s not who I am either.
We’re both tired and we’ll catch up properly tomorrow. For now I just fire a quick message back to him. ‘All good. Talk tomorrow. Love you too x.’