World Cup
WORLD CUP
Now
It is outside Millie’s front door that Shirin begins to reassess her life choices. She had niggling doubts in the morning, and as she walked with Hana from Peckham Rye station to Millie’s they only became more pronounced. She didn’t even scold Hana when they saw Abigail’s book in the window of the Review Bookshop and Hana made a gagging sound, because all she could think about was that Kian would be at the barbecue.
Millie’s house is just off Bellenden Road, the side of Peckham that is village-like, with artisanal coffee shops and clothing boutiques that are always empty. Millie lives with one other woman who is the landlady, though she is rarely in the flat. So Millie effectively lives alone in a well-furnished, spacious flat with a garden. It is every Londoner’s dream and Millie is loath to ever let it go, despite Henry wanting them to move in together.
Steps lead up to the front door, which is emerald green with a gold knocker, where they are standing now. On the doorstep is a potted plant that is gagging for water, the leaves crisp and brown.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Shirin says to Hana. She shifts her weight between both her feet and looks desperately to her friend, like she is her salvation.
“Oh please,” Hana says, before pressing her forefinger to the doorbell in one swift movement. So swift that Shirin has no time to stop her. “I’m the true victim in this situation; I hate football,” Hana continues. “But I’m here for you.”
“You said yesterday you had nothing else to do.”
Hana waves her hand in the air. “Same thing.”
“And why do you have an England top on? Where’d you even get it from?”
Hana is wearing a white tennis skirt with a white England T-shirt that she cropped and pointed white kitten heels. She was catcalled numerous times on the walk over, and each time she told the men to “fuck off” and “get a life.” One van stopped when she said this, so for the last stretch from the station they power walked.
“A guy I was seeing left it at mine. It felt right to give it an outing for the occasion,” Hana says.
When Shirin sees a figure approaching the door, she clutches the straps of her backpack tightly. This seemed like a good idea in theory, but she hasn’t actually considered what she will say to Kian. Every time she’s tried to plan in her head what she would say, her chest would go tight and she’d have to divert her thoughts elsewhere. But these are her friends, it’s her life. What is she meant to do? Avoid everyone now?
It is difficult to distinguish her anxiety from her depression at times. They come and go, passing each other in waves, settling together to make her life a sometime misery. She is reminded now of why she seldom puts herself out there. Her pulse is racing—embarrassing, because this is arguably a mundane experience—as they wait for a door to open, and then her stomach flops when the door is opening and it is too late for her to change her mind about coming here. She quickly smooths down her black summer dress and presses her lips together to even out her lipstick just in time for Millie to appear before them.
Millie has on a white crop top, denim cutoff shorts, and is barefoot. They greet each other and Shirin and Hana take their shoes off by the door. In the entryway Shirin can hear chatter, and low, humming football commentary coming from the TV. It reminds her of her dad; every Saturday evening he would watch Match of the Day when she and her mum wanted to watch a movie. He had the monopoly over the remote, so they were never able to watch anything if it cut into his 10:30 P.M. slot. He still has a monopoly over it in fact, but now, instead of Shirin’s mum arguing with him about it, it is his new partner, Karen.
The hallway is carpeted and satisfyingly plush. Various framed artworks decorate the space, though none of them are Millie’s. She says sometimes it bothers her that she isn’t able to decorate her own home, but it is something she is willing to accept in exchange for an affordable, nice flat.
They enter the living room and greet Jasper and a girl he is seeing, whose name Shirin promptly forgets. She is pretty, with shiny red hair and bright blue eyes. But Jasper is always with a different woman; he is a serial dater, believing each girl to be the one, until she isn’t.
The TV is mounted on the wall, and underneath is a console table with various snacks in coconut-shell bowls. At the back of the room, joined on to the living room, is the kitchen, with a sliding glass door leading out onto the garden. The doors are open, letting in a gentle breeze.
“The others are outside trying to start the barbecue,” Millie says, rolling her eyes.
“The others?” Shirin repeats.
“What Shirin means is who specifically,” Hana adds, hands on hips. Shirin bumps her with her hip.
“Just Henry and Dylan,” Millie says. Shirin exhales a breath she did not realize she was holding. “Oh yeah, and Kian, too. He seemed particularly excited, Shirin, when I said you’d be coming.”
She notices Hana looking at her, and she knows the expression will be deeply annoying. “Oh, really?” Shirin mutters. “Can I use your toilet?”
“Sure,” Millie says.
She goes to the bathroom, shuts the toilet lid, and sits there for a moment. She stares at the towels hanging from the back of the door. She doesn’t know how to feel—and that’s the problem with all of this. She is constantly teetering between excitement at the thought of seeing Kian and then complete abject horror at the prospect of actually speaking to him. With a whirring mind, she’s thinking of what she can say to him, each idea not quite right. Her rejection of Hull was deliberate—she rarely goes back for a reason. The version of herself back then is one she wanted to leave behind, and with Kian here, she feels her former self coming back too. She isn’t sure whether this is a good or bad thing.
After a few more minutes she leaves the bathroom and enters the living room. The boys have come in and numerous conversations are happening at once. Dylan and Hana are talking on the sofa. Millie, Henry, Jasper, and his date are in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop and discussing the logistics of the barbecue. She goes out to the garden, saying hello to Dylan and Henry as she passes. Her feet are moving, but she is not really thinking about where she is going, or why, until she is outside.
Kian doesn’t turn round immediately. His head is bent low as he works to start the barbecue. It is black and rusty, though much bigger than one she has ever used.
“Hi,” she says.
He looks up and smiles, wiping his hands on his shorts. She briefly notices his tanned, muscled biceps against his white T-shirt. She quickly looks away.
“Hey,” he says.
“Are you okay there with the barbecue?” she asks.
He pulls the sides of his lips down in a gesture to mean No, not really. “Do you know how to use one?”
“I do not,” she says. “It was an empty offer.” She leans against the brick wall, and it feels like as long as there is enough distance between them she is safe. Though safe from what? From getting too comfortable? From saying the things she wants to say?
“Well, I appreciate the offer, even if it was empty,” he says. “I think we need to get more charcoal. I have my car with me, so I might just drive down to get it.”
“You drive in London?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how you people live without a car.”
“You people?” she repeats.
“Londoners.”
“Oh, I’m a Londoner now. I see how it is.”
He smirks. “I don’t make the rules. You never come up to Hull, so your northern card has been revoked.”
She was smiling, but now she stops and looks out at the tiny, desolate garden. There isn’t much to look at, so that doesn’t help. She focuses her gaze on a crack in one of the paving stones.
She hears someone approaching and then Millie appears. At first she doesn’t notice Shirin because she’s standing to the side of the doors, and Millie does a little jump when she sees her. “You scared me,” she says. “Kian—are you still okay to get the charcoal?”
“And some beers,” Henry shouts from inside.
“And some beers,” Millie repeats. “It’d be a real help, with your car and all. The corner shop didn’t have any.”
“No problem,” Kian says.
“Amazing, thank you.” Millie goes back into the house and Kian goes after her. As he passes Shirin he asks her if she wants anything, and she says no, thank you, and adds, “If you need any help getting stuff, though, I can come.” The words spill out of her, and it is like her own mouth is betraying her.
“That would be great, actually,” he says. “If that’s not an empty offer too.”
She smiles, a very small smile. “No, I’d be happy to help.”
Kian’s car is pristine. It is twenty-four degrees, and he opens all the windows to let the dead, dry air out.
“It’s only a five-minute drive,” he says before turning the engine on. Blink-182 immediately blares from the speakers, and he turns it all the way down, chuckling. “Sorry about that.” He seems so at ease, while Shirin is sweating profusely—only partly due to the summer heat—and trying not to look over at his thighs, because she knows his shorts have ridden up since he sat down.
“It’s fine,” she says. “Do you sing in the car then?” He is pulling out of his parking spot on the road but still manages to give her a quick quizzical glance. “The music,” she explains. “I thought it might be loud because you were singing or something.”
He laughs. “No, I don’t. Is that something you do though?”
Her cheeks flush stupidly. She sounds like a ten-year-old. “I had a car for a few years when I first got my license, and I used to love driving around and singing loudly. I managed to keep my car for a bit while I was away at uni, until my dad said the insurance was too much and if I wanted to keep it, I had to pay for it… Needless to say, we got rid of it.”
“I think I saw your car, you know, in Hull. It was a rickety red Ford Fiesta, no?” he says, smiling.
“It was not rickety, but it was red, so maybe you did. When did you see it?” she asks, forcing her voice to be light.
He shakes his head. “I think it was just before we all went off to uni. You were maybe at the Humber Bridge with your friends or something.
“I didn’t see you there,” she says slowly.
He shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”
She knows exactly the day he is referring to. Just before she left to go off to Queen Mary’s to study history, she went to the country park by the Humber Bridge with her friends Phoebe and Carmen. They went there to get one last look at Hull before they left for university. Which was a bit dramatic, since Phoebe came back straight after her degree, and it wasn’t like they would never return during the holidays anyway. What Shirin didn’t tell her friends, though, was that it wasn’t solely for that reason that she wanted to go there. She didn’t even admit that to herself.
“What you thinking about?” Kian asks.
“Not much.” She stretches her legs and looks out the window at the terraced houses they pass on their way, many with England flags on their windows. He makes a sound between a chuckle and a scoff, and she diverts her gaze from the passenger window straight to him. “What?”
“I can still tell when you’re lying,” he says.
She crosses her arms, relieved when they enter the supermarket car park. Because what Kian said isn’t right: he didn’t always know when she wasn’t telling the truth, and that was the problem all those years ago.
They walk in the supermarket at a leisurely pace, at first close together. But then Kian’s shoulder brushes Shirin’s and she takes a large step to the side to prevent it happening again. She likes the feel of his warm arm against hers, and it prompts other imaginings, which she quickly clamps down on, pinching her thigh with her fingers as they walk. The charcoal is at the front of the store, and next they make their way to the alcohol aisle. Over the speakers is an announcement reminding customers of their offers on picnic food, beers, and burgers, all perfect for the summer weather and the football.
“Did you bring yourself a drink?” Kian asks. “A soft drink, I mean.”
Her throat feels tight and she attempts to clear it, brushing her hand along the fabric detergents they pass on the way to their designated aisle. Instead of speaking, she nods a tad too enthusiastically.
“Right, good,” he says. She thinks that’s the end of it but he continues, “I know it’s rude to ask, but is there a reason you don’t drink? There doesn’t have to be, obviously. I’m just… Tell me to do one if you don’t want to say, and I won’t be offended.”
He is clutching the bags of charcoal to his chest and gives her a sidelong smile. Perhaps in other circumstances she would be annoyed by the question, but because it is Kian asking she finds she can’t be, and instead says, “I’m on medication that doesn’t go well with alcohol. I know, from experience, that it’s best when I don’t have it.”
“Oh, I had no idea…” His face is awkward, which makes her realize she has been more aloof than intended.
“They’re for my anxiety.” She cannot bring herself to say they’re antidepressants. It would signal, she realizes, that while he has clearly progressed into a well-adjusted adult, she is actually exactly the same as she was at school: often sad—only now sad, worried, and empty.
He nods like he understands. “I was on antidepressants at uni for a bit. I drank the same as I normally would, to begin with, and it completely wiped me out. So I get you.”
She really looks at him then. “You were?”
“Yeah. I’m off them now, but they helped. And I stopped smoking weed—that really messed me up; I kept having panic attacks.” He shakes his head as though to wipe away the memory and the overshare.
“You don’t have them anymore?”
“No, thankfully. What are you anxious about?” he asks. “If there is anything.”
It is so direct she is taken aback. She blinks and refocuses her attention ahead of her, on the various aisles filled with glossy goods that briefly divert her attention.
“I don’t know,” she says, though it’s a lie. Her issue is that she always thought once she got the things she longed for in life—to live in London and work in publishing, to be so far away from her sad life in Hull—she would be fulfilled and content. But she feels just as empty, though in a different way because she has nothing to hold on to, no imagined future to project on. This is it; this is life.
“You can tell me, you know,” he says, as though he is reading her mind.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she whispers.
He stops walking, so she does too. They are down the snacking aisle, filled with various multipack crisps, nuts, and chocolates. There is a woman and her small child at the far end, but it is otherwise empty. Kian looks down at her, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She clenches her jaw and breathes deeply through her nose. This is exactly the conversation she didn’t want to have, and yet she is the one who provoked it. “We stopped speaking… we stopped being friends.” She hopes that he will understand what she means, that she doesn’t need to spell it out.
“It was a while ago,” he says.
“I always thought you didn’t like me anymore. And now you’re here, hanging out with my friends. It’s just weird.” She says all this quickly, without looking at his eyes, observing the produce around them without really seeing anything.
“Maybe it’s fate?” he says and that’s when she gives him a look. “Oh, come on, I’m joking.”
She picks up a packet of nuts next to her and weighs it in her hands for something to do, something to distract herself with. She hadn’t planned to say what comes out of her mouth next; it comes out like word vomit.
“Have you been following everything with Rob?” she asks.
Kian stands straighter at this, perhaps a reflex, and narrows his eyes at her. “How do you mean?”
“Just the fact that he’s a celebrity now.” She looks at a box of cookie-dough protein bars that claim to give you more protein than any other bar in the market. Next to the price is a recommendation card by the store that says AS SEEN ON DRAGON’S DEN .
“I try not to pay attention to it,” he says, his voice strained.
“It pisses me off,” she says, still looking at the card. “And no one gets it. He even got a book deal. He’s crossing into my space.”
Kian puts the bags down between his legs and places one hand on Shirin’s shoulder. It surprises her, so she turns to him suddenly, her lips parted, about to question what he’s doing. “I get it,” he says gently. “But we can’t let it bother us. We’re both doing our thing; what he’s doing doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.”
She is so conscious of his warm hand on her shoulder, of how all her nerves are hyperaware of it. She looks up at him. “When did you get to be so wise?” she says, one eyebrow raised.
He pushes her jokingly. “I don’t know—I guess I just grew up,” he says. “We both have.”
She nods, though she’s thinking she’s not all that different from when she was a teenager, not really. She always thought she would change so much as an adult, far away from her hometown. It’s jarring to know that some people stay the same, regress even—and others, like Kian, move on and grow.
They begin walking again and turn in to the alcohol aisle, and Kian picks up a pack of beers, attempting to balance it atop the bags of charcoal. Shirin offers to hold the beers, which he reluctantly takes her up on.
“I don’t like to think about Hull or school,” she says, even though she was the one to bring it up. “I know it makes me sound like a crazy person, and I want us to be able to be friends or at the very least friendly, but”—she breathes out, accepting that she will just have to sound like a crazy person—“on the condition that we don’t speak about school. Ever.”
He laughs, until he realizes she isn’t joking. The bags of charcoal are put on the floor again, and he weighs up what she is saying in his mind. While he is no longer laughing, he has the glimmer of a smile in his eyes. “I can tell you’re still as strange as ever, but okay. No school talk. I’d like us to be friends.”
“Friends,” she repeats, the word feeling unusually loaded on her tongue.