Chapter 8 Dominic #2
I finally take a seat, and she looks back down at her menu.
“I’m starving,” she says. “That steak and mushroom pie sounds good.”
“It is, very good. And their gravy is a food group unto itself, believe me.”
“Sounds tempting.” She crosses one long leg over the other, tapping her nails on the table. “And you? Are you a big manly man who only eats steak with his bare hands?”
I laugh softly. “I do need my protein.”
“One look at you establishes that and all,” she replies, smiling across the table at me. “Archie used to joke that you trained more than the players.”
“My dad’s a walking advert for what happens when you don’t look after your health.
” I shrug, tracing my fingertips along the woodgrain of the table.
“He was an athlete, but he drank too much, smoked too much, and I watched him go from Billy Boy Graves to an old man ferrying around an oxygen tank. That did something to me.” I give her a smile.
“And when you wake up one morning and your hip hurts because you spent too long sleeping on it, you know it’s time to really start looking after yourself. ”
Mia appears impressed. “That’s extremely sensible of you.”
“I do have some sense about me.”
She laughs and reaches across the table to brush a hand over mine. “I just mean, you know, it’s nice that you look after yourself and want to set yourself up for a long life. I like that.”
My hand glows with warmth from where she touched me, and as I look across the table at her, I realise for the first time just what shade of green her eyes are - bright, sparkling jade green. Like a luxurious hidden pool of water somewhere on the coast of Croatia.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
The waiter arrives to bring us water and take our orders, giving me time to get my shit together and internally slap myself for ogling my son’s wife in public. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. Maybe this is just a paternal feeling, my protective instinct coming out.
But the way I look at her stockinged legs visible beneath the hem of her dress, that’s anything but paternal.
I’m just a fucking pig, it seems.
“Joanne Murray doesn’t seem to be a fan of yours,” Mia says once the waiter leaves.
Yes, please, let’s talk about my shortcomings so I can remind myself I’m a fucking arsehole who needs to pull his bleeding head in.
“Oh?” I lean back in my chair, taking a sip of my water. “She mentioned me, did she?”
“Mmmm.” Mia hides a grin with her hand. “Said you shagged her PA years ago and sent the poor girl running to France.”
“Oh Jesus.” I cover my face, my cheeks burning. “Yes, yes that did happen.”
“Dominic Graves, womaniser extraordinaire.”
I drop my hands from my face with a sigh. “I’ve always liked women apparently. Perhaps a little too much.”
Mia shrugs. “Never cheated though, did you? That where you draw the line?”
My stomach has that uncomfortable, icy feeling sink into the pit of it, and I shift in my chair. “I saw first-hand the damage that infidelity does, and I was never going to do that.”
Mia’s expression softens. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring down the mood.”
“That’s alright. It is what it is, I suppose.”
“What was your mum like?”
I regard her with raised eyebrows. “My mum?”
“Yeah, Archie never really talks about her, and all I can find is the People Magazine version of her life.” Mia gives me a warm smile. “I’d like to know more about her.”
“She, uh, she was amazing.” I trace a finger along the rim of my glass and take a deep breath.
“She was a good mum. She was so clever, she knew a lot about business and things. The family had money, sure, but my mum was the one who started putting things in place to really build up the club, and the Premier League in general. Sponsorships and foreign players, things like that. She did so well that other clubs started copying her contracts, asking her advice on deals.”
“All that while being a mum?” Mia nods appreciatively. “Good work.”
“Yeah.” I frown at the table. “She loved being a mum, I think that was her favourite thing in life. She never…” I trail off, realising I’m bringing the mood down even more. “She never got over the deaths of my brother and sister, I mean, you wouldn’t, would you? They were both so young.”
Mia reaches out to touch my arm. “Archie told me your brother had a heart defect?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “It was undiagnosed, they never noticed it. No one really knew anything back in the 70s. But he must have had a stroke or a seizure one night, we still don’t really know. But my… my mum found him dead in bed one morning, when he was fourteen.”
“Holy shit,” Mia mutters, shaking her head. “That’s awful.”
“I’ve never forgotten her screaming. I still hear it in my nightmares.”
“Fucking hell, Dom. I’m so sorry.”
I nod, my eyes burning at the memory. “And then two years later, my sister gets hit by a lorry while she’s riding her bike home from college.
” I laugh bitterly, meeting Mia’s concerned expression.
“That was right before my premier season. I went to my sister’s funeral, and the next day, I played my first game.
My dad said it would help get my mind off things. ”
“Bloody hell,” Mia breathes. “How insensitive.”
“It was a right royal disaster.” Anger claws at my throat. “I was nineteen years old, I was a sad and grieving teenager, I was angry at the world, and my dad thought me going out to play football was a good idea. All it got me was a reputation for being violent on the field.”
“They called you Belter didn’t they?”
I smile and shake my head at the nickname. “What a reputation it was.”
“I’m so sorry, Dom. That’s all just… so sad.”
“My mum, she was never the same again. And then when Archie was just starting school, she was diagnosed with cancer.”
“Fucking christ.” Mia holds her hands to her head. “The poor woman just couldn’t catch a break.”
“No, she couldn’t. She fought hard for years, but… she died right when Archie was doing his exams.”
Mia runs a hand through her hair with a sigh. “That’s all just so sad. You’ve all really been through it.”
I smile at Mia. “I think she would have liked you.”
Mia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me? Oh I don’t know about that, I’m a bit of a bitch when I want to be.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, she would have liked your sass. She liked unapologetically bolshie women.”
“Bolshie?” Mia laughs out loud. “Are you saying I’m bolshie?”
“I think I am, yeah.”
“Bastard.” Mia giggles to herself. “I mean, I am a little loud I suppose. Comes with the territory.”
“Of what, being a Northerner?”
“At least we Northerners actually say summat,” Mia drawls, exaggerating her Yorkshire accent. “You Londoners are rude, and mean, and don’t say nothing.”
“We are very, very rude,” I say with a chuckle.
“And your mushy peas taste like aught.”
I point a finger at her. “Ey now, I’ll not hear any mushy pea slander on my turf.”
Mia wrinkles her nose. “Marginally better than that tripe they serve in Manchester, I suppose.”
“Now that is slander,” I say, slapping my leg. “Unbelievable.”
Mia laughs, and the waiter arrives with our food.
“Oh good, I’m starving,” Mia says, smiling up at the waiter. “This all looks fabulous.”
“Thank you, Mrs Graves,” the waiter says, and Mia bites back a laugh.
Once he’s gone, she picks up her cutlery with a giggle.
“Does being recognised like that ever become normal?”
“No, no it does not.”
“Being Mia Brookes, then Mia Graves, it’s all so… weird.” She starts cutting into her pie. “People knowing what I look like in my underwear, you know? It’s odd.”
Well Jesus fucking christ, great. What a thought.
“Yeah, that would be weird.” I focus extremely hard on my food.
“I mean, you’d know, we’ve all seen you in barely your kit with no shirt on.”
My cheeks are probably glowing red right now, my face feels like it’s on fire. “God, yeah, no one wants to see that.”
“Oh my friend Charlotte does,” Mia says lightly, giving me a smug smile across the table. “She’s the one who called you Daddy Dilf the other day in case it wasn’t clear.”
“No, I got that. Is she single?” I laugh, waving a hand through the air. “I’m joking, I’m joking. One divorce this season is enough for me.”
“Cynthia leaving you alone? Only I heard she was making life a little hard for you.”
“No, no, it’s fine. She’s…” I try and think of how to describe my ex-wife in a way that’s not unflattering. “She’s hurt, I think. She wanted me to sell the club and when I wouldn’t, well… that caused some problems.”
“Why would she want you to sell the club?” Mia frowns deeply. “You’re Dominic bloody Graves, your family is the club. How could you ever sell it?”
I quickly pop a chunk of steak in my mouth so I have the excuse of needing to chew before I formulate an answer. Cynthia was difficult, and she was younger than me and wanted a baby. She was not far past 40, and her biological clock was ticking loudly.
“She wanted kids,” I say with a sigh. “I told her I was too old. I have a son who’s almost 30. It’s not right to be having kids at my age.”
“Did she think selling the club would make you want them?”
“I suppose so. She thought it was taking away too much of my attention. When she finally realised that wasn’t going to happen… Well, let’s just say my dad was glad to see the back of her.”
Mia snorts and picks up her glass of water. “Forgive me, but your father’s good opinion doesn’t mean much.”
I lean back in my chair with a grin. “Now I thought you rather liked him.”
“I mean, he’s fine.” Mia stabs her fork into her food and lets it fall to the plate. “He’s always been friendly to me, sort of seemed like the only one of you all who actually liked me. But I don’t know. I think he liked who I made Archie more than he liked me, if that makes sense.”
“I think he felt the same way about my mother,” I say softly, not even wanting to give the awful thought a voice. “He liked who she made him, what she made him look like. But he didn’t love her the way he should have, not enough to be loyal.”
“I think your dad probably doesn’t like women much.”
“Oh I think he liked them altogether too much,” I say darkly, and quickly remember myself, sitting up straight in my chair. “Sorry, that was cruel.”
Mia shakes her head, giving me an understanding smile. “No, I knew what you meant.”
We finish our food amidst yet more small talk, chatting about the game, about Priest and how well the team’s doing.
I get the check, having a quick argument with Mia about paying, but in the end the meal is on me.
Mia pouts and rolls her eyes, but lets me help her back into her coat, and even lets me open the car door for her.
“Such a gentleman,” she teases, and I swallow down the shame of the fact that I stared at her legs for a beat too long when she climbed into the car.
The streets are still busy as I drive her the short distance back to her house. We pull up out the front, and she turns to me with a smile.
“Well, thanks for that. I really enjoyed it.”
“You sound surprised.”
She laughs, and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Yeah well, you’re not as bad as I thought, in the end.”
“Well, thanks.” I hesitate, wondering if I should say what I actually want to say, then decide to maybe tone it down just a little since this is my son’s fucking wife I’m speaking to. “I’m really sorry that you thought I didn’t like you.”
Mia leans her head back against the car seat and rolls her eyes as she looks at me. “You didn’t like me, Dom. You thought I were some cheap shopgirl come in to steal your son’s money, we both know that.”
“And I was wrong. Very wrong.”
Mia gives me a curt nod. “Thank you for saying so.”
“I like you.” The words tumble out between us and hang in the air.
Mia stares at me for a moment, trying to measure the weight of my words no doubt, before her face breaks into an uncertain smile.
“I like you, too.” She leans across to plant a quick peck on my cheek. “You’re not bad company as it turns out.”
She climbs quickly out of the car, waving a goodbye as she slams the door shut and hurries to her gate. I wait until the front light goes dark, and even then, I sit in my car for a few minutes longer, just staring up the path.
I can’t make sense of what’s happening. The feelings that are swirling inside me, all because a pretty woman with long legs and beautiful hair came to a few football games with me and let me buy her dinner, they’re not normal.
And they’re wrong.
Mia is divorcing Archie when he gets back, and she’ll go on to live her life. Just like I will. I’ll probably never even see her again, except on billboards and in magazines. She’ll be free of my family, and be glad for it.
And yet, like a stupid teenager, before I gun the engine of my car, I put my fingertips to the place where she kissed me.
You’ve done it now, old man. You’ve really fucking done it now.