Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The pier amusements on the Westcliffe seafront smelled like salt and vinegar, seaweed, and nostalgia.
The patterned carpet hadn’t been changed since Georgia had come to Westcliffe as a kid.
The bare spots and suspiciously sticky stains were part of the charm, along with the Victorian woodwork and endless unhealthy snack options.
It wasn’t the ideal mid-week dinner spot, but she’d needed a distraction.
Georgia knew she’d have spent the evening with her thoughts running in the same old circles if she’d gone home to the chicken breast, rice and broccoli waiting for her in the fridge.
There were only two days until her date with Matt, and the last few days as captain had been a baptism of fire.
She’d had extra press duties – photoshoots with the club board, a stammered appearance on a fan podcast – as well as the pressing awareness of the team’s eyes on her and their expectations.
The twenty minute walk along the front from the flat had blown the cobwebs away, and the arcade machines were simple yet fun enough to keep her mind firmly in the present.
Georgia shoved a pound coin into the change machine and watched it gobble her money with a series of loud, grinding clinks before spitting out a fat handful of 2p coins.
She scooped them into a small paper cup and turned.
Rachel was already halfway through a stack, hunched over the coin pusher with laser focus.
“You’re an addict,” Georgia said, nudging her with a hip and surveying the machine to her left. There was a nice build-up of coins, hanging temptingly over the edge. The middle slot looked the best, the most likely to pay out. Georgia lifted her first coin and pressed it into the slot.
Rachel didn’t look up from the machine, tracking the path of her next copper with almost obsessive devotion. “You’re just jealous of my finely honed timing.”
Georgia’s coin landed, with terrible timing, on top of the coins already in a thick layer on the top platform of the machine.
“More like blind luck,” she muttered, lining up the next coin.
“Same thing,” Kamsi chimed in, watching as Georgia’s second effort also did nothing. She'd let her hair out of its usual braids, and it was haloed in a tight around crown her head. Next to them, Rachel’s machine clattered with the sound of falling coins. “Or maybe not.”
Jess arrived behind them, juggling two enormous, bright blue slushies. “You started without me?”
“We’re fuelling Rach’s unhealthy obsession,” Kamsi said, taking one of the slushies. Georgia’s third coin pushed a few coppers over the edge, the coins on the bottom ledge teetering dramatically. “She’s convinced she can win that Peppa Pig keyring.”
“It’s not for me,” Rachel protested, mock indignant. “It’s for my niece.”
“Sure,” Georgia said, cracking a smile. “Are you planning to explain why the flat is now full of at least three Peppa Pig mugs, a plate, that little cushion thing on your bed and…”
“Peppa is a feminist icon,” Rachel interrupted, dead serious, as she pushed another coin into the slot, “and it’s called a collection. Ever heard of it, captain?”
Georgia’s stomach did a little lurch at the term.
It wasn’t the first time someone had said it in the few days since the announcement, but it still felt strange.
Too big, too formal. Like wearing someone else’s boots.
She covered it with a grin. “You know I’m docking your match bonus for insubordination, right? ”
Rachel let out a dramatic gasp. “Corruption! Abuse of power!”
“She’s gone mad with it already,” Kamsi said, solemn as a judge. “I heard she’s demanding we carry her boots into training on a velvet cushion.”
“I heard she made the backs do burpees just for looking at her funny,” Jess added, taking a large gulp from her slushie.
Georgia laughed, giving up on her machine and handing Rachel the rest of her coins. “Right, that’s it. All of you – extra laps tomorrow.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Rachel said, sticking out her tongue.
Georgia raised her eyebrow. “I kinda am, though.”
For a moment, they held each other’s gaze and something passed between them – something less jokey, more real. Rachel was a senior player, another capped international. They all were. They didn’t give out respect lightly. But slowly, Rachel tipped her head in mock salute. “Aye aye, boss.”
Kamsi slurped loudly on her slushie, and the moment passed. Rachel’s next coin sent a wave of coins falling out of the machine, spilling out onto the ancient carpet, the Peppa Pig keyring among them.
Georgia bent to pick it up, her mind still on Rachel’s salute. She’d known the captaincy would change things. She just hadn’t known how much. She wasn’t sure yet if the extra weight on her shoulders was pride or pressure. Probably both.
They moved deeper into the arcade, the neon buzz of lights washing over them in pinks and greens. A dance machine blasted tinny 90s pop. A nearby child was wailing as their father tried desperately to work a rigged claw machine.
Georgia led the way to the basketball machine and lined up a shot. It bounced off the rim.
Rachel hooted. “That was tragic.”
“Give me a break,” Georgia said, snatching another ball. “It’s not a rugby ball. It’s round. That’s unnatural.”
She made the second shot clean. The third too.
“Okay, fine,” Rachel muttered, twisting the new keyring onto her keys. “Don’t show off.”
They all took turns, the arcade lights throwing weird colours across their skin, turning Jess’ blonde hair neon green and painting Rachel’s short quiff a violent blue. Georgia liked this, being out, being stupid, having nothing to prove.
Except now, she supposed, she always had something to prove.
She was captain now. Not just Georgia. Their teammate, their friend.
Not just the solid second row who tackled hard and kept her mouth shut.
She had to be the one with the answers. The one who held it all together.
Even here, she was watching. Calculating.
Noticing the way Kamsi’s shoulder still looked stiff on the follow-through.
Noticing how Jess still deferred to Rach with her eyes when decision cropped up.
Georgia wasn’t annoyed by it. She just noticed it. All the time.
They moved to the air hockey table, Georgia squaring off against Jess.
“You know I’m terrible at this,” Jess warned, holding the paddle like it might bite her.
“Great.” Georgia floated the puck on the little airstreams, sending it bouncing towards Jess with a swipe of her arm. “I love to win.”
The game descended into chaos almost immediately. Georgia scored once, then Jess retaliated by shrieking at full volume every time the puck came near her. Rachel and Kamsi leaned on the next table, supplying unhelpful commentary.
“She’s playing with fear in her eyes,” Rachel said.
“Poor instincts,” Kamsi agreed. “Needs a stint on the wing.”
Georgia slammed the puck home for a final point. “Victory!”
Jess pouted, then flung an arm around Georgia’s shoulders. “I let you win, just to get out of those extra laps.”
“Nope,” Georgia said, loading up another pound into the table. “Not negotiable. Unless, of course, one of you can beat me.”
Three games later, none of them had. They collapsed onto one of the outside benches, polystyrene trays of fish and chips in their hands.
“So,” Jess said innocently, “any weekend plans, Captain?”
Georgia narrowed her eyes. “Other than our matchday, no.”
Kamsi snorted. “That’s not what I heard.”
Georgia sighed. Rachel had told them.
“I heard,” Kamsi continued, leaning in, wide-eyed, “you’ve got a hot date tomorrow. With Mr Teenage Heartthrob himself.”
Georgia speared a piece of fish with her wooden fork. “It’s not a big deal. We’re just catching up, over dinner.”
“At the Lantern Rooms,” Rachel supplied, dodging the elbow Georgia rammed into her side. “He’s having her for dessert.”
Jess’ eyebrows practically launched off her face. “That’s literally the definition of a hot date.”
“She blushed when he texted her,” Rachel added, smug. She was loving her position as chief gossipmonger. Maybe Georgia would make her run those extra laps after all.
Georgia groaned and leaned back on the bench. “I hate all of you.”
“You love us,” Kamsi said. “Now tell us what you’re wearing.”
“I was thinking of turning up in full kit. Mouthguard, scrum cap. Really set the tone.”
“Hot,” Jess agreed with a grin.
“Honestly,” Rachel added, “he’d be lucky.”
Georgia smiled. The teasing was relentless, but it didn’t sting. It felt good. Like warmth and loyalty and home. These women had her back, even when they were roasting her alive.
“You nervous?” Jess asked quietly, nudging Georgia with her elbow.
Georgia thought of the flash of Matt’s smile, the solid bunch of his biceps under his shirt. “Maybe. A little bit. And about being captain, too.”
“You’re doing fine,” Jess promised.
Kamsi nodded. “Better than fine. We needed someone solid after last year. You’re good at keeping the room calm. It makes a difference.”
Rachel didn’t speak right away, thoughtfully chewing on a chip. “It’s not an easy job. You know that.”
A seagull perched on the railings on the other side of the pier, beadily eyeing up their dinner. Georgia focused on it, rather than on meeting her friends’ eyes. “Yeah.”
“There’ll be people who push you. Some who’ll test how far they can go.”
“Like Riley,” Jess said, and Georgia suppressed a grimace at the mention of Jess’ sister.
“Is that a warning, Rach?” Georgia said, one eyebrow raised, trying to deflect from the sudden seriousness of the moment.
Rachel grinned back. “Maybe.” But then she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice quieter. “You’ve got it, Hotch. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
Georgia felt the warmth rise in her chest. The affirmation landed more heavily than she expected. She didn’t know she’d been waiting for it until it came.
“Thanks,” she said.
They sat in companionable silence, the seagull still planning its theft of their dinner, the low whirr of the arcade behind them like white noise.
Kamsi broke it. “I vote we take over the dance machine next.”