Chapter 4
4
Tony’s pulling up just as I get to the door. These days, most players go for a discreetly luxurious SUV but Tony’s definitely more of a Lambo sort of guy. In red, obviously. Clambering in wearing a pencil skirt might be more challenging than sumo squats, but it’s worth it for the interior, all nude leather and gold. And that’s before you get to the engine, which purrs like a tiger happy to find his steak tastes reassuringly expensive.
Our training complex is on a busy A-road, and the first few minutes are spent with me giving directions and Tony concentrating on traffic. But once we turn off onto one of the sleepy B-roads that snake across the county, neither of us can pretend driving still requires Tony’s full attention. Since the only things I can think to say are, one, I’m so sorry again, for being appallingly rude, or two, you have by far the most attractive thighs of any man I’ve ever met, it’s quite a relief when Tony takes the conversational initiative.
‘You wanna drive?’
‘Thank you, but no.’
He gives me a quick glance. ‘Honest? I got the idea you was looking at the car with a bit of a hankering.’
I shake my head. ‘No, I love sports cars in an entirely uneducated way, but only as a passenger.’
He looks at me again, head on one side. ‘That’s unexpected.’
‘Why?’
He shrugs and makes a sideways movement with his mouth. ‘Just I’d got you down as someone who likes being in the driving seat.’
‘Not at all. I’d much rather be driven.’
There’s an inadequately concealed smirk. ‘Interesting.’
I can’t allow myself to get drawn down whatever road he’s heading. Our chat in the gym explained why Tony’s here, but not why, behind his back, the first team are calling him the banana. Given their current enthusiasm for emoji-based rhyming slang, I’m fairly confident that works back to moaner or loner. Either way, it needs fixing, and opening up a bit myself might get him in a confiding mood. I try, ‘I grew up around here. Learning to drive when there might be a tractor lurking around every bend left me pretty traumatized. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the best thing about hiring Skylar, she’s always dying to drive.’ Well, that and how she reliably makes me laugh, which fully compensates for her appalling timekeeping.
‘She’s the blonde, right? With the tats?’
It doesn’t surprise me in the least that he’s noticed Skylar. ‘That’s right.’
‘And the other one, the one that was in the office with you just now, what’s her name?’
Interest in Kat is equally understandable, but I’m not sure his curiosity bodes well. ‘Katia. She’s LeMar’s girlfriend.’ Hopefully, even Tony can see it’s not a good idea to offend our striker, even if Katia’s personal appearance is every bit as polished as her organizational skills.
He laughs. ‘Don’t worry. No need to warn me off. She’s a bit young for me.’
At twenty-one, Katia is only two years younger than Angharad Jones, the beautiful model-cum-influencer Tony was seeing on and off all last year. It would be rude to point that out, so I let the conversation lapse and focus on enjoying the drive. Midshire countryside isn’t ideal for ultra-powerful cars, but with Tony, there’s none of the usual fighting up and down our steep hills. Plus, every time he changes gear, I can’t help noticing he has really nice hands. On the small side, like most players’ hands and feet, but clearly strong.
Tony leaves it a minute then asks, ‘They’re both local girls and all?’
‘Katia is. She and LeMar were at school together. She got the job to keep our star striker happy, but turns out she’s fantastic at it. We scouted Skylar from London for the women’s team. But their wages aren’t exactly in line with yours, and Kat and I needed some extra help, so Sky fits in a few hours of player care after training.’
He nods. ‘So, it’s like your local club then? All of you?’
‘That’s right, I used to go with my grandfather when I was a child.’
‘Not your dad?’
‘No, the sporting gene missed a generation.’ I hope that sounds casual, and doesn’t hint at how deeply my parents disapprove of my job and life choices in general.
Luckily, if any resentment creeps through, Tony doesn’t seem to notice. ‘And the owner, it’s like a family firm, right?’
‘Sort of.’ I make a profound effort to give Monica the praise she’s due. ‘Except the whole time her father was in charge, we were a mid-level Championship team. It’s Monica who got us into the Premiership at all, let alone the top four.’
Tony grimaces. ‘Sort of terrifying, though, isn’t she? Eyes like calculators, that one.’
I laugh despite myself. ‘Well, you did cost a literal fortune. You can hardly blame her for continuously working out your investment-to-return ratio.’
‘I’ll be worth it all right.’ Tony winks. ‘It’s a shame though. I’ve not played for a club owned by a woman before and I was quite into the idea. So far, she’s not exactly lived up to expectations.’
High hedges and twisty turns straighten into stubble fields. Tony grabs his chance to accelerate past a horsebox. While he’s focused on the road, I sneak a glance at his profile, all sloping cheekbones and a long nose that’s been fixed so well, you hardly notice the break. ‘It’s more a board of investors, headed by a chief shareholder, who happens to be a woman. And Tony, I know my professionalism hasn’t been stellar so far, but if you only take one bit of advice from me, don’t do anything other than take Monica very seriously.’
He makes a sideways sort of smile. ‘Understood.’
‘Also, don’t make any sort of joke about Monica, or to her. She doesn’t understand them.’
He laughs good-naturedly. ‘Good to know. But from our first little chat, I’d got the impression you was more likely to be passing stuff up the chain than keeping me out of trouble.’
‘To Monica, no. My loyalty’s to the manager, no one else.’
‘I can understand that, cos I’m pretty enthused ’bout working for him and all.’ Tony makes an ironic face. ‘But he don’t pay your wages, does he?’
‘Except he’s the one keeping us winning, so indirectly, he kind of does.’ My voice starts out stern, but I can’t help adding, ‘And he only listens to what he really needs to hear,’ in a much softer tone.
Tony nods. ‘Fair enough.’ Then he looks at me full-on, which is slightly terrifying as we’re approaching a ninety-degree bend, and nods again. I’m ridiculously pleased that I seem to have given the right answer.