Chapter 8
8
My lurcher jumps up at me the minute the door’s open, paws flailing and tail wagging like crazy. I say over my shoulder, ‘This is Rouden, Roudie to his friends. You’ll have to excuse him. He’s untrainable.’ That draws Roudie’s attention to Tony. Roudie pauses for a moment, eyes like saucers, then turns tail and runs into the kitchen. ‘Sorry, he’s not super keen on men. He usually gets over it, it just takes a few meetings.’
‘Sounds reasonable,’ Tony says, as I usher him into the kitchen.
Tony looks around for somewhere to sit, and settles for lounging against the cupboards.
‘This place is, um…’
He’s obviously searching for something nice to say, and I laugh. ‘It’s all right. Skylar’s always teasing about how it looks like the bailiffs have been.’
‘You not been here long?’
I grimace. ‘Three years. But after I bought the bare minimum of furniture, I sort of ran out of steam.’
Even leaving aside my minimalist approach to decorating, no one could claim my cottage, which was built for farm labourers, is grand. But normally, it feels perfect for me and Roudie. The terracotta tiles can take any amount of muddy paws and dirty running shoes, and the log burner means it’s always warm, even in the dead of winter. Today though, it seems cramped. I guess that’s to be expected. I can’t imagine Victorian ploughmen took up anywhere near as much space as Tony, or had quite such big personalities. And if it was just small that wouldn’t be a huge issue, but I have to admit, it’s looking neglected. Like I’ve always meant to re-do the kitchen but it’s never made it to the top of the to-do list. The laminate worktops peeling at the edges are definitely a contrast to the lodge’s smooth granite.
Bringing Tony here was a mistake. I’m being paid to help him feel at home. It’s got to be off-putting that I haven’t even hung a picture in mine, unless you count the photos stuck on the fridge, three from Katia’s birthday, random photos of friends out of work, two of Roudie and one from Skylar’s first start for the women’s team. Not a single one of my ex-husband, obviously. I attempt to at least discreetly push the unopened letters scattered on the work surface into a tidy pile, which sends half of them toppling to the floor. Tony stoops to collect them and as he hands them back to me, he’s trying not to laugh.
‘You take the same approach with players’ mail? Just let it pile up?’
‘No. I promise, none of my players has ever had so much as an overdue parking ticket.’ I should leave it there, but I hear myself adding, ‘It’s just, left to my own devices, I’m not terribly domesticated.’ I meant it to sound jokey, but it comes out more prickly. I stare down at, inevitably, a chipped tile, and prod my fingers into a tense spot on my neck. ‘Sorry, it’s not a great advertisement for my professional skills, is it?’
‘I dunno ’bout that. Seems like you’re pretty good at looking after what you care about.’ His voice is soft and when I look up, he points over at Roudie, lying on his ultra-deluxe memory foam bed.
It’s unexpectedly kind. But it wouldn’t do for Tony to see I’m getting all melty, so I limit myself to offering a drink and praying he doesn’t want something involving milk, since I doubt there is any. Luckily, he asks for water.
I’ve had an idea, and as I fill a glass, I ask casually, ‘Do you fancy coming for a walk with me and Roudie? He’ll feel cheated if I don’t take him out, now I’ve come home early.’ When I turn to hand him the water, Tony looks decidedly wary so I backtrack. ‘But if you’re not into walking, that’s fine, I’ll let him out in the garden quickly and then we’ll get going.’
‘Nah, it’s not that.’ His voice turns gruff. ‘Just I could do without pictures in the paper tomorrow of me adjusting to country living.’
‘That’s unlikely,’ I say, hoping that’s true, and berating myself for not thinking of that myself. ‘It’s one of the best things about coming to play here, we’re too out of the way for the paparazzi to bother much.’
‘Yeah, but half the time now, the tabloids, they’re just buying stuff off people’s phones, so someone else might see me.’
My smile is extra reassuring. ‘Everyone in the village is ancient. Most of them probably can’t use the cameras on their phones, and the rest wouldn’t be able to send the photo as an attachment. And even if they could, they’d have to recognize you without their glasses. I honestly think it would be fine, but there’s no pressure.’
He grins. ‘Then yeah, a walk’d be great. You and the pup can show me the sights.’
I run upstairs to swap silk blouse and vegan leather skirt for leggings and a t-shirt, maybe knotted a touch tighter at the back than is strictly necessary. But given all the work I put into re-acquiring my waist post-divorce, I feel I’ve earned the right to show it off now and again. I also grab a baseball cap, on the basis that, even if I were to get a ridiculous urge to kiss Tony, the long brim would act as a makeshift chastity belt.
When I get back into the kitchen, Roudie’s resting his head on Tony’s knee, allowing his ears to be pulled.
‘How on earth did you manage that?’
He shrugs. ‘I dunno. He just came over.’
Roudie delicately licks Tony’s hand.
‘That’s astonishing.’
Tony bends to ruffle Roudie’s fur. ‘I reckon you’ve just got good taste, haven’t you, mate?’
He looks up at me through his lashes, and I let the eye contact linger a second too long, before pointing to the lock on the bin. ‘That seems to argue otherwise.’
Tony laughs. ‘Well, that’s me told! Now, are we taking this fella for a walk or what?’
We head out and Tony looks at me closely. ‘You told me I didn’t need to worry ’bout press, yeah?’
‘I really don’t think so here.’
‘So, what’s with the hat?’
‘Just keeping the sun out of my eyes.’
He smiles slowly, and I’ve got a horrible feeling he’s guessed the actual reason, though it’s such mad logic I know really that’s impossible, but all he says is, ‘Fair enough.’
I won’t lie. Over the years, I’ve spent numerous imaginary afternoons in Tony’s company. But they always involved hotel rooms, or if you held my feet to the fire, I might admit to the odd dressing room encounter. Definitely no pleasant country walks. And today’s walk is genuinely pleasant. It starts out on a narrow path between tall holly hedges, Roudie in front, Tony padding behind. Then it opens out into springy green pasture and we’re side by side, quiet, the late afternoon sun strong on my back. It’s weirdly peaceful, except for Roudie dancing at the end of the lead. Once I’m sure it’s sheep free, I let him off to gallop around. He does some cursory sniffing but there’s nothing worth hunting, so he’s mainly running circles for the hell of it.
Tony stops to watch Roudie whizzing past us, a sleek tan and white blur. ‘He’s dead elegant, isn’t he? Like we should have him playing on the wing, he’s that fast.’
I beam at Tony, an appreciation of Roudie being a major source of bonus points with me. ‘That’s exactly what I think. Imagine being able to make one killer pass for him to run onto? He’s perfect for breaking down a high press.’ Roudie races towards me and I dart at him. He feints right then turns left. ‘And see, defenders would hate him almost as much as they hate you.’
Tony waits until I’m back beside him, then tilts his head to acknowledge the fully deserved flattery. ‘You do like your football, don’t you? And I get the dog now. He’s not what I’d have guessed for you, but he’s just right for a sporting sort of girl.’
For half a second, his palm is on my back. It’s the first time he’s intentionally touched me. Nothing’s peaceful any more. I swallow hard, digging my nails into my palm until I’m sure there’ll be no sign of the rush of desire so strong, it’s close to nausea.
‘What would you have guessed?’ My voice is thankfully at most slightly teasing, not breathlessly eager, which was a genuine concern thirty seconds ago.
‘Something small and sort of cuddly. Not… Actually, what is your dog?’
‘A lurcher. Well, really a long dog, because he’s probably half greyhound, half saluki.’ Maybe sticking to informative facts is the secret to keeping up a professional front? Let’s hope so. If memorizing chunks of Wikipedia is the answer to prolonged exposure to Tony, that’s going to make my life a whole lot easier.
He shrugs. ‘So, you might as well have said that in dog language for all I understood it.’
‘He’s a hunting dog. They breed them round here for rabbits and deer and things. But they tend to get so carried away chasing something, they get lost, and end up in a shelter.’
‘Don’t the owners come look for ’em?’
‘It’s illegal, hunting with dogs, so no.’
Tony takes half a step away so he can grin at me directly. ‘Well, I bet he’s pretty happy with how it turned out. You seem like you’d make a top-class mistress.’
OK, so sadly, dry facts aren’t the antidote. I make my face haughty. ‘There’s no point smiling like that. Now you’ve said I seem like someone who’d have a small fluffy dog, you’re dead to me.’
He laughs. ‘Sorry, only I’ve never heard of a greyhound Suzuki, or whatever you said, so I couldn’t have guessed that. And I don’t have much experience of dogs anyhow. I like ’em though.’
Most players do. You never have to worry if it’s you they love, or your money. Which is where my idea comes in, and it sounds like now’s the time to lay the groundwork.
‘Why not get one?’
He shrugs. ‘I dunno. I’ve thought ’bout it a few times over the years. Only it’s sort of like why I don’t have the wife and kids neither. I like the idea.’ He twists his mouth. ‘But responsibility, let’s just say it’s lucky that doesn’t count toward my FIFA rating.’
It’s the perfect in, and I have to make a serious effort to sound off-hand. ‘You can always borrow Roudie, if you like. He’s deeply resentful of the hours I work and he’d love the odd post-training walk.’
Tony jumps at it like an aerial ball in the box. ‘Yeah, actually, I would like that, if you’re serious?’
‘Of course, you’d be doing me a favour. There’s a spare key under the mat, pick him up any time you want. Just keep him on the lead until he’s used to you.’
Tony gives me a really happy smile, all teeth and crinkly eyes. ‘Yeah, I will. Thanks.’ He watches Roudie, then asks, ‘So, is it bad, my first anchoring social tie being a dog?’
‘Well, when I described him as the man in my life, I wasn’t joking: he is my longest-lasting relationship, so I can’t exactly judge.’
Tony’s smile dims. ‘Yeah, well, you’ve only had to open a paper the last few years to know I can’t throw stones on that front myself.’
I change the subject, pointing out the view, how you can see the training ground and even the roof of the stadium in amongst the mini tower blocks and factory chimneys of Covenly. But that means Tony’s so close behind me, it would only take half a step back for me to be leaning against his chest. And there’s the inevitable visual flash, his arms around my waist, his lips against my neck.