Chapter 20
20
From: Beth Christie ([email protected])
To: Charlotte Edwards ([email protected])
Sent: 09.34 Wednesday 26 August
Subject: Felicity Landon interview
Hi Genie,
Just spoke to Landon’s PA. Landon’s on board with doing a ‘power couples in football’ piece on Monica and Gavin, and she’s more than happy to interview Garratt at the same time. But before I book her in with him for after training on Thursday, I wanted to 100 per cent confirm he’s on board with that? Landon’s PA said that’s what she’d tried to set up originally, but Garratt wanted to meet in London. The puff piece on Monica is Landon doing us a favour, so I don’t want to mess her around if there’s a miscommunication on our end.
Thanks
Beth
That’s weird. Only actually, it probably isn’t. I can think of multiple reasons why Tony might’ve originally wanted a London trip on his calendar. Including one whose first Instagram post of the day involved a yoga pose I could only achieve by dislocating my hip. And I know gossip isn’t reliable, but if there’s even a smidgen of truth in what’s been said about Tony and Angharad, their relationship status changes more often than her filters. If Tony wanted to meet and then decided he didn’t, it’s not like he’s got to explain that, is it? Not when we’re just friends.
So, I send a quick non-nosy Slack message back:
Thanks for checking. Tony definitely wants to do the interview here. But before you schedule, I’d confirm he can fit it in. First team leave at 3 pm.
See, I’m such a good friend, I’m even giving him a chance to change his mind again. Except there’s something that doesn’t make sense.
Sorry, one other thing. Did Landon’s PA happen to say if she spoke to Tony directly or someone from the club? It looked like that interview was set up by Player Care, but none of us remember talking to her.
She didn’t. I can ask, if you want?
No, it’s not a big deal. Just wanted to be sure we hadn’t been stepping on Media’s toes.
I’m still trying to figure out how that interview ended up in Player-Care tangerine when Skylar races in.
‘Sorry, Genie, sorry. I know I’m late, conditioning ran over.’
It’s the second time this week, and it’s only Tuesday. I try to look disapproving. But she can’t exactly walk out of training early, and she’s still in gym clothes so she hasn’t dawdled.
‘I’ve got a present though, to make up.’ She holds out a package. ‘Well, not from me. From Tony.’
It’s squishy. Probably clothes he wants returned, since we are now definitely outside gift-giving territory. Only there’s no return address label. I open it, hoping for an explanation inside about what I’m supposed to do with it. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped in tissue paper, and as I ease it out, my fingers brush silky softness that can only be cashmere. Shaking the empty parcel doesn’t produce a note. I look up at Sky. ‘Did he say…’
‘Oh, yeah.’ She pulls a crumpled scrap from the pocket of her joggers. ‘He gave me this.’
It takes me a minute to decipher the scrawl: This was looking for a home. Thought you might like it.
‘Did he say who it’s for?’
‘You obviously.’
‘Not obviously. There’s no name. He might want me to send it on.’
‘Nope, it’s definitely for you. He couldn’t exactly write a full-scale love letter, Sanchez was in his face over being late.’
I’m surprised Tony managed to write anything. Sanchez, one of our wingers, did his junior years at a club that fines by the minute for lateness. His timekeeping is impeccable bordering on pathological.
I unwrap the tissue paper and shake out a woman’s hoodie. Skylar’s whirlwind arrival didn’t shake Katia’s laser-focus off a player’s council tax paperwork, but clothes are her kryptonite. The minute she sees it, she’s at my desk, fingering the gold and purple zebra stripes.
‘Isn’t it lush? I’ve been trying to get my hands on one ever since they came out.’ Kat looks at Sky. ‘Did Tony say how he managed to get past the waitlist?’
I check the label. ‘Oh, it’s just free merch, I think. This is the brand Tony and LeMar did the shoot for, isn’t it?’
Katia mimes gnashing her teeth. ‘Urgh. LeMar’s so weird about freebies. But I’ve been going on for ages about how I wanted one. If they were giving them away, he could’ve accepted, just this once.’
I completely understand why she’s annoyed. It would look amazing on Katia. But even if it is too bright for me, there’s no way I’m giving it up.
Skylar snorts. ‘Only, obviously they weren’t.’
Katia and I both look at her, heads to one side, like puppies surprised by a squeaky toy.
‘You don’t have to be a genius to work it out. Tony paid for it.’
I begin to say no but Skylar talks over me, her voice husky as an old-style radio ad. ‘Zebra stripes, the perfect gift for the lioness who won’t accept anything.’
I restart explaining this is just a friendly gesture. Because Tony definitely seems to have fully bought in to the friends thing. As in, yesterday, he was so deep in conversation with Steph, the club photographer, he barely managed to smile hello. Obviously, I didn’t butt in, though I was tempted to offer her a scrunchie. She seemed to be having terrible trouble keeping her hair out of her eyes, based on how much she was flicking it around. Well, I say her hair, but I mean her not particularly convincing extensions, which I can’t help noticing have appeared since she travelled with the first team for Saturday’s game. And no, of course I’m not jealous. Whatever gave you that idea?
Only, right now, that doesn’t matter. Neither does exactly how Tony obtained the top, because it’s just hit me.
‘Skylar, how are Tony and Sanchez running late? If you saw them on your way up, they should’ve been easily in time for training.’
Skylar stops correcting the effects of deadlifts on her platinum ponytail for long enough to say, ‘They’re skipping training. To meet the medics, I think. Does it matter?’
I must look horrified, because Katia rushes to reassure. ‘Tony’s not injured. Today’s the demo for that new shockwave machine at the hospital, to see if we want one of our own. Don’t you remember, you sent me the list of players missing training?’
‘But was Tony on it?’ I’d swear he wasn’t.
Katia rushes over to her computer. ‘No, no, he isn’t.’
I try calling Tony. It goes straight to voicemail. Typical.
That’s a problem. A big one. Players have to tell the FA’s whereabouts team if they’re absent from training. If they don’t, and the anti-doping people show up for a random check, that’s a strike. Three strikes equal a one-year suspension. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the club’s fault or the player’s, a strike’s a strike.
I check my watch. Training’s just started. Can’t add Tony to the list now. But maybe the medics are still here? If Tony’s at the training ground, we can report him as being late for training, instead of missing training. It’s a technicality, but within the rules. Or it is, so long as he doesn’t leave before we make the change.
I kick off my heels and start running.
I round the corner to the treatment room like a 100-metre sprinter. And thank God, they’re all there, hanging around in the hallway, Tony, Sanchez, Leon Wite from the academy, and Gavin. Shiny concrete and bare feet don’t mix, so as Chrissie emerges from the medic’s office, I’m struggling to stop myself sliding into Tony.
‘Genie, what on earth’s the matter?’ she asks.
‘Tony’s not…’ Gaspy breathing. ‘Tony’s not on the whereabouts list.’ More gasping, I can’t be doing enough cardio. ‘You need to wait for us to…’
‘What do you mean, he’s not on the list?’ Gavin snaps. ‘I emailed you on Friday. I was perfectly clear. Garratt, Sanchez and Wite would all be absent from Tuesday’s session.’
‘I’m sorry, I…’ I’m baffled, how could I have missed that email?
‘There’s no point making excuses. This is exactly why I’ve always said Player Care shouldn’t be trusted to handle whereabouts reporting.’
It’s true. Gavin’s told everyone who’ll listen, it’s a job for the medical team. It’s me who’s resisted. Because it’s not always a medical issue. What if a player’s missing training for something personal? Something they don’t want to share with the doctor who weighs in on whether they’re fit to play? Only now, I’ve proved Gavin right. Player Care can’t be trusted, and I couldn’t be more mortified if I tried.
Gavin’s mouth tightens. That only happens when he’s really angry. ‘You know the anti-doping brigade can turn up for any session. What if today had been the day? It’s common knowledge they’re after scalps this season. How many times do you have to be told, we’ve got to be careful?’ Gavin looks pointedly at Tony. ‘Especially with certain players.’
That’s a low blow, but I doubt Gavin realizes how low. Gavin considers the gossipy side of football beneath him, so he’s probably referring to a story that’s practically Jurassic, about an off-season trip to Amsterdam which briefly cost Tony his place on the England youth team. Gavin won’t have heard of Angharad Jones, let alone her bestie Caliste, a wellness guru and fervent advocate for microdosing. So there’s no chance he’ll be familiar with the (almost certainly) slanderous rumours that Tony’s loss of form reflected a more macro approach.
Only Tony doesn’t know that, judging by how his fingers are curling around his thumbs. ‘I don’t dope. Not for performance and I don’t do recreational stuff neither.’
Gavin raises his eyebrows. Even if he’s unaware Tony’s currently on a hair trigger, that wasn’t a good idea.
Tony takes a step away from the wall. ‘I’ve never had a bad test, not once. And I’ve done a fuck of a lot more of ’em than most people, I can tell you.’ He’s not raising his voice but his eyes have turned to ice.
Sanchez stares fixedly at the wall immediately above Chrissie’s shoulder, and she’s finding the club badge on his jacket fascinating. Leon shuffles his feet. So everyone gets this has got very flammable, very fast.
Everyone except Gavin. ‘Nonsense, it’s an entirely random system.’
‘Random my arse,’ Tony sneers. ‘But if you wanna test me, go ahead, try me.’
You don’t have to be a body language expert to see that’s a thinly veiled threat. But Gavin spends more time in the board room than the treatment room these days. He’s probably got so used to passive aggressive, he’s forgotten what active aggression looks like.
‘If it was up to me, I would.’ Gavin’s top lip curls.
Tony shifts his weight fractionally more onto the balls of his feet.
This needs to stop. Now. I step not completely in front of Gavin, but enough to create a barrier. ‘Gavin would do the same for everyone, if he had his way. You’ve always talked about setting up an internal testing system, haven’t you?’ I turn and smile encouragingly at Gavin. ‘So we’re on the front foot, isn’t that how you put it?’
Thankfully, Gavin takes the bait and begins a monologue about the advantages of in-house detection. Chrissie yawns expansively. Tony shakes himself, like Roudie straight out of the river, and grins at Chrissie. Crisis averted.
Sanchez breaks in when Gavin pauses for breath. ‘I’m sorry, doctor, but Genie, I need to be clear, I am on the list, yes? And the young boy?’ Sanchez points at Leon.
‘Yes, absolutely. The only person missing is Tony. I’m so sorry for the confusion. I really don’t think I got an email but I will look into it.’
Gavin sighs. He’s not angry any more, he’s educating. That’s so much worse. ‘And you see now, don’t you, how this kind of error can have real consequences? I mean, I know you’re more comfortable with the emotional aspects of player care. But even if administrative details aren’t your strong suit, you must understand, they…’
Tony holds up his hand. ‘Yeah, all right, mate, let’s leave it, shall we?’ He turns to me and everything about him, from his eyes to his hands, softens. ‘I dunno why everyone’s getting so wound up over this. We’ve not left yet. If you just text the whereabouts people at the FA now, we’re all Gucci, aren’t we?’
My hackles spring up. I know I look pathetic, letting Gavin run through all my failings without even trying to defend myself. Only I can’t exactly argue, everything Gavin’s saying is accurate. And even if it wasn’t, Tony’s got no right to swoop in. I can look out for… oh, actually, I’ve got this completely wrong, haven’t I? Because there’s a tiny shift in Tony’s face, turning his smile from sympathetic to an invitation to play. So, the extra-niceness isn’t patronizing or interfering, it’s for Gavin’s benefit.
I almost laugh, it’s such an effective prod. I mean, can you think of anything more dismissive than going from raring to fight to boundless tolerance, just like that? Judging by Gavin’s eaten-a-wasp expression, he’s fully aware of the alpha subtext. So it’s probably for the best that Chrissie frowns and clears her throat. ‘But I still don’t understand why Garratt’s coming with us at all? I’m not aware of any evidence this modality has preventative benefits, and there’s no acute damage in the hamstring.’
Gavin begins to argue.
Tony interrupts. ‘No offence, doc, but it’s Chrissie I’m working with. If she don’t rate this, I’m not interested.’
Gavin begins a variant of the speech he trots out annually for physio appreciation week. But Tony’s talking over him, before Gavin’s more than thirty seconds into explaining how the medics at Covenly are a team within a team.
‘The way I sees it, treatments aren’t so different from when I take my car in. And it’s the mechanic I want doing my tune-up, not some bloke whose missus owns the shop, thanks all the same.’
Gavin’s opening and closing his mouth, but words aren’t coming out.
Tony adopts the expression of extreme innocence usually reserved for immediately after goading a defender into disorderly conduct. ‘So I’d best be off to training, I guess. Cos like you say, you never knows if today’s the day.’
I’m not even back in the office when Chrissie pops up in my Slack:
I take back anything negative I’ve said about Garratt. What an absolute poppet.
I thought you found male posturing the most tedious part of a tedious game?
Chrissie is fascinated by sports injuries, not sport itself.
I make an exception when Gavin’s on the receiving end. But I meant more how he is with you.
She adds a gif of a pitbull licking a tiny kitten.
That’s not exactly flattering to either of us.
But so accurate. Now be a good girl and thank him in the manner he’s clearly very much hoping for.
We’ve agreed we’re just friends.
Chrissie’s laughing emojis last most of the screen.