45
I decide not to contact Frowley’s agent in the end, preferring to keep the dream alive for as long as possible before the email is potentially exposed as a fake. If I’ve heard nothing more by Friday, I’ll know either way anyway. But that doesn’t stop me from checking the crowdfund account about once an hour, just in case.
It’s the morning of Dad’s birthday when the money does drop in. I don’t know if this is pure coincidence or if Frowley somehow managed to find out about the date. I bet if he trawled through my Facebook posts he’d find a reference to one of Dad’s previous birthdays, but would anyone go to that much effort?
I’m not sure how long I stare at the amount on the screen, but it’s long enough for my bowl of cereal to become too soggy to enjoy. There are more noughts than I ever could have imagined seeing in our account. How we’ll thank Frowley I have no idea.
There’s enough to set out a salary for Cassie and Dad as well as me, should they want to leave their jobs. And we can now think seriously about club merchandising, which didn’t seem viable in the beginning when we’d only sold a couple of hundred season tickets, but now we know we’ve got a solid following, it would be great to make scarves and football shirts available to the fans. We want them to be able to wear the official team colours and feel as much a part of the team as we do.
I can’t wait to see the players’ faces light up when we tell them what this means for their bank balances, and before that to blow the minds of Cassie, Bob, Marge and Barbour, who I know will be as astounded as I am. But before all that, there’s the one person I look forward to sharing this momentous news with more than anyone else and that, of course, is Dad.
I shout up the stairs at him. ‘Can you come down here a minute please. Something big’s happening.’
He walks into the kitchen with shaving foam still covering half his face. ‘What is it?’
‘Let me start by asking if you could have one thing for your birthday, what would it be?’
‘A win for Crawford United?’
‘Well, that’s kind of what this is.’
I’m shaking with adrenaline as I turn my laptop screen towards him. I watch him crane his neck closer then his hand flies to his mouth, most of the remaining shaving foam ending up on his fingers as his jaw drops open. ‘Is that real?’
A Cheshire cat grin takes over my face as I nod and show him Frowley’s email. His eyes grow wide in disbelief.
‘We’d better send him a season ticket,’ he says eventually, which makes me want to hug him. Of course that would be the first thing he thinks of.
‘I’ve compiled a thank you message, but I’ll try to set up a video call as well so we can thank him more personally. Maybe on Sunday, when you and Cassie aren’t working, if that fits in with Frowley.’
‘Have you told your sister yet?’ Dad asks.
‘Her phone’s always off while she’s teaching. But we can fill her in this evening– she’s coming here first before the party.’
Dad squints at my laptop again then shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure this has really sunk in yet,’ he confesses.
‘It took me a while to stop thinking it was somebody messing with us, too. But now all I can think about is reworking Crawford United’s budgets.’
‘Why don’t we put our heads together now,’ he suggests.
‘Is that really how you want to spend your birthday?’
‘I could think of worse ways,’ he says. ‘And it might help me to get my head around this.’
While he finishes shaving, I send my thank you note to Alasdair. It starts by apologising for being so slow to respond and admitting I was initially suspicious about the authenticity of his email, adding that I hope he won’t be offended by this.
I express our gratitude and tell him how proud we are of Crawford United, share some of the highs and lows of the team’s journey so far and spell out our hopes for the future, which now looks much rosier thanks to his generosity.
I sign off with the suggestion of a video call and say we’d all be delighted to meet him.
I know there won’t be an immediate response– it’s about one o’clock in the morning in Los Angeles– and to be honest I don’t expect to hear back from him this side of the weekend, given how long it took me to reply to him. But while I’m waiting for Dad to finish making himself a cup of coffee, Alasdair’s name pops up again in my inbox. I click to open the message and feel the skin prickling all over my body as I read what he’s written.
‘Er, Dad.’ My voice wobbles. ‘We might need to get some extra security in for the match against Ashbridge on Saturday.’
Dad frowns. ‘Have their fans got a bit of a reputation?’
‘It’s not that. Alasdair Frowley has already come back to me. He’s apparently more embarrassed than I was that I thought his email was a hoax, and says he can see now how he could have gone about this better. So he’s flying to London for an impromptu visit, to introduce himself to us properly. And he wants to make sure he catches a game while he’s here, so he’s arriving tomorrow evening.’
‘And coming to the Ashbridge game? So I’m actually going to meet him?’ Dad exclaims.
‘It looks like your dream is coming true.’
He chuckles softly, eyes sparkling. ‘What a birthday this is turning out to be. I don’t think security will be a problem though, will it? How many people really know what authors look like?’
‘He’s not coming alone,’ I tell him, still not quite able to believe who’s going to be accompanying him. ‘Apparently he’s having a late-night drink with some of the Dying Days cast right now, and when he started talking about his love of soccer, Angela Paramore mentioned she’s never been to a match before. So he asked if she wants to rectify that, and she’s decided she’s going to join him.’
Dad leans back against the kitchen counter and lets out a low whistle. ‘Today just keeps on giving. So we now have my favourite author and one of the most famous actresses on both sides of the Atlantic coming to sit with us in our uncomfortable plastic seats for the best part of two hours while our lads face the club that’s held the top spot in the league for something like six consecutive years. Do you think we should order in some cushions?’
‘I’m not worried about whether their bums go numb!’ I exclaim.
‘So you think we should put a message out on the website to say we need a few extra volunteer stewards? There’s got to be a couple of bruisers among our fans who’d be willing to stand around looking burly in exchange for a free pitchside view of the game.’
‘Did you just say bruisers?’ I roll my eyes. Sometimes Dad stops being a football club manager and is just my dad again. ‘I think we might have to hire official event staff on this occasion, for insurance purposes. We need people we can rely on, and we can afford it now, thanks to Alasdair.’
‘Good point. Okay, get it booked in. Do you think we should ask them if they want to stay at ours?’ he asks.
I assume he means Angela and Alasdair, not the ‘bruisers’, and I can’t help laughing. ‘I don’t think Cassie’s old bedroom is quite going to cut it when they’re used to LA mansions and five-star hotels.’
‘They’ll miss out on my breakfast special.’ He sounds affronted.
‘I’m sure Claridge’s, or wherever it is celebrities stay these days, will put on a decent spread. You can always bring a half-time snack to the game if you feel the need to show off your culinary skills.’
He takes a deep breath and shakes his head again. ‘Angela Paramore– who would have thought it? You know, I didn’t think I was going to like turning fifty but it turns out I’m really quite enjoying it.’ Then he laughs softly to himself. ‘I might even treat myself to a haircut.’
By the time Cassie arrives at the house so we can all head to Dad’s party together, he has finally got used to the idea that he’s going to meet one of his idols and that Crawford United is now one of the most well-funded football clubs in the lower leagues. Once she’s got over the fact that we didn’t share any of this news with her immediately– ‘You were at school!’ I protest– Cassie goes through the same series of emotions as Dad and I, from disbelief to gradual acceptance to: ‘I don’t think I’ll ever stop smiling.’
As I watch them bouncing round the kitchen I find myself wishing Ben could have been here. It’s a moment I would have loved to share with him. I fire off a quick text to let him know the Frowley saga has panned out even better than I could have hoped for. He replies straight away, saying he’s so glad everything is working out for me. But looking at the kisses he’s added afterwards, I can’t help thinking, Not everything.
That evening, Phoebs’ party set-up is incredible. She’s gone all out with a purple theme, from the balloon arch to the plates for the nibbles. There’s a purple welcome cocktail– a mix of champagne, blue curacao and red grenadine, aka a Meet Me At Midnight, she informs me– and the band she’s hired kicks off with a rousing rendition of Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Purple Haze’ and ends with an impressive cover of Prince’s ‘Purple Rain’.
All the players come to wish Dad a happy birthday, as well as Bob, Marge and Adam, Barbour and his family, Olly– who’s left his assistant manager in charge in the main bar– a few other fans we’ve got to know at The Fox and a handful of Dad’s colleagues. Phoebs flits about taking photos, making sure glasses stay full and ensuring the table of party food remains presentable.
There are more balloons above it, along with purple candles– far enough away from the balloons that they won’t pop– and two glass jars filled with white and purple fairy lights and two containing purple orchids. If anyone dares upset the ambience with a discarded paper plate or napkin, she sweeps it away and quickly disposes of it.
She’s pleased as punch with her efforts when I manage to get her on her own for a minute. ‘Look at your dad’s face.’ She beams. ‘He’s loving it.’
I glance over to see him surveying the room, eyes bright as he soaks up the scene. Then he’s swept back up into a conversation with Bob, Marge and Barbour, who take it in turns to clink their glasses against his.
‘It does look amazing,’ I tell her. ‘I hope you haven’t got yourself into debt doing all this.’
She tells me Craig gave her some money to help get her new business off the ground.
‘He doesn’t even care whether I pay him back or not, but I will once I start making a profit,’ she admits. ‘He says it’s enough that he’s making his dad happy by finally showing an interest in investing in a local business. Even if it ends up being the only time he does it. He’s been brilliant, to be honest– really encouraging me to build something where I can be my own boss. Without the two of you, I might never have chanced it.’
‘Does this mean you’re finally going to admit you’re in love with him?’ I ask.
‘God no, he’d probably run a mile if I said the L word to him.’
She laughs, but I notice she automatically seeks him out in the crowd. And as if he can feel her eyes on him, he looks across and winks. I may still think he’s a bit on the cocky side, but I have to admit he’s grown on me since I’ve seen how he looks out for Phoebs.
I scan the room, taking in all the happy faces, until I realise I’m subconsciously looking for the one person who to my mind has a bigger smile than everybody. But of course I don’t find him, because Ben isn’t here.