CHAPTER 1 #2
She passed the luggage carousel and headed outside into the brisk morning air.
It was chilly, and while she had worn her old Thorns FC hoodie, it was old and somewhat threadbare.
She was shifting from side to side, trying to warm herself up, when she pulled out her phone and texted the wrong number.
Sorry about that earlier. I was given the wrong number by mistake.
Sent. There. Now she could get on with—
No need to apologize. First time in Manchester?
Yes. How can you tell?
The three little dots appeared then disappeared. Whatever the person was going to say was deleted. Embarrassed, Scarlett tapped out another message.
Sorry, sir or madam.
She cringed, not sure how to get out of this awkward conversation.
I’m sure you have something better to do. I’ll stop texting you now.
I do. And it’s Mr.
Excuse me?
You said sir or madam. I’m neither, just Mr.
Scarlett nodded, though the person couldn’t see her. She wasn’t going to continue this conversation, was she? After checking the time on her phone, she glanced up. There was a line of black cabs parked, ready to be signaled, but Scarlett was still waiting to hear back from Maxie.
She reached for the gold charm around her neck and slid it back and forth on her chain. Should she take a cab? Maybe she could ask wrong-number guy. Or Mr. Wrong Number, rather.
Dropping her necklace, she started to text again, but then deleted it. She went to put her phone away, then—
What?
She frowned.
What what?
You typed something, then erased it. What was it?
Nothing. I’m waiting for a cab.
Not a black cab, I hope.
She winced.
It might have to be, unfortunately.
You know they’re a scam.
I don’t have much of a choice.
Where are you headed?
Like I’d tell a stranger that.
You already told me what company you work with, but fair enough. A suggestion, though: If you’re going anywhere outside of Manchester proper, you’re going to be paying an arm and a leg.
Thanks for the tip.
Her phone rang. It was Maxie.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Scarlett. Sorry about this, but the car service is going to take an hour to get someone over there. Grab a cab, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I insist.”
“Okay,” Scarlett said, even if she had no intention of letting Maxie pay. “See you soon!”
Hanging up, she hailed one of the cabbies standing in front of the black cars, and they helped her load her bags into the vehicle.
She gave him the address, and before she knew it, they were speeding out of the airport and down the highway.
No other texts came from Mr. Wrong Number as Scarlett gazed out her window, watching the sun rise over the suburbs that surrounded Manchester’s airport.
Although she’d slept on the plane, the anxiety from her transatlantic trip and the anticipation of starting a new job had kept her from getting much rest. Oddly enough, being on solid ground again made her realize exactly how tired she was, and at that precise moment, she let her eyes close.
But in what felt like only a half a second, the car was stopping.
“Here we are,” the cabbie said in a cheerful accent, waking her. “That’s ninety-seven pounds and twenty-two pence.”
Somehow, Scarlett managed to keep her eyes from bulging out of her head.
“Ah, sure,” she said as she dug out a hundred-pound note. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, love, and welcome to England!”
Scarlett grabbed her bags out of the cab before she closed the door and it drove off.
She was standing in front of a dozen or so identical rowhomes, or terraces as they were called here, each tall and made of red brick with white-trimmed windows and doorways.
The doors themselves were each painted different colors, from blue to red to yellow, and Scarlett was standing in front of an emerald-green-painted door with the brass numbers 706 nailed to the front of it.
So, this was going to be her home for the next few months. She exhaled a deep breath and smiled, happy to be here and proud of herself for not going to pieces on the plane.
Climbing the few steps to reach the landing, Scarlett nearly knocked on the door when it opened to reveal a tall Black woman with wash-and-go curls, the tips of which were dyed red.
Instantly, Scarlett had to beat down a wave of jealousy.
Her own shoulder-length, mousy-brown hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail, was not nearly as stylish.
“Scarlett?” Maxie asked.
They had seen plenty of pictures of each other over social media, but they were meeting in person for the first time.
“Hi. Yes, it’s me,” Scarlett said, slinging her duffel over her shoulder as she held out her hand. Maxie took it at once.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”
“You too.”
“Come in, come in. Your room is upstairs, and you can take as long as you like getting settled. I’m making a cup of tea, so there’s no rush, and whenever you’re ready, we can take you down to Old Trafford, like we discussed.”
Scarlett followed Maxie into the house and noticed that she was only half dressed in chic business attire.
She wore a tucked-in, sleeveless silk blouse and wide-leg linen pants, and the garment looked as if it had just walked off a runway.
An oversized matching jacket hung off the back of the couch in the living room, and Maxie bent over to grab it.
She was far more sophisticated than Scarlett, who often wore jeans with tee shirts and a blazer to appear semi-casual. She did like to wear heels, however, and prided herself on her fancy footwear.
Maxie led Scarlett through the tidy, narrow house.
It was a surprisingly spacious home, with modern furnishings, except for the cast-iron stove in the fireplace and the intricate crown molding that had to be at least a hundred years old.
The walls were tall and white, with pieces of modern art displayed all around.
Scarlett was not into contemporary art, but she liked the way the pops of color helped break up the space. It was beautiful.
Lugging her things up the stairs and down the hallways, she found a bedroom that overlooked a small, fenced-in garden.
Maxie had dozens of pictures of her back garden on her socials, and the midsummer blooms on display were a cacophony of colors.
A small, teal-painted table with two matching folding chairs sat at the center on a low wooden porch, directly centered in a cloud of greenery and color.
Smiling, Scarlett began putting away her clothes in the cream-colored dresser before reaching for a folder she had packed away in one of her suitcases.
It was the roster for the Bees, both the men’s and women’s teams. The folder was filled with notes, little tidbits about each player.
She had Googled them all before coming, considering the team’s reputation.
There was a player who had a penchant for getting into pub fights, a center forward with a string of C-list celebrity girlfriends, two midfielders who were constantly fighting during matches, and a keeper who was so well known for his proclivity regarding superstitions that he had a nickname: Superstitious Stanley.
Not the most creative, but it was fairly well known.
Taking the paperwork out of her bag, she dropped it on the foot of the bed to read through later as her phone buzzed. Pulling it out of her back pocket, she saw it was from Mr. Wrong Number again.
Did you get out of the airport?
She texted back,
I did.
You didn’t take a black cab, did you?
She grimaced.
I did.
Outrageous, aren’t they?
The corner of Scarlett’s mouth twitched as she read the screen just as Maxie called out, “Scarlett? Are you ready?”
“Yeah!” she answered, still staring at her screen. She scrolled through her phone to find the emoji with the tongue sticking out and sent it, before heading back down the hallway and following Maxie out of the house.
“Manchester’s fairly easy to navigate once you get the hang of it,” Maxie said as she got into the driver’s side of her compact silver Peugeot. “The green line on the Metrolink will take you there—unless you plan on driving?”
“Ha,” Scarlett said. “I’m a terrible driver, even in America. I’m likely to maim someone over here if I drive. No, I’ll take the green line.”
Maxie laughed as they took a little tour of Greater Manchester. She pointed out the usual tourist attractions, such as the Manchester Art Gallery and Piccadilly Gardens, before heading south, out of the city. Soon, they were driving toward Trafford.
A large, looming building rose up behind a smattering of brick buildings as they headed closer to the stadium.
So, this was where Scarlett was going to be working over the next nine months?
It wasn’t too bad. The arena was oval in shape and painted with the black and gold colors of the Bees.
Three parking lots surrounded the stadium, but as there wasn’t a game going on, the street that wrapped around the building was fairly empty.
Maxie parked two blocks away. A Bees-themed café sat on the corner of the street, and they decided to grab lunch.
Scarlett ordered fish and chips, feeling instantly ridiculous having ordered it because she was under the ridiculous assumption that that was what everyone ate here. Maxie ordered a Caesar salad and was kind enough to share after recognizing Scarlett’s regret.
“So, you think you’ll be able to manage here for the next nine months?” Maxie asked before taking a sip from her paper coffee cup.
“I think so. I don’t see any issues.”
“You’re not going to be missing anyone from back home, are you? A boyfriend, maybe?”
Not after her last breakup. No, Scarlett certainly wasn’t going to miss anyone.
“Ah, I’m sort of taking a break from dating.”
“Are you?” Maxie asked, seeming disappointed. “That’s too bad. I’m quite good at it.”
“Good at dating?” Scarlett asked. Maxie nodded, taking a sip of her tea. “What do you mean you’re good at it?”