BETTSY
Ryan Preston’s house renovations have become a team effort.
I’m sitting in his brand-new kitchen with his wife, Jen, and Danny, half a week later drinking tea and eating custard creams while we wait for a delivery of something Prez wants help to unload.
Honestly, the guy’s rich enough that he could pay people to do this sort of shit for him, but here we are, roped into helping and for the compensation of a biscuit—not even a chocolate covered one.
“Are you making another brew, Jen?” Danny asks, helping himself to another biscuit.
Jen and Danny have been discussing the Team GB stuff, but I’ve been preoccupied trying to figure out how I can make things good with Ellie. We’ve been texting, at least. But it’s … I don’t know, guarded. Like she’s put up a wall to protect herself from my emotional ignorance.
“I—yeah,” I say. “It’s been fine.”
Jen sets the kettle on the stand and flicks it to boil.
“You don’t sound convinced,” she says. “Is this about the Johnny thing?”
I snap my eyes to hers. “What Johnny thing?”
“About you and him playing together again, you know, for the Challenge Cup final. It’s a change, so I wasn’t sure if it would affect your hockey head with your superstitions and all.”
“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” I say, draining my tea.
“Well, you’re quiet,” she says. “And excuse the generalisation but it’s not like you at all.”
“I’m fine,” I say, setting my mug down .
Jen rests her arms on the kitchen island and raises an eyebrow.
“Do you guys want to tell me what’s going on?” she asks, looking between me and Danny.
Automatically, I check Danny’s expression. He and Jen have been friends since they were kids and now, I’m wondering if he’s told her. Perhaps this is one of those scenarios where Jen knows but doesn’t want me to know that she knows and?—
“He’s just preoccupied with the forum stuff, right mate?” Danny says, nudging my arm.
I tense my jaw.
“Oh, yeah. I guess that makes sense. Honestly, we’re on ‘ ilovetopuck33 ’ now.
I’m trying my hardest to keep up but the IP address is inconsistent.
I think Vicky and the GM have been talking about getting it shut down, but I can only guess a non-affiliated forum will spring up in that case.
” She pauses, and the kettle finishes boiling.
“Hey, have you seen your hashtag? ‘#justiceforBettsy’ is taking a life of its own,” she says, her tone perkier, but I know what she’s doing.
“I’ve seen bits,” I say, dropping my eyes to my empty mug.
“Yeah? Aren’t you a little curious as to who it is?” she says.
“I am,” Danny says. “I’d love to know. I mean… it’s probably someone we know, right?”
“Hm,” I say.
But Jen is intuitive as hell.
“Right. Enough is enough,” she says. “This is ridiculous. What is going on?”
I can feel Danny’s eyes on me, burning my skin.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, her voice a tone of genuine worry.
Ah, shit.
A wave of nausea washes over me as my stomach clenches.
I glance towards the bi-fold doors, spotting Ryan and Liam at the far end of the garden, prepping space in the garden for whatever the hell is getting delivered, and I cast a look towards Jen, wondering if I should tell her. It may be useful to get a woman’s view, actually.
I flick my eyes back to Jen. “If I tell you, please, can you keep it to yourself? That includes Prez because he’ll tell Liam and then Johnny will find out and?—”
“Okay, calm down,” she says. “I promise. It’ll stay between us. Unless it’s something I need to inform the police about because?—”
“Nah, it’s nothing dodgy. Christ—what do you think of me?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” she says.
“Well, I’m a fuckup, so I guess it’s a logical conclusion to arrive at,” I say.
“But anyway…” I brace myself; closing my eyes tightly and taking several deep breaths.
“I may have got married when I was eighteen and then…” I look up to see Jen’s jaw practically on the counter. “…all this forum stuff kicked off and…”
“Wait. Wait. Wait. Am I hearing this right?” Jen’s attention shifts between me and Danny. “What the?—”
“Well, Vicky sort of implied that my chances of a GB career would be greater if I was drama free and if I had my shit together, so?—”
“No—go back. Rewind,” she says.
But I keep talking.
“Well, I sort of told Coach Harris I?—”
But Jen slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyebrows practically becoming one with her hairline, showing me the penny’s dropped.
“Honestly, you can’t make this shit up,” says Danny. “Oh, you need to tell Jen the bit about her turning up at your place looking for you.”
I cringe, but I figure I’ve come this far, so I may as well give all the sordid details over, relaying the story from the start.
“…so yeah, Coach thinks I’m married, so I asked Ellie if she’d … sort of, fill in for a little, attend a few events with me and what ever, but she said no. She said she felt used and—” I exhale sharply, rubbing my hands over my face.
Jen stares at me, her hand dropping from her now half-open mouth.
“Coach thinks you’re married … but you are actually married…except you’re not really married?” She says, enunciating each word as if she’s teaching a child to read.
“May be married,” I correct. “I need to search for some kind of certificate—like the full wedding one or something, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”
My face reddens; I can feel the glow of shame. I’ve been telling myself I haven’t had a chance, but the truth is, I don’t want to face the reality of this. Not yet anyway.
It’s Danny’s turn to gape at me. “Surely you’d remember if you were given a wedding certificate or not?”
“Well,” I shrug, “I don’t know. I got given stuff, not sure what half of it was—I think I assumed it was tourism crap or something, you know, like when they try to sell you timeshares or something.”
But Jen’s not listening to this part, she’s still mouthing the word ‘ marriage’ in slow motion as she processes the word over and over.
She shakes her head before speaking again.
“Honestly, if someone told me there was a guy on the team who may have got married but couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure … I’d guess it was you, but…”
“See, I said the same, Jen. It’s just typical Bettsy,” Danny says.
And there it is—the reminder that this sort of behaviour is practically expected of me.
“Anyway,” I say sharply. “She’s pissed off and I need to make it right because … well, the thing is,” I bite my lip. “I really like her.”
“Oh, my God,” Jen says.
“But that aside, Vicky found out, didn’t she? And now she’s told me I need to come clean.” I look down at my hands. “How’s it going to look if I rock up to Coach’s office next Tuesday and tell him I’m a liar?”
“You could just tell him that you’re separating,” Danny suggests.
“I honestly can’t even think about that right now.
My priority is making things right with Ellie.
” I look at Jen, mustering my biggest ‘puppy-dog’ expression.
“What can I do, Jen? How can I fix things?” I absentmindedly pick at the plastic of the custard cream wrapper, trying to avoid looking at either Danny or Jen. “I really like her.”
“I don’t think I can help you with that,” she says. “I think it needs to come from you, Betts. From the heart.”
And said heart sinks. Sinks and falls right out of my ass.
“I sent her an enormous bouquet,” I say, as Jen takes our mugs and returns to the kettle. “Maybe I need to … arrange for a barbershop quartet to show up at her salon and?—”
“Absolutely not,” Jen says, shaking her head.
“Absolutely not what?” Prez’s voice floats through the bi-fold doors as he and Liam step into the kitchen.
I groan with the pending doom of having to reveal all to the twins—because this will travel around the dressing room faster than the common cold.
Jen sets a mug down in front of me, offering me a pitiful look. “Bettsy wanted to order pizza, but it will not do his training schedule any favours.”
Phew.
“Well, if you have any other ideas what we could have instead—please let me know,” I say, hoping Jen can read between the lines.
Prez moves towards his wife and wraps his arms around her waist, casually, like he’s done it every single day for his entire life.
I watch on with envy; thinking about the moment I held Ellie in my arms. Those few seconds that have replayed over and over in my head .
“Well, you don’t want to spoil your dreams over a pizza. Nothing tastes as good as fit feels, Betts, you know that,” Prez says.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“But that Team GB stuff is only one thing. We should all be focusing on the Cup Final. You and Cap … back together again. The dream D-pair.”
He’s right. That’s this coming Wednesday. After all this effort, this is what we face. A single game and the potential for some silverware.
But I’m distracted. As Ryan, Liam, and Danny—even Jen—launch into a conversation about the Cup. Typically, I would be equally invested, but I can only think about Ellie.