BETTSY
“What do you mean, it was her?” I say, as Ellie concludes her story.
I was busy revelling in the fact that Kathryn initially assumed ownership of Ellie’s flowers but this … I halt on the pavement, and Ellie, a couple of paces ahead of me, stumbles to a stop when our hands disconnect.
“I—”
But I don’t think. I spin around, intending to stalk back towards the railway station, even going as far as taking several steps along the pavement before Ellie slips in front of me, blocking my progress.
“Mike, what are you doing?” she says, her voice level.
“Going to have a word with your sister,” I snap.
“No, you’re not. We’re going for our drink,” she says, tugging on my arm. “Or at least I am. I’m celebrating. And I think there are better things for you to be doing than having a verbal altercation with my sister. She loves drama. Don’t give her what she wants, Mike. Please.”
“I’m sorry but?—”
“Mike, come on,” she says, softening the grip on my arm. “Do you really want to spend the evening on a train?”
I exhale, letting the air leave my lungs in hope it’ll take some of the frustration with it, but the heaviness sits firm in my chest.
Fucking Kathryn. Honestly.
I clench my jaw, wondering if…
“Mike,” she says again, soft and warm, and I take little more convincing, apparently, because I’m nodding in agreement and swivelling around to follow her.
I guess she’s right. What good would it do?
Like Ellie’s already alluded to, Kathryn wouldn’t admit it, anyway, and I’d only end up losing my temper and giving someone somewhere more hot gossip to write up on the fan forum.
It’s the last thing I need, considering I’ve only just made the Team GB roster.
“So, where do you fancy going?” she asks airily.
“What are we celebrating? Anything in particular?” I ask.
“I had a good day,” she says, pausing for a moment.
“At the bridal workshop. I’m feeling positive.
It feels good to think about what comes next for me and to do something I want to be doing.
And it’s good for my professional network.
I just need to figure out what I’m doing about my marketing, I guess.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Is here okay? ”
She stops outside a cosy-looking pub, and I instinctively reach for the door to pull it open.
“Well, I may know some people, if that helps? I can have a word and see if they’d be up for helping.”
“You know a web designer?” she says, stepping over the threshold. We’re immediately hit with the faint smell of hops and charcoal.
“Yeah. My mate Ryan, from the team. His wife does all the stuff for the club. I’m sure she’d be happy to help—I mean, I have been providing free manual labour for their home renovation. It’s the least they can do.”
“Oh, right. Well, I don’t want to impose or anything. But if she is looking for work and she could give me a quote … I need to figure out what my budget is, but yeah, it’s a start, right?”
We weave through the tables and head towards the bar, where I pull out my wallet.
“What’re you having?” I ask.
“I guess a white wine, please. Since I’m getting the train back.”
I wait for the bartender to make her way over to us and order a large glass for her and a diet Coke for me, letting a frown slip over my face as I do so.
“Oh, I’ll get a soft drink too, if you are,” Ellie says, leaning onto the bar to check the fridge .
“Nah, it’s fine. Don’t let me impede your celebration. Believe me … I’d rather something stronger, but with the game tomorrow I?—”
Ellie turns towards me, mirroring my frown. “Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry. I’ve been too busy complaining to even ask about it.”
“There’s not much to tell,” I say. “It’s the cup final. If we win, we win the shiny cup. If we lose, we don’t win the shiny cup.”
I tap to pay for the drinks and we find a seat, opting to settle ourselves into a table near the window.
“But it’s a big deal,” she says, sitting down.
“Well, yeah. We’ve worked hard to get here. It’s all down to sixty-minutes, but it’s nothing we haven’t done before.”
I set my drink down and slip into the seat opposite, but I know straight away something’s up.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, watching Ellie fixate on her glass.
“Yeah, of course.” She pulls her eyes away from her drink and offers me a smile. But I’m not convinced. It lacks the warmth and brightness it typically holds, like she’s forcing it.
“Okay—I don’t believe you.”
She fiddles with a lock of hair. “Have you won this sort of thing before?”
“Well, yeah but?—”
“See, I feel like I should have known,” she says, pulling at her lip with her teeth.
I study her for a moment, trying to work out how I can lighten the tension of the situation.
“Well, I mean, if you were as obsessed with me as you claim to be, then…” I grin, trying to catch her eye, but she’s making it difficult. Like she’s feeling off. “Kitch, come on … talk to me.”
“I guess I’m just … I don’t know. Never mind,” she forces the smile again, though harder this time, and I think I’ve worked it out. She’s disappointed. Or at least, I guess she is, though I can’t be sure why.
Maybe it’s because she feels like this is the sort of stuff she should know? Or perhaps it’s because this highlights how much we don’t know about each other? I mean, there’s so much about her I don’t know either.
I sit on the observation for a moment longer, watching her sip her drink and fixate on the beer mat it rests on, now damp with condensation.
Then it occurs to me: I should ask her to come to my game.
I mean … we’ve moved forward tonight, right?
The kiss … fuck me, the kiss that’s lingering on my lips in a way I never expected.
And the declaration to Coach Sinclair … I should ask her, shouldn’t I?
I swallow down the anxiety of being rejected, then I brace myself, taking a sip of my drink, revelling in the coolness to calm my nerves.
“I, uh … don’t suppose you’d want to come and watch the game tomorrow, would you?” I ask.
She looks up, locking eyes with me as I wait. Hopeful.
“Tomorrow?” she says.
“Well, yeah. Tomorrow evening.”
“I—” She traces a droplet of condensation down the side of her glass. “I—I don’t know anything about hockey.”
“So? It’s literally just five skaters—three forwards, two defence—and a goalie.
All fighting over a rubber disc. I mean, there’s more to it than that, from my perspective …
it’s not about the puck so much but more of the other players…
or D. It’s a game of trust and strategy and—” I tail off, realising I’m on transmit before clearing my throat.
“I’ll get you a ticket next to Kelly. She can give you some guidance.
Though she knows too much, if you ask me.
And it’s even fucking worse now she’s seeing Johnny—our captain.
The two of them together are like—” Ellie’s gaze drops to the table again and panic hits me.
This is too much. I’ve bombarded her with information, and now I’ve asked too much of her. And why, oh why, did I suggest she sit with my sister? That’ll open the door up to a load of questions and … I panic, almost stumbling over my words as I try to ba cktrack.
“I mean, you don’t have to sit by Kel,” I say. “I can get you another seat somewhere else, or you could just come another time. It’s not a big deal.”
“Where is it?” she says. “Home?”
I nod. “Yeah, since we were the highest seeds.”
“I see.” She’s quiet for a moment and I’m trying my hardest to think of something else to say, but she looks up again, her big brown eyes melting into mine. “I can see if I can, I mean?—”
Oh, shit. She’s hesitating. She doesn’t want to come.
“Honestly, don’t worry. It’s fine. I get it. You’ve got clients and then there’s travel…” I force a smile, trying to act indifferent.
“I would really like to see you play, Mike,” she says, stretching out a hand to rest on my own.
“Can I let you know tomorrow? I’ll see what I can figure out.
” She pulls out her phone and starts flicking through the screens.
“I’ve got some afternoon appointments, that’s all. Maybe Kathryn can cover them for me.”
My heart, already thumping loudly, picks up speed as I nod. “Sure.”