CHAPTER 18
I drove slowly up another level of the multi-storey car park, checking for his vehicle as I had on the previous levels.
It wasn't here either. There wasn't a single other car to be found, just as it'd been below.
I was starting to feel trepidation, as I took the Porsche onto the last ramp up to the final level.
Heavy rain immediately careered down on the roof of the car and the tyres started to spin on the sudden change in surface.
I switched to a lower gear, revved harder and found the grip needed to roll up to the roof level, sighing with relief at the sight of his car parked ahead, facing the city below, with the brake lights engaged to signal it was him.
I drove slowly, paranoid the precautions he'd insisted upon – meeting out of Broxburgh town and out of sight of the city below – meant he'd found something altogether more sinister than my worst imagination.
I parked alongside his vehicle.
He beckoned me to join him.
I shook my head and pointed to the heavy rain falling from the sky.
He pursed his lips, then got out of his car and quickly into the passenger side of mine, shutting the door.
“What've you got for me, Dex?” I asked.
“Not much,” he said, passing a thin folder.
I anxiously began to look through it, finding various documents and a couple of photographs.
“My search into Drew's background yielded nothing suspicious.”
I clocked the receipt attached to the folder and looked at him in disbelief, wondering if it'd been at all necessary to meet here, like this, at this time, except to bump up his bill.
“Have a look yourself, Ms Liu, set your mind at ease... The guy's clean.”
“He can't be,” I said, sifting through the papers again.
“His references all checked out, his social media's clean, he's no criminal record...”
I exhaled loudly through my nostrils.
“No criminal links, no unsavoury types in his life, never married, just a regular Joe.”
Joe?
“I hope this sets your mind at ease...”
Somehow I only felt more concern.
“It usually does when I do my due diligence for a client.”
“Dex, d'you know what school he went to?”
He leaned over and pointed to a paragraph on the top page. “Does that help?”
“No, it doesn't. I still can't place where I know him from.” Despite Blair saying Jill spotted him with Kyle in that club, I felt I'd met him before. There was just something more familiar about him than a fleeting glance across a crowded dancefloor. We'd met before. I was sure of it... Almost.
“This should conclude our business, Ms Liu. There's just the small matter of the bill. But, honestly, does this set your mind at ease?”
I was hesitant to insult his professional integrity, yet in all honest it hadn't.
“I could offer to keep digging, but my gut tells me the guy's as clean as a whistle.” Dex looked down to the city below. “Listen, since we're all the way out here, how'd you like to go for a drink?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, glancing to the wedding ring on his finger.
“Just a drink, Ms Liu, no-strings.”
“Sir, I'm in a relationship, with a footballer, of which I'm sure you're fully aware.”
He nodded.
As I was sure he also knew the allegations I'd cheated on my last partner with the same footballer. “Let's just keep this professional.”
“Okay, Ms Liu...” He looked at my legs. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised to see him coming from the direction of Kyle's office, “summoned to the headmaster's office, were you?”
Dr Islam smiled. “You flatter that boy, Ms Liu. No, I was there to advise him Callum Entwistle will be out injured for the rest of the season.”
“Oh, no.”
He clicked his teeth. “Yeah, it's unfortunate. Still, good to see DeShaun Wilkesboro back in the side.”
“It is, doctor, isn't it?” I gently took Dr Islam by one arm and led him aside, where I was more comfortable being out of earshot of the office. “Tell me, was the deputy headmaster in there as well?”
“Deputy?”
“Drew Heseltine, doctor?”
“Deputy?” Dr Islam balked at the suggestion. “He wasn't there, no.”
I cast my eyes up the corridor. “May I ask what you make of Mr Heseltine, doctor?”
Dr Islam frowned. “Well, I'd say it's too early to judge the man...”
“But?”
“To be honest, it's clear Drew thinks he's running the show and Kyle's just a puppet.”
I nodded. “Thank you, doctor, I'll see you again.” I marched onwards on my high-heels to Kyle's office and knocked on the open door before entering, checking each corner for anywhere Drew might be trying to hide.
“Ms Liu,” Kyle said, sat behind his desk, gesturing to the chair opposite. “Please, sit.”
I hesitated, finding the invitation uncharacteristically welcoming. “Thank you, Kyle, how may I help you?”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “It's awkward.”
“Please, Kyle, we're too late in a long season to hide behind awkwardness now... Fire away.”
He raised one eyebrow.
I held back my grin.
He folded his hands together. “Well, Ms Liu, it's come to my attention I'm only operating as manager here in a caretaker capacity-”
“That's correct, Kyle.”
“But that's not what we agreed on!”
“Didn't we?”
“Ms Liu, you said you'd make me manager!”
“You are the manager, Kyle.”
“But apparently I'm just a caretaker.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But...”
“Kyle, you're the manager... So, manage.”
“But I want to be the manager, Ms Liu. The proper manager.”
I tutted. “Then earn that job, Kyle.”
He looked almost irate.
“Otherwise it could yet go to your assistant.”
“Drew!?!”
“Kyle, you conspired with me to oust Joe-”
“I did no such thing!”
“You did,” I insisted. “And we're not debating that.”
His eyes searched the room.
“Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. However, hear me on this, Kyle, you'll only be named permanent manager if you prove to me you're worthy of the position. And trust me, I'm still looking at other potential candidates.”
Kyle ran his hand over his mouth. “Drew?”
I shrugged. “Well, I'm not the only one who gets the impression Drew's really in charge around here.”
“He isn't...” His voice dropped to an unconvincing whimper. “I am.”
I figured our business was done and stood, fixing my business suit, before I placed my palms on his desk and leaned towards him. “Then show me you're the manager, Kyle.”
I sat in my favourite coffee shop and couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was missing. I glanced at my wedding ring and realised I no longer felt that overwhelming feeling about Aroon.
“Wow,” I whispered into my coffee cup, wondering when that'd happened.
I missed someone else.
I lifted my mobile, found her in my contacts and called her.
It rang.
And rang.
And cut off.
I decided to text her instead.
ME – Jill it's Sasha. I don't know if you still have my number or if you deleted it.
I hope you're doing OK. I think about you everyday and wish we could be friends again.
Broxburgh are away to Forfar on Saturday.
I was wondering if you'd like to go with me to the match, like old times? Take care, love Sasha xx
I could see DeShaun sat on the edge of my bed in just his boxers, as I hid behind one of my bedroom's double doors and spied on him, feeling my sex tingle at the mere sight of him.
“Babygirl, c'mon, I gotta game tomorrow,” he called out.
I appeared in just the same pair of pink panties he'd first touched me in. “Now, now, DeShaun, what would Kyle say if he thought you were about to have sex on the night before a match?”
“Wow... You know I can't resist you in those.”
“I do know,” I said, taking his palm and placing it on the outside of my underwear.
He rubbed me until I was poking through.
I groaned, resisting the urge to meet his movements with up-and-down strokes of my own. “I won't tell him if you don't, DeShaun.”
He grinned. “Hey, I forget to ask you earlier when you picked me up from the hotel...”
I bit my lower lip. “What?”
“Who's Angus Hamilton?”
I felt immediate trepidation.
“Sash?”
“He's a local journalist, why?”
“He came up to me after training, said he'd been trying to contact you.”
I could feel my precum seep into the lace. “I blocked him.”
“Why?”
I really didn't need to be talking about this right now. “It was him Joe spoke to and said I cheated on him with you.”
“Ah, right.” DeShaun took hold of my panties and dragged them down to my ankles. “Fuck him then.”
I shuddered, stepping out of my underwear. “I thought you said you couldn't resist me in those.”
“I don't want to resist you, Sasha,” he said, and lifted me upright onto the bed, my feet placed to either side of his legs. “Come here.” He grabbed my ass cheeks and thrust my whole clit into his mouth.
Despite the abuse I'd received in the street the week before, my not so secret return to Lady Macbeth Park for the last match – the fans chanting that DeShaun was their king and helping rescue me from the hostility of some away fans – made me decide I was no longer going to hide in shame and travelled, without disguise or subtlety in my dress sense, to Forfar for the next match.
Alone, since Jill didn't even reply to my text.
After Alasdair McInnes' mistakes between the posts in the previous game, Kyle opted to drop him and start 16-year-old Ricky McQuillan in his place. With Entwistle out injured, DeShaun also finally returned to the starting XI.
I regretted my short skirt the moment I first stepped out of my car and headed to the ground, feeling the uninviting bite of the cold weather shadowed only by the unwelcomeness in many of the eyes of the fans.
Forfar started dominantly, retaining the majority of possession and intercepting every ball to DeShaun. When a ball finally did reach him after more than thirty minutes, he'd a bad touch and immediately lost it. He was booed by his own fans. And I was heckled too.
It remained goalless at half-time.
Neither team made changes for the restart, but somehow Forfar came out even stronger and began to threaten our goal, finally testing McQuillan just before the hour.
The young 'keeper produced a fine save to build his confidence.
When DeShaun produced a couple more moments which lacked his usual finesse, the boos grew louder.
Who the fuck were these people, and where were the ones who'd been singing that he was their king the week before?
I overheard comments about at my dress sense, one even going so far as to falsely claim my ass cheeks were hanging out. I ignored them. I didn't want to distract any of our players on the pitch, least of all DeShaun.
As the match entered the final ten minutes, Kyle and Drew were locked in deep discussion on the touchline, switching their stares between the bench and the back four as if they were debating whether to make a change.
Before they could, Forfar broke through.
Suddenly their striker was one-on-one with McQuillan.
He took a shot. McQuillan spread himself wide, but the ball disappeared between his legs and under him into the back of the net.
There was discord between manager and assistant, as Kyle tried to show his authority. Drew openly defied him, arguing where responsibility lay for the goal and jabbing his finger into Kyle's chest. I knew I'd deliberated sown conflict between them, but losing today wasn't what I'd had in my mind.
The boos for DeShaun now came from every section of the away support and the intolerant comments aimed at myself became outright transphobic. I hadn't felt so publicly abused in a long time and my will to stand there a minute longer drained by the second.
DeShaun squandered a half-chance to equalise, shooting wide as the match entered the 90th minute. He made a gesture to the fans booing him and the referee booked him, inciting laughter, cheers and sarcastic applause from our support.
Didn't they realise our chances of promotion were going up in smoke right before their very eyes?
The fourth official signalled three minutes of added time.
Little happened in the first two minutes, but in the 93rd DeShaun had a cracking shot at goal turned around the post for a corner. He tried to galvanise his team-mates as Leo Martin rushed to take what could be the final chance for an equaliser.
The ball was whipped in at pace, Donaldson and DeShaun failed to meet it, but Blair McKay stuck out a boot at the far post and smashed it into the roof of the net.
The players celebrated.
I looked anxiously at the referee's assistant, fearful of his flag, but it stayed down.
The ref pointed to the halfway line for the restart.
Only fifteen seconds later, Broxburgh were on the attack again when the ref blew his full-time whistle.
It was over. We'd drawn.
I scrambled to my mobile to check for the final scores coming in from the other matches, and watched in horror as our promotion prospects veered from unlikely to practically impossible as we fell 9 points behind the play-off places with only 15 points left to play for.
I trudged back to my car, feeling dispirited and defeated. I'd been treated appallingly. DeShaun, bad game or not, had been stabbed in the back. The management were a joke. And I'd one thought resonating from head to high-heel.
It was time to give up.
I felt it.
I knew it.
It was over.