Page 40 of Noticing Natalie

“Need it,” I mumble into my cup.

“You got home late.”

I nod. “The match went into like ten extra times, then penalty kicks.”

“We know!” Yia-Yia barks, clearly sick of being ignored in favour of mundane conversation. “We saw you on the TV last night, during the game. Every time Matthew kicked the ball, they scanned to you. Which was a lot.”

My stomach clenches. The coffee curdling slightly in there. How often was my face splashed across TV screens last night?

“You looked beautiful wearing his jersey and his number on your face. Like a real WAG.”

This jolts me. “You know what a WAG is?”

She waves this away. “Of course, I do. Most of my Real Housewives are WAGs. And you’d fit right in.”

This is unbelievable. All of it. Yia-Yia being more plugged into the Zeitgeist than I am. And people believing I’m a WAG. Like a real WAG.

“It’s not like that, guys.” They give me disbelieving looks. “Really. I’m not a WAG anything. We just started dating.”

“Well, we saw the way he looked at you,” Mum says. “Blowing you a kiss, which you returned. It didn’t look like nothing.”

“Not you too, Mum? It’s just casual.”

“When are you seeing him again?”

I wince. And stay silent.

“It’s today!” Yia-Yia crows while Mum grins happily. “You are fooling only yourself if you think this relationship isn’t something special.”

“You need to calm down.” I’m too tired and now too caffeine-jittery for this.

“You need to wake up,” she counters. “This young man could be your husband.”

“Yia-Yia,” I groan, pleading with my eyes to get my mum to step in. My sensible, non-matchmaker mum.

“OK, let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Mum says, reading my frantic gaze correctly. “It is all very new.”

“But the news,” Yia-Yia pouts. “They are saying the same thing.”

“What?”

She places her hands on my shoulders and guides me to the living room, where she presses me roughly onto the couch. “See!”

Yia-Yia un-pauses the TV and the voice of a morning show host blares into the room. “And the star of last night’s must-win game may have already won in the game of love.”

Oh, dear lord!

“Formerly single, Matthew Barkly, brought his new girlfriend to the game and sent her longing looks throughout the night. I mean, did you see this one?” The camera pans to Matthew, staring up at the grandstand, a look of adoration on his face.

He could have been looking at anyone.

“That boy is in love. So, what do we know about the woman who’s captured the heart of our country’s most eligible bachelor?”

Nothing! Please say nothing!

“Well Edwina,” the other host chimes in, “we know she works as a nurse at Central Melbourne Hospital—and get this! The two love birds went to school together! I’m hearing wedding bells already.”

I sink into my seat, hoping to die. This is not what we’d planned when we made this decision to be in a pretend relationship. How had one small fake date ended in this?

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