Page 41 of Textbook Romance

‘Look, at our wedding we were given a lot of random gifts and one of them was a night in a hotel in London. It’s a spa hotel, the stay comes with treatments and food and… well, we’re probably never going to use it…’

‘Ed doesn’t do spas,’ Mia explains. ‘He has concerns about hot tubs and fungi.’

Ed nods. ‘Legitimate concerns. So, we just thought… Well, we also felt bad that you never got to enjoy our wedding properly because of what happened with the phone call about your marriage ending, and, well, it’s a tough weekend, and you’ve been through so much… we thought you’d like it? Like a gift to you,’ he rambles.

‘Really?’ I say, surprised by the kindness of the gesture. ‘To check in tonight? But…’

‘But… your kids aren’t here so you can’t use that as an excuse. You literally just have to bung some stuff in a bag. We phoned the hotel and they’ve got space. We’ll also throw in a lift. Ed is an excellent driver,’ Mia says. ‘You don’t have pets, do you? We’d even look after them if you need.’

I feel my bottom lip tremble at the loveliness of it all. A spa? All I can think of is a bathtub I won’t have to clean before I get in it, a bed I wouldn’t have shared with my ex-husband at some point, a clean room free of memories of my kids, my family. It’s wonderful to suddenly feel so elated by the idea.

‘Are you really sure? If someone gifted it to you…’ I say.

‘It was Ed’s aunt. That’s probably why we’d have to take you, so we can take a photo in front of the hotel to prove we’ve been,’ Mia confesses. ‘But really, I think this would be good for you.’

I go up to them, hugging them both tightly. It’s strange when these big catastrophic life events happen. People hover around you waiting for you to fall, to catch you, but really what saves you is the singular gestures, whether those be unexpected chocolate bars, hugs, text messages or re-gifted spa trips. It’s the sum of all these gestures that keep you afloat.

‘And, I mean, it’s a couples’ package – just in case you wanted to invite anyone else along?’ Mia tells me. Ed elbows her sharply in the ribs, and they exchange a look.

I laugh. Not tonight.

Jack

‘THIS WAY! YOU’RE RUNNING TOWARDS THAT GOAL!’ I shout across the football pitch at the many little people all herded around the football, drawn to it like magnets. They don’t care if they’re running the wrong way, they just want a touch of the ball. Little Vinnie charges towards the wrong goal, scores and then does some Ronaldo-style goal celebration like he’s the king of the world. I double up in hysterics to see him, then blow the whistle around my neck. ‘KIDS, COME INTO ME!’ I signal. Do they listen? Do they hell. They all continue to run around in circles while I blow the whistle three more times. Little heads start to get the message and herd in my direction, three of them wearing Manchester United gear which makes me shake my head. ‘WHO HAD FUN?’ I yell.

They all scream something in return, some of them punching the air. I am really not sure how much football they learned but they got a run out and look incredibly excited about life. ‘Are you coaching us Sunday, Uncle Jack?’ asks a little familiar auburn head in the middle of the pack.

‘No, George, your dad is taking that.’

‘Boooooo!’ cries out his twin brother, Barney, and I smile because essentially that’s validation that, as a coach, I’m pretty awesome.

‘I’m just helping out for the night because your dad is stuck at work and said he’d pay me in McDonald’s.’

This makes this ten-year-old crowd laugh. ‘What do you get at McDonald’s, Coach Jack?’

‘I get a chicken nuggets Happy Meal with a strawberry milkshake. And the toy, not the book. I’m no geek.’ I get more laughs. Maybe I’m teaching the wrong age group. ‘Before we leave, please take your water bottles and don’t leave until you see your mums or dads.’

Some of them come up to me to fist bump me and say their thank yous and for one brief moment in time, I know what it feels like to be Pep Guardiola after a training session. Such respect. One day, I hope one of you plays for England and remembers that time I made you run around all those multicoloured cones, wearing mouldy bibs that were two sizes too small.

In the car park beyond the gates, I see Dom running from his car, still in a work suit. He greets parents and heads over to me as I pack the equipment away. ‘Oh my, I owe you, little brother. Were they good? Did they listen?’

Dom is my only sibling, one of the few people I look up to. He was always the hero, always looked out for me, so it made sense that I would return the favour. Even if that sometimes takes the form of the occasional training session and babysitting, which basically is an excuse for me to play video games and induct those kids into the world of stuffed crust pizzas.

‘They were all amazing. If they win on Saturday, we can hope that’s because of my excellent coaching.’ I turn and see George running so fast in circles that he falls over. Maybe not.

‘We haven’t won a match in two seasons, Jack. We were beaten 16-0 last week,’ he tells me painfully.

‘Ouch. Why haven’t they sacked you then?’ I joke.

‘Double ouch. Because I’m a volunteer and no one else will do it? Unless you…’ he says, hinting at me. ‘I bet they liked you. I’d buy you a McDonald’s every day.’

‘Healthy.’

‘They do salads now.’

‘The answer is still no. I love you, I love George and Barns, and I will help out anytime, though.’

He sticks his tongue out at me as we walk towards the car park, and I heave the giant bag of balls and equipment over my shoulder across the astro pitch. It’s a huge community pitch on the outskirts of South London where we grew up, herds of excitable kids being chased by exasperated coaches under the floodlights, the mid-autumn air starting to bite. I won’t lie, it brings back fond memories of when I used to play, when our dad used to coach us and our mum used to stand there in her big red beanie with her Tupperware of cut-up oranges, getting overly excited every time her son had possession of the ball. ‘I’m still going to get a McDonald’s for this, though, yes?’ Needs must.

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