Page 82 of Textbook Romance

‘Mother! Can I ask how you know what that is?’

And yes, there is deep anxiety there in me as a mother but we both laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ a voice suddenly pipes up, sliding into the conversation. We both stop laughing and I pray that Lottie keeps this civil and doesn’t repeat that comment about edging.

‘Nothing,’ Lottie says, returning to the football. ‘You’re here.’ It’s less a question, more a statement.

‘Morning,’ I say, trying to keep things civil. Brian always comes to these matches with his trousers tucked into his boots which gives him farmer vibes. He keeps trying to catch Lottie’s eye and she’s doing a very good job of dodging it.

‘Score?’ he asks.

‘Oh, they’re behind one-nil but there’s time to turn it around,’ I inform him, not really knowing what emotion matches my mood.

We stand there taking in the football. I wish I really knew what was going on so I could shout out something constructive, but Dylan looks like he’s running in the right direction at least.

‘I was thinking that maybe after this… our post-match McDonald’s ritual – maybe we could all go together?’ Brian suggests.

As soon as he asks, I realise that this isn’t my call at all. Would I be able to drink my strawberry milkshake with him in the vicinity? I guess we’re at that point where him being present doesn’t cause me such anxiety anymore. Lottie looks over her shoulder.

‘Will Liz be there? Is she hiding in a bush, waiting in your car?’ she says pointedly.

Touché, Miss Swift.

Brian who would normally reply with anger knows now not to respond as such. ‘No Liz, just the four of us.’

Lottie is silent but I notice her attention taken by the football for a moment. ‘YES, DYLS. RUN, DYLS!’

We all look out on to that pitch and Dylan is on a break, running towards goal. The defender’s nowhere near him, just him and the keeper. Lottie grabs on to my arm, jumping up and down, tea everywhere. I’ll never understand that feeling as a parent. You feel it when they’ve been up on stage and repeated their lines perfectly, when they win a race on sports day, when they receive a certificate in a crowded room. Part of it is some form of relief that you feel on their behalf but all that pride, all that happiness, all that love just courses through you, making you rather giddy. Well done, that kid. He threads the ball through the keeper calmly and you see the net ripple as it hits the right-hand corner. Dylan turns and runs to the centre circle, roaring with joy, a rare moment of pure emotion that he just exudes into the air. There’s a loud cheer from our small crowd but mostly screaming from Lottie as she puts her hands to her mouth and does a loud whistle.

I don’t say a word. Mostly because I can feel Brian gripping on to my arm in excitement. He looks down for a moment, realising he’s overstepped and takes it away, but we share a look. Despite everything, we made these two human beings and by god, aren’t they just the best things? Brian takes a step away and I look out on to the pitch, Dylan surrounded by his teammates but his eyes scanning over the sidelines to see us together. He looks to his dad who puts a thumb up and then he looks at me, a tear rolling down my face. I’ll have to tell him it was the cold.

‘What’s number fifteen’s name? What’s his Snap?’ Lottie asks Dylan as we walk back to the car.

‘You’re so grim and embarrassing. No,’ Dylan grunts in reply, flicking mud from his boots at her.

She screams. I’d intervene but I mostly watch in amusement at how much their relationship see-saws like this. Once the play fighting starts then I’ll intervene. Brian walks beside me, a perfect silence helping me keep some distance. Both children have agreed to Brian joining us for a McDonald’s and I guess we’ll see how that goes but I’ll look forward to seeing Lottie upgrade to a large merely out of spite because he’s paying.

‘ZOE!’ a voice suddenly sifts in from behind me. I don’t turn around immediately because the voice is young and I don’t recognise it, but I hear footsteps and they call me again. I turn. I know you.

‘Barney?’ I am not quite sure if Barney was playing football today or mud wrestling with a bear, but he comes over and I put a hand out before he has a chance to hug me. Brian stops beside me, pouting as he tries to figure out who this child is. He’s not in the age group I teach, not a relative or neighbour and I suddenly watch my own kids stop to turn to figure this kid out, too. Oh dear. I have to think quickly here. ‘Look at you! Have you been playing football today as well?’

‘Yeah, we lost, though, but only by eight-nil this time which Dad says is better than last time, so we are getting better,’ he replies gleefully, clutching a muddied bag of Haribo in his left hand. ‘Did you come to watch me?’ he asks.

‘Oh no, I was here watching my son play. This is Dylan,’ I say, pointing over to him.

Barney raises his chin. ‘He’s big. How old are you?’

‘Fifteen,’ Dylan replies curiously.

‘How old are you?’ Lottie asks him.

‘I’m ten. Zoe came to my party. She’s really good at Laser Tag.’

I can’t quite breathe. I can tell people have questions. Mum, is this what you do now when we’re not about? You go to the local shopping centre and play Laser Tag with random children? But before I can answer, someone approaches us, a huge bag of footballs hauled over his shoulder.

‘Zoe?’

‘Dom! Hey…’ He leans over for a hug and my kids don’t quite know where to look. ‘I just bumped into Barney, and he was telling me about your game.’

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