Page 87 of Short Stack 3

“He’s obviously come to keep us company. Lucky us,” Sal says.

The man is thick-set, wearing an oversized, padded coat, and his face is red with temper.

Sal leans closer. “I heard one of the ladies over there saying that he’s the parent of one of the lads on the other team.”

“Then he should behave better,” I say.

He continues to shout abuse at the players on our team. Apart from a few raised eyebrows, they seem to be ignoring him. I don’t know how because his voice is booming.

“He’ll get asked to leave soon,” Sal says. “They don’t tolerate that sort of abuse anymore.”

“The sooner the better.”

The man comes closer and shoots us a look. It freezes on my green hair and Ivy’s bright outfit, and he sneers before turning to the activity on the pitch.

Tom whizzes past us and tackles a man nearby. The sound is loud, and I wince, looking at Tom anxiously. He’s always covered in bruises after a football match but is strangely proud of them. I willneverunderstand sports.

The man tightens his fists. “Foul, ref!” he screams at the top of his voice as Tom and the other player separate.

The player directs a speaking glance at the loudmouth. “Dad,stop,” he shouts. He’s young — probably only eighteen.

His father ignores him. “Get that lanky bastard off my son!” he roars at the ref.

“Lanky bastard? Is he talking aboutTom?” I say indignantly.

He’s still shouting. “Get that fucker off.”

The ref glares at the man, but he’s busy with another player and doesn’t come over. Tom pats the lad on the shoulder, and they exchange smiles before walking off.

“Yeah, you walk off,” the man calls after Tom. “You need a good smack in the teeth, you posh git.”

I’m so cross that I think steam must be coming out of my ears.

“Why don’t you do us all a favour and shut up?” I call.

“Oh mygod.” Ivy sighs.

“Are you talking to me?” he demands, turning and focusing his ire on me.

I make a production of looking around. “Are you the loudmouth currently shouting abuse at my boyfriend? Then yes, Iamtalking to you.”

“Yeah, you tell him,” Sal breathes, coming to my side and making sure to keep the umbrella over her hair.

He grunts. “Piss off.”

I roll my eyes. “No. And don’t speak to Tom like that again.”

“Who?” He points at Tom, who was over the other side of the pitch but has now started to walk back towards us with an alarmed expression. “You mean that cheating twat?”

Ivy grimaces. “Oh dear. Now you’ve done it.”

I glare. “He is not a cheating twat, you ignorant imbecile. So, shut up and fuck off.”

Tom is now picking up speed.

The man’s eyes flare. “And what are you going to do about it? You must be ten pounds wringing wet.”

“What does my weight while wet have to do with anything? Weight has no bearing on the body’s abilities when the brain is sufficiently enraged. Adrenaline is also a powerful factor.”

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