Page 58 of Off the Pitch

JordanC stop posing and gimme a ruling

Jordan[Sent A Picture] these are my choice – so much better right?

I sighed, shaking my head as I tapped out a quick response. I didn’t want to keep everyone waiting, and out of the corner of my eye I could already see the photographer doing her final lighting checks.

ChristianDoes it matter what I think?

JordanYES!

Jordanlong as you choose me

ChristianDid you ask Ali what she thinks?

Liamno not yet

Jordanwe’re making the first-round choices right now

Rolling my eyes, I handed my phone back to Lily, who read the messages and snorted.

“Do you want me to respond?” she asked, raising an eyebrow that suggested she was more likely to cause trouble than actually be helpful.

“No, it’s okay,” I said over my shoulder as I walked towards the set. “Just leave them to it. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

“So never then?”

“Pretty much.”

The photoshoot was about as uncomfortable as I’d imagined.

I’d never been keen on having my picture taken or being the centre of attention, but this was something that came as part of the package of being a good footballer. I’d learnt by now it was easier to suck it up and say yes to these things, rather than say no. It was good for the club, and it was good for my image. At least, that’s what I’d been told by both Trossero, and my agent Stephan, who only seemed to speak to me when he wanted me to do these sorts of things or when he was negotiating a new contract for me.

So I dutifully posed and tried to look serious or sexy or whatever else I was told to do, while Lily smiled encouragingly from the corner, occasionally tilting her head or shoulders to give me ideas of what to do. She’d made me practice poses last night because she said it would give me confidence. I had to admit it had helped because I felt like slightly less of an idiot than normal, but I was glad when it was over and I could change back into my own clothes for the interview. It wasn’t that I hated wearing the fancy suits I was always dressed in for these sorts of photoshoots; it was more that I was always terrified I was going to spill something on them.

“Right,” said Ryan, settling himself into a chair opposite me. There was a strangely eager look on his face which made my stomach bubble. I didn’t think I was going to enjoy this any more than I had the photos. “Don’t worry. This isn’t super formal. It’s just a chat.”

“Sounds great,” I nodded, not really sure how to respond. Truthfully, I hated unstructured interviews because it always felt like they were trying to catch me out.

“Let’s start with this season. You’re already close to breaking your own goal record, and we’ve still got just under three months left to go. How do you feel about that?”

I smiled, trying not to sigh in relief. I could answer this—it was easy, which was probably why Ryan had asked it. In fact, all his first questions were easy and simple ones—the Champions League, our position in the table, my relationship to the rest of the team, things like that. I started to think that maybe I’d get out of this one with no trouble at all, and we’d get through this without someone bringing up my personal life for once.

If only.

“Now, I know you said no personal subjects,” Ryan began. “But I was wondering if you’d mind talking about you dad?”

His words were like a bucket of iced water being dumped over my head. I stared at him, slack-jawed, trying to process his words and how he’d bought up the topic as casually as if he was asking me about the weather. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lily sitting bolt upright in her chair, a murderous expression on her face.

“Sorry?” I said, still not quite understanding the question.

“Your father,” Ryan said, taking my shocked single-word answer as permission to continue. “I know you’ve not spoken about him before, but I believe he was the one who introduced you to football, right? I’ve been told you’ve not seen him in years, is that right? Do you have a good relationship with him?”

“Who told you that?” My voice was barely above a whisper, but it was hard and cold.

“Oh, a friend of mine from uni. His name’s Duncan. Said he used to play football with you as a kid. Couldn’t believe I was coming to interview you, but he showed me the under tens photo he’s got with you in it!” Jaime smiled. “Do you mind if we use that photo? It would look great in the article.”

“Um, maybe?” I answered, my mind still swirling. “You might need to check with the other people in it.”

“Of course, but it would be great if you said yes.”

---