Page 90 of Off the Pitch

I’d grabbed a bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, because it was closer to breakfast time than dinner, and headed to bed. When I woke up it was already three, and I gave up—there was no way I’d keep regular hours for a couple of days after this.

My sleep schedule was so messed up I was never quite sure if I was coming or going.

I lazily toyed with the idea of advertising for a roommate while I cooked myself some dinner, following up on my promise to David to at least attempt to eat vegetables. The only problem was that a lot of people considered me rather odd, and that seemed to make them uncomfortable.

My mother had once described me asquirky, but she hadn’t intended it as a compliment. Still, very few people were willing to live with someone who didn’t keep regular hours and was terrible at even basic adult functions. David had always done everything for me, and I knew I could never expect that of another person. Especially a stranger.

No, it was better just to accept that I would be alone for the foreseeable future, so I had better just get used to it. Perhaps there was some sort of app I could get for my phone to remind me to eat, shower, and sleep. And maybe it would be worth investigating the possibility of a cleaner to come and do some housework, since I’d never been any good at that either.

I don’t think I even knew how to work the hoover.

This was what happened when you grew up in a family that employed someone to do everything for you.

Privilege might be nice, but it didn’t make for very useful human beings.

A sharp, acrid smell caught my attention. I’d managed to burn the onions again. I sighed, scraping them into the bin and grabbing another one to cut up.

Fingers crossed, it would be third time lucky.

Chapter Two

David[sent a picture] look it’s you in cat form!

KitI’ll have you know that even I am not stupid enough to get stuck in a vase. Even if it did have food inside

Hugo

The crowd roared as I stepped out onto the pitch, all fifty-six thousand home supporters cheering my name. Joy and determination swept through me. I could do this.

The game began, and I was in my element. Every pass went my way, and I flowed like water across the pitch, playing better than I had in my entire life. The crowd lifted me as I sprinted down the turf, ball at my feet. There was nothing between me and the goal. My foot connected with the ball, and I watched it curl into the top corner.

A faultless goal.

The stadium erupted, and the team enveloped me, pulling me into tight hugs and screaming congratulations in my ear. My fellow striker, Christian, looked so happy I was worried that he might explode. Across the pitch, I could see my manager, Lucas Trossero, with a look of satisfaction on his face.

The game was mine and everything was perfect.

I woke up cold and shaking but somehow sweating as well. The sheets were rumpled, and my leg was in agony, despite being wrapped in its cast and propped up on a pillow.

“Merde,” I grumbled, reaching blindly for my phone to shut the blaring alarm off. I flopped back onto the mountain of pillows I insisted on sleeping with, wondering if I buried myself far enough into them whether I could just disappear.

It had been nearly two months since I’d broken my leg in Greenwich’s bid for Champions League glory. We’d been so close to scoring the goal that would have kept us in the match and given us a chance to qualify for the semi-finals. Instead, I’d been brutally wiped out and had broken my tibia.

It had been the most painful experience of my life.

The worst part had been the aftermath. The doctors kept telling me that I’d been lucky to avoid surgery, but that didn’t feel like a good thing. I’d still been relegated to a cast and crutches and had been instructed to sit still, rest up, and take it easy.

I’d always considered myself to be a fairly relaxed person, but even I had my limits.

My ex-wife, Hélène, had always said that I liked relaxing as long as it was on my terms. We may not have agreed on a lot of things, but I think she might have been right on that point. I’d been fine for the first week because I’d still been in a lot of pain, even though I’d tried to pretend that everything was fine. But after that, boredom had set in, and the past few weeks had felt equivalent to hell on earth.

I’d played through most of the games for my Xbox and PS4, and then I’d gotten stuck at one particularly hard part inShadow of the Tomb Raiderand had comethisclose to throwing the entire thing out the window.

I’d also binge-watched as many Netflix series as I could stand, but sitting around watching TV was only fun for a short while. I was a naturally active person and being confined to my flat was driving me mad.

My friends and teammates had tried their best to keep me company, but half the time I didn’t really feel like being sociable. Plus, it wasn’t like they hadn’t been busy—the final match of the Premier League season had only been last week, so they’d all been in training everyday as they pushed for a top four finish in the table. I’d watched the last match from my living room, since it had been an away game, and cheered happily when they’d won two-nil to secure Greenwich third place in the table.

It felt like a great ending to a rather up and down season, and it meant Greenwich would also get to play in the Champions League next season too.

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