Page 24 of Playing the Field
‘Oh I’m sorry.’ He instinctively moves his hand towards mine, but stops just before he touches me. ‘Do you still see her?’
‘When I can. We text each other all the time, and her and Dad still speak now and again. We’re kind of used to it now, but we do still miss having her here. I’m glad Dad’s always had Hamcott Park– and now Crawford United– to keep him busy.’
We’re interrupted by a waiter arriving to fill our water glasses and take our order. I haven’t even looked at the menu yet, so I have a quick read.
‘Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to share,’ Ben says.
‘That would be pretty much everything on the starters list,’ I tell him. ‘And I haven’t even got to the mains yet.’
‘We could order one of each and eat tapas-style,’ he suggests.
‘What he said,’ I tell the waiter, handing my menu back without another glimpse.
When we’re alone again Ben asks, ‘So back on the subject of Crawford, how do you think the session went this evening?’
‘Aside from the part where you nearly murdered a four-year-old?’ I tease.
He winces. ‘Not my finest moment. It’s probably best not to put that in your press release.’
‘I’m very happy considering it was only the second get-together. Of course there are a couple of niggles– Nico can’t be giving the ball away so often, and those silly little slip-ups from Levi will put so much pressure on Elliot– but then I have to remind myself to keep my expectations in check. Of course they’re not going to be as good as Hamcott Park’s players– at least not yet.’
‘You’ll get them there– just give it time. I think Jamie and Craig are showing a lot of promise up front for two players who are only in their first week on the team. I can see them being a really strong double threat once they get used to each other’s rhythm.’
‘Strong enough to be a threat to you?’
He laughs. ‘Let’s not get carried away.’
‘Getting back to the press release for a minute, I’m thinking we should focus on how you’re selflessly giving up your free time to help out a little-known local community team,’ I suggest. ‘That shouldn’t give Millford anything to grumble about.’
He smiles. ‘I reckon they’ll love it. Like I said earlier, they’ve been thinking about ways to give the media something more positive to say about me before I get back to playing matches, to keep the sponsors happy. When it comes to protecting their brands they prefer us to be squeaky clean.’
‘You could always use this as your opportunity to address what went on at that Hamcott game, while you’ve got something constructive to offset it against. I’m no expert, but you never know, it might stop the papers raking over it again and again.’
‘Much as I’d like that, I can’t really go into it. It’s just...’ He sounds uncharacteristically flustered. ‘I’m sorry, it’s complicated.’
I study his face, wondering if I really want to know what provoked him that day.
Quickly recovering his composure, he adds, ‘Anyway, it’s not like the papers didn’t paint me in a bad light before this– even if, in my opinion, I’m no worse than anyone else in the league. But the best thing I’ve learned since I started at Millford is not to worry too much about what other people think of me. Someone will always have an opinion– that’s just football– but you can drive yourself crazy if you take it all to heart. I couldn’t do what I do if I was constantly stressing about it. Although in case it’s not obvious, I do care what you think.’
And there it is again, another casual comment dropped into the conversation that takes me by surprise. He holds my gaze as I process the fact that he’s basically just admitted he wants me to like him. It’s hard not to, of course, when he’s so friendly and engaging. But there’s liking and there’sliking, and I’m still not entirely sure which this is.
Our waiter comes back and starts spreading our mishmash of dishes across the table, describing each one in such painstaking detail that by the time he’s finished, the moment has passed. But that doesn’t stop a small part of me thinking that perhaps I want Ben to like me too. There’s just something about him that makes me want to spend more time with him.
With that in mind I ask him, as we walk to the car after the meal, if he’d like to join us for the rounders day on Saturday. It feels rude not to invite him when he’s now going to be seeing the team so frequently.
His face lights up all over again as he tells me he’d be delighted. And when we pull up in my street– not right outside the house in case Dad is still up and happens to see– my heart does a little dance when he fires me one last oversized grin and says, ‘I’ll see you on Saturday.’
14
With all twenty-two Crawford players present, plus Dad, Cassie, Bob and me (Marge declares herself the bag guardian), we end up in a thirteen-on-thirteen rounders battle. Ben is joining us later, once he’s completed his weekly Millford check-in– where his coach calls to check up on his diet and exercise from the last seven days and sets a new programme for the following week to make sure he’s still fit when he returns to the squad.
Perhaps due to his height, Elliot proves to be a demon bowler, but almost all the players have excellent hand–eye coordination and can run like lightning, so the scores quickly rack up. To begin with at least. On Bob’s suggestion, a table of vodka shots is set up at fourth base for anyone who makes it round, so the chances of them doing so again are significantly reduced.
As now seems to be the way, our mini fan club of Barbour’s family, Helen from theHeraldand a handful of others come to watch. Phoebs joins us as well, having decided her revision can wait for a few hours after I told her I’d spent a second evening with Ben.
The conversation went something like this:
‘That’s it, I’m coming down there, before there’s nobody left.’
