Page 42 of Playing the Field
‘Well, we did say we’d go back there one day,’ I remind him.
He tells me he’ll check when there’s next availability.
22
With my exams out of the way, we see each other every day for the following fortnight. While Ben’s training in the mornings, I make sure Crawford’s accounts and membership register are up to date, liaise with the other clubs in the league about the match schedule for the upcoming season and look into setting up a couple of friendly games over the next month so we don’t end up playing our first competitive match having never faced another team.
Ben and I fall into a pattern of lazy afternoons by the pool, with sunny evenings spent walking hand in hand on Box Hill, driving down to the coast with Ben’s paddleboards or cuddled up on his sofa in front of a movie– although the latter invariably ends up with us kissing till we realise we’ve missed a good number of the key scenes.
We play the board game triathlon I suggested, which I win, and another three-part tournament involving shuffleboard, bowling and darts, which I don’t. He treats me to a chef-prepared fairy-lit dinner in his back garden for my victory. I buy him fish and chips in a newspaper to celebrate his. In my defence, the Ledbury was fully booked.
When we lie in bed with our arms wrapped round each other, it seems impossible that we’ve only known each other for a matter of weeks. I’ve never before felt so in tune with someone, who seems to think like I do and wants to do all the same things. I know, in normal relationship terms, this is more like how things might be six months or even a year in, but with the clock ticking till Ben goes back up north, there’s been a natural acceleration. And now it’s hard to imagine ever not wanting to be with him.
By now Dad has worked out I’ve got a new man in my life, from the number of nights I’m spending away from home, but he’s never been a prier so he doesn’t bring it up. It amazes me he hasn’t sussed out it’s Ben, even if we do try to be professional at training. But both he and Cassie are so absorbed in the players, I don’t think either of them notice how my cheeks glow whenever I’m standing near Ben.
There’s only one moment when we almost give the game away and that’s on the Saturday before the fundraiser, when Dad’s latest idea for building the bonds between the players involves heading to a golf club out of town for a game of footgolf, which is essentially like crazy golf but played with footballs on a much larger course with bigger holes.
On arrival, he tells us to split up into nine teams of three– with all the players plus himself and Cassie, Barbour, Ben and me making up the numbers. Bob and Marge are at a family party they felt they couldn’t miss. The game is simple– the teams take it in turns to hoof their ball towards the green and the aim is to get it in each of the nine holes with the lowest number of kicks.
I team up with Ben and Bailey, and when it’s our turn, being gentlemen, they insist I go first– and Ben falls about laughing when I chip the ball straight into the rough.
‘What was that?’ he half splutters, half squeaks.
‘Don’t be mean! I’m not a footballer!’ I give him a playful shove.
He can’t stop chuckling. ‘Yes, but you haveseena ball being kicked before?’
Bailey rolls his eyes at his brother. ‘Just ignore him– we can still rescue this,’ he says to me.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ben says, instinctively reaching for my hand and only dropping it when he remembers someone might see.
‘I don’t know why you two don’t just be open about it,’ Bailey says. ‘No one’s going to be bothered.’
‘I’m not sure my dad’s quite ready to be okay with it,’ I admit.
‘Lily, Bailey, Ben, you’re up,’ Dad shouts at that exact moment.
We look up to see the other teams have advanced a fair way up the field. Which has probably saved us from having to answer some awkward questions about the hand-holding.
‘Coming!’ Bailey shouts back before flicking the ball, as promised, out of the long grass and a decent distance in the direction I’d originally intended to kick it in. We’re still a bit behind the others but as Ben will take our next shot, we’ll soon be back in the running.
And things do level out over the next few holes. Thanks to the uneven ground and unruly tufts of grass, everyone has at least one misfire. Which is less frustrating for me than the actual players– having only ever kicked a ball around as a kid, I didn’t expect to be good at it.
Dad keeps track of the scores, so he can do a grand reveal in the bar afterwards, and to my surprise my team doesn’t come last. It’s Elliot, Bob and Caspian from the reserves who bring up the rear and their penalty is to pay for the first round.
‘Thanks, lads,’ Dad says, ignoring their groans. ‘Much appreciated.’
‘Are we hitting the driving range next?’ Elliot asks, nodding his head towards the line of bays outside the bar window. ‘Give me a chance to redeem myself.’
Several hopeful faces turn Dad’s way– mine included.
But when Dad checks with the reception desk, they’re fully booked. ‘So it’s back to plan A, a couple of beers then we’ll head back to Hamcott. Let’s just enjoy one of our last opportunities to have a pressure-free Saturday. The first game of the season is creeping up on us, so after next week’s fundraiser, it’ll be football all the way. It’s time to get serious.’
‘We’d better get another round in then,’ Aaron says, which is met with a chorus of cheers.
I get a cab home afterwards with Cassie and Dad, who’s in a particularly jovial mood. ‘You know, as much as I might have doubted Ben in the beginning, I have to hand it to him for recommending us to build up the team not just with football. I think these last few weekends have made a real difference. It feels like the lads are more than teammates now– they’re proper friends.’
‘Which can only be a good thing,’ Cassie agrees. ‘It’s going to get significantly tougher from this point forwards, so they’re going to need that strong foundation. Especially when Ben’s no longer here to help them see how important it is.’
