Page 57 of Playing the Field
‘I think you’ve proven him wrong on that front by now. And he trusts my judgement, so he won’t be questioning that.’
But life has a way of throwing you under the bus sometimes, so it all comes out before I get to have that conversation with Dad.
30
I’m home in time to have breakfast with Dad on the Monday morning, because there are some Crawford outgoings I need to sign off and I want his approval before he goes to work. While I call up the relevant documents on my laptop, he scrolls through the news on his phone and stumbles across a picture-led splash on Ben.
‘Have you seen this?’ he asks, turning his phone round. ‘He’s apparently been spotted floating round Canary Wharf half-naked with a girl and they’ve suggested he’s more interested in adding another notch to his bedpost than getting himself ready for his return to Millford City.’
I silently curse the person who managed to film us without us noticing. This is hardly going to help Dad see Ben in a more positive light.
Time seems to go into slow motion as I watch Dad squint at his phone screen, zoom in on the picture with his fingers and squint a little closer before he looks at me again. ‘Is thatyou, Lily? Are you and Ben...’ He leaves the question unfinished.
I briefly consider insisting it’s a doppelganger, but there’s no point when I’d already decided to tell him about us. It might as well be now.
‘We are,’ I admit, wincing. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, but with us kind of working together at Crawford we thought it would be better to keep it to ourselves.’
‘Is it serious?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘I really like him. It feels like I’ve met the male version of me.’
‘Oh, Lily,’ he sighs. ‘I can’t say this is one of your smartest choices. I can see how you’d think he’s charismatic– even I can see that– but what about the fact that he’s got such a volatile streak? Can you be certain he won’t lash out again next time a fan– or anyone else, you even– hits a nerve? I don’t want you to have to deal with that kind of thing.’
‘He let his temper get the better of him once. Of course it shouldn’t have happened, but he’s assured me no one knows that more than him. He’s adamant it will never happen again. And I believe him– he’s not an angry person and he hasn’t given me any reason to doubt him.’
There’s still concern etched on Dad’s face. ‘He wouldn’t be the first person to make that promise. And you’ve only known him for a matter of weeks. What about six months down the line, when he’s caught back up in his Premier League lifestyle? Have you thought about what happens when he goes back to Millford?’
‘We’ve talked about that and we’re both determined to make it work. Yes, it’ll be complicated and there’ll be a lot of travelling, but we’re both prepared to put the effort in. I know it isn’t perfect, so I understand why you think I should be cautious, but he makes me happy in a way I’ve never felt before. And I want a future with him, even if it’s not a conventional one.’
Dad sits back in his chair and sighs again. ‘I’m just worried you’re making your life more difficult than it needs to be. But it sounds like you’ve made up your mind so I’ll do my best to support you, even if I’m not very happy about it.’
I didn’t expect him to brim with enthusiasm, but at least there’s a glimmer of acceptance.
To my relief, when he sees Ben at training the following evening, he acts like nothing has changed and doesn’t start warning Ben he’d better be nice to me or anything equally mortifying. So I start to relax, thinking he’s just going to leave me to get on with it. But his support is significantly challenged when another bombshell lands just two days later– on the day I get the results of my degree.
We’re back at the kitchen table, at breakfast time again, because the email from university is due before nine and Dad wants to be there when it arrives. There’s an untouched slice of toast on the plate in front of me– my stomach is too jittery for me to want to eat it.
It makes us both jump when my inbox pings. I take a deep breath and cross my fingers under the table as I click to open it. ‘Okay, here goes.’
Dad leans forward in anticipation as I start reading aloud. ‘Strategic HRM... pass.’ Yes! ‘Corporate responsibilities... pass.’ Huge relief! ‘Global communication in the digital age... Oh.’
‘What?’ Dad catches the change in my tone.
‘I didn’t pass it. I had such a bad feeling about that one. It was absolute hell.’
It doesn’t stop me feeling gutted that I didn’t manage to scrape through, though.
‘Can you retake?’ Dad asks.
‘We can resit one module. Any more and it might mean repeating the year. Wait!’ I stare in horror at the screen. ‘I haven’t passed effective leadership and managing change either?’
I knew it wouldn’t be a brilliant score, but I did not expect to fail. There’s panic in my voice now. ‘There must be an error. I must have done better than this. I can’t sit through the whole year again.’
‘Perhaps you should have spent less time thinking about your love life and more time with your books,’ Dad comments.
‘This really isn’t the time for a lecture, Dad. I actually feel quite sick about this.’ Especially as Phoebs has just texted me three champagne emojis and a ‘woohoo’ gif.
I start frantically scanning to the bottom of the email, to find the information relating to resits. ‘Oh thank fuck! It says here I can redo up to two modules without repeating.’
