Page 58 of Playing the Field
It might just be the most relieved I’ve ever felt– once I’ve confirmed I’ve also passed data analytics, that is.
‘There’s a retake day in August,’ I tell Dad, then I reread the date. ‘Oh shit!’
This makes Dad jump. ‘What now?’
‘Please don’t do this to me,’ I mutter, grabbing my phone, pulling up my calendar and scrolling forward as fast as I can. ‘Oh thank God.’ I drop it back on the table. ‘I thought it was going to clash with Crawford’s first league match. It’s the day before though. That nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘You and me both,’ Dad exclaims. ‘That gives you just under a month then, so you’d better knuckle down this time. We can ask Marge to help keep an eye on Crawford United until your diary frees up again, and you’ll just have to tell Ben you’re too busy to go on dates.’
I’m about to protest, but he adds, ‘I know you won’t want to step back from the club, but Marge and I can keep everything ticking over. I’ll take a bit of time off work and she’ll be happy to help.’
He’s right– I don’t want to give it up, even temporarily, but I do also know it makes sense.
I’m not about to cancel the Bruges trip with Ben though, despite Dad’s reaction to me telling him this. He shakes his head despairingly. ‘You shouldn’t be gallivanting off to Belgium while this is hanging over your head.’
‘It’s just for one night, and I’ll get Ben to download a movie to watch on the Eurostar so I can do some revision on the journey.’
I tell him I’m not prepared to miss the Mayfield North friendly either, after all the work I’ve put into organising it– nor skip all Crawford’s training sessions. While I can’t bear the thought of failing again, I will need a few study breaks and I can’t sacrifice everything.
Dad can’t hide his infuriation– the word ‘irresponsible’ is mentioned, followed by, ‘On your head be it.’
31
Ben is sympathetic when I tell him Bruges isn’t going to be quite the celebratory trip we’d anticipated. ‘Do you still want to go?’ he asks. ‘I could always rebook it for a later date.’
I point out it might be the last bit of fun I get to have for a while, so I’m keen for it to still go ahead.
When I speak to Phoebs, she assures me we’re not cancelling the graduation piss-up we’d planned either. ‘After sitting through three years of lectures together, I’m not doing it without you,’ she says. ‘I’ll just have a cheeky glass of champers with Craig for now and the big party can wait till August, when we’ve both got some letters after our name.’
Dad manages to bite his tongue when it’s time for me to head to Bruges and begrudgingly tells me to enjoy it. I do keep my promise of studying on the way there though. And instead of downloading a film to watch on the train, Ben volunteers to test me from my revision notes, which I happily agree to. It might even help me remember things better if I associate them with him.
By the time we arrive in Belgium, he probably knows more than he’ll ever need to about corporate social media strategy.
We check into our hotel– a stylish boutique on the edge of the old town– and take our bags up to our room, which manages to be both modern and ornate at the same time. Peacock blue walls are adorned with gilded frames containing black and white photography of the city, and in the green and white mosaicked bathroom there’s an elegant rolltop bath and a shower big enough to fit half a football team in.
‘We can have some fun in there,’ Ben says, his grin wide.
‘I do want to see at least a bit of Bruges,’ I say with a laugh. But that’s not to say I don’t also want to make the most of this gorgeous room.
We do venture out of course, wandering hand in hand through the pretty streets, admiring the architecture and peering in the windows of the many chocolate shops. We share a waffle and a bowl of frites, and stop off at a bar late in the afternoon to sample beer that’s served in a test tube, beer with more foam on top than beer and– my favourite– beer that is only brewed on a full moon.
We go for dinner in a candlelit bistro and as we’re walking back to the hotel afterwards– taking the longer, more scenic route along the canals to burn off some of the day’s excesses– we pass a tiny, dimly lit bar where a band is setting up, and there’s one table empty, which feels like it has our name on it.
We head inside thinking we’ll just stay for one drink, but once the talented band starts playing its melodic rock set, the little space around us quickly fills up and we realise we were lucky to get seats. Two full hours pass before we eventually decide it’s time to call it a night, the tiredness finally catching up with us after our early start this morning.
‘That was a real find,’ Ben says, putting his arm round my shoulders as we turn towards our hotel again. ‘We would never have stumbled across it if we’d stuck to the main tourist streets.’
‘It was the perfect end to a magical day.’ I slide my arm round his waist and snuggle into him. With each new memory we create I feel even closer to Ben. And when he stops and pulls me into his arms for a kiss, it’s the best feeling in the world knowing he feels the same way.
He insists I spend the next morning studying and disappears off to the gym to give me some peace– but he makes sure he’s back in plenty of time for us to make the most of that shower, so we’re not just glowing from the heat of the water when we check out of our room and hand back our keys.
We leave our bags at the reception desk and head out for an al fresco brunch in the market square, followed by a romantic boat trip along the canal. Then we round off our trip with a private chocolate-making workshop Ben has arranged, and I’m hopeful that when I give Dad the wonky-shaped pralines I come away with at the end, it will stop him grumbling that I should have stayed at home revising.
But instead of making him less annoyed about me going on this trip, what they actually do, unintentionally, is out my relationship with Ben to the rest of Crawford United. It starts when Ben passes his own chocolate creations round at Tuesday night’s training– a fact I’m not aware of as it’s the first session I skip to focus on the course notes I’ve dragged back out from under my bed.
With just over a week now till the Mayfield North game, Dad invites the players back to our house after the session so he and Cassie can talk to them about tactics– and I take a break from my books to squeeze into the kitchen with them because I don’t want to miss out on everything.
Dad starts by promising he won’t keep them long as only eight people have seats. ‘Perhaps going forward I’ll look at having smaller groups here for tactical training– defenders Tuesday, forwards Thursdays, just for half an hour extra, before any of you start panicking.’
