Page 82 of Playing the Field
‘I guess all you can do is wait and see,’ Ben says. ‘And try not to get too excited about what you could do with the money until you know exactly what the deal is.’
I laugh, because he knows me so well. I’m already thinking that if it’s as large a sum as is hinted at, I could work up a plan that would make the club sustainable for the next few years, with no loan repayments to cover for the ground share, plus we could start paying the players a nominal sum per match. We could possibly even look at adding a women’s team.
And what if I could become a full-time salaried employee? There’d be no more needing to squeeze running Crawford in around another job– which I could probably manage in the short term with a lot of help from Marge, but couldn’t sustain indefinitely, unless I resigned myself to having no social life, boyfriend or hobbies.
In other words, if this email is real, it could change everything. But Ben’s right– it’s still a very big if. He agrees I should sit on it until I know one way or the other.
‘So what else has been keeping you busy?’ he asks, and I’m sure what he’s really asking is whether I’ve had any further thoughts about me and him.
The truth is, I’m more conflicted than ever, swinging wildly between wishing we could go back to our original plans for getting together on Sundays and never again wanting to deal with the anxiety our long-distance relationship gave me. I think, deep down, that by delaying that conversation, what I’ve been trying to do is reach a point where it won’t hurt so much to say no to him, and yet it feels like we still have unfinished business.
‘Phoebs is organising a bash for Dad’s birthday,’ I answer, to stop the conversation from getting heavy. ‘I’ve got a feeling she’s really pushing the boat out for it.’
I explain about her party planning business proposition and how she hopes Dad’s do will give her a launch pad.
‘Does your dad know?’ Ben asks.
‘He knows there’ll be drinks, but he doesn’t know about the balloon arch, fancy canapés and live band. And Phoebs has commissioned Barbour’s wife to do another football trophy cake too, this time with Crawford United etched into it.’
‘I can’t see him going crazy over the balloon arch,’ Ben admits, ‘but the cake sounds perfect for him.’
‘It should be a fun night. We’re doing it in a marquee in the garden at The Fox. All the Crawford players are coming. It’s a shame you can’t be here for it.’
It slips out before I think about what I’m saying and I freeze, breath held, heart thumping in my chest. I hadn’t intended to get into this.
‘I’d like to be there,’ he says quietly.
My voice softens too. ‘It’s on a Thursday. There’s no way.’
‘The distance thing,’ he says solemnly.
And I nod, even though he can’t see me. ‘The distance thing.’
‘Well, let me know how it goes,’ he says, forcing some brightness back into his voice. ‘And keep me posted about the mysterious Mr Frowley.’
‘Absolutely.’ I try to sound just as upbeat. And then, because I don’t know how else to end the conversation, I just thank him for letting me waffle on about it.
45
I decide not to contact Frowley’s agent in the end, preferring to keep the dream alive for as long as possible before the email is potentially exposed as a fake. If I’ve heard nothing more by Friday, I’ll know either way anyway. But that doesn’t stop me from checking the crowdfund account about once an hour, just in case.
It’s the morning of Dad’s birthday when the money does drop in. I don’t know if this is pure coincidence or if Frowley somehow managed to find out about the date. I bet if he trawled through my Facebook posts he’d find a reference to one of Dad’s previous birthdays, but would anyone go to that much effort?
I’m not sure how long I stare at the amount on the screen, but it’s long enough for my bowl of cereal to become too soggy to enjoy. There are more noughts than I ever could have imagined seeing in our account. How we’ll thank Frowley I have no idea.
There’s enough to set out a salary for Cassie and Dad as well as me, should they want to leave their jobs. And we can now think seriously about club merchandising, which didn’t seem viable in the beginning when we’d only sold a couple of hundred season tickets, but now we know we’ve got a solid following, it would be great to make scarves and football shirts available to the fans. We want them to be able to wear the official team colours and feel as much a part of the team as we do.
I can’t wait to see the players’ faces light up when we tell them what this means for their bank balances, and before that to blow the minds of Cassie, Bob, Marge and Barbour, who I know will be as astounded as I am. But before all that, there’s the one person I look forward to sharing this momentous news with more than anyone else and that, of course, is Dad.
I shout up the stairs at him. ‘Can you come down here a minute please. Something big’s happening.’
He walks into the kitchen with shaving foam still covering half his face. ‘What is it?’
‘Let me start by asking if you could have one thing for your birthday, what would it be?’
‘A win for Crawford United?’
‘Well, that’s kind of what this is.’
