Page 87 of Playing the Field
Back in the dugout, Angela and Alasdair are equally full of praise, but I’m lost for words. ‘I just... I can’t... Thank you so much for being here today,’ I finally manage. ‘I genuinely think it made a difference.’
‘Oh no, we’re not taking any of the credit for this,’ Angela says. ‘This was all on you guys.’
‘And there I was just about to ask if you could come back again next weekend,’ Dad says.
She smiles warmly. ‘I’m flattered, but I think theDying Daysproduction team would have something to say about it if we’re not back on set on Monday.’
She and Alasdair spend a bit longer chatting to our delighted players before they thank us again for our hospitality and are escorted back to their waiting car. Levi does try to persuade them to come to The Fox, but they’ve both got friends to catch up with while they’re on this side of the Atlantic, which is probably just as well because when we arrive at the pub it’s already mobbed.
Ben calls me while I’m queuing at the bar. ‘Wow, it’s loud there,’ he says when I answer.
‘There’s quite the party kicking off,’ I explain.
‘And so there should be. I’ve just seen the score on your website. You must be buzzing.’
‘We all are. It was such a brilliant afternoon.’
‘Hopefully the first of many. Please pass my congratulations on to all the others. I’d love to be having a celebratory drink with you. I’ll actually be in Hamcott in a couple of hours, so I could always drop in to The Fox for last orders, if that felt okay to you.’
Just the thought of it makes my heart race. It’s nearly six weeks since we’ve been in the same room as each other. I know we’ve been talking more lately, but I don’t know whether seeing him in person will upset me or give me closure– and I’m not sure I want to find out with the whole of Crawford United watching.
‘How long are you down for?’ I ask.
‘I’ve got my grandparents’ anniversary lunch tomorrow, then I’ll head back in the afternoon.’ Sensing the vibe, he says, ‘We can meet for breakfast tomorrow morning, if that would be easier. But I would really love to see you.’
‘Breakfast sounds good,’ I tell him, even though my insides have turned to jelly.
He promises to have a full English ready at his place at ten thirty.
47
My heart pounds in my chest as I stand on his doorstep, finger on the buzzer. Memories of all the great times we had here tug at my heartstrings. Cake night, snuggling up on the sofa, that first kiss out in the swimming pool– I was so damn happy. Maybe agreeing to meet at his place was an error.
I tell myself it’s just breakfast, just the Whitehouse, just a guy I used to love. He might even feel like a stranger after not seeing him for so long.
But no matter how many times I repeat ‘it’s going to be fine’ in my head, I’m unprepared for the thunderbolt that shakes me to the core when he opens the door and I’m finally faced with that oh-so-familiar smile. I almost feel like turning and bolting as I realise I’m not even close to being over him. I shouldn’t have come. It’s too heart-wrenching.
He leans forward as if to kiss me, then checks himself and steps aside to let me in.
‘Come on through,’ he says. ‘Breakfast’s nearly ready.’
I take a deep breath, will myself to be strong and follow him into the kitchen.
Our first words to each other, while he’s making egg tortillas to wrap our breakfast burritos in, are polite and stilted– the traffic on my journey over, where his family are going for lunch later; we even talk about the weather, which has suddenly turned autumnal. He asks if I want him to turn the heating up at the same time as I admit I might not take my coat off yet. It makes us laugh, breaking the ice despite reminding me how often we used to share similar thoughts.
I think we’ve both relaxed a bit more by the time we’ve got plates of food in front of us, and while we’re eating he asks me about my dad’s party, the win at Ashbridge and whether Dad managed to keep his cool in front of his hero, Frowley.
‘He was fine once I’d talked him out of asking Alasdair to sign one of his books,’ I admit. ‘He even came round to thinking it should actually be him getting all the players to sign a Crawford shirt for Alasdair. So he’s going to sort that out this week and get it posted to him.’
‘What was Angela like?’ Ben asks.
‘Unexpectedly normal. I could imagine having a pint with her at The Fox. But at the same time there’s something enigmatic about her– you know that thing you can’t quite put your finger on that just makes everyone warm to her.’
A bit like you, I find myself thinking.
‘A bit like me,’ he says, grinning.
I wonder if he guesses why this makes my cheeks flush.
