Page 90 of Playing the Field
‘You know I’ve not been happy there for a while now. So when the January transfer window opened, I started thinking about whatwouldmake me happy– and what came up most often, if I’m honest, was you. So I told them I was leaving and now... I’m here.’
My heart beats a little faster as I scramble upright. ‘Here in Hamcott? But that’s insanity. There isn’t anywhere for you to play here.’
He’s hardly going to join Crawford United for less than a hundred quid a week. And then I realise what’s going on and flop back against the pillows, feeling foolish that I nearly fell for it. ‘Oh my God, you aresucha wind-up. You really had me going for a moment there.’
‘It’s not a wind-up,’ he says, sounding affronted. ‘Look out of your window. I really am here.’
‘Nice try. You’re not going to get me out from under my duvet that easily.’
I’m laughing again now, but when he stays silent on the other end of the phone, a sliver of doubt starts creeping in. I shuffle to the edge of the bed, pull my duvet round me like a giant cloak and pad across the room to the window, figuring it’s high time I got up and faced the world anyway, so I might as well humour him.
My heart nearly stops when I see him in the street down below, smiling cautiously up at me. I stare at him wide-eyed, my mouth falling open. He looks as gorgeous as always and I’m unsettled by the way it gives me butterflies, even after all this time.
‘Hi,’ he says, still talking into the phone. ‘I hope you don’t mind me showing up unannounced like this.’
When I’ve recovered from the shock, I quickly rake my fingers through my hair, wishing I’d brushed it. ‘I thought you were joking.’ He didn’t even hint at this in any of our recent conversations. ‘How long are you back for? Is it just until you find a new team to play for?’
It floors me again when he says, ‘Maybe forever?’
And that’s when I notice what he’s wearing under his open jacket. ‘Wait a minute... is that... is that aFulhamstrip?’ I ask, incredulously. I push the window open and lean out for a better look.
His smile gets even wider. He shrugs his jacket off, turns around and points at his back, where his name is printed above the number twelve. Spinning back round, he explains, ‘They needed a new striker after De Freitas got nabbed by Chelsea. I had my transfer request signed before anyone else could get in there.’
‘But that’s absolutely incredible, Ben. Of all the clubs. You must be over the moon.’
He smooths the front of his shirt. ‘Proudest moment of my career. I never even dreamed I’d have the opportunity to play for my own team.’
‘I can’t imagine how thrilled you must be. I’m so happy for you. Especially given the way Millford was going.’
‘It had changed a lot since I started out there. There was a time when I thought I’d never want to leave that club, but I have a feeling I’m not about to regret it.’ He hesitates for a moment. ‘So I was wondering, now I’m going to be around a bit more... did you really mean it, all those times when you said there might be a chance for us if I didn’t live two hundred miles away?’
And it’s my turn to hesitate. Because although I’ve wished for this so many times, and seeing him is clearly doing funny things to my insides, wouldn’t the sensible thing be not to upset the equilibrium now we’ve got ourselves to such a good place with each other?
But the part of me that still carries a torch for him argues that just because it unravelled the first time round, doesn’t mean it would end in tears if we did try again. And if he’s living just up the road...
As I look at him standing there, hope written all over his face, for the first time in a long time I stop trying to bury all the feelings I’ve worked so hard to suppress. I allow myself to picture us back together, to remember how we laughed, how much joy he brought into my life and how wonderful it felt to fall in love. And suddenly there’s nothing I want more than to be back in his arms and have all of those things in my life again.
‘I’m coming down,’ I tell him, my hands trembling as I shrug myself out of my duvet. Then I race down the stairs, fling the front door open, and it feels like there are fireworks exploding all around me when I see him standing right in front of me on my doorstep.
‘Nice pyjamas,’ he says, his eyes sparkling.
‘Nice football shirt,’ I reply, excitement flooding through my veins.
‘And if I’m not mistaken, it looks like you might be over your hangover.’
He’s right– all traces have vanished. I nod my head. ‘Never felt better.’
He takes a step nearer, his eyes not leaving mine. ‘So what do you reckon? Do you think we could pick up where we left off now I’m going to be back in Redmarsh?’
‘I think I could get used to the idea,’ I tell him, a smile spreading across my face.
‘Then I guess this is me officially asking you to be my girlfriend again,’ he says, his grin widening to match mine.
And as I step into his arms, my body melting against his as I turn my face up to kiss him, I reply happily, ‘I guess this is me saying yes.’
Epilogue
I like to think that Ben, who’s playing Fulham’s last match of the season not too many miles away at Craven Cottage, can hear the cheering that rings out round the Redmarsh stadium when the ref blows the whistle on Crawford United’s final game. We’ve known for some weeks that none of the other teams could catch us at the top of the league table, but that doesn’t stop the crowd from going bananas.
