Page 9 of Playing the Field
But it’s hard to say if we do or not. Although it ends in a three-one win, it’s still something of an anticlimax. Hamcott will finish, as they always do, around the middle of the table, but as we’re no longer invested in their future, that’s not a reason to celebrate. And I don’t think anyone can pretend there isn’t still a slight sting of disappointment that this is the last Hamcott game we’ll ever go to, no matter how excited we are about the emergence of Crawford United.
The mood is jubilant back at The Fox, though. For those who have already declared their interest in Crawford– namely Barbour and his crew– today was more about closure than anything else, saying goodbye to an era long enjoyed but accepting that all good things come to an end. Anyone who still hasn’t heard about the new club yet is quickly brought up to speed. By closing time, it’s the only thing being talked about.
A quick look at my phone tells me Crawford’s Instagram followers have crept up to just over three hundred, which is yet another reason to celebrate. If we can promise to bring a couple of hundred supporters to each home game, we’re far more likely to secure a good ground-share deal.
‘Helen’s piece is already up on theHeraldwebsite,’ I tell Dad, scrolling through it and having a quick read. ‘It looks like she spoke to someone at Hamcott Park about us after she spoke to you.’
‘Go on,’ he says.
‘She asked if they’re concerned about losing fans to Crawford United and their publicity guy, Chris Parker, said, “We have no reason to feel threatened by Mike Crawford’s plans. Even if he does manage to find some decent players and get this club off the ground, it’s not like any of our loyal supporters are about to drop Hamcott Park to start watching amateur matches in the Combined Counties League.
‘“I wish Crawford luck, but with all due respect, it’s hard enough running a club when you’re as established as Hamcott Park. It’s not something you can just decide to do one day and make happen the next. So no, we don’t see this changing anything for Hamcott Park. What happens eight leagues below us is of no consequence to the future of our club.”’
‘Arrogant prick,’ Dad mutters.
‘Dad!’
‘Sorry, love. I mean he might be right, but when you look at what’s going on right here, right now, the excitement, the camaraderie...’
‘The overflowing box of Hamcott football shirts and scarves,’ I add, pointing to the collection Olly has started with a view to donating it to a charity.
‘I hope Chris Parker ends up eating his words,’ Dad says defiantly.
There are a couple of other messages on my phone that need my attention. Phoebs has accused me of ghosting her now we’re not seeing each other in lectures any more and, in fairness, I did promise we’d get together for regular study days but have yet to organise anything. I know she won’t really be annoyed– that’s not the way she is– so I suggest meeting up tomorrow daytime. And she replies straight away, saying she’ll pop round at lunchtime.
It means not seeing Greg until the evening, which he might not be too impressed about– he proposed meeting for brunch and going on from there in his last message to me– but he knows I need to revise and I’ll get more done with Phoebs than if I study round his, because she won’t distract me with conversations about our travels.
It occurs to me then that I’m subconsciously putting off talking to him, because I know, having had more time to think about it this week, that my heart is more invested in Crawford United than our summer plans. I know I want to give its creation my best shot and I can’t do that if I’m hundreds of miles away drinking cappuccinos in a sunny plaza in Italy.
I sigh as I accept, finally, that I no longer seem to be on the same page as Greg. If we ever were, that is. If I really delve into it, Greg has never had the slightest interest in the existence of a new football club– he’s that guy who you couldn’t even pay to watchTop Goals. And I think he’d probably be happier with a girlfriend who isn’t unavailable every other Saturday.
So perhaps the time has come for us to have an honest chat about our future. Because although I think he’s an amazing guy and we get on brilliantly, the truth is, I’m not in love with him. And I’m not sure he’d say he was in love with me either. We do like each other of course– we wouldn’t have spent so much time together if we didn’t– but I’d be willing to bet I’m not the only one who’s wondered if we might drift apart once we no longer have university bonding us together.
When I text him to apologise for not getting back to him sooner and request that we meet a little later in the day, he replies with an apology of his own and says he’s decided to head down to see his parents for the rest of the week, so could we postpone until Friday.
‘Absolutely,’I reply, with a light sense of relief. Then I tell him– and it’s still partly true– that I look forward to seeing him then.
6
Straight away Greg seems different when I slide into the seat opposite him at the pub where we’ve arranged to meet– distant somehow, his voice flatter and quieter than usual when he says hello. But I don’t know if that’s because I’ve started to mentally detach myself from him this past week or if it’s because I’m late– he’s already halfway through his pint.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, hoping, given that he’s just come back from seeing his family, that he hasn’t had any bad news from home.
There’s an awkward moment where he seems to look at everything else around him but me– his hands, the bar, the ceiling, the glass of wine he’s bought me– until he finally blurts out, ‘I’ve booked myself a flight to Naples. Just for me. I was drunk when I did it and I thought I might regret it when I sobered up, but now it’s done I think it might be what I want. I’m really sorry. I know I should have spoken you first. It’s just, I just—’
‘I haven’t been around?’ I finish for him, and he seems to relax having not had to say it himself.
‘I don’t want to sound bitter or like I’m complaining. I know you’ve had a lot on your plate. But that’s given me a lot of time to think– about the trip, about us– and I just started thinking that I’m not sure it’s such a great idea any more. It’s not because I’ve stopped liking you, I still think you’re great, it’s just that life seems to be taking us on different paths. And I guess what I’m saying is, because of that I think it might be time for us to maybe think about going our separate ways.’
He looks at me then and I can tell from the way he’s holding his breath how uncomfortable he must have felt saying this. I’ll admit it’s taken me a bit by surprise– I thought it was going to have to come from me– but I’m not about to leave him suffering when I’ve been feeling the same way.
‘I’m sorry too,’ I tell him, feeling sadder than I expected to now it’s come to this, even if I do think it’s the right decision. ‘You’ve been so patient with me and I know I haven’t been very fair to you while I’ve been so preoccupied. But I have to agree. I think setting this football club up has made me realise we’ve got very different lives ahead of us. It makes me happy. I want you to be happy too. And I don’t think being a football widower is the way to make that happen for you.’
He laughs lightly then. ‘It’s definitely not. So does that mean you’re okay with this? You agree we should quit while we’re ahead and move on with our lives?’
I force a smile on to my face and nod my head. ‘I am and I do.’
Because although I’m sure there’ll be times when I’ll miss him, I also know I won’t be sobbing into my pillow every night because it’s over.
