It’s like a lightbulb has been switched on in my brain. Control.
“I don’t like it when I can’t control what people think of me.”
It explains so much. The reservedness, the super-put-together outfits, the editorial Instagram page run by marketing experts, the hideout here in the sticks instead of living it up in central Bath where all the cool kids hang.
“Okay, you have two options,” I say. Mathias brings his other leg up onto the sofa, tucks it underneath his bum. I have his full attention. “You can either accept that you can’t control what other people think about you, that no matter what you do or say there’s always going to be some dickhead who hates your guts, so you might as well just be yourself and enjoy the moment. It’s not those people who matter anyway. It only matters what the folk you’re close to think. The folk who love you. If some stranger can’t forgive an accident that happened eight years ago, even when the person who got his leg broken doesn’t give a shit, well that’s on them for being a total wazzock.”
He smiles softly. Again it falls away. “Wazzocks, the lot of them.”
“I spent so long trying not to swear in front of the girls, I had to get inventive. Some habits die hard, I guess.”
Mathias puffs out a breath and drags a hand down his face. “What’s the other option?”
I pull my leg up onto the sofa too. My knee brushes his socked foot. “You change it. Change their perceptions. You call a press conference and get your agents and media team to write a nice speech about how, since you’re part of their team and you plan on bringing in the wins for them, you’d appreciate alittle more respect. But obviously written by a pro, so you don’t sound like a knob.”
“I can’t do that.” He’s shaking his head.
“Then someone else could on your behalf. Eksteen or Chelford?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Or . . . I could. I bet they’d listen to—”
“No!” It’s not a shout, but it might as well be. My heart smashes itself against my windpipe.
On the TV, Edward is doing the fart-stink hand-over-mouth pose.
“Okay, secret third option?” I say.
Mathias raises his eyebrows, says nothing.
“You go to the games, understand that not everyone will be cheering for you, play your little fucking heart out, come away feeling okay because you know you gave it your all, but if you’re still feeling shitty about it, you could . . . always find someone who you can come back to.” My organs are about to jump out of my mouth . . . plop onto the couch cushion between us.
Mathias holds my gaze, and I realise with him I either get all the eye contact or none at all.
I need him to understand that not all the fans feel this way. That maybe there’s a person who feels the very opposite of that. “Someone who you can share your feelings with. Someone who might . . . comfort you . . .”
He stares at me for another few minutes. It’s like before, when he was quiet, but this time he doesn’t fill the silence, and he doesn’t look away. He knows I was referring to myself.
“What personal question did you want to ask me?” I say, breaking the tension before I vomit my nervous system all over his legs.
There’s no hesitation. “What happened with you and Kirsty?”
20
Saturday 12th April 2025
Owen
I choke on my surprise. “Oh.” I take a sip of beer. He’s been thinking about me and Kirsty. It catches me off guard. Why?
“Well, same old story, I guess,” I say. “We fell in love too young. Got married at twenty-two, had kids at twenty-four, bought a house—”
“This one?”
“No, the place Kirsty still lives in. It’s in Hepton. Fifteen, twenty-minute walk from here. I’m the kind of guy who, if I do something, I’m going to go in hard and fast, you know?” I’m laughing but there’s nothing funny about it. “I fell for Kirsty and went all in, but we were so young and wejust sort of . . . not exactly grew apart, it was more that we grew up. When the girls were about five and six, I found out that Kirsty had been having an affair with this guy, Mark.”
Mathias covers his mouth with his hand, but doesn’t interrupt.
