I nodded. ‘I mean, it’s hardly a date, but…’
‘But what?’
‘But he offered to save her a seat at the picnic on Sunday.’
‘Dammit!’ Isaac pushed his chair back and sprang to his feet. ‘Right.’ He started pacing up and down, in between the boxes, piles of fabric swatches and vases of dried flowers peppering the office floor. ‘I was going to play it cool, give her a couple of weeks so she didn’t feel bombarded, but if she thinks I can sit there at the picnic and watch them…sharing fancy crispstogether, laughing at all the single parent in-jokes, then she’s sorely mistaken.’
My phone beeped with a message from Mum.
Terry Messina is trying to catch frogspawn using Yusuf’s toupee on the end of Layla’s walking stick. Please assist immediately!
‘I have to go. But, Isaac, promise me that you won’t—’
‘Jessie.’ He came to a stop in front of me, the glimmer of a smile creasing the corners of his eyes. ‘I am utterly in love with this woman. I intend to spend the rest of my life with her. Trust me, I’m not going to mess it up.’
37
On Saturday morning it took a moment to remember that the nerves jangling in my stomach were because today was the Big Day. The day that the Houghton Harriers would hopefully, possibly, miraculously Not Lose a match when they competed in the Sherwood Forest Cup.
Elliot and I had spent hours during the past week planning, dreaming, doing our best to support the boys’ football skills. We’d considered going for a defensive approach, simply aiming for a draw, but that had jarred against the burgeoning sense of optimism since Elliot’s return. Every time we tried to talk tactics, the team were adamant. They were going for the win. And not only one of the two matches in the first round of the tournament. They were going to win the whole cup.
In the end we decided it was pointless trying to coach them any differently. We had to work with what we had, which in this case was a team of boys bursting with exuberant self-belief. We had three practices that week, and I didn’t make it through any of them without having to pretend that a fly had coincidentally flown in both eyes, at the same time.
* * *
The sports ground was buzzing. Elliot stiffened beside me as he walked through the main entrance, Penny automatically moving closer to his side in response. Twelve teams of under-nine children raring to go made a lot of noise, even when surrounded by miles of empty forest on three sides, wide open fields on the other. The vast array of supporters were even worse. It was ten in the morning and already cans of bitter were being cracked open, chairs and picnic tables set up and portable speakers blaring out competing genres of music. Smaller children ran about chasing balls and each other, with accompanying shrieks and squeals, and someone boomed and crackled indecipherable announcements through a loudspeaker.
‘Okay?’ I asked, as we identified ourselves at the sign-in desk, the name of the team causing a few interested glances and outright stares.
‘I will be.’ Elliot gave me a pinched look. ‘It’s not about me. I’ll manage.’
‘That’s why you’re here, after all,’ I said, bumping against his shoulder. Having the tournament to focus on had helped ease the simmering newsomethingbetween us, but there had still been enough moments when it was impossible for me to ignore how when Elliot looked at me, it stirred up a heat deep inside that no longer relied on old memories to keep smouldering.
We herded the boys over to the pitch assigned for their first match, thankfully positioned on the side nearest the fields where it was a decibel or two quieter, and started warming up.
Before they’d completed a jog around the pitch, a middle-aged man with a blue and white tracksuit stretched across his paunch sauntered up.
‘Well, well, the rebel returns from the wilderness of disgrace.’ He smirked. ‘I hadn’t realised there’d be a sideshow providing extra entertainment.’
Penny gave a warning chuff, before turning her nose away in disdain. I watched Elliot carefully, hoping he could do the same.
‘So busy forcing a takeover at Brooksby that you’ve forgotten the youth league code of conduct?’ Elliot replied calmly.
The man narrowed his beady eyes. ‘I’m not the one with memory problems.’
‘Great.’ Elliot gave a polite smile. ‘Then I’ll look forward to you and your players treating mine, and their manager, with respect. It would be a shame if anyone had to be disqualified for breaching the code that you know so well.’
‘As if anyone here needs to resort to cheating to beat you.’ The other coach shook his head, openly grinning now. ‘Might as well give us a free pass to the quarter finals. Save our legs.’
‘I guess we’ll find out in fifteen minutes. I heard you lost to the girls’ team a couple of weeks ago. Used to be your worst insult, playing like a girl.’
The man clenched his fists. ‘You’re out of date. Nowadays the worst insult is playing like a Harrier.’
To my huge relief, Elliot turned his back and started calling out encouragement to the boys, running so much better than they had even a month ago.
‘Let me guess, Simon Simonson?’ I asked once the man had left, standing close enough to see Elliot’s pulse, pounding in his neck.
‘We’re playing Brooksby second.’ Elliot gave a smile and a wave of encouragement as the boys started jogging back towards us. ‘Even the thought of it makes me want to get straight back on the minibus and keep on driving until we run out of petrol.’
