If only you knew.
I waited for half a dozen hammering heartbeats before replying.
‘You still make a mean egg and jam sandwich.’
‘Right. Well, in that case, thank you very much.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘I’ll be back here for the meeting next week. I’m not busy on the bank holiday, so Thursday is fine. Oh, and Jessie.’ He paused as he reached the main entrance. ‘Whatever you do, don’t let anyone treat you like a fool. Them,’ he nodded down the corridor, ‘or anyone else.’
* * *
Seb messaged me a guilt-wracked apology later that evening. Was it the sorry of a man who’d cheated on his girlfriend? Or simply one who’d messed up what was supposed to be a lovely date?
If he’d bothered to call me, instead of copping out with a message, I might have been able to work that out. Instead, I decided to shove it to join all the other emotional debris squatting in the back of my mind. The sorry truth was that even if he’d done something with another woman, it was a blip I was prepared to forgive and forget if it meant he came back to me.
* * *
Saturday was the penultimate match of the Harriers’ season. The boys were away again, up against a team from another local village. Ibrahim and Jackson, two of our best players, couldn’t make it, but the remaining nine were raring to go as they started their warm-up.
‘Okay, boys,’ Elliot called them together for a pre-match talk. ‘The Rangers are a pretty good side. In the tournaments last season, they won every game.’
‘Well they’re about to find out what it’s like to lose!’ Wodger stuck his hands on his hips defiantly.
‘That’s a great attitude,’ Elliot went on. ‘I hope you boys play to win. But at the same time, don’t be too disheartened if they manage to slip some goals in. They’re fast, and strong, and have been playing together for twice as long as you.’
He spent a few minutes going over the extremely simple tactics we’d chatted about at breakfast the day before, then asked if there were any questions.
‘Yes.’ Jan waved his hand in the air. ‘How are we going to score any goals if Ibrahim and Jackson aren’t here?’
Some of the boys started arguing against that question, while others chimed in their agreement. Spotting that Elliot was overwhelmed by all the talking at once, I stepped forwards, holding up my hands.
‘Hey!’ I repeated myself a couple of times until I had everyone’s attention. ‘You’ve scored three goals this post-Christmas season, am I right? In how many games?’
‘Thirteen,’ Wilf answered.
‘So in eleven games, you didn’t score a goal. But have you had fun, playing together?’
There was a general murmur of assent.
‘Have you bonded as a team, got fitter and learned absolutely loads about football, improving with every match?’
Another yes.
‘So, what makes this time any different? Get out there, play your best, encourage each other, enjoy yourselves and if we win, we win. If we score, we score. If we lose a million-nil, that’s okay. Either way we’ll have learned something, and be one step closer to winning our first match.’
‘Winning the Sherwood Forest Cup!’ Dyson yelled.
‘Winning the FA Cup!’
‘TheWorldCup!’
‘That’s more like it! Now get out there and show them what makes the Houghton Harriers under nines so brilliant.’
As the opposing team swaggered onto the pitch, they eyed up the Harriers with growing grins of contempt.
‘What’s that metal thing on his leg?’ one of them sneered, pointing at Fabian.
