Connie had messaged as soon as I’d got home from the Barn. Elliot had clearly delayed his announcement to the team WhatsApp group until after the picnic.
Elliot’s withdrawing the team from the tournament! Did he speak to you about this?
He hasn’t spoken to me at all since it happened
The boys’ll be devastated!! You have to change his mind
Seeing their faces on Saturday, I’m not sure any of them will want to play football ever again
Are you joking? That’s not what Elliot taught them. They’re more determined than ever to show what they’re made of. Wilf spent three hours in Mum and Dad’s garden yesterday afternoon practicing. THEY HAVE TO PLAY FOR THE SHERWOOD FOREST CUP
Before I’d had a chance to reply, she’d sent another message.
For Elliot’s sake as much as the boys, he has to do this.
* * *
‘Any chance you could talk to him for me?’ I asked my brother, once we’d all helped ourselves to another piece of calorie-laden comfort food. ‘The boys’ll be gutted if they don’t get to play in the tournament.’
‘Connie’s already messaged me. I can try, but in twelve years I’ve not found a way to change Elliot’s mind once it’s made up.’
‘Speaking of Connie, can we get back to the next task in the project?’ Arthur asked.
‘Speaking of not being able to change a mind once it’s made up, is there any point when you’ve already planned the big proposal and have no interest in my advice?’
‘I am very interested in your advice,’ Arthur retorted. ‘I just reserve the right to reject it. I already acknowledged that I need to step it up before the party. I’m not hiring you to tell mewhatto do, Jessica. Your job is to get me readyto do it.’
‘Okay.’ I gave up. I had too much going on to spare any more energy fighting Arthur. ‘How about we tackle the makeovers next?’
‘Excellent!’ Arthur nodded, eyes glistening with anticipation. ‘I’ve been wondering about a statement outfit like Isaac’s yellow number. Perhaps in green? Green is a great colour for redheads.’
I stood up. ‘Before we go any further, would anyone else like a glass of wine?’
* * *
On Monday, I came home from dinner with my parents to find Connie and Isaac on the new sofa, Wilf squashed in between them, all eyes glued to two droids speeding through a desert dodging laser beams.
‘Hey, how was your day?’ I asked, presuming it wasn’t terrible judging by the relaxed atmosphere and the glasses of gin and tonic on the new coffee table.
‘It was the best day ever, but I don’t want to talk about it now,’ Wilf said, speaking so fast all the words blended into one.
‘No problem,’ I whispered, backing straight out again.
‘So, was Wilf’s assessment of the day accurate?’ I’d left my garden chair and gone to interrogate Isaac as soon as I heard him come into the kitchen a few minutes later.
Isaac stuck his hands in the pockets of his favourite shorts, bought in a ramshackle market on a family trip to London when we were both seventeen. I counted at least three holes, but we could deal with that on Friday’s shopping trip. He wrestled with how to answer for a few seconds. ‘It was a good day.’
‘I sense a but coming?’
He blew out a sigh as he flicked on the kettle. ‘I think I managed to avoid being an arse. When I focus on Wilf, it’s far easier to be myself. I mean’ – he pulled a wry smile – ‘to be the okay version of myself, not the immature, idiot one.’
‘The Mum and Dad version,’ I added.
‘Exactly! Anyway, we had a good day. I’m glad we went. I think it even helped Connie having me there.’
He made the drinks and picked them up, ready to go.
‘You forgot the but.’
