‘Well done today. You put together a phenomenal celebration,’ Dad said, before turning to Elliot. ‘She did the Queen proud.’
Mum gave Elliot a playful nudge. ‘Who’d have thought the monarchy could be so contentious among the older generation? But Jessie, you did an incredible job distracting them with your disco. You made today so special, you really deserve a celebration of your own, now.’ She paused, quite possibly due to being unable to say anything else thanks to the huge, impish grin taking up most of her face. ‘Maybe Elliot could join you? I mean, we’d love to, but we’ve got to file a report on the water fight. Helen slipped over and bruised her hip and her son is up in arms about it. Despite it being while she tried to turn the table cloth into a water slide. Anyway.’ She gave a not-at-all-sorry sigh. ‘These things must be done so I’m afraid it will be just the two of you.’
With that, she somehow managed to herd us out of the door and disappear.
I kept my eyes on the path ahead as we started walking home. ‘Don’t worry, after today the only celebration I’m up for is a mug of tea, and the one piece of cake I managed to salvage from the battlefield.’
‘Yeah. I’m not really in the mood for celebrating either at the moment.’
‘Elliot, you can’t let one slip up—’
‘It’s not one, though. This was just the worst one since you’ve been around.’
My heart gave an agonising twist. ‘That man was hideous. What he said was disgusting. A lot of people reckon that a shove was the least he deserved. And what about all the parents who joined in? Your reaction was mild in comparison.’
‘Really?’ Elliot stopped to look at me as we waited for a tractor to chug past, before crossing the road. ‘Can you honestly tell me it was in any way okay for me to behave like that? Because I’m pretty sure the league won’t see it that way.’
‘Fine.’ I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘It wasn’t okay. It was a bad example to the boys. You lowered yourself to his level, and all those other things you’ve told yourself since it happened.’
I ran an exasperated hand through my tangled mess of hair. ‘But isthisa good example, what you’re doing now? Pulling out of the tournament, moping around, refusing to forgive yourself? Is that what you’ve been trying to teach them – mess up and that’s it, you’d better give up?’
The storm that had persisted in Elliot’s eyes all week tossed and turned. ‘That is not what I’m doing.’ He started walking again, long, angry strides that I had to practically jog to keep up with.
‘I was very clear that I couldn’t do this. I would fail them. Now I have. And the last thing…’ He stopped, voice breaking. ‘Thelast thingthat those brilliant boys need or deserve is me for their coach.’
‘I generally agree with about 99 per cent of what you say, Elliot, but that is a load of crap.’
‘Don’t push me on this, Jessie. Please.’
‘Why? I’m not worried that you’ll shove me back.’
‘No.’ He shook his head, which looked as though it bore ten years of struggle. ‘But if you of all people push me right now, I might just break.’
* * *
I was looking forward to Friday about as much as I would relish having Wendy over for dinner. The plan was that we’d all head into Nottingham together, then Isaac would be the first to undergo a makeover before he headed back to oversee the preparations for this Saturday’s wedding. I knew about as much about men’s fashion as I did women’s – i.e. virtually nothing. Seb had worn black T-shirts and jeans to work, and blue, grey or white T-shirts with the same jeans on his rare days off. He had one ‘going out shirt’ and that was about it.
I’d never given much attention to what was in my wardrobe. There’d been times my ‘wardrobe’ had been nothing more than a couple of carrier bags, and I genuinely hadn’t cared enough to spend serious time and effort on my appearance.
Nevertheless, here we were. Me with a list of supposedly stylish men’s clothing shops, and far too many images of male models on my phone. Arthur with his red hair standing straight up from where he had been continually tugging on it in his excitement. Isaac shifting about, arms crossed defensively over his body. Elliot, always two steps behind them, wearing a careful expression to match his neatly ironed blue shirt, that was so perfectly Elliot even a professional stylist couldn’t find anything more suitable for him to wear.
‘Well, hello!’ A shop assistant who looked about nineteen jumped out from behind a stack of jumpers the second we walked into the first shop.
‘This is quite a crowd! Let me guess.’ He stuck one finger on his chin. ‘A wedding party? Which of you lucky guys is the groom?’
Arthur raised his hand. ‘Guilty!’
‘Congratulations!’ He gave Arthur a quick once over. ‘We’ve got some brand new, hot off the catwalk jackets that will befabulousagainst your skin tone.’
‘Perfect!’ Arthur said, bouncing up and down on his toes.
‘When’s the big day?’ The man led us towards a rack of jackets. ‘Oh, I’m Cillian, by the way. And you are…?’
‘Not actually getting married, yet,’ Isaac interrupted. ‘Though you can call him Arthur.’
The man whipped around to look at Isaac, mouth open in confusion.
‘Sorry, but I haven’t got much time and we aren’t here to buy wedding suits.’
