‘What kind of food do they have?’
‘I want to say … Mexican?’ Aisha says.
‘OK, what is going on?’ I ask, frowning at Aisha and Thea. ‘Neither of these things is gossip, and why did you change the channel when I walked in the door?’
‘We didn’t do that,’ Thea says a little too fast, while Aisha shoots her a glare.
‘I could hear the talk show from outside. Is there some big scandal running through the football community or something?’
Aisha and Thea exchange another look, before Aisha reluctantly picks up the remote by her side and flicks the channel back toThe Warm Up. Erica Hadley and Karl Griffin are sitting across from each other on their comfy green couches as usual, but on the side is a blown-up picture of none other thanher.
Maya Alam.
My mouth dries up just at the sight of her in her greenfootball shirt, her black hair tied back in a ponytail out of her eyes. Dark brown eyes looking straight at me as if they can see through me. Even though she’s just an image on the TV, my heartbeat quickens. For a moment, it feels like she’s right there in front of me, in my tiny living room.
It takes a minute for me to even register the conversation that Erica and Karl are having.
‘I think it came as a shock toeveryone, especially given how well she has been doing over the past few years. Nobody could have expected that she would go into early retirement,’ Erica says.
‘Right. I think just a few months ago, we were discussing that she might be one of the players we’re seeing a lot of during the transfer market. She has – well,had –a lot of potential,’ Karl says in agreement.
‘There were a few incidents, though, and it’s not like she has endeared anyone to her with her prickly attitude. Could that be part of the reason why she has decided to retire?’
‘Was she forced into it, do you think?’ Karl asks, leaning forwards towards Erica, like she has some great insight into Maya Alam’s life.
‘We heard that she’s moved back,’ Aisha says, looking at me tentatively. ‘But it’s probably temporary, and you’ll probably never even see her. I mean—’
But I don’t wait to hear any more of Thea’s or Aisha’s consolations. Instead, I turn around and head into my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
I should have just left it alone, let them talk about co-worker engagements and brunch spots that they clearly know nothing about. The last thing I want to think about is Maya Alam. The last thing I want to do is run into her again. But if she’s moved back here, I don’t know how thatwon’thappen. And with my life currently in shambles, seeing me at my worst will probably be like a victory lap for Maya.
A buzzing in my pocket pulls me out of my thoughts momentarily. I slip my phone out to find a message notification. From Jen.
Jen: Hey Dina! Hope this is still your number, it’s been so long since I’ve texted you. Anyway, I just wanted to say how nice it was to see you today and sorry for the girls making such a mess of your family’s restaurant! About the coach position … I know you probably have better things to do, but if it’s ever something that takes your fancy, please let me know.
I think back to Deen, and to Maya’s picture on the TV.
Then I text Jen back.
‘They can be a bit of a handful,’ Jen says the next day. We’re sat across from each other in a small corner coffee shop by Victoria Park. I used to come here all the time with Maya, but I try not to think too much about that. ‘You saw yourself at your restaurant the other day. But they’re great kids all the same, and I think you’re the perfect person to get through to them.’
I chew on my lips. When I texted Jen last night asking about the assistant coach position, I was fuelled by my resentment for Maya. But now, in the cold light of day, I am rethinking the whole thing. I haven’t played football in almost a decade. And I’ve never coached before, or even been a team leader for anything, let alone of a group of teenage girls. I don’t know what I was thinking in entertaining the idea of being a coach.
‘I don’t have any experience,’ I say. ‘I mean, I last playedfootball … so long ago.’And it didn’t end well, I think to myself but don’t say aloud.
‘Yeah, but it’s kind of like riding a bike.’ Jen shrugs. ‘I know you haven’t forgotten all the ins and outs of it. You were one of the best players on the team, Dina. The position is yours, if you want it. And I really hope that you’ll take it.’ Jen looks at me with so much pride in her eyes that I’m not sure how I can turn her down.
It was definitely a bad idea to meet up to discuss the coaching position. If we had had this conversation over the phone, I wouldn’t have to deal with the weight of her crushing disappointment. There’s a part of me that wants to say yes to her desperately – of course, there is. Since seeing Jen at the restaurant, I’ve been wondering what it would look like if I went back to football. But there’s that other part of me, the one that’s always whispering at the back of my head, that can’t stop reminding me of what a disaster football had been in the end. How I had promised myself that I would never, ever go back to it.
‘I don’t know Jen,’ I mumble, staring into the depths of my coffee, and trying to think of a way that I can let her down gently. I just need to explain to her that I’m not the Dina she remembers. That I’m not that girl who used to leap out of bed in the morning thinking about football practice. Who went to bed thinking about strategies and tactics. Who practised drills in the park by her house until dusk.
It’s as I’m trying to come up with my reasons and excuses that the doors to the cafe open and a figure strolls in, looking around the shop. I’m hoping against all hope that it’s not her because it can’t be her. But I know that itis, because I’d recognise her anywhere. We spent the bestpart of our teenage years together, after all. Playing football together in Bethnal Green gardens, sharing the same earphones to listen to the latest Breaking Benjamin album, feeling like we had everything figured out when we had nothing figured out.
She doesn’t seem to take notice of me and Jen. Instead, her eyes are glued to her phone, even as she marches forwards. I know that I should look away. Maybe duck my face and hide, but I can’t stop staring at her.
Because she’s Maya Alam, the bane of my existence. The reason for my heartbreak. The reason for all my heartbreak. The one person that I never want to think about, and never wanted to see again. But also somehow the one person that I can never seem to escape; definitely not in my thoughts and now, apparently, not even in reality.
For a moment, I’m sure that she’ll go right past us. That we’ll be like ships passing at night. And I prepare for just that, looking back towards Jen just as Maya approaches, closing my eyes and pretending that she’s not there, that I can’t already smell the familiar scent of her; it may be cloaked by her perfume – something citrusy – but there’s the undertone of earthiness that’s all Maya. It makes me a little light-headed.
