Page 41 of London, Can You Wait?

“I literally screamed when you appeared on screen.” Freddie leaned into Mark.

“Yeah, that didn’t help,” said Lucy.

“You should talk,” said Freddie. “You practically wet yourself.”

“Yeah, well—our Keegs with The Doctor!”

Mark glanced down at Alex and a proud smile lit up her face. She swung his hand, giving it a squeeze.

The group stopped just short of an open door. The roar of seventy-five thousand football fans mixed with “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division—an Old Trafford favourite—echoed into the hallway atop a frosty midday breeze.

“Mr. Keegan, hello.” A suited and booted United hospitality employee appeared in the doorway and extended his hand. “Welcome to your private box.”

“Thank you.” Mark shook his hand warmly and turned to Alex’s father. “Happy Christmas, Michael.” He stepped back, allowing Michael to enter the east stand executive box first.

Michael gasped and nudged his eyeglasses up his nose. The sight of United’s vibrant green pitch outside the window left him dizzy with delight. “Jesus, Mark. If you were thinking of asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage, now’s the time. If she says no, I’ll marry ya…”

“Dad!” Alex squeaked, her face sizzling, no doubt as red as the United shirts Mark, Joan, and Michael wore. Don’t look at Mark. Don’t look at him! She winced and scrunched her eyes as her throat tightened, threatening to strangle her. If only Harry Potter would magically appear with an invisibility cloak. Freddie burst out with a laugh while Joan and Helen exchanged glances, horrified. Lucy froze on the spot and swallowed heavily, cringing for her best friend.

“Um…well…” Mark stammered and scratched his head, an uncomfortable grin raising his cheeks. He quickly looked sideways at Alex and then at her dad.

“Michael Sinclair, what are you like? Leave the boy alone.” Helen folded her coat defiantly over her forearm.

He squeezed his daughter’s shoulder. “I’m just teasing him, honey.” He smiled at Mark, sheepishly. “Seriously, Mark, you shouldn’t have spent so much. I feel guilty, like I’m taking advantage.”

“It’s me taking advantage, more like.” Mark pulled Alex close. “You’ve been like a dad to me these past two years…it’s the least I could do.”

“Well, it’s appreciated by all of us, son.” He slapped Mark on the back then grasped Helen’s hand and they walked out with Joan to the private outdoor balcony to wait for the players’ warm-up on the grass below. Joan proudly removed her winter coat, revealing her United shirt from the legendary 1998-99 season. Freddie wandered over and threw his arm around her shoulder, covering up BECKHAM spelled out in white letters.

Alex hid in the nook of Mark’s neck, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry about that.” Her voice cracked.

“I’m just happy he’s happy.” He smiled. “Hey, look at me.” He nudged her chin upwards with his finger and looked her into the eyes. “I love you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“I love you, too.” Alex didn’t know what more to say, so she kissed him.

“Hey…” Lucy shuffled over.

“I’m gonna pop to the loo before it starts.” Mark gave Alex a peck on the top of her head, dropped his coat on a chair then slipped away, his United shirt bearing the name of his favourite midfielder as a kid—KEANE.

Lucy waited, making sure he was gone. “What is he waiting for?”

Alex shrugged, unzipping her coat.

Lucy’s eyebrows raised the alarm, even if her voice didn’t. “What did he give you for Christmas, then? I knew it wasn’t the ring when you didn’t text.”

“A designer dress. It’s pretty, but so bodycon—panty line is guaranteed—and…” She opened her jacket. “…this necklace from Tiffany.”

Lucy leaned in. The silver scooter charm dangled from a delicate chain. “Super cute, but…it’s not THE ring.”

“Lucy, shhhh,” Alex mumbled under her breath. “It threw me for a second when he brought out the little blue gift bag…I thought he had swapped his mum’s ring for Tiffany. I thought it’s all happening. Even Joan thought so. She elbowed me and said ‘Oooh, am I gonna need a new hat?”’

“Fuck. What did you say?”

“I ignored Joan, opened it, and said, ‘It’s gorgeous, thank you!’—what else was I supposed to say after that? It was awkward. Mark fidgeted with his tie and wouldn’t look at me.” Alex’s eyes stung. “Shit. I don’t want to cry again.” She ducked her head just as Mark bounded through the doorway. His hand trailed over her back as he strode past, heading to the outside balcony. Alex grasped Lucy’s arm and guided her closer to the suite’s entrance, where Irish ears couldn’t listen in.

“You cried in front of him?” Lucy whispered, handing Alex a tissue.

“No, later in my room. They went to the pub after lunch. Mark begged me to go, but I wasn’t in the mood so I lied about calling Robbie. Mark doesn’t know I started those anxiety pills. He would’ve asked why I wasn’t drinking.”