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I blink. “Vaguely.”

“He’s just moved back to London from New York, and Caroline mentioned he’s single. Lovely boy, works in finance, very polite. I told her you’d love to catch up.”

“Mum,” I say, dread pooling somewhere behind my ribs. “You didn’t.”

“He’s free tonight. I’ve just been to your house and grabbed some things.” She hands me a fresh top. I really need to rethink the whole “mum having a spare key” thing. “Oh and I bought you a new blush, I noticed the one you were wearing last week wasn’t really the right colour for you. Then once you’ve changed you can go meet him.”

I stare at her for a moment before opening the makeup bag and slowly beginning to redo my face. She’s right. It is a nice shade of blush.

“Anyway, he’s already on his way to Carluccio’s.” She takes a step back and looks at me. “Yes, that shade is much better on you.”

How does she think this is in any way normal or appropriate? I open my mouth to protest, but then think better of it. I mean really, what’s the point?

“I’ll order you a taxi. Just remember to text me after and let me know how it goes.”

Perfect.

Exactly how I planned to spend my Monday night.

Chapter 15

Tom

It’s only eleven on Sunday morning, but Dexter has already nutmegged three defenders in a row. He’s playing so well that it takes me too long to notice something’s wrong with his boots.

“Dex, your boots.”

He glances down. The left one has a split along the seam, and the piece of tape that was holding it together seems to have come unstuck.

“They’re fine,” he says, and jogs back up the pitch.

I make a mental note, that joins a long list of mental notes, to check the kit cupboard later. The charity has a boot bin, a mix of donated and outgrown pairs, but it’s pot luck. Maybe I could buy some and “accidentally” leave them there next week. But then again, I’d need to buy about ten kids new boots.

I sigh.

“Tom.” One of the mums has come round to the side line with her coffee flask. “Can I ask— I know it was discussed before, but is there any chance of a second session? Midweek, maybe? Ollie loves it so much, it’s a shame that he only gets to play once a week.”

I get asked some version of this most weeks—by her, by the gran who brings the twins, by Dexter’s dad. I sometimes help out at another session on a Friday night, but it’s provided for a different area, so none of these kids would be able to attend. The charity simply doesn’t have capacity to run more sessions.

“We’re trying. The issue is pitch access, and there’s nowhere midweek that isn’t crazily expensive.”

She nods. “Thanks for everything anyway.”

The maddening thing, and the thing that’s been keeping me up since last year, is that Ashcroft would be perfect for this. Half of these kids live closer to Ashcroft than Ashcroft’s actual pupils do. And most of them go to the schools that my proposal would work with… if the board accepts it.

We end the session with shooting drills that, as per usual, run far too long. Then someone loses a jumper, and someone else takes their bib halfway home before remembering to turn around and bring it back. I collect cones with another one of the volunteers, and wave away the last of the stragglers.

An hour later I find myself sat in a pub with James. I’m not sure why I’m letting him steal food off my plate, and come to think of it why I’m spending my weekend with him. We already spend five days a week together at school and approximately forty percent of our lunch breaks arguing about whether Year 9 boys are the loudest age group.

Maybe we’re symbiotic now and physically incapable of going more than a few days without complaining about teenagers and photocopiers. Or maybe it’s his Netflix subscription.

“I think you should download a dating app,” James says, stealing another chip off my plate.

“Umm where’s this coming from?” I swat his hand away.

He gestures vaguely with his chip. “You’re spending too much time staring moodily into the distance lately. Give it another week and you’ll start writing poetry. I think it’s time to get back out there. And Lou wants someone to double date with, I think she’s annoyed I’m spending my weekend with you.”

“Lou should’ve come today, I can third wheel.”