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“Then it’s been used in a clubhouse. Just not whenever we’ve been here.” Lauren turned the binder back around. “Someone’s treating their players on it and then, most likely, carting it home so we can’t.”

“He’ll say it’s in someone’s garage for safekeeping,” Abi said.

“He will,” Lauren said.

Jenna reached to turn the page, faster now, and Beth put her hand flat on the binder.

“Don’t,” Beth said. “Not here, and not tonight.”

Jenna stared at her. “There could be more.”

“There probably is. And if you find it at a party, three drinks in, with half the team watching, he’ll say you went looking for it.” Beth drew the binder towards her and closed it. “One couch is a mistake. If you want to know whether it’s a pattern, you go through every line sober, with every receipt, and you don’t say a word until you can prove it.”

She kept her hand on the cover. When she spoke again, it wasn’t about the money at all.

“Who signs off the girls’ funding, if he gets his way?”

Jenna blinked. “The main committee. His committee.”

“Their kit budget. Their pitch allocation. Which coaches get DBS-checked and which get waved through because someone’s known them for years.” Beth’s voice stayed level. “All of it lands on the desk of a man who honours discounts for one side of the club.”

“That’s the long game,” Jenna said. “The grants follow the girls.”

“He wants the girls on the grant forms,” Beth said. “He couldn’t tell you one of their names.”

Beth looked at the binder for a long moment. Then she looked up. “The under-eighteens job. Is it still open?”

The whole snug seemed to hold its breath. Even Abi put her cue down.

“You know it is,” Jenna said carefully.

“That job comes with a seat on your committee, doesn’t it. The one he wants Kevin in.”

“It comes with a seat and a vote, yes.”

“Then I’ll take it.”

Jenna made a sound only dogs should have been able to hear, and it took both hands over her mouth to stop it becoming a scene. “You’ll—Beth. Are you serious? You have to be serious, you can’t un-say this, I’m the captain, I’ll hold you to it in writing—”

“I watched a squad get run once by people who thought looking away was a kindness.” Beth said it to the table, not to anyone in particular, and nobody at the table asked which squad. “I told myself stepping in would make it worse. It doesn’t. It just feels worse, for the person stepping in. That’s not the same thing.”

Carly was watching her sister with an expression Lauren had never seen on her before. It looked almost like being outranked.

“Right.” Jenna already had her phone out. “If our committee appoints you before the January meeting, Kevin’s nomination is dead before it’s tabled.” She paused. “He’ll contest it. He’ll say we stitched it up in a pub on New Year’s Eve.”

“We did,” said Abi.

“We did,” Jenna agreed, and beamed at the table. “God, I love a technicality. Is that weird? Don’t answer. I’m texting Jax. She’s going to be furious she missed this.”

“It’s one battle,” Carly said. “He will regroup. Men like Greg always do.”

“Then I’ll be on the committee when he does,” Beth said. She tucked the binder under her arm and picked up her drink as if she’d just agreed to water someone’s plants.

The pool game restarted. Somebody put money in the jukebox. The clubhouse was still half-empty, but it felt like a dressing room before a cup tie. Under the table, Carly’s knee stayed against hers. Lauren was on her second drink, and it would be her last. A few years ago, she’d have been chasing the night by now. These days she preferred to remember it.

Jenna’s phone buzzed. She read it and cackled. “Jax says, and I quote, ‘I knew that guy was an A-hole. Tell Beth she’s my new favourite. Don’t tell my other half.’”

Lauren waited until she’d stopped laughing. “When the clinic opens, the first day’s takings are going to the summer tournament. For your mum’s charity.”