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The only things out of place were two carrier bags. One was full of tins. The other, tucked in the footwell behind Carly’s seat, was splitting under the strain of books.
Carly closed the door and clicked her seatbelt into place. “I didn’t have you down as a reader.”
It took Lauren a moment to clock what she meant. She stared ahead blankly, then said, “Oh. No, they’re not mine. My mum asked me to pass them on to Paige, but I forgot they were there. Kids’ books. For the baby.”
“That’s nice. Are they close?”
“Paige and my mum?” Lauren started the engine, which spluttered reluctantly to life. “Yeah. We go way back. My mum credits Paige with keeping me on the straight and narrow, which, to be fair, is accurate. She was pretty stoked to hear Paige is finally becoming a mum. Also, she says I’ll never need those books anyway, so someone may as well enjoy them.”
“Because you can’t read?”
Lauren glanced over. “You’re a comedian now, huh?”
“Apparently not a good one.”
That earned the faintest smile as Lauren strained to look over her shoulder and backed them out of the bay. “Not because I can’t read. Because I don’t want kids.”
“Sorry,” Carly said, turning towards the window as they drove out of the gym car park. “Just a joke.”
She had been trying to lighten the atmosphere. It would make working together, not to mention the training session, easier if they could exist in the same space without the air thickening around them. So far, the attempt had only half-worked.
The last of the grey light lay over the tired industrial units, and Carly watched it fade in the side mirror.
Lauren had called it a competent silence. Efficient, apparently. Mildly terrifying too. Was that really how Carly came across now? Two years ago, she wouldn’t have thought so, but a lot had changed since then. Her dad’s diagnosis, leaving the army, trying to adapt to a life she’d never have chosen but was determined to make work—none of it had been easy. It all took a toll.
So did spending most of her time in the company of a bitter divorcée and a jaded housewife.
Football had been the last thing that was hers. She’d put it down when the diagnosis came and told herself she’d pick it up again once things calmed down. Things weren’t going to calm down.
“I think tonight might be good for me,” Carly said abruptly, voicing the conclusion before she could talk herself out of it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done something that’s just for myself. I only hope I remember how to play.”
“You will. You were always a good player.”
Lauren glanced over, frowning briefly. Perhaps she was taken aback that Carly had shared anything at all.
Carly looked back through the windscreen. “Tell me about the team. I know you’re struggling, but that’s it.”
“Reconnaissance?” Lauren asked as they approached the ring road. The car juddered and spluttered, trying to gain enough speed to meet the dual carriageway. Once they were safely in lane, she offered a cautious smile. “Figures. I bet you’ll have a full profile drawn up on every player by the end of the night.”
It was a good smile. Carly had spent fifteen years remembering the other one, the one with an audience attached, and hadn’t accounted for this version, which asked nothing of anyone.
She looked back at the road.
“Most likely. I need to know what I’m walking into. Jenna’s easy. I know she’ll be totally overenthusiastic and just the right amount of competitive.” Carly paused. “And I know you’re a good keeper.”
She threw out the compliment because it was true.
“Yeah,” Lauren said, glancing over. “I have a lot of shortcomings, but I do have the safest hands in the league.”
“We all have shortcomings. You play to strengths, manage weaknesses, and get on with it. I doubt football’s the only thing you’re good at. You seem like a pretty good friend.”
Lauren’s mouth softened. “I always try to be. Especially where Paige is concerned. She’s more like my sister, you know?”
Carly gave a quiet laugh. She did know, in theory, though she suspected there were vast differences between Lauren and Paige’s relationship and the ones Carly had with Samantha or Beth.
“I can imagine.”
Not wanting to get into that, she steered them back on track.
