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It showed in my game. My passes were tight and accurate, muscles on fire as I ploughed into sprint after sprint. Fernandez was quick, but today I matched him, stealing the ball every chance I got.
We broke for lunch, and for once I joined in my teammates’ banter, soaking up the pre-match buzz of the big game tomorrow.
Our rivals at the top of the division, Manchester Athletic, were playing us at home. Bring it fucking on.
A couple of the youngsters broke into our Singers chant before food was done, and the whole canteen stood in unison to bellow out the words. I closed my eyes, standing proud with the rest of them, letting the moment sweep me away. Ten years I’d been at the club, and this would be my last, the end of an era.
The end of my Premiership dream, but the what-ifs no longer petrified me.
All over a chatline girl? Maybe. Who really cared? It felt good.
Trevor sent the first team off early for the afternoon, his instructions clear.
Get some rest. Be on your best bastard form for tomorrow. Show those Mancunian fuckers who rules the Premier League!
Maybe just this once I’d do as I was told.
I took a detour out to Steve’s on the way home, announcing my arrival with my own personal rendition of the Singers chant.
“Aye-aye, mate,” he said. “Can’t bloody get rid of you these days.”
“Fancied a drive.”
“Sure you did.” He flashed me a smile, one of his old ones, full of mischief. “Fucking hell, you caught lucky there. She looks like a right goer.”
I took a perch on the workbench as he measured out timber.
“Me and you, Steve, I’ll bring her out here, before the Carlisles get involved. Just us, and her.”
“Sounds good to me, mate.”
“I need some things for the barn. Will you order them if I give you the cash?”
I handed him a list, checking out his expression as he scanned it.
“...Bloody hell, Jase, this shit ain’t gonna come cheap.”
“It’ll be worth it.”
“She’llbe worth it, you mean.”
“Yes, she will.”
He grinned, and it took ten years off him. “Think you might be right.”
“I’m going to need your car. Can’t exactly rock up at hers in any of mine.”
“I’ll need your clothes, your barn and your Land Rover...Terminator would have been quite a different film, mate.”
I smirked, slapping him on the back as I made my exit.
“I’ll be back.”
***
Gemma
Friday night was a no show for Jason, not that I had time to dwell on it. I’d been up til gone four, pretending to drug a roomful of girlfriends and shave all their hair off. Not my favourite fetish, but it had really clocked up my bonus. I slept in late Saturday, woken finally by the relentless buzz of the intercom.
