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“Guess I can.”
I followed him through the house, casting my eyes all about the place. It was a farmhouse, much larger than I’d expected. A bit rough around the edges but nice all the same. Steve led me through the hallway to the front door, but I stopped as I passed by the living room.
“Is this the room we were in, when I came over?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
I stepped inside. “Weird to actually see it, you know?”
I took in everything, smiling at the sight of the beige carpet, recalling how it felt against my ass. The far wall was covered in football memorabilia, signed pictures and scarves and postcards. I stepped forward so see a picture of Steve smiling amongst a celebrating team.
“Wow, quite a fan.”
“Singers,” he said.
“This is some collection.”
“Aye.”
The rest of the room was plain enough, just a couple of floral prints amongst the football craziness. A signed shirt hung above the fireplace, a signed football in an old armchair. I could only imagine the female touch was long gone.
“Do you go to the games?”
“Sometimes.”
“And Jason? Is he a Singers fan, too?”
He stared at me like it was a trick question. “...Yeah.”
“Does he go with you?”
“...He goes quite a bit.”
“Sorry,” I smiled. “I’m being nosy. Let’s make a move.”
I startled as I hauled myself up into Steve’s old Land Rover. The cut of the seat was familiar. I ran my fingers along the window frame, the same little dents and grooves. “Is this your car?”
“Aye,” he said. The same rumble of the engine as he turned the key.
“But this is...”
“Jase uses it sometimes.”
We chugged down the muddy track, well and truly in the middle of nowhere. “What car did Jason drive off in?”
“His own car.”
“Does he work far away?”
“Few miles,” he said, shooting me a nervous glance. “Over by Cobham.”
“Does he stay here often?”
He shook his head. “Only last night.”
“Does he live close by?”
“Close enough.”
