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I smiled my sad smile again. “All the time.”
I wished I could tell them, tell them how scared I was, how scared of the rejection, and the embarrassment and all the crap the papers had printed. Scared that he’d see me like they did, one day if not today. Scared he’d already moved on, onto another chatline girl, someone thinner this time, someone prettier. Someone who wasn’t plastered all over the papers.
Cara seemed to sense the need for a conversation change. I was grateful. “When are you coming back to dance?”
I shrugged. “This year, next year, sometime never.”
“We can keep those assholes out.”
“Not all the way through London.”
“Get a taxi.”
I didn’t want to tell her I was saving money. Didn’t want to tell her how many weeks I had left before I was flat out broke. “I’ll think about it.”
She smiled. “You can’t hole yourself up in here forever, Figi. You’re much too precious for that.” She stared at Raven for long seconds. “We could bring a pole, one of the portable ones... we could practice here.”
Raven nodded. “That could work.”
I felt myself blush. “You don’t need to do that.”
“It’s our big night in three weeks. We definitely do,” Cara smiled.
I stared in shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly,” she grinned. “Even if I have to drag you. You need this, Figi, trust me. You need to get out there again. Don’t think we can’t see how badly this shit has shaken you up.”
“Come on,” Raven said. “Don’t let those assholes get you beat.”
It felt a little late for the advice, but I smiled anyway. Maybe a practice or two wouldn’t be too horrible.
I’d rain check on burlesque night, though. Most definitely.
***
Jason
I was drinking too much and sleeping too little, listening to April’s PR master plan every time she could get me in earshot without so much as an iota of enthusiasm.Call your rep, set up a meeting, they can co-ordinate with mine, Jason. For fuck’s sake, pull your fucking finger out, will you?
Life on the pitch wasn’t much better. Newcastle had hammered us five nil. Trevor was losing patience, snapping at my lacklustre footwork, my lack of drive.
“Get with it or get off the fucking pitch!”
I gritted my teeth and carried on, but still I played like shit. He cursed as I sent another ball wide, throwing his clipboard to the ground and ordering me off pitch.
“One more screw up, lad, one more and I’ll be pulling you from the Birmingham game on Saturday. I fucking mean it. We’ve got good players on the bench desperate for a shot, and you can’t even pretend to be fucking interested.”
“Life’s a bit fucking tough right now, Trev. Cut me some slack, will you? I’ll be good for the fucking game.”
“Best had be.” He eyeballed me. “Away game, Jase, tough fucking crowd. You up to it? Can you keep your head? I heard what happened with Fernandez in the canteen last week. Can’t have a 90s replay of some footballer going loopy and dropkicking a gobshite over the barrier, even if they ask for it.”
I managed a smile. “I’ll keep my head.”
“Hope so. You’ve had a great run second half of this season, lad, enough to get a contract proposal to the board for approval. It’s up in the air, but it’s on the table. Show me you’re worth it.”
I wished I cared more, hoping my thankful pat on the arm conveyed more than my dour expression. “Thanks, Trev.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Redfern. Just get out there on Saturday and show those blue fucking assholes how to play football, will you?”
