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Even though he had to know he absolutely could not.
“But why don’t you want anybody to be the wiser?” she asked before she could even think about stopping herself. And got the pained reaction that made her sort of wish she had.
“Because it’s embarrassing. Footballers are meant to be a certain way.”
“So massive arseholes who start drunken fights in nightclubs, then.”
“Well, when you put it like that of course I’m gonna sound more normal.”
“That might be because you are normal. Just a thought for you there.”
“Yeah, but it’s a thought that only someone like you might have.”
His eyes flicked up to her, a second after the words were out.
And then he held her gaze for what felt like a long, long time.
Or at least, long enough for her to understand what she hadn’t before:
He didn’t mind sharing this with her because he was starting to guess that she wouldn’t care. That all that was meaningless to her in a way he obviously hadn’t encountered much before. A fact that he then confirmed when he said in this amused sort of way: “You don’t even think it’s weird that I don’t like a drink, do you.”
“Honestly, that was the most relatable part to me.”
“So you don’t like it, either, then.”
“Most of it tastes like piss.”
“Christ, doesn’t it, though.”
“Give me a nice Mr Slush any day.”
“Fuck yeah. That blue flavor? Second to none,” he said.
But there was something underneath it, she suspected.
Something else they were saying without really saying it.
About alcoholic fathers, and the effect they could have on you.
Sometimes they turned you to the drink.
And sometimes you went the other way.
Even if you couldn’t quite admit that was what did it to you.
Not to yourself. Not to someone just like you. Not to anyone.
“You know you can’t put any of this in the book,” he said after a moment.
With regret, she thought. With real regret, and reluctance.
And it was the regret and reluctance that made her answer him.
“Even though you just told me all of it, and I’m supposed to then put the things you tell me into your book about you in words you think sound good. And also: it’sexactlywhat you should be putting into said book.”
“What? So people can think it’s about some completely different weirdo?”
“You’re not a weirdo for feeling that way. And anyone who says otherwise is, frankly, a jerk. A huge one, who doesn’t understand anything at all, really.”
