by Nikki Ashton
“Thieving beggars,” she muttered. “Someone’s had my raspberry crush lipstick!” Suddenly, she felt a hand on her back. She shot around to see Si’ smiling down at her.
“First sign of madness you know, talking to yourself.”
It triggered in Bet’s brain that he suddenly didn’t sound so camp. “Sorry, one of my lipsticks has gone missing,” she sighed unhappily.
“Typical of models I’m afraid; we’ll do anything for a freebie. Actually, I came back to give you this.” He passed Bets a piece of folded paper, closing her hand around it. “Nice make-up by the way.” Si’ turned and waved as he made his way across the room; Bets opened the paper up.
“But I thought…” she called after him.
“Most people do, sometimes it’s easier to let them think that.” He waved again and was gone.
Bets looked down at the paper once more.
Simon Jeavons – 07789 432558
Call me
Bets smiled to herself, putting the paper into the pocket of her trousers. She finished packing her things away, and hoisting her bag over her shoulder, went to find Charlotte.
“Oh well,” she whispered to herself. “I can always save him for a rainy day, when I’m feeling ready.”
Chapter 15
Excitement growing in the pit of her stomach, Charlotte was wrapping up warmly, ready for a night of football action. It was her beloved blues playing, and since they’d been taken over by a mega rich Sheik times were good; very good. She had followed the blue side of Manchester since she was about twelve years old. Her dad had always taken Tom, but one Saturday Tom had measles, so Charlotte had got his ticket; and suffered ever since. She sat in the stands in abject misery every other week while her dad and Tom moaned, from start to finish. Oh, there had been some good times, but generally, it had been long years of torment for her and the rest of the fans. Until the current owners has come along and ploughed billions into the club; now they were a force to be reckoned with.
Charlotte pulled on her lucky blue socks, although they were now also very threadbare. Despite all this Charlotte still rooted them out of her drawer every week, hoping that they wouldn’t let her down. Sod the quality of the team, it was all because of the socks. She stuck her woolly hat on her head, zipped up her thick, padded jacket and was ready to go; all she had to do was wait for the familiar toot of the horn outside. Dad and Tom were already five minutes late, something, which never happened, but Dad had probably had to wait for Tom to get back from Manchester. Since the fashion show, Tom had been dallying with the lovely Isabel, and he had taken a day off today to go and say good-bye before she went on a two-week modelling job in Spain. Why they couldn’t have met Tom near the ground Charlotte didn’t know, but it possibly had something to do with Tom being even more superstitious than his sister? He insisted on following the same routine every match day. Then Charlotte was alerted to their late arrival by the toot, toot, toot, from outside.
“Wish us luck Petula.” Petula showed her backside in response. “Hmm,” said Charlotte opening the front door. “Charming!”
“Evening gents, so what are your predictions?”
Tom glared at her fiercely. “Charlotte you know that it’s bad luck to predict the score.”
“Oh shut up Tom, don’t be so ridiculous. I reckon 2 – 1 to us,” snapped Charlotte.
“2 – 0 to us,” piped up Ken in the driver’s seat.
“5 – 0 to us,” sighed Tom.
Charlotte and Ken roared with laughter.
“Don’t be stupid, there is no way we will put 5 past them. Don’t forget that I’ve been watching them for twenty years longer than you, so I know what can happen when we are the supposed favourites!” Ken shook his head in disbelief as he manoeuvred through the teatime traffic.
“Blimey Dad, they’re struggling at the bottom of the table, and we are class. Tom might not be too far off. Anyway, what happened to not being allowed to predict the score dumb head?” Charlotte asked, scuffing Tom’s hat off the top of his head.
“Well you two had already given us the bad luck, so what difference does it make.”
“Pillock,” muttered Ken.
No more conversation was made until they were actually in the ground, Tom was obviously sulking and Charlotte and Ken couldn’t be bothered to talk to him either, so, all in all, it was a peaceful journey. As they flashed their cards to get through the turnstiles, the atmosphere took over and they all started to chatter in anticipation. Charlotte loved match days and the thrill that they provided, as soon as the ground was in sight nothing else seemed to matter, except a good result. As they made their way to the stand, Charlotte marvelled at the throngs of people, all there for the same purpose. Their expectant faces framed in blue and white scarves, coats buttoned up to their chins against the cold. She loved the smell of pies warming at the back of the counter, mixed with that of spilled beer. Charlotte looked around, fascinated at the number of men who insisted on trying to scoop the red hot meat from their pies with their fingers, blowing on it so hard that they lost most of it down their chests. As they made their way through the crowds to the bar, Charlotte could hear thousand and one different opinions on which formation should be played. Older men, like Ken, were harping back to the days of Bell, Lee and Summerbee, telling anyone who would listen what they had missed, while the younger ones stood around, putting bets on who would score first, or moaning about the state of the lager. The three of them stood in expectant silence, sipping their drinks, eating their pies and reading their programmes. They were oblivious to the hubbub around them, only thinking about the game, then with five minutes to go before kick-off Ken finished off his drink, rolled up his programme and led his troops to the Battlefront. As they reached the top step Charlotte inhaled sharply, the sight of the green expanse before her never failed to supply goose bumps; soon her heroes would be setting foot on the hallowed turf, everyone’s expectations in their hands for ninety minutes. They edged their way down the line of seats to their own, a perfect view right on the halfway line. They sat down, still in silence, saving their voices for the shouting and urging to come. Charlotte looked around at the sea of blue and white, feeling edgy and chilly she juggled her knees up and down and thrust her gloved hands deeper into her pockets. As she looked up at the boxes behind her, someone caught her eye; there was something familiar about his over coated back and the shape of his head. As they turned to the side Charlotte tried to see who it was, but suddenly two men, also in the box, obscured her view. Every time the man moved into view Charlotte strained to catch a glimpse, but he had a bottle of beer to his lips, and a baseball cap pulled down over his face, so there were still no clues as to whom the mystery man was.
“Well it’s a full squad, no injuries,” Tom informed her.
“I knew it would be,” Charlotte replied before turning back to the box, but the man had disappeared from view.
Suddenly, the regular anthem “Blue Moon” sped up to a rousing finish to announce the arrival of the two teams on the pitch. The whole crowd stood up as one, clapping the eleven blue shirts onto their stage. The match announcer gave each player’s name in turn, each receiving a rousing cheer that petered off as it got to the substitutes, and turning to jeers for the opposition. Then the referee put the whistle to his lips as there was one last roar of “Come on blues." Everyone sat down to spend the next hour and a half in either ecstasy or agony. Grown men around Charlotte sat biting their fingernails as City quickly took charge; they were making crunching tackles, and passing pinpoint balls to the on-rushing striker. There was a good chance within minutes, bringing the crowd to their feet, but it hit the post, then suddenly everyone went wild, kissing and hugging each other; City scored from the rebound.
“Come on!” Tom roared, punching his fist into the air.
Charlotte looked around at everyone; she loved to see how each of them celebrated. As she turned to the boxes once more she spotted the familiar back, turning and walking inside to a t
hrong of celebrating supporters.
“God, he is really familiar, and it is bugging me as to who it is.” She turned to Tom, who wasn’t listening.
“What?” he asked distractedly, not even looking at her.
Before she could answer the noise behind her alerted Charlotte; City was on the attack once again.
At half time, with a couple of missed chances and a failed penalty appeal behind them, the blues went in on the ascendancy, leaving the fans desperate for the next forty-five minutes.
“What about that then?” Tom took Ken’s face in his hands, and kissed him on the forehead. Ken ever the City fan, shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m going to get some chocolate; does anyone want anything?” Charlotte asked her two companions. They shook their heads, as they unfurled their programmes.
Charlotte made her way through the celebrating fans to the bar to buy her half time refreshments.
“A chunky Kit Kat and a packet of plain crisps please,” she asked whilst fumbling in her pocket for change.
“You’ll never fit into that little short skirt of yours if you eat that rubbish.”
Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat as she instantly recognised the soft Irish lilt; her mystery man was revealed.
“Mr Devine,” Charlotte turned around to face him, his sweet smell momentarily distracting her. “Err, fancy seeing you here…thank you.” She turned back to the young girl serving and passed over her money in exchange for her “rubbish."
“Well it’s a surprise to see you here too; I never had you down as a footie fan.”
The cadence of his voice practically mesmerised Charlotte, as it gently wafted around her ears like a warm breeze, she was shocked at the effect he was having upon her; she was almost excited to see him. “I’ve been a loyal Manchester City supporter since I was a child, what about you? I would have had you down as a red, you look like the type!” Charlotte didn’t expand on what the type was, but she knew that if he were really blue Niall would not be happy with the insinuation.
Niall pulled his head back and laughed loudly, not at all what Charlotte expected. “Oh you did, did you?” The smile now disappeared from Niall’s face. “Well I can assure you that I am not a red.” Niall thrust open his jacket to reveal a sky blue replica top. A well-toned body underneath was evident, which pleasantly surprised Charlotte. “It seems that you really have made your mind up about me, doesn’t it?”
“I’m sorry,” shrugged Charlotte. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know that’s the biggest insult that you could give any City fan, and the look on your face says it all.”
“Well perhaps behaviour breed's behaviour Mr Devine. I wouldn’t say that you’d always been pleasant with me either, in fact, I would say that you are rather contemptuous of me at times.” Charlotte stuffed her chocolate and crisps into her pocket defiantly.
Niall grinned at Charlotte, his eyes shining brightly. “I suppose I should have expected that, an honest answer I mean. I don’t know you very well, but I imagine that straight talking is what you are all about.” He held his hand out to Charlotte. “Please let me apologise for appearing to be so rude.” Charlotte took his hand and shook it, allowing a small smile to creep onto her lips.
“However,” Niall continued, “I’m afraid that people have to earn my respect. They don’t get it by looking pretty and very sexy. So I suggest that we keep things to a professional basis Miss Price, and then no one should be offended.” He turned to go, leaving an open mouthed Charlotte. “Oh and Miss Price,” he called over his shoulder. “I suggest you tell that boyfriend of yours to calm down before he has a heart attack, because I predict we will win this fairly easily.”
Charlotte was so angry she couldn’t move for a few seconds, almost stamping her foot like a small child. “Tosser!” she muttered under her breath and pushed her way back through the crowds.
“You took your time,” Tom shouted over the roar. “They are coming back on.”
“Hmm,” Charlotte groaned as she stuffed some crisps into her mouth. She turned around in the direction of the reason for her sudden bad mood, knowing that beyond doubt Mr Devine was the most irritating man whom she had ever known.
As the final whistle blew Charlotte’s temper was not improved; Niall had been exactly right. They had won it very easily, finishing up 4-1.
“You see I was closer in my prediction than both of you two,” Tom said as he grabbed Charlotte’s head in headlock.
“Well it’s only a matter a time before we start losing again,” responded Ken pushing his children along.
“God Dad you are so pessimistic; times they are a changing old man, times they are a changing.” Tom laughed as he ruffled his father’s hair.
“Come on Tom, get moving,” Charlotte sighed taking one last peek at the box behind them.
“How good are we, how skilful are our players?” Tom asked, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“Very and very!” Ken groaned sick of hearing Tom rattle on about every kick of the game.
Charlotte, who was sat in the back of the car, was trying to ignore the long, drawn-out autopsy of the game. She was more interested in Niall Devine. Had she got it right, had he in his own inimitable way called her sexy tonight? She was obviously getting to him, particularly earlier when she had accused him of being a Red. What a plonker he was!
“Huh, and when that first goal went in, well you could see their heads drop straight away,” exclaimed Tom.
“Oh shut up Tom, you’re boring me now.” Charlotte was slowly beginning to lose her temper. She was losing her train of thought.
“Yeah but…”
“Tom,” Ken interjected. He realised that his youngest daughter was on the verge of strangling his only son. “Drop it before Charlotte does you some damage.”
“Huh, dead scared,” muttered a tiny little voice from the front seat.
An hour later and Charlotte was letting herself into her lovely warm house; she switched on the T.V. ready to relive the moments of joy on the late night football show. She had just settled down with a cup of cocoa when the home telephone rang, she glanced at the clock; 11:30 p.m., who would be calling now? Charlotte didn’t want to answer, but realised that it could be an emergency.
“Hello.” Charlotte answered
“Charlotte, it’s me.”
“Oh God Kerry,” Charlotte gasped, her heart inexplicably hammering hard in her chest; what was she feeling so nervous about, it was Kerry, her oldest friend. “What’s the matter?” she asked tentatively, aware that the last time they had spoken it had not been pleasant.
“Nothing is the matter. I just felt like talking to you, is it okay, only I’ve been trying you on and off all night.”
“Yeah, I’ve been to the match. I hate these stupid mid-week games,” Charlotte allowed a tinkle of laughter to enter her voice. She glanced at the T.V. desperate to watch a re-run of the match, but Kerry was much more important; a barrier was crossed. “How are you anyway?” She reached across for the remote and pressed the record button then immediately felt ashamed that she could even think about football when Kerry was on the phone.
“Not bad, Kelvin called around today. He’s not coming home for Christmas.” Kerry’s words hung in the air as, they both thought about what she had just said. After a few moment's silence, Kerry continued. “I’m going over to Mum’s to spend the day there with them, well actually I’m going on Christmas Eve.”
Charlotte could sense that Kerry was trying to sound excited, but she could also sense that she had been crying. “Well that will be nice, it’s a step forward. Will you stay over for Esme’s birthday too?”
“Hmm, I think so,” Kerry sniffed. “Although we are barely speaking, so there won’t be many jolly party games. He’s going for a drink with a girl from work tomorrow.” Kerry blurted out.
Charlotte took a sharp intake of breath; the words were like a final nail in her friend’s marriage. “What do you mean, like a da
te?” she asked anxiously.
“Don’t know, he just said that I should know before anyone saw them out together. I felt sick when he told me.” Kerry’s voice was barely audible now.
“I can imagine, but I’m sure that there is nothing in it.” Charlotte thought that her words of wisdom sounded silly and empty. Kelvin was probably trying to prove a point, but Kerry would still be hurting inside.
“Maybe there is nothing in it now, but what could it lead to and how could he when we’re still married for goodness sake?” whispered Kerry.
They talked for nearly an hour, skirting around the subject, but each time coming back to Kelvin and his “date," until Charlotte, hardly able to keep her eyes open, told Kerry that it was time they both got to bed.
“Thanks anyway Charlotte, I just needed to get it off my chest, and the way I’ve been with you recently I wasn’t sure that you would listen.
“You are one of my best friends Kerry, of course I would listen.”
“Yes, but I’ve been a bit of a cow recently,” Kerry laughed, quietly.
“Well it doesn’t matter now,” sighed Charlotte feeling a little happier, grateful that Kerry realised she was there for her.
As she brushed her teeth, Charlotte wondered about ringing Kelvin there and then to ask him what he was playing at. Twenty to one was a little late though, even for a little toad like Kelvin. Yes, Kerry had started all this, and yes his “date” was probably about making Kerry jealous, but even so, Kelvin Johnson would be getting a phone call tomorrow and be given a few home truths.
Charlotte woke at 6 a.m. after a fretful night’s sleep. She woke on several occasions, Kerry and Kelvin being at the forefront of her mind. After getting dressed Charlotte decided to take the bull by the horns and telephone Kelvin before he left for work.
His mobile only rang out twice before he answered it in a hushed tone. “Hello.”
“Kelvin, it’s me Charlotte, what are you whispering for?” she asked accusingly.