“You haven’t got tickets for The Hypocrite, have you?” I say it like only a fool wouldn’t have bought any last year as soon as they came on sale (like I did).
He jumps up from his desk, hunched over like a sniffer dog. “Why, what you heard? Who’s got some?”
“Me,” I reply, “two of the little bastards as well. I bet Jules will be performing all kinds of nasty tricks on you if you happen to surprise her, you know?”
He’s wearing that mean face, ready to barter. “What do you want in exchange?”
“Just fair payment and the story that me and Jules are going, not you and Jules. I don’t want him to know I’ll be in the crowd.”
He opens his wallet, slams down thirty quid and we shake on it.
“I’ll bring ’em in the morning,” I say with a cocky air, dramatically counting my money as I go.
“Enjoy it, I know I will,” Warrick says, laughing.
I make off with my money and get down to the job at hand.
Two weeks ago my life seemed over, now it feels like it’s only just beginning.
* * *
I’M peering over shoulders, trying to hide behind the modest crowds. There’s not many spectators here on the side of the pitch, no grandstand to sit in even. I’ve deduced that this crowd is mostly made up of girls in fact, watching their boyfriends.
The game kicks off and I see Joe, his hair tied back in a neat manbun, dominating the grass. He flies without effort, the ball as if it’s magnetised to his foot. In the first five minutes he makes a pass which enables his team mate to score.
There are several other passes like it. Once, he even scores the goal himself. He’s all over the pitch and everyone else looks puffed out trying to keep up. Seriously, the difference in skills is remarkable and I’m just a layman standing on the sidelines. At half time, I’m stood wondering what I’m meant to do. Go over and expose myself, or hide out until the very end?
I overhear a conversation between two girls stood nearby and mention of Joe’s name makes my ears prick up.
“You should defo go over and say something to him,” one says, a petite brunette.
The other, her twin, replies, “Nah, no point. Rumour is he’s with someone now.”
“Wouldn’t stop me,” the mouthy one says.
“You reckon I should?”
Although boiling hot lava is about to erupt out of me, I watch the spectacle as it unfolds.
Brunette Number Two does a little trot to the side of the pitch where all the guys are guzzling energy drinks and towelling off (the facilities are lacklustre here to say the least). I think the main pitch tonight has been taken by American football (that might be why…).
Anyway, egged on by her friend, Brunette Number Two attempts to catch Joe’s attention. Joe glances at her and says hello, but he’s not giving her much consideration, his gaze directed elsewhere, more interested in what his team mates are talking about. She looks over at her mate who is encouraging her on with hand gestures but after Joe seems more than a little disinterested, she walks away and he turns back to guzzling.
“Must be true,” she says, rejoining Mouthy. “Didn’t even look at the rack. Everyone looks at the rack. He always used to look at the rack.”
They snicker and Mouthy suggests they head to the university bar, a notion her friend readily agrees upon.
I settle in for the second half, still hiding myself behind the line of crowd. I don’t want to distract his game.
There’s a ton more goals as I try to stay warm in my long, woollen coat, moving side to side to keep my circulation going.
The result at the end is something like 10-3 to Joe’s side.
The crowds disperse and after Joe’s pulled on his tracksuit on top of his kit, he spots me. He says bye to his mates and jogs over. He puts one arm around me, the other holding his heavy bag on one shoulder.
“You been here the whole time?” he gasps, shocked.
“Wanted to surprise you.” I kiss his salty lips and run my fingers around his exposed neck, what with his hair being tied up and all.
“You’ve surprised me all right.”
In his sweats he feels so solid and sturdy and I’m reminded how lean and muscular he is.
“How about a burger?” I ask. “Your dad’s buying…”
“You gave him the tickets.” He’s still in shock as we move off, walking towards the edge of the campus where my car’s parked.
“He’s been good to me, it felt good to give back to the old sock.”
Joe laughs in my ear. “Seriously, you stood in the cold to watch this shambles?”
“Well… I was mostly watching how good your ass looks in shorts. My, my.” I waft my collar. “Kept me warm all right.”
He snakes his lips to mine and kisses me quick. “Madwoman.”
“Must be.”
When we get to my car, he throws his bag in the back and we have a proper kiss once we’re inside the vehicle.
“You may as well get your sermon over and done with now,” he says, a hint of irritation in his tone.
“No sermon, just burgers. Can’t be having that ass going skinny on me now. You need meat. So I’m getting you meat.”
I drive us to mine and we leave the car on the street. Without changing he walks with me to the nearest good pub/restaurant that does burgers and we settle together in a wooden booth, sitting opposite one another. We pick at a plate of tortilla chips while waiting for dinner to arrive.
After a while of me waiting and him trying to avoid my eyes, he says, “Jules put you up to this.”
I press my lips together, keeping my response measured, but sarcastic. “I’m sure women have never meddled in any man’s affairs, ever. You take that back.”
He rubs the back of his head in that primal way and groans.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, I just wanted to see for myself that there’s talent here and it’s clearly going to waste.”
He looks right through me, as if I’ve made him think about everything in a way he doesn’t want to.
“A string of top grades and you stay in Hull, you study here… You don’t seem to want to spread your wings.” I shake my head. “This isn’t what they want for you.”
His cheeks are red and he looks annoyed. I’m sure he had offers from other universities but he stayed here, for some reason.
“You can talk, Het,” he almost growls, and our meals arrive on the table at such a bad time, I almost curse out loud. Now he’s got a burger between his teeth, he has an excuse not to answer my questions.
When the waiter’s gone, I stare at Joe and ask him, “Do I flagellate myself every day like you do, though? Depriving myself of an opportunity that was virtually handed to me on a plate? Deprived… of the thing you love to do most.”
He carries on eating, ripping at his beef like a nutter.
I rest my case.
BACK at my place, he tears up the stairs to take a shower while I check my messages and find one from Warrick: Thank you, again. She’s so happy.
I smile to myself. It feels good to do something that gives someone else such joy.
I’m sorting out some of my washing in the kitchen when he arrives in the room, running the tap to fill a glass with water for himself.
I catch his eye and see he’s warring inside. I stay calm and quiet, carrying on with my pottering around the room, putting away dishes and folding the rest of my laundry. He stayed last night and something tells me he’ll be staying tonight, too.
“Why didn’t you go to a university somewhere else?” he asks me.
“I like it here. Besides when I was choosing my course, I was choosing out of necessity, a necessity to pick some kind of degree. We’re all mostly clueless at eighteen years of age, right?”
“I don’t wanna be famous, Het,” he says, clear and concise.
I look up from what I’m doing. “Why?”
“I don’t want the pressure. I don’t want people trying to find
out about my life. I don’t want intrusion, I don’t want things to be outside of my control.”
I’m shaking my head. “How do you even know it’d get like that?”
“Tonight, I wasn’t even trying Het. C’mon. I was scouted when I was six. It’s natural-born talent.”
“Do you like uni?” I ask him.
I see the answer in his eyes before he replies, “No.”
I’m nodding. “Joe, you haven’t thought about everything else, have you?”
“I don’t know what you’re going on about now…” He looks pissed off so I walk towards him, stand my ground and level with him, eye to eye.
“Joe Jones,” I say with glee, “he could one day be the hope of a million children.”
“Ah, god,” he says, rubbing his eyes.
“Love ya whatever, Joe,” I say, and turn out of the room.
I switch the telly on and before long, he’s nudging me forward so he can sit behind me on the sofa, arms and legs wrapped around me. I feel the questions and the possibilities running through his mind as the pounding beat of his heart knocks against my back.
I realise that earlier when that girl approached and talked to him on the field, I didn’t doubt his love for me in that moment.
I really trust Joe.
So maybe we won’t fuck this up after all?
ROLLING OVER, I find him already awake, his arms casually tossed above his head, staring up at the ceiling. Reaching out I twirl my fingers in his curly chest hair.
He turns to look at me, as if he didn’t realise I was even there, so deep in thought.
Sliding across I lie on his chest and our arms lock tight together, sealing our embrace.
I kiss his chin and he still doesn’t make a move to have me. He was like this all night so I know his mind is occupied with thoughts of, what am I doing with my life?
“What if I…” He begins.
“What if you, what?”
He strokes his hand through my blue hair. “What if I go and talk to one of my old coaches, maybe see what he says.”
“It couldn’t harm.”
“It’s highly irregular for me to be doing this.”
“Yep, but you thought university was the route for you and now you’re realising it’s not what you really want. You have football in your blood. And now you’ve got me, we can handle this together.”
“It helps, it does,” he sighs, “but what if later down the line, I regret not getting my degree?”
“You’ve got to try and block out all the worry and doubts and go with your heart.”
“And what about your heart?” He glances at me. “What does she want, Het?”
I slide up a bit so I can look down into his eyes, pushing my hair to the side so I can see him.
“Het by day, Etta by night? What am I? Your superhero?” I give him a look and he gives me one in return. However his sarcasm is quickly replaced by a softening of his features.
He grabs me in his arms, rolls us over together and looks fervent as he stares at my mouth.
His body’s hot and vital, his crispy chest hair brushing my soft nipples, driving me crazy. He smells and feels so good and best of all, I love what’s underneath this glorious skin, too.
“Etta… my lover, I love you.”
I giggle at him, shaking my head at how ridiculous he sounds.
But then I bow to him the moment he kisses my mouth.
* * *
IT’S lunch the next day when I get a text from Joe: Can you give me five minutes?x
My stomach turns and I feel nervous for him. He was meeting with one of the coaches this morning and I’m now wondering what the hell’s transpired.
Where are you? I reply.
Outside. If you can get out for lunch, let’s go get something to eat.
Okay. Gimme five.
I hightail it from my office to Warrick’s down the hall. He’s looking at something on his phone as if it’s a cryptic mathematical equation.
“Boss.”
“Yep.”
“Joe’s here to take me out to lunch. All right if I’m out the building for an hour?”
He looks up, suddenly reminded there is life going on all around him.
“What’s up? You look a bit… what’s the word?”
“Anxious,” I reply.
Warrick stands on his feet, draws near me and folds his arms, looking from one of my eyes to the other.
“What’s he done?”
I chew my lip. “I don’t know yet. I just know he’s… he’s not sure he made the right choice. About the football. And uni.”
“Whaaaat?” This is obviously news to Warrick.
“You’ll know more when I know more.”
Warrick sniggers, shaking his head. “I never, not in a bajillion years, ever would’ve thought you’d be the one to show my son the light.”
I give him a sideways glance as I start to head out, looking at him over my shoulder. “He didn’t need me to say anything; he knows the truth already. If I wasn’t prompting him, he’d be doing this sometime soon anyway.”
“Fingers crossed,” Warrick says, taking a seat behind his desk again.
“I’ve got everything including the pinkie toe and the one next to it crossed.”
I hear him laughing behind me as I leave the centre.
Joe’s waiting for me on the street outside, dressed rather sort of smartly. Fitted jeans and a checked shirt buttoned to the top. I walk straight into his arms and give him a kiss. His hands are where they always are – on my butt.
“Don’t keep me in suspense!” I beg.
“Okay. There’s a chance, a very small chance, but a chance.”
“That’s amazing!!”
“I did tell you, it’s a chance, Het. Keith’s got to talk with some people. It’s not definite.”
“Tell me more over food,” I decide.
“Come on then.” He takes my hand and we stop at a delicatessen which has a few stools up against a narrow bar to one side. I sit and wait while he orders.
We’re sitting with our sandwiches and cold drinks when he finally tells me, “I know I’m good, Het.”
“I know, but…”
“I know. But I know I’m good. It’s what scares me sometimes. I know I’m that good… I know it could lead to big things.”
I grab his knee and squeeze. “You’re cute, too. Have I ever told you that?”
He throws his head back on a laugh. Then he becomes serious again as he starts to unwrap his sandwich. “Het…?”
“Yep.”
“This could change my life.”
“I know that. But one step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Shuffle if you must, shuffle before you sprint. Whatever happens, I’ll be here, every step of the way.”
I watch him swallow more than his food, I watch him swallow fear too.
“I don’t want it to change me,” he says, fearful.
“Life changes us, Joe. It’s what happens, babe.”
He nods, looking out of the window in front of us. If I had a penny for every one of his thoughts…
“Tell me why you really turned them down when they offered you a contract the first time round.”
He stops mid-chew and doesn’t swallow down the contents of his mouth for a good half a minute while he thinks about it.
“You haven’t seen the things I have, Het.”
“Try me.”
He pulls a dramatic face. “The lifestyle some of them lead.”
“And…?”
“What if I get caught up?”
“So, you fuck up, and you pick up.” I know there’s more he’s not saying but I’ll tease it out of him, eventually…
“University is safe, it’s secure, I’m doing good. I’ll do good. But what if I end up an addict like my mum, or my dad? What if…”
I grab his wrist and draw his attention to me. Sliding my fingers between his, I declare, “I’ve known your dad for years. You’re not the same soul insi
de, trust me. And from what Jules told me about your mother, you’re already a miracle. You’re perfect. You’re amazing. You’re over-thinking it all.”
“You think?”
“I KNOW!”
“You’re right,” he says, finishing off his sandwich.
I watch him go to the counter for brownies and then we head back to the community centre, together.
Warrick’s champing at the bit when he sees us return, hand in hand.
He stands, legs apart, hands on hips. “So what’s going on son?”
“Spoke to Keith,” he says, moving towards his father, “told him I might have made a mistake, asked if there was a vacancy, or an in elsewhere. It’s just–”
“That’s… I mean, I want you to think this through, but… Joe! I didn’t ferry you around the county for years for nothing. I always knew this could be it for you, you know?”
Joe nods in thanks and father and son hug it out.
“You two should pop in for tea tonight and we can talk, properly,” Warrick says.
“Sure,” I offer, “I better get back to my stack of invoices now.”
Joe kisses my cheek and I move further into the building, watching their body language as Joe mills around a minute longer with his father.
Warrick’s got his hand on Joe’s shoulder, clasping it tight. He seems to be saying words of encouragement but Joe’s eyes are unfocused and looking elsewhere. I wonder why Joe decided to study psychology instead of going down the football route, a more direct career route with promised riches. Then it hits me…
I’m looking at my mirror image. Joe’s my reflection. We’re the kids whose mothers valued so many of life’s other treasures above us. We’re the ones still trying to understand why we weren’t worthy. We’re the ones who don’t believe anyone else might think well of us or that good things in life happen for us. We believe there’s always a catch, that nothing comes good for people like us.
Joe’s about to leave the building but I shout after him, “JOE!”
He turns quickly at the sound of my voice. I run to him, throw my arms around his neck and kiss him fiercely.
My impulse from now on will be to always make sure he knows he’s my star.
“I’ll miss you lover,” I say, “meet me here at six?”
Hetty: An Angel Avenue Spin-Off Page 11