“Scott’s Sports Psychology, Brendan speaking . . .”
He listened for a moment then gently replaced the phone in the cradle.
“Who was it?”
He pressed his lips together.
“The Daily Express, looking for a quote.”
The phone rang again and Brendan picked it up, listened for a second, then slammed it down. Without speaking, he unplugged it from the socket in the wall.
“I think you should phone Sim again right now. If they’re calling you, they’ll be calling him.”
Anna gulped and nodded slowly.
Sim’s office line was engaged repeatedly, and Anna could only guess why. In the end, she used his private cell phone number.
He answered immediately, his voice curt.
“Anna.”
“Sim, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s true then?”
“Yes and no.”
“You’d better explain that, Anna, because the Board is busting my balls about having brought you to the Club in the first place!”
“I’m so, so sorry, Sim.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it!”
“I know,” Anna whispered brokenly. “The truth is, Nick and I were completely professional at the Minotaurs. Nothing happened there, I swear it. I spoke at his court case, as you know. Later, he sent an email to thank me for speaking, and we started chatting online. By then he was no longer employed by the Minotaurs and I was setting up my London office. The night before I interviewed my assistant, Brendan, Nick and I . . . we spent the night together. That was the first and last time until . . .”
“Until?” Sim’s voice was a low growl.
“Until I walked into the meeting at the Phoenixes and saw him there with you. I knew he’d be there from your briefing notes. He was hurt and upset, so we talked.”
“I think you did a lot more than talking, Dr. Scott.”
Anna’s face flushed.
“It’s not just . . . we’re in a relationship. We love each other.”
She heard Sim’s long-suffering sigh.
“I take it you were both aware of the Club’s no-fraternization policy?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Anna. You’ve been good for the team, but I can’t let this go. You’ll be informed of the Board’s decision, but it’s looking pretty cut and dried.”
“I know. I’m sorry . . . that I let you down, Sim.”
“You let yourself down, Anna.”
The call ended and Anna put her head in her hands. But there was still one more unpleasant call to make.
Telling her parents was the hardest thing she’d ever done. It hadn’t hit the newspapers in the US yet, but it was all over the internet. She also knew that with her father’s fame, it would get a lot more airtime than would otherwise have been the case.
Even though it was only just noon, they already knew. ‘Friends’ had been eager to tell them.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she whispered.
“Is it true what they’re saying?”
“Some of it,” she said tiredly. “Only that we’re in a relationship. The rest is lies. Can I talk to Dad?”
There was a long pause and muffled voices in the background. Finally, her mother returned to the line.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, sweetheart. Dad’s not feeling great. You know how he gets these days. We’ll talk to you this evening. You know we’re supporting you.”
Anna ended the call feeling even worse. For five minutes, she sat unseeing, unhearing, wondering again how she’d managed to fuck up her life so thoroughly. Stupidity. It was the dictionary definition: making the same mistake twice and expecting a different result.
Her own father wouldn’t talk to her. She didn’t think she could sink any lower.
When she listened to the messages on her phone, she was assaulted with over thirty texts and voicemails. Most seemed to be from newspapers and journalists, but others were from unknown numbers and were just plain nasty.
She texted Nick once to say that she was okay but insisted that he stay away. Her heart fractured at the thought of not seeing him, not having him there to hold her.
Brendan saw the look on her face then leaned down and hugged her. It was the only comfort she’d receive.
Nick had just finished a punishing workout and was being massaged by one of the Club’s physios when Jason walked in with his phone in his hand.
“’Sup, Jason?”
Jason glanced at Ben, the physiotherapist.
“Could you give us a minute, mate?”
“Sure. I was just finishing up here anyway.”
The physiotherapist gave them a curious look as he slung a towel over his shoulders and closed the door behind him.
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
Jason passed his phone to Nick.
As he scrolled through the news page, his face tightened.
“Shit! I have to call Anna.”
Jason sighed and pushed his hands through his hair.
“This is why you wouldn’t tell us who you’ve been dating. Is this who you’ve been seeing all this time?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I hope it’s serious, buddy, because the shit is about to hit the fan. You’ll be fined and benched for a couple of games, and Anna . . .”
“Fuck! I know! I have to call her!”
He stormed out and the locker room fell silent.
Giovanni walked across and slung an arm around his shoulders.
“Tough break, amico mio.”
Nick shrugged off the arm and picked up his phone to call Anna. He groaned when he saw that she’d already tried to call him several times, but there were also a lot of numbers that he didn’t recognise. He was appalled when he read some of the texts from journalists, and wondered how they’d all found his number so quickly. It was a fucking nightmare! He read through Anna’s texts, upset and angry that she was telling him to stay away. What difference could it make now? He tried to call her back, but all he got was her voicemail.
“I’ve just heard. I’m on my way home. Call me when you get this.”
He yanked on his clothes, dressing hurriedly, and was still zipping up his jeans when his phone rang again.
“Anna, thank God! I’m so sorry!”
Her voice was faint and distant.
“I don’t think you should come here tonight.”
“What? Of course I’m coming over. We need to . . .”
“Nick, no! There are journalists outside now. I can’t risk more pictures of us together being in the newspapers.”
“But . . . they already know!”
“I can’t give them more ammunition. I’ve spoken to Sim,” she took a deep breath and Nick’s heart somersaulted. “I’m going to lose the contract. He’s said as much.”
“Anna . . .”
“Right now I have a chance of keeping my other contracts, but I need this story to drop out of the papers as soon as possible. I can’t see you. I can’t be seen with you.”
Nick’s mouth went dry.
“Okay. Okay, I get it. For how long?”
“I don’t know. A while.”
“Jesus. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“I’m going to turn my phone off. Journalists have gotten the number . . .”
“Me, too.”
“So I might not answer. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” She gave a hollow laugh. “I’ve been through it all before.”
“Anna, don’t.”
“I’ll be fine, Nick.”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine. I love y—”
But she’d already hung up.
Giovanni came and sat next to him.
“Are you coming back to the house tonight?”
“Looks like it,” Nick sighed.
“Good. I’m making pasta con pomodoro e basilico—pasta with tomatoes and basil to you.”
“Thanks, Gio.”
They
bumped fists and stood up to leave.
“Renshaw! My office now!”
Sim Andrews was purple in the face and roaring like a bull.
“I think I will see you later, amico mio,” Giovanni said quietly.
“If I live that long,” Nick muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
Nick plodded behind Sim and dropped into a chair opposite the cluttered desk.
“You fucked up, Nick. You could have your contract terminated for this.”
Nick gritted his teeth, waiting for the axe to fall.
“I took a chance on you: injured, in the division below us. But I’ve followed your career for a long time and I like that you were loyal to Rotherham for so long. But this! This makes me look bad to the Board, and I don’t like looking bad. What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I love her.”
Sim blinked, not having expected that answer. Then his gaze hardened again.
“And how long has this been going on?”
Nick cleared his throat.
“Since August, Coach.”
Sim squinted at him. “Not before?”
“Not really.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I’d been dropped by the Minotaurs and Anna was moving to London. The night before she moved down here full time, we . . . um, got together. But it wasn’t until I was in London, as well . . .”
“Did any of your teammates know?”
“No, Coach.”
“Hmm.”
Sim stared at Nick, his eyes dark and angry. Finally, he spoke.
“Consider yourself benched for the next two games. The Board will determine your fine—that’s out of my hands. You’d better keep your nose clean from now on or you’re out, no matter how well you play. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie Jones doesn’t have something to say about this. You’ve been a fucking idiot, costing me a damn good sports psychologist and brought the Club into disrepute.”
“It’s not fair that Anna . . .”
Sim stood up and roared, the veins in his forehead popping ominously.
“I’m talking! You don’t talk when I talk! When I finish talking, that’s when you talk!” His face turned purple. “She’s finished here. Out of my hands. Now get out of my sight!”
Nick swallowed but knew that arguing further wouldn’t help.
“Yes, Coach.”
The Phoenixes’ game the next day was torture for Nick. He’d never been benched when he was fit before, never had to sit and watch his team lose when he knew that if he’d been out there it could have been a different story.
So he sat and fumed, enduring the harsh looks and harsher words from the fans who all said something along lines of, “Shoulda kept yer cock in yer pocket not hers, Naughty Nick!”
Worse still, Anna wouldn’t return his calls or reply to his emails. He’d had a short conversation with her P.A. Brendan, but other than that, no contact.
Brendan said Anna was “coping”. It didn’t sound very encouraging, and Brendan, who was normally so upbeat and snarky, had been short-tempered and edgy.
He’d also had to endure the tabloids’ photographs of Molly looking sad and demure, presenting herself as a slighted woman, manipulating the truth and managing to make herself appear as the injured party.
Nick lay alone in his bed at the team house, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the house and the orchestral snores of Bernard, Fetuao and Giovanni.
For the next two days, the stories continued until finally it seemed like interest was dying away, but then one of the newspapers picked up the thread that if Anna and Nick had been together at the time of his court case, Anna would have committed perjury by denying that they were in a relationship.
Nick smelled the sulphurous machinations of Molly in that story. It was all so ridiculous, but it kept the story in the newspapers and on the gossip sites, and as they approached the New Year, it showed no signs of slowing down.
NICK ON THE NAUGHTY BENCH!
ANNA RAISES NAUGHTY NICK’S PULSE!
DID THEY LIE?
NAUGHTY NICK’S FIANCÉE TELLS ALL [PICTURES ON PAGES 2, 5, 6 AND 7]
Eddie Jones, the England Coach, had called Nick to yell for a few minutes, then calmly said it wouldn’t affect his place on the England team, so that was something.
And right now, Nick would grab at any straw he could.
New Year’s Eve 2015
THE NEWSPAPER HEADLINE was an inch high above a photograph of Anna and Nick kissing. The photo was blurry and hard to see. The headline stood out like a traffic beacon.
DID SHE LIE?
Anna’s hands shook as she read the article beneath, scrutinising every word, hurting herself but unable to stop.
When there was nothing more to read, she read it again.
It was midday on New Year’s Eve and Anna hadn’t gotten any work done at all.
She was missing Nick desperately, but besieged by journalists, she’d decided that staying apart was the best thing for them to do—certainly the best thing for him. Right now, she was media poison.
Brendan was in the office next door, answering the ringing phones with brisk efficiency, cutting off the journalists with a few words. Calls from clients were few and far between, and although only one football club had asked to see her early in the New Year about “certain regrettable newspaper allegations”, so far no one else had tried to terminate their contracts with her. Whether or not they’d renew them the following season was another question.
“Look, it’s nearly lunchtime on New Year’s Eve,” Anna said tiredly. “We’re not going to get any work done today. Why don’t you go home early? You said you have a party to go to.”
“Of course I have a party to go to!” Brendan said grumpily. “Who doesn’t have a party to go to on New Year’s Eve?”
Anna gave him a wry smile.
Brendan shook his head and went back to work. Anna was touched by his loyalty to her.
Nick had a team party to attend. Anna was planning a quiet night in with a bottle of Prosecco, a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Netflix.
It was just after 1PM when the buzzer on the office front door sounded and Anna jumped a foot in the air, spilling hot tea over the desk and part of her keyboard.
“Shit!”
Brendan poked his head around the office door.
“Probably more journalists. I’ll answer it.”
“Thanks, Brendan.”
“Anything for you, Annie,” and he winked at her.
A moment later, Brendan re-entered her office, his eyes wide and worried.
“Annie, it’s the police. They want to talk to you! They’re on their way up now!”
“Oh my God! Something must have happened to Nick!”
Anna grabbed the edge of her desk as the world tilted.
Two plainclothes police officers entered and flashed their Warrant Cards, followed by two more officers in uniform. The woman officer in charge spoke first.
“Dr. Anna Scott?”
“Yes?”
“Anna Scott, you are under arrest on suspicion of perjury. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Anna heard the words but couldn’t understand them. She’d been expecting to hear bad news about Nick, not . . . what was this?
“I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
She threw a pleading glance at Brendan who stood frozen in shock by the door.
The police officer barely took a breath.
“It is necessary to arrest you to preserve evidence under Code G of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984. Do you understand?”
The second officer stepped forward.
“You need to accompany us to the station to be interviewed.”
Perjury: the offence of wilfully telling an untruth or making a misrepresentation under oath.
And the only court case that Anna had ever been involved with was Nick’s.
Suddenly it all fell into place. She’d sworn under oath that she and Nick weren’t in a relationship at the time: Molly must have told the newspapers otherwise. Media interest had then have forced the police to investigate.
Anna swayed and Brendan stepped forward to catch her elbow.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I’m going to be sick.”
Brendan gripped her shoulders.
“No, you’re not. You’ve done nothing wrong, Annie. Take a deep breath. I’ll phone Sim Andrews and get the Club’s lawyers onto it.”
“But . . .”
“Let me help you, Annie! God knows you need it! I’ll do what’s necessary. Everything,” and he gave her a telling look.
Anna could only agree as she collected her coat but was instructed to leave her purse, then was escorted from the building.
Curious bystanders turned to watch her being led to the back of a waiting police van. Several people had their phones out and camera flashes blinded her as the waiting journalists got their money shot. God, the humiliation. At least they hadn’t cuffed her.
The van doors were opened and she stepped into the metal cage with a metal floor and hard wooden bench to sit on. There were no windows, no lights and no seatbelt.
Brendan watched as Anna was driven away. The two uniformed officers stayed behind and started taking the office apart methodically. They confiscated Anna’s cell phone and tablet, unplugged her laptop and took that away, too. They rifled through desk drawers and papers while Brendan stood helpless, videoing proceedings on his cell phone until he’d used up all the memory.
Frustrated, he followed them as they started on the upstairs flat, systematically searching room by room. When he asked them what they were looking for, they gave the stock answer: they had “reasonable suspicion that a crime has been committed and had the authority to search and seize, preserving evidence of any possible offence.”
With nothing more he could do, no way of protecting Anna, Brendan called Sim’s office. But Sim had left for the day and his assistant said that the Club’s solicitor wasn’t available to Miss Scott because she was self-employed and not a salaried Club employee.
Undefeated Page 23