“Oh, well is there a story you can tell that makes you look less like a—”
“Asshat?” Anne jumped in. I balled up my napkin and threw it at her. She only laughed, gathering up the empty tea mugs and rinsing them off in the sink. Alan took the wet dishes and dried them, putting them away like he fucking lived here.
“Look, this interview is about my playing, not about my social life,” I pointed out, pushing egg around on my plate.
“Considering you like to make such a spectacle of yourself, expect it to be mentioned,” Mo replied, clearly frustrated which was his general state when talking to me.
“Maybe you should look into hiring a PR consultant,” Mo suggested as he took a drink from a mug with a cartoon poo on the side. He was dressed like he was going to church, or a funeral, in a classic cut black suit and a bright yellow tie. His black hair was slicked back and he had trimmed his beard. Mo was a big man, with a gut from too many pork pies and fleshy hands that were swollen from arthritis.
Mo had been in my life for years and as much as he annoyed me, I couldn’t imagine being without him. Not that I’d ever tell him that. At the end of the day I knew he had my best interests at heart. And if they coincided with him making a lot of money all the better.
“I don’t need a PR consultant. I’m not a movie star; I’m a bloody football player. Don’t be daft.”
Alan sat down with a fresh cup of tea and took the paper from me. “It’s not a very flattering picture. Thank God Morgan was there to help out or you would have been waking up in your own vomit in the ladies toilet. You should send her flowers as a thank you. I think she deserves it.”
“You said her name was Morgan Carter?” The name rang bells and I could vaguely remember her telling it to me.
“You asked her for her name before you passed out, don’t you remember?” Alan asked, knowing damn well I didn’t.
“At least this one didn’t follow you home. I had to kick the last woman out when I found her stuffing our mail into her purse,” Anna said, smearing a piece of toast with Marmite. She pointed her knife at my plate. “You’re not eating, Lucas. You’ll feel worse if you don’t put something on your stomach. A breakfast high in carbohydrates is actually the best thing for a hangover.”
“Is that your medical advice?” Alan asked, putting the lid on the Marmite for her.
“It is. Trust me.” Anna pushed my plate towards me. I knew she wouldn’t relent until I listened. I took a bite of sausage and forced myself to swallow. It felt like lead in my stomach.
“Damn. The people from Match of the Day magazine will be here in twenty minutes. Hurry up and eat that. Drink a Red Bull or something. You look like you’re going to keel over at any minute,” Mo instructed, waving his hands towards my breakfast.
I picked up another sausage and waved it in Mo’s direction before taking an exaggerated bite. “So Morgan helped me out, huh?”
Alan raised his eyebrows. “You sure are talking about her a lot. What exactly did you get up to in that toilet?”
“Ew, you shagged a girl in the toilet? That’s a whole new level of gross, Lucas. What is with you and these women with no self-respect?” Anna complained.
“We didn’t shag. Not even close. Don’t talk about her self-respect, when you don’t even know her.” I felt the need to defend Morgan for some reason.
“Now, be nice, Anna. Morgan was a nice girl actually. She cleaned up your brother’s vomit and called us a cab. Quite the lady,” Alan corrected, devoid of his usual sarcasm.
“Well whatever, it’s still sketchy,” Anna said.
“Why are we still talking about this woman? You need to focus, Lucas.” Mo clapped his hands as if we were school children.
Alan and I snickered but I understood why he was getting so worked up. I was on a mission to clean up my image. It was necessary if I wanted to get the kind of sponsors that made me the most money. Plus I had training this afternoon. I didn’t have time to feel like shit.
I was feeling almost human by the time the Match of the Day magazine people showed up. I was sitting in the living room watching European match highlights when Mo walked in with a small man with very little hair.
I got to my feet and held out my hand. The small man shook it limply, giving me a bright smile. “Hi Lucas, I’m George Grant, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m honored Match of the Day magazine wants to feature me in their magazine,” I replied sincerely. I had been shocked when Mo had called me with the news. Most days I still thought of myself as a low league player barely getting by.
All the ways my life had changed over the last year still hadn’t quite sunk in.
George sat down at the table in the breakfast nook, pulling out an old school pad of paper and pen. He laid his phone down on the table, ready to record.
“Do you want a cuppa? A coffee?” I asked before we got started.
“A cup of tea would be wonderful,” George said, fidgeting in his seat.
“I’ll get it,” Mo offered, getting laboriously to his feet. “Milk and sugar?”
