George reached into his coat pocket. It was a rather nice coat, I saw. A navy Crombie thrown around his shoulders. Actually, did it make him look like some sort of spiv, a drug dealer rather than the businessman I supposed him to be? And what was he doing down here, dressed in his suit and coat watching the women on the pitch? Was he some sort of pervy Peeping Tom with a thing about sweaty women in Aertex and joggers?
‘I’ve a couple of free passes for the gym in Beddingfield. Your mum’s a member now, I believe?’
‘I don’t do gyms,’ I said over my shoulder.
‘Well, I’ll leave them here for you.’ George placed the black-and-white cards under my drinks bottle. ‘Up to you. Say hello to that lovely sister of yours.’
13
‘Jess, you were absolutely fabulous out there on the pitch. Youmustjoin us. We need you.’ Serena made her way to where I was sitting with the others at a couple of tables in The Dog and Duck at the edge of Upper Merton village green, slopping lager onto both hands as she walked and talked.
‘I have a little girl to look after,’ I said, reaching to take the half pint glass of shandy from her.
‘What about your husband?’ Carole Traynor had joined us and was immediately a part of the conversation. ‘Didn’t you end up with Dean Wotsisname?’ She frowned, obviously trying to remember. ‘DeanButterworth? Isn’thearound to babysit?’
‘No longer with him,’ I said. ‘Again.’
‘What d’you mean“again”?’ Both Carole and Serena leaned forward in my direction once I’d moved up to allow them to sit down.
‘We’ve been on and off for years. I let him come back only a few weeks ago, really for my daughter, Lola’s sake, but he was immediately up to his usual tricks…’
‘What is he, a magician? A conjuror? A whizz with a pack of cards?’ Serena laughed.
‘Stop it, Serena,’ Carole ordered, as if she were a bolshy adolescent once more and back at Beddingfield Comp.
‘Sorry, Miss.’ Serena grinned.
‘Jess is upset, can’t you see?’
I attempted a smile. ‘I’m not actually upset about Dean at all.’ I realised I was telling the truth, not glossing over how I felt regarding this recalcitrant husband of mine. ‘I’m relieved he’s gone, but it’s having to face the flak and fall out from my daughter who thinks the sun shines out of her dad’s backside.’ I sighed, relieved to actually have someone to offload on to for once. I remembered vividly how Carole Moorhouse had sat with me in the PE changing rooms at Beddingfield Comp when I was a first year. How I’d cried when Jayden had gone off yet again, with a woman in Denmark this time, leaving Mum distraught once more. ‘The thing is,’ I went on, ‘I appear to be permanently upset with my life these days. Everything’s changing and I don’t seem to be able to cope with it all.’
‘You always did fret and worry,’ Carole said kindly, patting my hand. ‘You liked to portray yourself as one of the hard nuts – especially when you were with this one’ – the woman took a long drink from her glass, elbowing Serena pointedly as she did so – ‘but deep down you weren’t. Used to get yourself into a bit of a state if you’d forgotten your games kit or, and I got this, when your dad had gone off again or your mum was back in hospital.’
‘You remember that?’ I smiled.
‘Come on, how could I forget I used to teach Jayden Allen’s daughters? I’ve dined out on that fact for years. Not that he was the best of fathers. He might have been a brilliant reggae artist – still is – but he was never meant to settle down in a sweet cosy Yorkshire village and raise three daughters. I was still at Beddingfield High when your little sister Sorrel started. Nowshewas gifted. A dancer, wasn’t she?’
I nodded. ‘She starts at the Susan Yates Theatre School in London after Easter.’
Carole whistled. ‘Woah! Really? Goodness, such talented girls. Andyoucould have gone far, you know, if you hadn’t thrown it all in for one boy, Jess. Dean Butterworth. Ha! I rememberhimat school as well. Thought a lot of himself even at twelve. Mind you, he had the looks, I’ll grant you. I think every girl in that school was after him.’
‘The women still are.’ I attempted a smile. ‘Or at least he reckons they are.’
‘So, how old is your little girl?’ Carole asked. ‘I seem to remember you ended up pregnant soon after you did your A levels. That was a total waste of your talent as well. The staff always used to talk about how bright you were, particularly in maths and the sciences.’
‘What about me?’ Serena grinned. ‘What did they say about me?’
‘You don’t want to know, Serena! So,’ Carole went on, shaking her head in the other’s direction before turning back to me. ‘Your little girl must be at high school herself now. Not really little any more, surely?’
‘She starts at Beddingfield High in September.’
‘Your daughter’s eleven? You can’t leave her for a couple of hours once or twice a week to come and play hockey with us? Or, now that the nights are so much lighter, bring her down with you? Is your sister – Robyn, isn’t it – around at all? Or your mum? Or Dean Butterworth himself?’
Serena elbowed me. ‘Carole’s as tenacious now – more so, I reckon – than she was when we were at school. She’s determined to have you.’
‘Absolutely I am.’ Carole sniffed, draining her glass. ‘So, Robyn? What’ssheup to these days? Off to London was always her dream from what I remember.’
I laughed. ‘Long story, but she’s actually teaching herself.’
