‘No one can help me,’ came his muffled reply.
‘Well, why don’t we talk about that a bit? I’m here to listen.’
There was a pause for a short moment.
‘No one ever wants to listen to me.’
‘Well, I do.’
Eventually, he opened the door. The first thing she noticed was how young he looked. She knew he was nineteen, but he could have been much younger. He was dressed in shorts and a stained dressing gown and his skin had the pallor of someone who hadn’t seen sunlight or had a good hug in a long time. The second thing she noticed was the scar on his left wrist and thefact that it seemed to have healed nicely, which was good. It would never go away, it was too deep for that, but he was lucky to be alive. Although, from looking at him, she wasn’t certain that’s how he saw it.
She’d simply smiled at him and introduced herself. When he eventually let her in, she did a quick scan of the flat, taking in the warning signs, like the mail piled in the hallways, the overflowing bins and the closed curtains.
On that first meeting, he barely spoke. He let her administer his meds at least and check his blood sugar levels – on top of everything, he’d developed type 2 diabetes from his chaotic lifestyle and poor diet as a child. She talked through the care plan they’d work on together now that he was out of hospital. But he said nothing in reply. She left that first appointment feeling deflated.
But, slowly, things started to get better. When she noticed him wearing an Arsenal shirt on her next visit, she asked him how long he’d been a supporter.
‘Forever.’
‘Ever been to any matches?’
‘When I was little. With me dad.’
‘I’ve never been to a game myself. Tell me about it?’
He talked in detail about the crowds and the pretzel they’d got at half-time and it was the first occasion she’d heard him speak with any enthusiasm about anything. She knew from his notes that his dad wasn’t around anymore.
The next time she visited, she brought a large, warm, salted pretzel with her. She’d baked it herself because she couldn’t find anywhere in a twenty-mile radius that sold them, not thatshe ever told him that. After that, things were easier between them.
Sometimes they’d watchMatch of the Dayreruns together. Sitting side by side with the screen in front of them made it easier for him to talk and, little by little, he did, opening up about his life and how he’d ended up in this tiny flat by himself, feeling as if his life had fallen apart. She started following where Arsenal was ranking in the league so she could discuss it with him when she next saw him. Eventually, she managed to persuade him to join a local football club run specifically for other young people struggling with their mental health. Even she had been surprised by the difference it had made. The last few visits he’d seemed like a different person, full of stories of his new mates and the matches they’d played.
He opens the door shortly after her knock. As usual, he’s dressed in football kit. He also has the most enormous smile on his face.
‘I got an interview!’
‘That’s amazing, Ben!’ she says, following him inside the flat. They both sit down on the small sofa.
‘It’s at a sports shop in town. My footie mates couldn’t believe it when I told them. I could work in a sports shop, how sweet is that?’
He’s practically bouncing and Phoebe grins too. These are the moments she lives for.
‘That sounds fantastic. And how was your latest match?’
She hadn’t thought it possible, but his smile grows even wider. ‘It was sick! I scored four goals. And Coach says my footwork has really improved.’
‘Wow, that’s great. And are you still taking your meds?’
His smile slips a tiny bit. ‘Well, I didn’t take my pills the last few days. I haven’t needed them, I feel so good.’
‘You’ve got to keep taking them, Ben. You know that. You might not stay well if you don’t keep taking them.’
‘OK, OK, I will, Boss, I promise. Can we watchMatch of the Day? There’s this absolutely sick goal I want you to see. You’re gonna love it. If you’ve got time?’
Phoebe isn’t quite sure how she’s managed to convince Ben that she is interested in football when, actually, she can’t stand it. Guys kicking a ball back and forth between one another? What’s the point? But it seems she’s also managed to convince him to start living again. And that’s worth sitting through about a million episodes ofMatch-of-the-bloody-Day.
‘Sure, I’ve got time.’
CHAPTER 5
