I nodded and said nothing, but I felt like I’d just scored.
Dinner with a kid was a great excuse to order everything off the menu. We’d tried five different flavour milkshakes, five burgers between us, three types of fries and helped Dee out with a range of tacos. For a slight person, she could eat a lot.
“Aren’t you meant to be on a diet that doesn’t include all that?” She looked down at the few remains on the table. “I thought you kept a food diary and reported in every morning.”
I laughed quietly, using a napkin to make sure I’d gotten rid of all the spicy sauce that had been a little too hot for Toby. He was now focused on his colouring book that Dee had stuffed in a bag before we’d left. My guess was that he’d eaten too much, and that last milkshake wasn’t sitting great on his stomach.
“Neva will never know about this.”
Dee’s grin was shocked. “You lie to Neva?”
“All the time. She probably knows, but she doesn’t have to pull me on it. I do more weights that most of the squad, and I never moan about cardio, so no one’s ever called me out on what I eat.” It was one thing I was smug about. I liked good food, but I wasn’t stupid enough to overeat. Tomorrow, I’d be on green smoothies and white fish to make up for today, but that was the way it was. “You’ve hardly eaten like a bird.”
She shrugged. “I find it hard to put weight on.”
“Because you’re a worrier.”
I expected her to deny it, but she just nodded. “Pretty much. Tidy up, Tobes. We need to get you in bed.”
He pulled his face, but did as she’d asked first time, stuffing the colouring book and crayons back in the bag. She gave him a smile and ruffled his hair, saying nothing.
After a short argument, I paid. We walked back to Dee’s in full daylight, the smell of barbecues in the air, and the sounds of people laughing. It had been a warm day, and the forecast for tomorrow was that it would be even warmer. The first few games of the season were predicted to be in Mediterranean heat, which meant some of our training over the next few days would be in heated rooms. Someone had mentioned hot yoga, which sounded like a form of torture, so I was hoping it was speculation and not a sneaky look in coach’s notebook.
“Thank you for coming by this evening.” She paused walking at the bottom of her drive.
Clearly I was meant to go at this point.
“Aren’t you offering coffee?”
“I need to get Toby into bed.”
Toby, who by this point, was being practically dragged by me and Dee as he was dead on his exhausted feet.
“In case you’re thinking of it, he doesn’t need a bath.” I knelt down and picked him up, feeling him pretty much collapse against my chest.
Dee shook her head. “He’s been at the beach, played football – he’s filthy. He needs a bath.”
“The dirt will still be there tomorrow, trust me. Make him shower in the morning.” I carried him up the driveway, steadying him with one hand while I dug around for Dee’s spare keys that were still in my pocket.
“Rowan…”
“I’ll carry him up if you do a coffee.”
“At least make him brush his teeth.”
There were lies like the ones I told Neva about what I’d eaten, and Toby brushing his teeth tonight fell in that category.
“Will do.”
It took seven minutes to coax him into his PJs, then he pretty much fell into bed, asleep before I’d even left his bedroom and flicked on the night light that wasn’t needed yet, daylight still managing to get through the curtains.
The room was done up for him; football wallpaper, a Manchester Athletic duvet cover, stripy carpet that I’d have loved when I was a kid – ours was the threadbare stuff our tight-arsed landlord left down. There was a box of Lego, and another of cars, and on the walls were posters of footballers, myself included.
Not going to lie. I did get a little kick out of that.
Dee was sitting at the breakfast bar, a mug of coffee on it and another with tea, with a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk.
“It’s decaf. Sorry.”
