He shuddered. “What are the chances of avoiding Neva?”
“Slim to none. Have you come straight up from London?” I was a bit surprised by the lack of his personal stuff.
Ryan shook his head. “No, I stayed at the club's hotel last night after signing, but I came to Manchester straight from Los Angeles. I had some work over there.”
“Anything interesting?”
He laughed. “It depends what you think of as interesting. This was just a photo shoot for a sponsor. How long have you lived here for?”
“Twelve months, pretty much. It's time to start looking to buy something though, so you might get this place to yourself in a few weeks.” I sat down on one of the bar stools, opening the bottle of murky juice. “You mentioned house rules. This place is big enough for us to not be on top of each other. There's a housekeeper who comes in most days; she is lovely and she will tidy up after you. There's loads of space to spread about so if I'm watching shit that you don't like then there's the cinema room in the basement and a pool and gym on that floor too. Bring women back, I'm not going to say anything to anyone, although I am trying to stay out of the limelight at the moment, so choose them wisely.” I rolled my eyes. “Don't know if you saw it in the papers, but I got burned by my ex.”
Ryan gave a single nod. “I heard something. It'll all blow over. Rhys told me you were helping out with the kids football camp, or something?”
I wondered what else Rhys had told him. “Yeah, just for the week. It's been fun so far.” Which it had.
“I might come down tomorrow afternoon, if that's okay. It was something I did when I was at Spurs, and the idea of spending all day unpacking my stuff if it arrives sounds fucking horrendous.” He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.
“When do you meet with the trainers and the physios?” I'd spent my first three days with the club being passed from one person to the next, while they devised training plans and looked at my diet, which hadn't been too bad, to be fair, but playing for a team like Manchester Athletic meant you were expected to do anything you could to be the absolute best. That was why we joined the club: we wanted to be part of a team that could be the very, very best in Europe, not just England.
“Next week. They want to give me a few days to settle in and get over any jet lag.” Ryan shrugged, then chugged back half the water. “I think - Genevieve, is it? - Said she would come over this evening to talk me through a few things. Is that okay with you? I can always meet her elsewhere.”
It had been the sort of day Genevieve had wanted me to have. I'd already had a text from her giving me a link to a couple of positive comments on Twitter, and the Manchester Athletic media team had done a thing with posting some pictures of me working with the kids at the soccer school, which had also had some nice comments. So I didn't need to hide from Genevieve's wrath. “Fine with me.” I heard my stomach rumble and suddenly felt ravenous. “Fancy nipping out for a bite to eat?”
“Why not?” Ryan finished up the rest of the water.
Maybe having a roommate wasn't going to be too bad after all.
CHAPTER4
Dee
It was probably aroundsix-thirty when some sixth sense woke me up and told me that my sister hadn't come home. Usually, when she went out for the night and she was planning to stay out I'd get a message. The message was never about if it was okay for me to have Tobias for longer or any form of gratitude for having been the handy babysitter, it was generally just a statement saying that she decided she needed some more time away for the sake of her mental health, or something along those lines.
I knew I could be considered as a mug for letting my sister take advantage of me, but this wasn't about her: it was about Toby. Since he'd been little, I'd seen him come second, or even third, to her social life and whatever man she was dating at the time. When I challenged her about it, she always referred to the fact that she’d only been nineteen when she had him and that she deserved to have a life. After a few arguments that had seen her crying a river, I'd pretty much given up and just accepted it, trying to do what I could to make sure that the little boy was okay. My big concern was that if we properly fell out and she had one of her spoilt brat strops, she would end up moving again with the boyfriend of the month, or even worse, taking off to stay with one of the friends she’d met online, and that wouldn't be any good for Toby.
I woke up, bang wide awake, knowing something felt slightly different than what it should. I got out of bed, threw on my dressing gown and headed straight for Toby's room. He was still fast asleep, long eyelashes resting on pale cheeks, and lying starfished across the bed. Everything in his room looked just as it had when I'd left him dozing off to sleep after yet another re-reading of his favourite book.
It wasn't a surprise that nothing was different. I remember being surprised the first time Joanne had gone out and left Toby, going straight to her bed when she came in and not even going to check on him. That had set the tone for every time she had gone out. What was heart breaking was that Toby didn't even ask anymore what time Mummy was coming home.
I headed into Joanne’s room. The bed was still made, the curtains closed and there was an array of makeup scattered over the dresser, a couple of discarded tops that she'd chosen not to wear left on the bed. She hadn't come home last night. She hadn't sent a text message or tried to call to tell me she was staying out. I wanted to be surprised, but I wasn't.
Before I panicked or I did something drastic like phone the police, I checked her social media, looking for what she'd posted in the last few hours. Sure enough, there was a selfie, or maybe somebody had taken it, of her standing outside a bar that I worked out was in Birmingham, with a short paragraph containing something that was meant to be inspirational but was actually pretty trite, about how you should live your best life.
If only her best life involved looking after her son.
I sent her a quick message asking what time she planned on returning, but not expecting a response. Then I needed tea, lots of it because starting this morning was going to be pretty damn difficult.
Toby didn't particularly like football. He was six years old, and much more into cartoons and action figures then kicking a ball around. I knew it was too late to get him into a summer camp, although I had suggested one to Joanne. She hadn't wanted to spend the money, although she had hinted that I should pay. I didn't know any of the mums from his school well enough to call them to see if they could have him for the day, and my mother now lived just north of Glasgow.
I drank a second cup of coffee in record speed, needing an early jolt to come up with some form of plan, but the only one I kept coming back to was to take Toby to the summer soccer school with me. Dino wouldn't mind, even if Toby was a little too young to be there, although it wasn't the best option as at least some of my attention would be focused on what Toby was up to rather than coaching the kids.
My mind wandered over to Rowan, taking a detour to a place where it really didn't need to go. Yesterday had been funny, watching him choreograph a warmup routine with his group. He'd been good with them and hadn't come across as being full of himself, like he expected to have a red carpet rolled out for him. Having that spark of competitiveness would make the next three days more interesting, only now he was going to judge me for bringing a child not more than a toddler to the soccer camp.
The second message I sent Joanne was nowhere near as polite as what the first had been. I didn't make any threats, because there was no point in making threats if she were actually going to follow through, and I didn't give her a deadline to be home by. If I mentioned I'd be leaving Friday afternoon to go up to Loch Lomond for a few days she'd probably not bother coming back until the following Monday, not liking the prospect of having to be a full-time parent on a Friday and Saturday night.
After a few minutes of letting myself roll around in self-pity, I put back on my big girl pants and went to get dressed, not letting myself think about what Rowan's reaction would be when he saw me turn up with a five-year-old.
His reaction was nothing like what I expected. I thought I'd get a scowl or he'd blatantly ignore us, but there was neither. Instead, Toby got a wide grin, and then Rowan dropped into a crouch so he was eye-level with him and asked him his name. Toby was neither the shyest child around, nor the most confident. I noticed him briefly freeze before he answered Rowan, giving him his name and then telling him that I was his Aunt Dee.
