“Photos of Chan?” He had a bank of them on his phone. I’d seen him look at them when we were on the coach with the England squad a few times, but not so much recently.
“Yeah. I sometimes need to remind myself of what she looked like. I have a shit memory for faces.” He put his phone down. “Jude was right. I was looking at Amber.”
I nodded. “I saw.”
“I don’t feel bad for looking at Amber.” He put his phone back in his locker. “I feel bad for not feeling bad.”
I took the bench opposite him, pulling one of the club’s towels off a pile nearby and throwing it over my shoulders, the shock of the change in temperatures kicking in. “I get it.”
I did. Guilt was something I’d felt acutely after splitting up with Lotte. Not that it was comparable with what Nate had gone through, but I could get why he was feeling like that.
“You didn’t die, Nate.” It sounded harsh, using the worddie. When it had happened, we’d used phrases likepassed awayorlost her battle, none of which had ever seemed right.
Chan had died and it hadn’t been pretty. Cancer was a bitch, and Chan had only had three months to say goodbye to Nate and her daughters. After, it had felt like a tornado had ripped through us, and some days it seemed like we’d get a call from her and she’d tell us she’d landed in Kansas, only she didn’t have any red shoes to click.
She hadn’t been an angel, and Nate hadn’t put her on a pedestal after her death. He’d made memory boxes for the girls, although the youngest was probably too young to have any strong memories of her mother. He’d gone for grief counselling as soon as it had been recommended and his daughters saw a therapist now. He’d said to me after our first away game of the season that he’d stopped checking his phone for messages from her, because before, every time he’d picked his phone up, he’d expected to see her name.
“I know. Still feels wrong, looking at someone else.” He put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. “Now Chan’s mum’s not here too, it feels like…” he shook his head. “Like I don’t have to not look, if that makes sense.”
I nodded. “It does. And you didn’t die. You still have a life. Although, I’m not sure Amber is the best place to start.” She really did hate footballers.
He laughed. “She’s hot though.”
“She is. If you like your heat with a sharp tongue and sharper elbows.” I threw the towel off. “You need to let the lads know that you’re good with Jude. I know he’s a kid and all that, and he shouldn’t have said what he did…”
“Someone had to. Because you’re right; I get to carry on living. Chan said when we found out there was nothing they could do that the girls needed a mum again – but I wasn’t sure if she meant that.” His laugh was tired. “She could be possessive, and she’d once said that if she died before me, she’d come back and haunt me if I ever got with someone else.”
“I’d take that chance. When you’re ready. Maybe not with Amber.”
His laugh was stronger this time. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
The women’s team won. We managed a draw, which wasn’t the greatest of achievements, given we were playing a team that was guaranteed to be in a relegation battle at the end of the season, so celebrating wasn’t going to be something I had to get out of.
Even though I didn’t play football for fun, I enjoyed match days. I liked the atmosphere and the supporters getting excited. The stadium really could feel like a place that held ten thousand dreams just before the ref blew that whistle, and it was something to be part of the group of people who could make some of those dreams come true.
Some of the team were heading out for drinks and food in one of the smaller towns on the outskirts of Manchester where the bar managers and bouncers were used to celebrities and sports players who wanted to stay below the radar. A night in Manchester would usually mean getting papped by the press, while a night in Hale meant no one blinked at eye at you, or were trying to find themselves a rich boyfriend, mainly because they were all rich already.
I had plans. Ones that didn’t involve the team. Ones that didn’t involve anyone apart from Otter.
I hadn’t given into temptation and started searching for her on the internet or watching her back catalogue. I’d told Nate to tell me five things about her, which he had, and I’d only told him to ‘fuck off’ once when he’d laughed at something he said he wouldn’t pass on.
I knew her age, where she was born, her family set up, the number of films she’d been in and the names of two men she’d been linked to. I’d told him to stop there. If she wasn’t an actress, I would only find this out by asking her. I didn’t want to meet with her tonight and know more about her than an ex-girlfriend.
She’d booked a hotel next to a railway station in a town just south of Manchester. I parked in the multi-storey car park and pulled my beanie on before leaving it, taking a small hold all from the boot. I hadn’t shaved, and I was wearing my geek-squad uniform. The hat added to the Hobo look.
It was an anonymous, guaranteed good-night’s-sleep hotel, which could’ve been anywhere in the UK. The receptionist didn’t bat an eyelid when I asked for the key card for the room booked for Sam Diane.
Her eyes were too busy being fixed on her phone that was just out of my sight, but that worked for me. I took the key card and headed to room two-one-five, my heart beating at a rate similar to when I’d taken a penalty kick in the eighty-third minute and gotten it right.
That had been the equaliser.
Tonight, I actually wanted to score.
I knew Otter was already there. She’d sent me a quick text asking if I’d eaten, because if not, she'd arrange a take-out to be delivered to the room, which wouldn’t be a problem as I expected the girl on reception would just hand a key card to anyone.
I scanned the card at the door and pushed it open. The room was lit with just the bedside lamps, the main lights switched off.
She was sitting on the bed with her back to me, and she was singing. She could carry a tune, that was clear, but it might have been a little smoother if she could actually hear herself.
