“What makes you think I know?”
She shook her head. “When’s the last time you spent a night at your house, Neva? I’ve driven past there four times in the last week and haven’t seen your car there once. How serious is this baby-making getting?”
I looked away, concentrating on the ref who was making a decision whether a foul committed by the other side was worthy of a yellow. The crowd was chanting “off, off, off,” but that was unlikely to happen.
A yellow card was shown, eliciting an orchestra of boos.
“Jude. You. Where are things up to?” She glanced behind her, probably checking what the girls were up to. “Is it still just friends having a baby together or is it more yet?”
I shrugged. “Friends. Neither of us is seeing anyone else and I don’t think he’s planning on seeing anyone else. No baby yet though.”
Amber smiled, ruffling her son’s hair. “It’ll happen. Then you too can have your internal organs rearranged.”
I gave a very unattractive snort. “You make pregnancy seem like the thing of dreams.”
“It was vile. It was a good thing he was cute when he eventually came out, else I’d have demanded a refund. Zero out of ten; would not recommend.” She opened her handbag and pulled out a packet of crisps. “Wonder mother skills – give junk food when you want peace.”
“Nothing wrong with a packet of crisps.” Oliver didn’t think so. He attacked the packet with hands that looked like they belonged on a four year old rather than a child just over a year younger. He was going to be big like his dad. “I wouldn’t recommend ten packets in a day though.”
Amber nodded. “Agreed, although I think his record was about seven. That was his grandparents’ fault though. And sisters. And Nate’s. But he had a nice day.” He looked at his mum. “Do you remember the day when you ate all those crisps, Olly?”
He nodded at her. “I like crisps.”
“I know. Has Daddy given you any crisps today?” She smiled at him, stroking his hair.
He nodded.
“How many packets? One? Two?”
Oliver nodded on two.
“I’ll murder Nate later.” She sat back in her chair. “Shit, what’s happening?”
We were both catching up.
“Ryan’s down.” Otter Penhaligon, Ryan’s wife and successful actor, leaned over us. “Their defender’s just kicked him in the head. Shit.”
I could feel her panic rising as the club doctor ran on the field.
We turned to watch the close up on the TV, seeing that Ryan was sat up, holding his head. There was blood pretty much everywhere, which meant something had split.
I hoped it wasn’t his eye.
James, Amber’s colleague, was on the field as well, Jesse and Nate were around Ryan, while Rowan was having serious words with the referee.
A red card was produced and the defender marched off field, shaking his head. Boos went round the stadium, changing to cheers as soon as Ryan was on his feet, being led off the field with James’ supporting him.
“I’m going down there.” Otter picked up her bag, swinging it over her shoulder. “I need to see he’s okay. Will he be going back on the pitch?”
Amber shook her head. “No. Head injury – they’ll want a scan because that was a nasty hit and I think he was unconscious for a few seconds.” The TV had been showing a replay of the incident. It was a high foot, the studs making contact with the side of Ryan’s head, slicing through skin and knocking him straight down.
I felt sick.
Otter’s back was to the screen so she was spared seeing what’d happened to her husband, else she might’ve lost the plot somewhere.
“Are you okay going down there?” Amber stood up, picking up Oliver. “I’ll go down with you.”
“I’ll look after Olly.” I held my hands out for the little boy.
