“We were.” I sighed, pulling a blanket around me and sitting down on my sofa. “I don’t feel great and I don’t want you to catch whatever I might be starting with, so I’ve come home.”
There was silence at the other end.
“Jude?” I wasn’t sure that he was still there. “You okay?”
“Yeah, still here. You looked pale this morning. What do you think’s up?” He changed the phone to hands free on his car, the click one I was familiar with.
“Not sure. Genny mentioned drinks at hers but the idea of alcohol’s knocking me sick. I’m tired and I feel under the weather.”
“You’re not coughing, sneezing or have the shits?” His bluntness could be considered endearing.
“None of that. Yet. I do have an issue and I might need to come to yours.” That was probably the most sensible option. “My heating’s broken and my house’s freezing.”
“Drive over then. If you’re worried about spreading your germs, sleep in a spare room. There are enough of them. I need to eat when I get in, so shall I do something for you?”
The idea of food didn’t seem great, apart from toast. Nice thick bread to make buttery toast. “Do you have any bread in?”
“Is that a sign you’ve been kidnapped?”
I laughed. I could understand why he was saying that. Bread and me weren’t things that usually went together.
“I haven’t been kidnapped. I just fancy toast. There’ll be a shop open on the way to yours. You sure you don’t mind me and my germs being there?”
“It’s all good and I’m pretty sure I’m resistant from everything after what I’ve been eating recently. You never get ill. Weird.”
It was weird. Every couple of years I’d have a nasty cold or throat infection, usually because I’d ended up running myself down. That wasn’t the case right now. I’d been looking after myself better than ever and sleeping better, early nights had become usual because Jude had been upping his sleep as he upped his training.
“I don’t feelillill – just not right. Anyway, I’ll be there in half an hour. It really is too cold to stay here.”
We ended the call. I grabbed a few more bits that I wanted to take with me and locked up, heading to Jude’s via a petrol station that had a mini-supermarket attached, where I picked up a load of super processed bread.
The warmth of Jude’s house hit me as soon as I got inside, his fire roaring. He didn’t keep his distance, wrapping me in a huge hug as soon as he let me in, then pressed a hand to my forehead.
“You don’t feel like you’ve got a temperature.” He frowned. “You didn’t sleep well last night though. Maybe it’s just that.”
“Maybe.” It could be. I wasn’t a doctor, and I didn’t need one for this. “I’ll be fine. How are you feeling after that game?” I went into the kitchen area and practically drooled as I popped two rounds of bread in the toaster.
Jude propped himself against the kitchen counter, watching me. “Still on the high from the win. That dickhead who plays for them has done a bit of a number on my chest.” He pulled up his T-shirt, showing the start of what was going to be a really nasty bruise. “No fractured ribs so we’re okay. And I got him back.”
I grinned. I had no ethics where revenge on the field was concerned. “And the ref didn’t see.”
Jude grinned. “Didn’t even glance. The dickhead should’ve been off the field anyway. I think the ref knew he’d cocked up not giving him a second yellow.”
We passed the rest of the evening watching the sports round-up on TV, the plan for me to keep my distance failing miserably, the plan for me to stay at Jude’s until my house no longer resembled the insides of a fridge put in place.
I slept better, in Jude’s bed of course, although there were no baby-making shenanigans, but I still felt odd. I felt the same for the rest of the week, still having the same affinity for toast and butter.
We knew that if we won the game on New Year’s Day we’d go top of the league by a two point, as our opposition was the current league leader. This would give us that psychological advantage of starting the second part of the season top and with improving form.
The days beforehand were spent in training sessions, most of them light, many of them strategic, and the players having physio and time with the sports psychologists. Food plans were a constant, but this was the time of year when there was temptation to overindulge, and some of the players had, leaving one or two feeling sluggish and it was showing.
Jude was on good form. He was fitter than ever, stronger and psychologically in a good place. The remainders of his reputation for being a bit of a wild child seemed to have dispersed and there was talk in the media that he was in line for the England captaincy. He was taking more of a lead on the field and in training sessions, being more vocal.
The opposite of how I was.
The game was due to kick off in thirty minutes. As we were at home, I’d be watching from the box with my usual girl squad, which included Jude’s parents today as they were back off their cruise. I’d seen them briefly this morning, accepting his mum’s hugs and even one off his dad, his mum giving me a knowing look and telling me how much she knew Jude had loved his Christmas presents.
If I’d been feeling on form, I’d have managed it better, but I was still off, which meant I smiled and was quiet.
