The thought of him anywhere near her now makes me pray that she gets paired up with Sonny Smith after all. A baby-faced, pelvic thrusting singer is better than a smarmy, self-important, two-faced winger any day of the week. I’m not a jealous person, but I wouldn’t trust Ben Battle as far as I can throw him.
Not to mention this show is notoriously scandalous, it’s difficult to see how this is going to be any good for any of us. My father has a saying: if you aren’t there, you can’t be accused. In this instance, I think he’s right.
‘How are the girls?’ Shelly asks Callum, deliberately changing the subject. Callum has two daughters of his own, though they’re both younger than ours.
‘They’re great. In fact, Abby is actually pregnant again.’ His voice is heavy with pride and the white gnashers reappear with his triumphant smirk.
Slapping his shoulder in a congratulatory gesture, I ask, ‘Do you ever leave that woman alone? Three kids in three years takes work.’
‘It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.’ His snigger does nothing to ease the palpable tension in the air.
An undercurrent of worry sinks into my gut. If things are this crazy already, with people hounding us and dragging at my wife, what will they be like when she’s on actually on television every week?
And having Ben Battle thrown into the mix is only exacerbating the niggle of unease in my gut.
