I prepare their porridge the way they like, with oat milk and far too much honey. It occurs to me my husband is in no fit state to drive the girls anywhere this morning. I’m due at the studio on the other side of the city at nine o’clock. I’ll need an Uber and a babysitter.
Scrolling through my phone, I search my recent calls for my best friend, Nadine. She’s married to James O’Malley, one of Marcus’s former teammates, and she’s the one person I trust to confide in. The one person I know will be able to help out this morning.
With my mother in Turkey and my sister in Australia, there’s really no one else I can call. Marcus’s parents are great, but they’re getting too old to manage the girls for long periods of time. Nadine’s become a surrogate sister to me over the years, both of us home alone while our husbands toured the world with the team. We’ve spent many a night here with face masks and pyjamas on, watching reruns ofDesperate HousewivesandThe Kardashians.
Nadine and James have been privately and painfully struggling with fertility issues for a couple of years now. They are the best godparents to both Erin and Emily. I only hope they’re blessed with their own child one day soon.
We’ve had zero opportunity to catch up since Vilamoura, but that won’t make a difference. Nadine’s a former model, turned yoga teacher, with her own gym and YouTube channel. She knows what it’s like trying to juggle life. Sometimes a full week passes before we manage to get hold of the other. It makes absolutely no difference to our friendship. She’s the kind of girl I could call on day or night and she’d do everything in her power to help out.
I’ve always found it hard to make new friends. With Marcus in the limelight permanently, we’ve had to be careful who we can trust in our inner circle. I never realised how isolating it’s been, how many friendships I might have missed out on, until I bonded with Aisling and Natalie recently, and so swiftly.
Nadine answers on the first ring. ‘Well, if it isn’t the next winner ofSexy Come Dancing.’ A gentle laugh tinkles over the phone, but her voice conveys her sincerity. Only a best friend could have that kind of faith in me.
‘Ha. I’ll probably be voted off in the first week.’ Lowering my voice so the girls can’t hear, I whisper, ‘It might be best for my marriage if I do.’
‘Oh no! I thought Marcus was ok with it?’ We’ve been texting, even though we haven’t talked.
‘He said he was. Now I’ve been paired up with Ben Battle, it’s a different story. Though, that’s not why I’m calling you.’
‘Tell me, does it have anything to do with the fact that my husband came home at three o’clock this morning smelling like he bathed in a barrel of whiskey?’ She laughs.
‘Hmm. At least I know where he was now. Is there any chance you could do the school run for me? I hate to ask, but I have to be at training at nine.’ Nadine and James bought a house only a mile away from ours. No surprise, Clontarf is the most desirable part of Dublin, after all.
‘Sure. I don’t have to be anywhere myself until lunch. Give me half an hour and I’ll be over. Have the coffee at the ready.’
‘Thanks, Nadine. You’re a legend.’
An hour later, having left a note for my husband, and our daughters in the capable hands of my best friend, I stroll into the RTE studio as if I belong there. Because for the next couple of weeks, I do.
Ben glances up as the doors bang and lifts a hand in my direction, and Aisling smiles from across the room where she’s awkwardly entangled in conversation with her partner, one of the twins. Exactly as she feared, she’s been saddled with one of them.
Natalie is paired with Michael Murray, and even I can’t wait to see the sparks flying between them. Her jet-black hair matches his, as if they were cut from the same cloth. His tall wiry frame complements her petite one. From the outside looking in, they make a very handsome couple. If the way his eyes rake over her body is anything to go by, he’s in total agreement.
Predictably, Gemma got paired with Sonny. For some reason, the producers paired Mary Smith, the politician, with PJ Maguire, the rapper. I suppose it might make for some interesting viewing, not least because she’s a foot taller than him. Kelly McDonagh, the Olympic runner, is paired with the other twin. Lucinda is with Frankie. Katie Corrigan is paired with Donal Dunn, possibly the only man my husband wouldn’t have blinked an eyelid at me being paired with.
On the agenda for the following few days is a full makeover and couples photo shoot. I don’t relish the prospect, but once we get it over with, we’ll be able to concentrate on learning the dances. It would be hard enough having to learn from a partner who’s a professional dancer, let alone both of us complete novices. If Ben is no better than me, we could end up a complete laughing stock. Not for the first time, I’m beginning to wonder why the hell I thought this was a good idea.
Ben strides across the room to greet me, a takeaway cup in each hand. He’s aged well. Dark chestnut hair is slightly peppered at the sides giving him a distinguished edge.
‘Good morning, partner.’ A smirk lifts his lips in a flattering welcome.
There’s no doubt he’s gorgeous. He emits an enticing charm that most women would fall for. Thankfully, I’m not most women. I’m happily married, even if my husband isn’t too happy with me right now.
‘I presume you’ve had your caffeine fix this morning already?’ He pushes one of the cups into my hand and simultaneously drops a prolonged kiss onto my cheek. The scent of ginger wafting from the cup teases my nostrils.
We haven’t seen each other in literally years, and I’m not sure which is more worrying – that his kiss is lingering and familiar, or that he remembers I don’t drink regular tea.
At a loss for words once more this week, I nod and take a sip from the cup.
Ben stayed with me and Marcus for three weeks, a long time ago, while he was waiting for keys to his own place. It was in the early days, when Marcus and I were still so new, and Ben used to pretend he still had the hots for me to annoy him.
I was only eighteen myself at the time, living in the first flat Marcus bought for us. I clearly remember having a hard time trusting that it would last, that Marcus wouldn’t leave, or let me down the way my own family had, struggling to appreciate what he saw in me at the time.
A flashback strikes from nowhere, Ben walking through our flat wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and Marcus telling him to “put some fucking clothes on”.
Ben replied, “What’s wrong, Marcus? Are you worried your girl is going to like what she sees?”
A hot flush creeps up my cheeks at the memory. Why is my delinquent brain revisiting images of Ben Battle in his underwear now?
