“I don’t mind, got to study for my exams a bit more.” Trish says, hoisting her backpack onto her back. “I’ll see you Monday?”
“Yes, 11am would be great.”
“Right you are!” Trish leaves with a wave, winding her way down the garden path and disappearing through the gate.
I put Tank down on the ground, and he sprints off toward the kitchen. With a sigh of relief, I kick off my boots and pad after him in my thick socks. In the kitchen, I put on the kettle before refilling Tank’s water bowl, then look at the TV for a second before clicking it on and finding the sports news.
As always, it’s a panel of middle-aged men who used to be Premier League players, who now think their opinions are very important. One of them I recognise from previous events I’ve gone to with Archie, and he seems just as boring on screen as he is in real life.
“Now, of course a team is more than its striker,” the man says to his colleagues, who all nod thoughtfully. “But when a star like Archie Graves leaves a team, you have to wonder how well it’s all going to be held together.”
The third man nods his bald, shiny head, rubbing his chin. “It would be like Man United losing David Beckham way back when, that’s the scale of catastrophe we’re talking here.”
The other two nod, humming their agreement.
“Do you think Sumner is up to the job of captain?” One of the other men asks, and they all snigger.
“The pretty blond Irishman?” The first man asks, and I want to smash his face in.
Jordan Sumner and I have been friends since I first arrived on the scene by Archie’s side. He had a troubled history back in Ireland, one he never really talked about, but whispers spoke of something involving a priest, which had earned him the nickname.
But I adore Jordan, and he’s a damn good player. To see these bloated, privileged men well past their primes sit here and mock the new, young captain makes my blood boil.
“I think Sumner has a good chance of being a decent captain,” the first man says, “but we’ll have to see what the fans think, and whether they’ll forgive him a loss against Salford on Tuesday.”
“And Everest?” Asks the bald man. “How do you think he’ll perform as striker?”
“Does Everest know what a striker is?” The first man asks, and they all break into laughter.
With a frustrated grunt, I click the TV off.Stupid old football players. It’s a wonder my father-in-law doesn’t sit on one of these panels, pressing his handsome face to the camera so he can woo yet another unsuspecting woman with his white teeth and smooth words.
Wankers, the lot of them.
“So, where are we burying him?”Char asks, dipping another strip of pita bread into the thick eggplant dip she’s been downing for the past 10 minutes.
I chuckle into my glass of wine. “I hear there’s some pretty dense woods a bit further north of here.”
“What about an old quarry?” Char chews her food with a frown, then her eyes light up. “Wait, we can drive down to the coast and just dump him in the sea!”
“Archie did always like the beach.”
Char cackles and claps her hands. “Burial at sea, wanker. See how you like that.” She grins at me, her expression softening a little, and she reaches across to take my hand. “I could jokeabout murdering Archie Graves all day, but you know I’m only worried about you, yeah?”
“I know.” I put my hand over her own. “I’m… I don’t even know. I thought it would hurt more. I feel like I’ve been checked out on this marriage for a long bloody time.” I pick up my wine glass and sigh. “Not as long as Archie, I guess.”
“I wonder who she is,” Char says, looking out the kitchen window. “And how he’s managed to keep it secret for so long.”
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
The trashy TV show playing in the background that we’ve both long forgotten switches over to a commercial break, and the news pops up. Char leans back in her chair, wine glass in hand, watching the Arlington press conference play out. The headline underneath readsGraves still AWOL - Sumner to Captain.
“What a bloody mess,” Char mutters. “Sumner’s that sexy one with the man bun, isn’t he? The Irish one? Blond?”
“That’s him.”
“He’s scrummy, isn’t he?” Char gives me a lascivious grin. “He’d be a better choice than Archie bloody Graves.”
I shake my head with a snort. “That’d be like shagging my brother, yuck.”
