I sit in the office for a little while, listening to the boys continuing to celebrate down the hall, and stare at the team photo. I sidle closer, picking them all out, one by one. My son in the middle.
He doesn’t look much like me. He took after his mother, only inheriting my dark hair. But the bright blue eyes, the shape of his nose, the angle of his jaw - that was all from her side of the family. I frown at his smiling face, wondering what secrets that smile was keeping.
Was I too hard on him? Did I expect too much of him, wanting him to follow in my footsteps and be a footballer too? But he’d loved it since was small. He’d been running after a ball since he could walk.
But maybe it wasn’t even about that, just like it hadn’t been like that with my father. Archie didn’t want to beme, he wanted to be his own man, a sentiment I can completely understand. I never wanted to be like my dad.
The very thought makes me shudder.
I leave the club, the press all busy in the conference room, and climb into my car. I sit in the silence for a second, and my phone pings. I swipe open the screen, and a message from Mia pops up.
That was fun. Guess I really am a good luck charm. See you next week.
5
MIA
Chelsea isn’t asbusy as it usually is on a Friday afternoon, but the stream of people passing the windows of the tea shop and coming in and out the door is still constant. The weather turned around lunchtime, dark heavy clouds setting in and blotting out the sun, and now releasing a steady, soaking downpour over London.
Afternoons like this are my favourite, especially after a long and busy week. I spread a scone generously with raspberry jam, dolloping thick clotted cream on top, and bite into it with hearty appreciation - just as Jordan stops at my table.
“I thought it was you scoffing down that scone,” he says with a laugh. “Looks like a good one.”
My cheeks flush and I try not to choke as I laugh and swallow my mouthful. “Oh god, how embarrassing,” I say, hastily wiping my mouth.
“No, don’t be embarrassed, what a selling point, they’d just need to put you in the window with your eyes going all wonky and they’d make a mint.” Jordan laughs at my scowl, and gestures to the other chair at my table. “Mind if I join you?”
“Only if you don’t make fun of my scone-eating anymore. These are the best scones in London and I will not have them ruined for me, thank you.”
Jordan holds up his hands. “I promise. You just made me hungry.”
A waitress comes over and takes Jordan’s order of tea and two scones, and he turns back to me with a smile when she leaves.
“It was really nice seeing you at the game the other night.”
I shrug, taking a sip of my tea. “It was actually more fun than I thought it would be. And I’m glad you won.”
“You and me both,” he replies, running a hand through his blond hair. “The press was tearing me to shreds before the game, then afterwards it was all, ‘Oh we knew he could lead the team’, blah blah blah.”
“You sure showed them, didn't you?”
“Now I just have to keep it up.” Jordan’s expression softens as his eyes meet mine. “You doing alright?”
“I’m fine,” I say too sharply, and Jordan cocks an eyebrow. “Sorry. It’s just everyone keeps asking me that, and it’s not like I have much of a choice. I can’t fall apart because Archie’s decided to be a twat, can I?”
“I mean, you can. And no one would exactly blame you.”
I look out the window at the dark and rainy street. “I’m not… I’m not built that way, y’know? I haven’t even cried.” I roll my eyes as I look back at him. “The press already has plenty to say about that, too, don’t you worry. ‘Why isn’t Mia Graves more sad?’ Like I’m defective.”
“You know I don’t mean it like that.” Jordan shakes his head. “I’m just worried about you. Holding it all together and not letting yourself feel anything.”
“I’ve felt plenty for years, Jordan.” I give him a sad smile. “Fact is, I think I’ve known my marriage has been over for along time, but neither of us was willing to admit it. Until now, I suppose. Archie’s made it more than clear he wants shot of me.”
Jordan frowns, leaning on his elbows on the table. “How do you mean?”
I look at my plate, suddenly embarrassed to be admitting this to someone else, especially one of Archie’s teammates. “I… I found lingerie that doesn’t belong to me in my closet.”
Jordan doesn’t say anything, and when I finally look back up at him, his face is like thunder.
