I smile at Mia. “I think she would have liked you.”
Mia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me? Oh I don’t know about that, I’m a bit of a bitch when I want to be.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, she would have liked your sass. She liked unapologetically bolshie women.”
“Bolshie?” Mia laughs out loud. “Are you saying I’m bolshie?”
“I think I am, yeah.”
“Bastard.” Mia giggles to herself. “I mean, Iama little loud I suppose. Comes with the territory.”
“Of what, being a Northerner?”
“At least we Northerners actually say summat,” Mia drawls, exaggerating her Yorkshire accent. “You Londoners are rude, and mean, and don’t say nothing.”
“We are very, very rude,” I say with a chuckle.
“And your mushy peas taste like aught.”
I point a finger at her. “Ey now, I’ll not hear any mushy pea slander on my turf.”
Mia wrinkles her nose. “Marginally better than that tripe they serve in Manchester, I suppose.”
“Now thatisslander,” I say, slapping my leg. “Unbelievable.”
Mia laughs, and the waiter arrives with our food.
“Oh good, I’m starving,” Mia says, smiling up at the waiter. “This all looks fabulous.”
“Thank you, Mrs Graves,” the waiter says, and Mia bites back a laugh.
Once he’s gone, she picks up her cutlery with a giggle.
“Does being recognised like that ever become normal?”
“No, no it does not.”
“Being Mia Brookes, then Mia Graves, it’s all so… weird.” She starts cutting into her pie. “People knowing what I look like in my underwear, you know? It’s odd.”
Well Jesus fucking christ, great. What a thought.
“Yeah, that would be weird.” I focus extremely hard on my food.
“I mean, you’d know, we’ve all seen you in barely your kit with no shirt on.”
My cheeks are probably glowing red right now, my face feels like it’s on fire. “God, yeah, no one wants to see that.”
“Oh my friend Charlotte does,” Mia says lightly, giving me a smug smile across the table. “She’s the one who called you Daddy Dilf the other day in case it wasn’t clear.”
“No, I got that. Is she single?” I laugh, waving a hand through the air. “I’m joking, I’m joking. One divorce this season is enough for me.”
“Cynthia leaving you alone? Only I heard she was making life a little hard for you.”
“No, no, it’s fine. She’s…” I try and think of how to describe my ex-wife in a way that’s not unflattering. “She’s hurt, I think. She wanted me to sell the club and when I wouldn’t, well… that caused some problems.”
“Why would she want you to sell the club?” Mia frowns deeply. “You’re Dominic bloody Graves, your familyisthe club. How could you ever sell it?”
I quickly pop a chunk of steak in my mouth so I have the excuse of needing to chew before I formulate an answer. Cynthia was difficult, and she was younger than me and wanted a baby. She was not far past 40, and her biological clock was ticking loudly.
