“You should have seen your face!” She claps her hand onto my thigh, bent double as she cackles. “Oh mygod,that was brilliant!”
I sink down into my chair and shrug my coat up as far as it’ll go. “You’re a right bitch, you know that?”
Char puts her head on my shoulder, still giggling to herself as the stadium erupts into cheers.
“Oh, it’s starting!” She exclaims brightly. “About time!”
It takes all my willpower to focus on the game. My mind is a spinning top, whirring at a million miles a minute. I buried my father today, but I don’t feel as sad as I thought I would. I haven’t even cried. Not at all. No, instead I’m sitting at a football game trying to focus on the players and not think about my father-in-law and his beard, and his muscles, and…
No, don’t even finish that sentence. You will not think about that man’s tongue on the day of your father’s funeral.
Except now I am thinking about it, and I want to throttle Char. My face is never going to stop burning. I’m going to be a beetroot for the rest of my life.
Who am I even kidding? I’ve thought about Dom almost constantly since that night at my house. The way he looked at me when he asked if he should stay, even though he insisted he meant the couch.
I’d told myself then that it was the grief. It makes you do stupid things. I wanted comfort from someone, to be held. And yes, alright, maybe being railed into oblivion would be nice, too. A good way to unwind and forget just how bloody awful that evening had been.
But every thought of that kind had been swiftly followed by revulsion at myself. This man was twice my age, and my husband’s father. Getting revenge on Archie would be sleeping with one of his teammates, or some vacuous underwear model.
Not his sodding father.
I give myself an internal shake. I don’t even want revenge, it has nothing to do with that. Is it even cheating if I’ve already decided I’m done with the marriage? If he’s bloody decided he’s done with the marriage?
Half-time rolls around, and we’re up 2-1.
And I’m a ball of anxiety.
Char drags me up to the bar, and I order a mocktail, to which Char says nothing.
“Aren’t you going to rib me about not drinking?”
She gives me a pointed look. “After today? That would make me worse than a right bitch, don’t you think?”
I swallow hard. “Thanks for understanding.”
“Babes, you don’t have to thank me. Of course I understand.” Char casts a glance around the room, eyes narrowed, champagne glass dangling in her hand. “What you reckon my chances are of finding a husband up here amongst these wealthy sponsors?”
“Like you need money,” I scoff. “You got plenty of your own.”
“Suppose I do.” Char’s face darkens for a second, then her bright demeanour is back. “Anyway, I heard something about a gala event?”
I nod as I swallow a sip of my drink. “Yeah, it’s like the biggest event outside of the awards show at the end of the season.” I narrow my eyes at her. “You fishing for an invite?”
She casually glances down at her glass. “Oh, I already have one. Jordan asked me to be his Plus One.”
“But you’re not shagging him?”
Her mouth widens in faux outrage. “I told you, I am not!” She gives me a smug grin. “Besides, whose plus one areyougoing to be?”
I balk for a second. Because she’s right. I’d go with Archie, usually. I haven’t been invited on my own.
Char punches me in the arm and giggles. “Oh, stop it. You know DILFy is going to invite you.”
“Please stop calling him that.Please.”
“Never.” Char casts a look over my shoulder and sniggers into her drink. “Don’t mention his beard, he’s sneaking up on you again.”
Of course he is.
