‘So he’ll be good for it?’
‘Put it this way,’ Seb says, stowing the ruined bottle beneath his seat. ‘The producers are thrilled.’
‘What about Clara?’
‘Shut up, you two,’ says Enzo, saving his son the need to answer.
Phil and Enzo have been coming to see the Foxes play for decades upon decades of highs and lows. This stadium is still relatively new, and the stands don’t reek of cigarettes like the old one. But the smell of the half-time grub is just as tantalising, and the feeling of walking up Aylestone Road on the way to a match hasn’t lost any of its buzz. Nothing could top the season before last, going from the bottom to the top of the Premier League within a single year, overcoming five-thousand-to-one odds to win the whole bloody thing. Seb had been there at the celebration, leaving his troubles at the turnstiles to weep with the rest of them. A lot can change, between seasons. When Seb came home for Christmas, he didn’t bring his girlfriend with him.
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Seb says. ‘None of it does.’ There’s frustration in his voice. ‘We love each other so much. At least, I love her.’
‘You think she feels differently?’
‘I don’t know how she feels any more.’
A long pause. Seb sighs, rubs his beard. ‘All the stuff she told me about him,’ he says. ‘Now, suddenly he’s our saviour.’ He pushes his lip out with his tongue. ‘She’s always avoided his films. Now she wants me to watch them, to see what he can do for the project. Like I’m a fucking investor, not her fucking boyfriend.’ Seb looks up towards the sky. ‘We always felt like we were on the same page. But now she has her work-self and her real-self, and she’s her work-self more and more of the time.’ He interlinks his hands, rubs his knuckles. ‘She only wants to talk about the film, while I want to talk about the only thing that matters.’ He stops, blows out some cold air. ‘The thing thatshouldmatter to her.’
Phil will never get used to the idea that the little boys to his left are now old enough to have real problems. They used to talk about cartoons and comic books. Then it was bands Phil had never heard of and girls they didn’t have the courage to talk to. After that, their jobs, Seb’s modelling campaigns and failed auditions, and the animals Nimesh couldn’t save. Nimesh had dropped off for a few years, when he started working weekends. Seb had for a while, too, when his acting took him far and wide. Nimesh has recently moved back up from London, is working at a practice over in Kibworth and living with his lecturer girlfriend. He brings her to games sometimes. She has very red hair, and she chants louder than any of them.He’d rather play for Leicester, the best team in the land.
Seb offers Nimesh a bite of his pie, but Nimesh holds up one hand, shakes his head.
‘Cholesterol,’ he says.
Seb shakes his own head. ‘When did we get old?’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Nimesh says. ‘I’m fit as a mare.’
‘You look good,’ Seb concedes. ‘Being home suits you. Or maybe it’s the long hair.’ He sits back, appraises his friend. ‘You’re going grey, you know.’
‘Fuck you,’ Nimesh says. He looks down at Seb’s waistline. ‘You should try running.’
‘Fuckyou.’
They laugh. Phil looks over the miserable Watford fans on the other side of the pitch and can’t help but smile, too.
‘It’d clear your head,’ Nimesh says, with a shrug.
‘What makes you think my head needs clearing?’
Nimesh almost takes the bait. He nudges Seb, and Seb nudges him back.
‘I miss you, mate,’ Seb says. ‘It’s different in London without you guys.’
‘Think of it as temporary,’ Nimesh says, patting Seb on the knee. ‘We’re still on for moving to Sri Lanka. Rescuing those stray dogs.’ A smile. ‘Maisie and Clara will just have to deal with it.’
Seb makes a face. It seems to say, Clara wouldn’t care.
Nimesh sighs. ‘The film,’ he says. ‘It’s not all she cares about. She talks to Maisie, you know. About all of it.’
This doesn’t seem to give Seb much comfort. ‘She talks to everyone but me.’
‘God knows you’re not the easiest man to talk to,’ Nimeshsays. He puts his hand on Seb’s shoulder. ‘Maybe the film will be good for you.’ He smirks. He can’t help himself. ‘Maybe you need some competition.’
‘Piss off,’ Seb says. He almost smiles.
Enzo rolls his eyes at Phil, but he doesn’t tell them to shut up again. They’re approaching extra time, and the air feels like it’s only getting colder. Seb shoves the last bite of his pie into his mouth. Nimesh rubs his hands, then stuffs them under his armpits. He casts a sidelong glance at Seb, as if there’s something else he wants to say, but doesn’t quite know how to say it.
‘I don’t want to talk about Jasper,’ Seb says. ‘Don’t make me.’
