Page 162 of Off the Pitch

“Somehow I don’t think this is what Alex had in mind,” I whispered as we watched the others argue about who was going first and whether it was fair for the same person to always go first.

“I give it five minutes before someone starts cheating,” Christian said, leaning over to me and trying to stifle a laugh as another of the defenders, Jamal, produced his phone and asked it to randomly generate an order.

“I give it two.”

It actually took a full ten minutes before the entire thing dissolved into chaos. They’d all taken the first round very seriously because the agreed upon prize was the small trophy we usually kept for the winner of the team Uno tournament which we held a couple of times a year.

The scores were quite level at the start of the second round, but that meant everyone wanted things to change quickly. As soon as Jordan stepped up to take his second shot, Liam’s phone blasted the sound of a foghorn, which made Jordan jump and sent his shot careening over the bar.

“Zero,” said Liam, tucking his phone away and grinning. “Told you.”

“You’re such a wanker,” Jordan said, throwing a ball at his head and grinning.

I wasn’t really watching what was going on, so I had no idea where he got it from, but two minutes later Jordan tipped a bucket of cold water over Liam’s head as he stepped up to the penalty spot.

Things went downhill rapidly from there.

Someone managed to get the sprinklers switched on, and more buckets of water appeared, and soon we were all drenched, laughing as we sprinted through the sprinklers like we were kids.

Eventually we trooped into the changing rooms, leaving a trail of water behind us.

“Got any plans for the rest of today?” Christian asked, pulling off his soaked shirt and wringing it out onto the floor.

“We’re going to see that house near you,” I said, grimacing as my boots squelched. “Kit’s pretty excited. He had an estate agent going to look at his house this morning too, so we’re hoping that’ll sell pretty quickly.”

“It should,” Christian said. “You guys should come for dinner afterwards, and you can tell us all about it.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you when we’re at the house, and we’ll stop by afterwards. It doesn’t look too far from yours.”

Near Christian’s houseturned out to be right next door to Christian’s house.

Despite poring over the listing on the estate agent’s website, somehow Kit and I hadn’t noticed it was the house next door. Something both Christian and David had failed to mention.

“I didn’t realise it was so close,” Kit said as I pulled the car onto the graveled driveway. “Is that a problem?”

“Not really,” I said, peering up at the house through the windscreen. “I mean it’s not like they’re that close together. There’s literally a wall between them.”

“Oh good.” Kit smiled and sighed happily. “I was so worried you’d think they were too close. I mean I know they’re your friends too, but I wasn’t sure you’d like us being that near them.”

“Why would I mind?”

“I don’t know,” Kit shrugged. “Some people don’t like these things, apparently. You know, living too close to family and friends. I mean I know David can be a tiddly bit overbearing at times, but I’d like to live close to him, I think. It’s been strange not having him around for the past five months. And you and Christian could share a car to training; it would be better for the planet. And they could look after our dogs if we go away!”

“Maybe we should look at the house first before we start making plans,” I said, even though I’d been thinking the same things. One of us had to be the sensible one though, and it wasn’t worth getting our hopes up if the house turned out to be awful.

The front was a beautiful mix of modern and traditional—red brick and white plaster with large windows framed in bright wood. There was another large window above the wooden front door that ran all the way up to the roof that would let the morning sunlight in. Manicured trees stood on either side of the short, graveled driveway, neatly covering the brick walls that separated the properties. I could see the side of Christian’s house from where I stood, but that was it.

The door opened, and a man in a dark suit clutching a folder of paperwork appeared and gave us a smile.

“Hello,” he said, coming down the front step to shake my hand. “You must be Hugo Serin. I’m Mark. We spoke on the phone.”

“Thank you for meeting us,” I said, beckoning Kit over from where he’d been examining the trees and trying to peer down the side of the house. “This is my partner, Kit.”

I wondered whether Mark would flinch or if his expression would change, and I mentally prepared myself for the worst. But he did nothing except shake Kit’s hand and direct us indoors, explaining the features of the house and handing Kit a glossy set of details.

The interior was just as beautiful as the exterior, with natural light pouring into the enormous open-plan reception room Mark led us into. Wide French doors opened out onto a patio leading to a neatly manicured lawn surrounded by beds of pastel-coloured flowers.

Kit chattered away happily to Mark as he led us through the state-of-the-art kitchen, pointing out some of its features, and then into the adjoining dining room. But I wasn’t really listening. I was looking at the house and trying to picture us living here. I could see Kit pottering around the kitchen in his pyjamas, making tea in the bright yellow teapot covered in the knitted tea cozy his grandmother had made him and digging biscuits out of the cupboard where he’d hidden them away.

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