Page 256 of Off the Pitch

Watching my kids play with my gorgeous, World Cup-winning husband beside me, I realised my life had turned out better than I could ever have imagined.

It had been nearly ten years since I’d bumped into Christian at Kit’s art show, at that random gallery in Hackney when Lily had dragged me along as her date. I loved him more than I’d ever thought possible, and we’d built an incredible life together. I didn’t think I could be happier.

“You know,” said Christian as he watched Jordan teach Cian how to nutmeg people using Liam as an example, “I think I’m going to retire.”

“Sure?” We’d had this conversation a couple of times now, lying in bed late at night when the kids were asleep and it was just us. It had started as just a suggestion, a possibility for the future. Christian knew he’d been lucky to get this far, but recently, he’d just been a little sorer… a little slower to recover. The years of punishment he’d inflicted upon his body were slowly taking their toll. He’d had a tendon issue on-and-off for the past two years, but he’d kept going because he’d been determined to get that cup.

Now he had it and had helped England achieve everything they’d been dreaming about for the past sixty-two years. I imagined Christian didn’t think he had much left to do.

“Yeah, I think I am.” He nodded and took another sip of his lemonade.

“Got any ideas of what to do next?” We’d talked about this too. Technically, Christian had enough money to retire and never work again, but we both knew he’d get bored if he did that. And he’d drive me fucking nuts if all he did was sit around the house and build LEGO. I was going to make him do something, just for my own sanity.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if I fancy management, but maybe. The BBC floated a pundit job past me the last time I was onMatch of the Day. That might be fun.”

“You don’t sound sure,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his thigh. “There’s no rush, you can take your time. But you will have to do something, or I’ll volunteer you to join the school PTA board.”

“No. Anything but that. Those mothers drive me crazy. One of them genuinely asked me if I could get her son a trial at Greenwich before the summer holidays.” He shook his head in bemusement. “He’s four. He was in Elsie’s nursery class.”

“It’s okay. She’s still got another six or seven years to ask you about it.” I laughed, and Christian chuckled.

“That’s it. You get to do the school run from now on.”

“Noooo,” I said with a fake whine. “Don’t make me deal with them. Besides they all prefer you.” That was true. All the yummy mummies of Blackheath seemed completely enamoured with Christian, to the point where I’d even seen one or two of them pulling their clothes a tiny bit tighter whenever he was around. They were totally barking up the wrong tree there. Boobs were not Christian’s thing at all.

They’d all taken to glaring daggers at me when we turned up together on the rare occasions when I finished work early or had a day off. I’d enjoyed being petty and kissing Christian in front of them, until Cian had told me off for being gross and embarrassing him.

I was quite taken with being an embarrassing dad. I couldn’t wait until Cian became a teenager.

“Maybe we’ll just get Kit to do the school run?” Christian asked.

I shook my head. “No, remember the last time? The pair of them came back hopped up on sugar because he’d taken them to the shop to get sweets. I mean, they get ice cream for breakfast when he babysits.”

“And that’s absolutely my prerogative as godfather to your children,” Kit said, sitting down next to me and looking highly unremorseful about it. His red hair shone in the sunlight, whisps falling out of the loose bun it was tied up in, framing his face. “You should have expected it from the start. Remember what Hugo and I got Elsie for her first Christmas?”

“That motherfucking baby trumpet,” I said. “I’d thought Hugo would be a better influence on you.”

“How do you know it wasn’t his suggestion?” Kit grinned and leaned back in his seat. “It absolutely was, by the way. At least, that’s how I’m telling the story. Oh, and you should know that I don’t always give them ice cream for breakfast. Sometimes it’s French toast. With ice cream. After all, what’s life without whimsy.”

“You are a terrible influence.”

“Most certainly, and that’s why you love me.” He smiled warmly and patted my shoulder. “How’s work by the way? Did you survive that horrible board of trustees meeting yesterday?”

I groaned, throwing my head back. “Yes, but only just. They’re all such fucking idiots.” I’d been promoted again last year and now managed the museum’s education and outreach team instead of just running some of the programmes. I’d thought it would be fun—the next step in my career—but I hadn’t imagined I’d spend half my time in unnecessary meetings trying to convince people that my job and my department mattered. Fucking assholes. “One of the trustees used to run a bank, and he’s convinced he knows everything. Except he hasn’t actually got a clue what I do and doesn’t get why I want to shove a blunt pencil up his nose.” I took a long swig of my beer. “And we have quarterly budgets to review, so that’s fun.”

“Oh, that sounds horrible.” Kit pulled a face like someone had just shoved something unpleasant and stinky under his nose. “You can keep that. It sounds like a nightmare.”

“And there was me expecting sympathy,” I said with a laugh.

“Nope, no sympathy. You took the job. You knew there’d be spreadsheets involved.” He gave me a teasing smile. The three of us sat in silence for a moment, watching chaos unfold in the middle of the garden where Jordan and Liam were now playing a game of them versus all the kids and being deliberately terrible. Jordan did the most appalling dive, only to find himself being poked by Elsie who showed zero remorse and seemed to know he was faking.

I knew we’d been lucky because none of our close friends had drifted away when we’d had kids, despite that they were happily childfree. Kit and Hugo had never been interested in having their own children, but they’d happily slipped into godfather and babysitter roles from the moment we’d brought Elsie home. Kit had once said it was nice because they could borrow children to do all the fun things but could easily return them when it was time to do all the difficult parenting stuff.

We’d installed a gate in the wall in the back garden that separated our houses so the kids could come and go as they pleased between the two and run around with Kit and Hugo’s three dogs—who were all bundles of boundless energy—or use their pool, under supervision of course. The gate locked though, so Kit and Hugo could easily have their privacy. They were very fond of Elsie and Cian, and we wanted to keep it that way.

Christian patted my knee. “We should go and get the last of the food sorted.”

“Okay, I need another beer anyway.” I stood up and stretched, feeling my knee pull. That was the one thing about getting old. Everything hurt so much more. I was not looking forward to my forties for that reason alone, even if, as Christian reminded me repeatedly, we still had quite a few years before I got to that point. “See you in a minute,” I said to Kit as I laced my fingers with Christian’s and trailed him into the kitchen.

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