Page 34 of The Home Grown
“Everything alright, Betts?” Coach says, shifting his attention towards me.
“I need to ask a favour, Coach,” I say, standing to my full height.
His face drops into a frown. “No, Betts. I’m not letting you bring a girl home on the coach. It’s for players and staff only. How many times?—”
“Nah, Coach, it’s not that. I just need a pass—but not for anything like that either. I need to see my folks. My mam wasworried about all that negative press, and I’ve just had a chat with the GM ahead of next week. She’ll be waiting for an update.”
I allow myself the smallest of internal grins, because that’s worked itself out perfectly.
Coach studies me for a second. “All good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just need to keep my focus and since we don’t have a game tomorrow…”
Coach nods. “Fine, but you check in with me before you leave for prelims. I have a few things I want to run through.”
I express my appreciation and say goodbye to the guys, noting that Johnny still hasn’t returned. But I don’t have time to worry about that.
I step aside and pull my phone out, wondering if I should call Ellie and ask if she can meet me somewhere. But I stare at her number before deciding to call a cab instead.
ELLIE
Once upon a time,Saturdays were the best day of the week. A full day of doing whatever I wanted, without a care in the world.
I could go shopping, get my nails done, lounge in my pyjamas all day watching crap TV … but that was before I grew up, got a job and bought a car.
And since things aren’t going so great with my job today, it makes sense that my car would crumble too in the tune of a flat tyre.
The deflated remains of my passenger side wheel would look comical if it wasn’t for the fact that this is the least amusing thing I’ve come across since finding that old bit of paper. And since I have no tears left in the tank, I burst into hysterical laughter for a few moments before it teeters off into an awkward silence as I consider my options.
I could call my parents, but I can hear my mother now,‘Why don’t you call your breakdown service?’but that would meanhavinga breakdown service to call. It’s just one of the things I had to carve away from my expenditure when I bought my house.
I could call Kathryn and Greg, but I can hear the exasperated huffs from my sister as she’s inconvenienced, because even though she’d send Greg, it’d be my fault for ruining their evening.
Or, I could call Jessica and wait for her to drive here, which probably isn’t ideal, seeing as it’s creeping closer to eight o’clock.
I pop the boot of my car and lift the cover to reveal the space-saver tyre, staring at the polystyrene tray where the jack and the locking wheel nut live.
It can’t be that difficult, can it?
It takes me a full hour to realise that jacking up the car is the easy part; it’s loosening the wheel-nuts that proves to be the problem. I can’t budge two out of five, nor can the only person who offered to help.
I’m tired, cold and it’s late. And all I want to do is crawl into bed and forget about this—at least until tomorrow anyway.
I use the last of my energy to pile everything back into my boot after lowering my car, figuring I’ll have to call a taxi to get home. But then I remember there’s a bottle of wine in the back room of the salon; a Christmas gift from a client that I can use to drown my sorrows.
I open the shutters enough to squeeze underneath, unlocking the door and disarming the alarm at a speed of someone who’s done this a lot. Then I make my way to the back room to find the wine.
My mouth feels like cotton wool; the taste of cheap wine on my breath. And there’s a vibrating on my chest that persists for a few moments before I realise it’s my phone. I don’t even check the screen; I slide to accept the call before pressing my phone to my ear, croaking out a greeting.
“Ellie?” a voice says.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to swallow. “Who’s this?”
“Hey, it’s Bettsy,” the voice says.
“Huh?”
“It’s Mike Betts. This is … Ellie Kitchener, right?”
