Page 90 of The Home Grown
I purse my lips, trying to suppress the horror. Because this is unbearable. Only I could blurt something out like that to someone who doesn’t actually give a crap.
“Oh, it’s got to be over ten years. I mean, what are you now? Twenty-six?”
“Yeah,” Mike nods.
But I’m dying of mortification. Fixed on the moment I introduced myself as Mike’swife.I mean…
“Ellie?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I say, blinking away the memory.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Coach says. “I was just asking how you’re feeling about Betts here getting a Team GB spot. I mean—I can’t take any of the credit, but I sure as hell did all I could before I moved on.” He takes a breath. “I still can’t believe that replacement of mine didn’t think you were good enoughfor?—”
“Well, yeah. I think it’s worked out okay. I mean, I’ve got a terrific team, and I feel at home where I am.”
“I’m glad to hear it—listen, my connection is due any minute, but I saw you and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to commend you. And wish you luck for tomorrow. You were one of my favourites, and I want to see you do well. Get your name on that cup.”
There’s a flurry of goodbyes and he turns away, striding towards the platforms.
This is it. This is where I die of embarrassment. Here on the concourse.
But I don’t give Mike anytime to ask questions. I throw a question at him, hoping to cause a distraction.
“What’s tomorrow?” I ask.
“Challenge Cup Final,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “But oh no you don’t.” He turns back towards me. “You don’t get to throw out the wife card and pretend like you didn’t.”
There’s a smile the size of the sun on his face and all I want to do is kiss him again, but I bite my lip.
“You called him Coach so I?—”
“Yeah, sorry about it. Old habits die hard. It’s like ingrained. And he was a really good Coach, too—but c’mon, Kitch … you said…”
I look down at the polished concrete.
“I guess, I did.”
“Right,” he says.
I’m fixed on the shiny floor for a moment longer before I lift my head, meeting his eyes.
“I guess … I mean… I thought—” I swallow, trying to understand, but I can’t fully place it. Why did I blurt it out? Why did it feel natural and easy? Like it was on the tip of my tongue the whole time … waiting for the right moment. Then it comes to me in the most obvious of reflections. “I thought, why not? Why not? I can’t think of a reason why not anymore.”
Mike nods. A slow movement of his head, like he’s thinking.
“Right,” he says again.
“I mean … why not, right?”
He stares at me for a beat longer before rubbing his hand over his stubble.
“Well, you don’t have to decide today. I mean—Coach Sinclair probably won’t see anyone to mention anything.”
“Mike—”
“Honestly, I’m sorry I put you on the spot like that. I didn’t even think—I guess that’s typical of me, right? I saw him and?—”
“Of course you’d call him Coach. It makes sense. I mean, it’s a respectful thing to do, right?” I settle a hand on his forearm.
