Page 92 of The Home Grown
“Mike, what are you doing?” she says, her voice level.
“Going to have a word with your sister,” I snap.
“No, you’re not. We’re going for our drink,” she says, tugging on my arm. “Or at least I am. I’m celebrating. And I think there are better things for you to be doing than having a verbal altercation with my sister. She loves drama. Don’t give her what she wants, Mike. Please.”
“I’m sorry but?—”
“Mike, come on,” she says, softening the grip on my arm. “Do you really want to spend the evening on a train?”
I exhale, letting the air leave my lungs in hope it’ll take some of the frustration with it, but the heaviness sits firm in my chest.
Fucking Kathryn. Honestly.
I clench my jaw, wondering if…
“Mike,” she says again, soft and warm, and I take little more convincing, apparently, because I’m nodding in agreement and swivelling around to follow her.
I guess she’s right. What good would it do? Like Ellie’s already alluded to, Kathryn wouldn’t admit it, anyway, and I’donly end up losing my temper and giving someone somewhere more hot gossip to write up on the fan forum. It’s the last thing I need, considering I’ve only just made the Team GB roster.
“So, where do you fancy going?” she asks airily.
“What are we celebrating? Anything in particular?” I ask.
“I had a good day,” she says, pausing for a moment. “At the bridal workshop. I’m feeling positive. It feels good to think about what comes next for me and to do something I want to be doing. And it’s good for my professional network. I just need to figure out what I’m doing about my marketing, I guess. But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Is here okay?”
She stops outside a cosy-looking pub, and I instinctively reach for the door to pull it open.
“Well, I may know some people, if that helps? I can have a word and see if they’d be up for helping.”
“You know a web designer?” she says, stepping over the threshold. We’re immediately hit with the faint smell of hops and charcoal.
“Yeah. My mate Ryan, from the team. His wife does all the stuff for the club. I’m sure she’d be happy to help—I mean, I have been providing free manual labour for their home renovation. It’s the least they can do.”
“Oh, right. Well, I don’t want to impose or anything. But if she is looking for work and she could give me a quote … I need to figure out what my budget is, but yeah, it’s a start, right?”
We weave through the tables and head towards the bar, where I pull out my wallet.
“What’re you having?” I ask.
“I guess a white wine, please. Since I’m getting the train back.”
I wait for the bartender to make her way over to us and order a large glass for her and a diet Coke for me, letting a frown slip over my face as I do so.
“Oh, I’ll get a soft drink too, if you are,” Ellie says, leaning onto the bar to check the fridge.
“Nah, it’s fine. Don’t let me impede your celebration. Believe me … I’d rather something stronger, but with the game tomorrow I?—”
Ellie turns towards me, mirroring my frown. “Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry. I’ve been too busy complaining to even ask about it.”
“There’s not much to tell,” I say. “It’s the cup final. If we win, we win the shiny cup. If we lose, we don’t win the shiny cup.”
I tap to pay for the drinks and we find a seat, opting to settle ourselves into a table near the window.
“But it’s a big deal,” she says, sitting down.
“Well, yeah. We’ve worked hard to get here. It’s all down to sixty-minutes, but it’s nothing we haven’t done before.”
I set my drink down and slip into the seat opposite, but I know straight away something’s up.
