Page 84 of The Home Grown
Jen stares at me, her hand dropping from her now half-open mouth.
“Coach thinks you’re married … but you are actually married…except you’re not really married?” She says, enunciating each word as if she’s teaching a child to read.
“May be married,” I correct. “I need to search for some kind of certificate—like the full wedding one or something, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”
My face reddens; I can feel the glow of shame. I’ve been telling myself I haven’t had a chance, but the truth is, I don’t want to face the reality of this. Not yet anyway.
It’s Danny’s turn to gape at me. “Surely you’d remember if you were given a wedding certificate or not?”
“Well,” I shrug, “I don’t know. I got given stuff, not sure what half of it was—I think I assumed it was tourism crap or something, you know, like when they try to sell you timeshares or something.”
But Jen’s not listening to this part, she’s still mouthing the word ‘marriage’in slow motion as she processes the word over and over.
She shakes her head before speaking again.
“Honestly, if someone told me there was a guy on the team who may have got married but couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure … I’d guess it was you, but…”
“See, I said the same, Jen. It’s just typical Bettsy,” Danny says.
And there it is—the reminder that this sort of behaviour is practically expected of me.
“Anyway,” I say sharply. “She’s pissed off and I need to make it right because … well, the thing is,” I bite my lip. “I really like her.”
“Oh, my God,” Jen says.
“But that aside, Vicky found out, didn’t she? And now she’s told me I need to come clean.” I look down at my hands. “How’s itgoing to look if I rock up to Coach’s office next Tuesday and tell him I’m a liar?”
“You could just tell him that you’re separating,” Danny suggests.
“I honestly can’t even think about that right now. My priority is making things right with Ellie.” I look at Jen, mustering my biggest ‘puppy-dog’ expression. “What can I do, Jen? How can I fix things?” I absentmindedly pick at the plastic of the custard cream wrapper, trying to avoid looking at either Danny or Jen. “I really like her.”
“I don’t think I can help you with that,” she says. “I think it needs to come from you, Betts. From the heart.”
And said heart sinks. Sinks and falls right out of my ass.
“I sent her an enormous bouquet,” I say, as Jen takes our mugs and returns to the kettle. “Maybe I need to … arrange for a barbershop quartet to show up at her salon and?—”
“Absolutely not,” Jen says, shaking her head.
“Absolutely not what?” Prez’s voice floats through the bi-fold doors as he and Liam step into the kitchen.
I groan with the pending doom of having to reveal all to the twins—because this will travel around the dressing room faster than the common cold.
Jen sets a mug down in front of me, offering me a pitiful look. “Bettsy wanted to order pizza, but it will not do his training schedule any favours.”
Phew.
“Well, if you have any other ideas what we could have instead—please let me know,” I say, hoping Jen can read between the lines.
Prez moves towards his wife and wraps his arms around her waist, casually, like he’s done it every single day for his entire life.
I watch on with envy; thinking about the moment I held Ellie in my arms. Those few seconds that have replayed over and over in my head.
“Well, you don’t want to spoil your dreams over a pizza. Nothing tastes as good as fit feels, Betts, you know that,” Prez says.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“But that Team GB stuff is only one thing. We should all be focusing on the Cup Final. You and Cap … back together again. The dream D-pair.”
