‘Do you want me to come with you?’
She frowned slightly. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘Because I’m your best friend and I care about you.’
She looked back over at the floor manager, who mouthed something at her and held up ten fingers. She shook out her hair, composing herself before they went live again. ‘I’ll be fine. You’d better get back in your seat, we’re on in ten.’
Ronnie resumed his position in the chair to Amber’s left, not entirely convinced she was fine about any of this, but he wasn’t going to push it. He’d known her long enough to know that was never a good idea. And as he watched her mood change in an instant the second they were back on air, shifting automatically to that of professional presenter, he knew she’d still like to think that she could handle all of this on her own, because she thought she could handle everything on her own. But if the past year had taught her anything – if it had taught Ronnie anything – it was that she couldn’t. Not really. And she didn’t have to. She’d never had to. Now all he had to do was make her realise that.
Jim shook the hand of the opposing team’s manager, smiling a smile of sheer relief as he made his way down the tunnel behind his team after a tense match that had seen Newcastle Red Star tested until the very last second of injury time, when they’d managed to snatch a fourth goal in those dying minutes that saw them finish the afternoon the winning team. But it hadn’t been easy, and Jim was under no illusion that this forthcoming season was going to be a walk in the park. He really needed to focus if he was going to make sure they kept their place at the top of the Premier League. A focus that he knew, at some point very soon, was going to be severely tested. He felt sick at the thought of what he was going to have to tell Amber, but time had ran out. She needed to know. She needed to know now. And it was nobody’s fault but his own that it had got this far.
He felt drained, almost as if he’d been playing the 90-plus minutes out there on the pitch himself, and all he wanted was to go and see Amber. All he wanted was to spend the evening with her, drinking wine and watching TV. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight, anyway. He was due to fly back to the North East with the rest of the squad in an hour or so – no staying over in London for any of them; he wasn’t taking that risk – whilst she wouldn’t be returning home until tomorrow. He was beginning to hate being away from her more and more. Every second he wasn’t with her right now he was nervous that, because of the job she was in, somebody would find out, someone else would tell her what he had to tell her himself, and if that happened it could quite possibly be game over for him. No chance of extra time.
His phone rang and he reached into his inside jacket pocket to retrieve it, walking as he talked. ‘Jim Allen…’ The voice on the other end of the line made him realise the need to check the caller ID before he answered. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak to them, it was just the timing wasn’t great. And they knew that, they knew this wasn’t a good time, just as they’d known calling him before the match hadn’t been a great idea either. They knew that better than anyone. And that’s what aggravated Jim more than anything. ‘Can this wait?’ Jim lowered his voice, quickly darting into a quiet corner before any reporters could get hold of him for the required post-match interview. ‘Everything I said before… Look, I’ll be home later on this evening. Call me after nine, okay? We can talk properly… Yeah, thanks. It was a tough game. This is a tough league, but you’ll find that out for yourself soon enough.’ He quickly ended the call, looking up as he heard his name being called. There were certain things managers were required to do after a game, regardless of the mood they were in, and the post-match TV interview was one of them. So, fixing a smile on his face, he walked over to the beckoning reporter, ready to tell them whatever they wanted to hear. The Jim Allen charm was about to go into overdrive, whether he felt like turning it on or not.
‘Do you know much about Wearside Spartans’ latest signing?’ Amber asked Ronnie as she gently nudged the front door open with her shoulder. She’d felt like some company, and Ronnie didn’t seem in any hurry to go back to his empty flat, so it seemed only natural that they should end the evening together with a takeaway and a bottle of wine.
‘Brandon Palmer?’ Ronnie followed Amber into the kitchen, placing the bag of Indian food on the counter and taking a couple of plates out of the cupboard.
‘Yeah. Their new striker. Young American guy. That was a signing that came out of nowhere. Who did he play for over in the States?’
Ronnie started pulling cartons of food out of the brown paper carrier bag. ‘A team based in Brooklyn, I think. To be honest, I don’t know all that much about him. But he’s quite a talent, apparently. Do you want some of this lamb madras?’
Amber nodded, opening the fridge and taking out two bottles of lager. ‘I was talking to Steve about him earlier. Brandon Palmer, I mean. It’s a signing that’s come completely out of the blue, and it seems to have taken everyone a bit by surprise. But Spartans wouldn’t just sign anyone for the hell of it. They’re aiming for a European place this season, and everyone knows they’re in desperate need of a decent striker. So they must rate him or they wouldn’t have spent all that money on him. Is he playing tomorrow do you know?’
‘Well, as far as I’m aware, he’s had the medical, and his paperwork’s through, so I can’t see Spartans not playing him if he’s available. I think the home crowd’ll give him a pretty decent North East welcome, too, don’t you? And, as it happens, I’m on the pundit panel for that match, so… Hang on, isn’t Jim going to check the new Spartans squad out? See what the local opposition has to offer this season? Why don’t you tag along with him? Get a look at their new signing for yourself?’
‘Yeah,’ Amber sighed. ‘I might just do that. I’m interested to see Brandon Palmer in action, see what all the fuss is about.’
‘He’s a bit of a looker, too, don’t you think?’ Ronnie grinned, carrying plates piled high with wonderful-smelling curry over to the dining table.
‘And he’s young enough to be my son.’ Amber smiled, sitting down and taking a swig of lager, mainly to hide the sudden jolt of – of something she couldn’t really explain. As she’d said those words, the realisation that she had a visit to Dr. Lowry scheduled for Monday morning suddenly hit her. She’d forgotten all about it. Almost.
‘Well, it’s not like you haven’t gone down the toy boy route before.’ Ronnie smirked, thankfully unaware of Amber’s brief wobble.
She couldn’t help smiling back. ‘Yeah, well, let’s not go over old ground, okay? Shut up and eat your curry. Here, have a piece of naan bread.’
Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, enjoying each other’s company without the need to speak too much. But after a lot more small talk, Amber couldn’t stop herself from asking Ronnie something she’d been wanting to ask him ever since Tenerife. She’d just never found the right time, and what better time than now, when they were relaxed and alone?
‘Ronnie, is everything okay between you and Karen?’
Ronnie put down his fork and looked at Amber. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Is it? Really? Only…’
He scooped up the last of his curry and ate it, looking down at his now-empty plate. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Amber.’
She said nothing for a second, finishing off her own meal before she spoke again. ‘So, there is something to talk about, then?’
He