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“I have a number of alternatives, and each one
gives me something different.”
Glenn Hoddle, former England manager
“Are you sure the baby isn’t yours?” Matt asked again.
They were in Matt’s newly built house, which was still being decorated. Boxes filled corners of the rooms, waiting to be unpacked. Flynn couldn’t have the conversation on his own land, as he now had two film crews camped there. Crews Matt had been called in to move after Abby politely, and coldly, asked Flynn to deal with his problem.
“I’m sure it isn’t mine.” Flynn ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen her before.”
“You’ve slept with a lot of women,” Matt said. “Do you remember all of them?”
Flynn clenched his jaw. No, he didn’t remember all of them. “I would recognise her. I don’t. Nothing about her is familiar. Plus, I’m not an idiot. I don’t have unprotected sex. I made that clear during the last paternity claim.”
“Accidents happen.” Matt glared at him. “Especially when you court trouble.”
“Thanks for your support.” Flynn glared back. “It means a lot. I’m touched.”
“You’re touched, all right,” Matt growled. “Touched in the bloody head.”
Matt stalked off to stand beside his wife. Flynn’s mother and Aunty Heather were making tea and sandwiches in the kitchen, even though everyone had told them they weren’t hungry. His father was furious as he stared out of the window in the direction of the lights at Flynn’s place. Harry was tapping on his laptop, Magenta beside him—unsmirking for once. The twins were sitting on the couch while Grunt stood guard behind them. And everyone was mad at Flynn.
Flynn stopped pacing and stared them down. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” He pointed towards his land.
Harry was the only one who laughed.
“This isn’t funny, son,” his dad snapped.
“You think I find this funny?” Flynn laughed. It wasn’t pretty. “This is my life. There’s nothing funny about it. I’ve got people crawling out of the woodwork to use me as a stepping stone to get what they want. I’m tied into shooting a tabloid documentary loosely disguised as sports TV. My agent isn’t taking my calls. He did record a special message just for me. It was two words. One began with F. There’s a woman in professional makeup on my lawn and she’s using a baby to get airtime. Abby closed the door on me and probably won’t let me back in. She’s upset and she won’t even talk to me. My leg hurts like a mother. My career is over. My reputation is mud. I have no idea what to do with my life. And I’m trying damn hard to be good!”
Aye. So. He’d lost his cool. Fine. They could cope with it. Right? He scanned the astonished faces staring at him and wondered if he should move. Far away. Somewhere where family couldn’t find him. Somewhere away from film crews. From gold diggers. Somewhere out of reach from his past. Like Neverland.
“Got it.” Harry punched the air then grinned at everyone. “What’d I miss?” he said when he saw the stunned silence.
“Nothing.” Flynn hobbled over to his brother. “What you got?”
Harry pointed at the screen. “Everything you ever wanted to know about Susan Muir.”
“Who?” Flynn couldn’t sit. He was too wired to sit. But standing made his leg ache. He resisted the urge to bend over and rub his knee. Instead he folded his arms, gritted his teeth and focused on Harry.
“The woman in your yard. Susan Muir. She’s twenty-five, she loves the spotlight and she’s better known as Peaches—from her stint as a Page Three girl.” Harry looked up at his family. “Do they still have Page Three girls?”
“Unfortunately, some papers still think topless women are news,” Magenta said dryly. “We protested against them a few years ago, didn’t we?” She grinned at her two best friends, Flynn’s twin cousins.
“Yep. We made placards and picketed the head office in London. We demanded the paper print men with their junk hanging out on page two.” Megan shrugged. “Seemed only fair.”
“Megan wanted to do the protest topless, but we wouldn’t let her,” Claire added.
Flynn stared at the women before addressing his father. “And you think I’m out of control?”
“Back to the issue,” Harry said. “Peaches is currently filming her own reality show about life after Page Three. She’s also written a book.” He read some more as he grinned. “It’s a novel called Tits Up.”
Matt frowned at Harry. “What else?”
“Birth dates.” His fingers flew over the keyboard before he sat back with a smirk on his face. “Flynn isn’t the father.”
“I told you this already.” Flynn threw up his hands. “Doesn’t anybody listen to me?”
His family proved his point by ignoring him.
“According to the dates”—Harry pointed at the screen—“Flynn here was in training camp during the time of conception and the lovely Peaches was filming another reality show in Ibiza. For months, they weren’t even in the same country. There’s no way he could be the baby’s father.”
“Is anyone listening to me?” Flynn was too sore to stand anymore. He pulled out a chair beside Harry and sat down hard. “The woman turned up with a camera crew. The producer from my show was smirking in the background. It doesn’t take a genius to figure this out. The guy is pissed I’m not doing anything to make his programme more interesting, so he’s stirring things up.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Look,” he said on a sigh. “I’m not proud of it, but I’m used to this sort of thing. I know how to handle it. I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Abby.”
Claire faked fainting. The back of her hand hit her forehead as she swayed before flopping onto the couch behind her. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said to her grinning fiancé. “For a minute there I thought Flynn said he was worried about someone other than himself. I must have been hallucinating, because that can’t be right.”
Magenta and Megan thought that was hilarious. Flynn didn’t. “Abby’s sister is still in town. This new crew filmed Abby’s reaction to my alleged child. This could harm her and the kid. We can’t let it get out. Like I said, I tried calling my agent. I’m getting nothing.”
“You need to fire him,” Harry said. “He isn’t good for you or your career.”
“That’s a moot point now, considering I don’t have a football career for him to manage.”
“I’ll talk to Mitch,” Matt said. “He’ll sort this.” He pulled out his phone and pointed at Flynn with it. “You’re paying his fee.”
“Whatever.” Flynn rolled his eyes. “Just make sure Abby is protected.”
“There it is again,” Claire said dramatically. “I’m definitely hearing things. I think I’m ill. I could have sworn I heard Flynn say he was looking out for someone else.”
Flynn ignored the laughter. This wasn’t a joke. He needed to protect Abby and clean house before his screwed up life caused any more problems for her.
Before Matt hung up on Mitch, Flynn motioned for the phone.
“I need help,” he told the lawyer.
“From what I hear, you’re asking the wrong person. But I can recommend a good shrink.”
Flynn was in no mood for humour. “I need to get rid of my agent and lawyer. And I need it to happen fast.” He let out a sigh. “You’re the only one I trust to sort this out at short notice. So I’m asking for a favour.”
There was silence. No jokes, no ribbing.
“Email the details.” Mitch was all business. “I’ll take care of it.”
Flynn felt relief flood him. “Thanks, man.”
“We’re friends,” was all Mitch said before hanging up.
Flynn looked around the room and suddenly it seemed different. Friends. Family. People in his corner. People who cared about him. Who worried about him.
An unfamiliar determination not to disappoint them swept through him. They deserved better than to deal with the fallout from his life. They deserved a better Flynn.
Suddenly the effort to be good didn’t seem so onerous after all.