On Monday, Eve pounced on us before we’d even got through the door of after-school club. “How was it? How was it? How was it?” she trumpeted as Amy and I struggled to unload bags and coats and sandwich boxes in the titchy cloakroom.
“You mean the exam? It was OK,” I said. “Better than we expected. How was the match?”
Eve plonked herself down on the bench opposite us. “Postponed. Waterlogged pitch.”
“What? That’s two in a row.”
“Tell me about it,” she groaned.
“What’s two in a row?” Amy asked, half listening while she foraged in her bag for her pile of magazines. She was planning to catch up on lost reading time.
“Unplayed games. Lutton Ash was called off and Cuddlethorpe was abandoned because of the snow.”
“Oh,” Amy mumbled, arranging her magazines in order. She couldn’t have been less interested.
Eve beamed. “It can snow every week if it means I can spend another afternoon at your house.”
“’Scuse me? What?” Amy asked, suddenly all ears.
“Eve came to my house when the match was abandoned. Her mum’s car broke down,” I explained briefly. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about that Saturday yet. Well, I had – but I’d been postponing it because I knew how she’d react.
“Hey, did you find your trophies?” Eve asked, not noticing Amy’s eyebrows getting higher and higher.
“Yes, they were in my toy box.”
“Did you polish them?”
“Well, Dad did but I helped by telling him which bits he’d missed!”
“’Scuse me? What?” Amy asked again. Not only were her eyebrows in danger of disappearing altogether but she had dropped all her magazines.
“Aw. I loved your dad. He was ace,” Eve continued blithely. “And my mum was really grateful that Kriss took me home. She says she’ll do the run this Saturday. The car’s mended now.”
“It’s my mum’s turn, isn’t it?” Amy frowned.
Eve and I gawped at her. Amy never volunteered her mum if she could avoid it.
“It’s OK. My mum feels bad for the Cuddlethorpe thing,” Eve told her.
“Well, my mum does too,” Amy countered.
I held up my arms to stop an argument developing. “Chill out! Nobody’s mum has to do it. My dad and I have had a chat and…” I paused, took a deep breath and said, “he’s going to pick up and drop off until the end of the season.”
“Really?” Eve said. “Kriss Merrin-Jones is going to take us to football?”
“Really. So there’s no need for the rota any more.”
Eve leapt off the bench as if she’d been fired from a gun. “That is so cool. High five, pard’ner.”
“High five!”
Eve headed towards the club door. “See you both inside. I’m decorating cupcakes – come and help me when you’re ready.”
“Sure,” Amy said, closing the door quietly but firmly behind her. She leaned against it, her arms folded, her foot tapping. “’Scuse me, ‘pard’ner’, but what in the name of Lindsay Lohan’s leggings is going on?”
I sighed and explained what had happened as briefly as I could.
“You told her? Everything?!” Amy asked.
“Not everything. I didn’t tell her about … you know.”
“I should think not,” Amy replied, looking genuinely shocked. “But she knows who your dad is? Who he played for and everything?”
“Yes.”
“And Kriss knows you’re a hotshot superstar who makes everybody else look feeble?”
“He knows I can play a bit,” I corrected.
There was a moment’s pause while Amy let that register. Then she bent to pick up her magazines. “Fine. It’s your life. I just hope you’re ready for the fallout.”
“There won’t be any fallout.”
“No, Gemma. Course not.” She stood up and strode towards the door, pushed it open with her elbow and was gone. I stood there for a moment, frowning as the tiniest seed of doubt began to grow.