“We get by,” I said. “But I have to work hard for it. Anyway, even if money weren’t an issue, Maisie still has to go back for school and I have to go with her.”

“So we only have about six weeks?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “I suppose so.” I didn’t want to have this conversation, but we needed to have it nonetheless. “Maisie’s not going to want this summer to end.”

“And what about you?”

“You know how I feel.”

“Let’s do something about it then. I’m not about to let you go, Michelle. It’s not going to be another eight bloody years before I see you again.”

“You want to do the long distance thing?” I asked. I’d settle for long-distance. It wasn’t ideal, but anything that kept Oliver in my life was worth doing.

“No, not really. We’ll think of something. Perhaps I can move to the US with you?”

“You want to come and live in Northern Virginia?”

“What’s it like?” he asked.

“Kind of conservative. Probably a little too conservative for your tastes.”

“Well, we can live wherever. As long as I’m with you, I don’t much care where we live.”

“Are you saying you want to move in with me?” I asked. I already lived with Oliver, but that had come about in an odd way, and I was still effectively living out of a suitcase. It just so happened that the suitcase was now located in a humongous house.

“If you’ll have me,” Oliver replied. “I know I’ll never be able to completely make it up to you for what I did to you and Maisie eight years ago, but I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

“You can start by not blaming yourself for the attack,” I said. “It was nothing to do with you, and you don’t have to make it up to us.”

“You don’t know the whole story,” Oliver said. “I am to blame.”

“I don’t care,” I replied. “Look, whatever happened eight years ago is in the past now. I want to move on from that.”

“Okay,” Oliver said, nodding his head. “But you need to move on too.”

He was right. I was being a hypocrite again, telling him to move on, while I had come to a party wearing a light shawl that covered my arm.

I stood up and handed Oliver back his jacket and then removed my shawl, revealing my arm to anyone who looked in my direction.

“Come on,” I said, offering my hand to Oliver. “I’m done hiding. Let’s go mingle.”

September 2007

“Alright, ladies, what are you having for dessert?”

“I want the ice cream sandwich,” Maisie replied, pointing at the picture on the menu. “And I want the strawberry ice cream as well.”

“You can’t have both,” I said. “You’ll be up all night. I’ll see if they can put strawberry ice cream between the cookies.”

“Yay!”

“What about you, Michelle?”

“I like the look of the banana split,” she replied. “But I don’t think I can manage it all. Want to split the split?”

I laughed. “Sure, sounds good.”

It felt good to be out having a normal meal with two awesome girls. Well, one girl, one woman. Michelle might only be sixteen, but she seemed more mature than any of the eighteen year olds I dated.

Maybe even a little too mature. She was inherently sensible, but on the rare occasions we got some alone time, she relaxed and acted natural around me. She didn’t idolise me like other women did; it was so refreshing.

“This isn’t how I pictured the team celebrating reaching the final,” Michelle said. “I pictured you all getting drunk and hanging out with groupies.”

“What are groupies?” Maisie asked, before slurping on her smoothie.

“Fans,” I replied quickly. “We aren’t allowed to get drunk. I’m not supposed to be eating ice cream either, mind you, but what the hell. There are a few more days to recover.”

The team had let me come back to England for a few days before the final, so I’d jumped at the chance to sneak in another night with Michelle.

I’d wanted tonight to be a date, but when I asked Michelle to dinner she stared at me, and I could have sworn she’d been about to say no. I quickly said that Maisie should come too so that the dinner wouldn’t look like a date.

Before we left the restaurant, word got out that I was in there eating dinner, so I had to sign a few autographs before we could go out to the relative anonymity of the London streets.

Maisie was bouncing around enjoying her sugar high, so I was thankful that we had a thirty-minute walk home for her to burn it off. The walk also meant more time with Michelle.

I wanted to put my arm around her or hold her hand, but I had no idea how she would react. It probably wouldn’t have been a good idea, anyway. Maisie picked up on every little detail and would no doubt notice any contact between us and tell her dad.

I kept my head down when walking around London to avoid being recognised. The country was buzzing after England had won the semi-final, largely down to my kicking, so right now I was one of the most recognisable people in the country. Fortunately, a baseball cap worked wonders for anonymity.

We had attracted someone’s attention though. The second we moved onto a quiet street, it became painfully obvious someone was following us. I looked around and saw Wayne. What the fuck was he doing here?

I’d refused Carl’s offer of a bribe before the quarter-final game, and since then I hadn’t heard a thing. Did he really think I was going to change my mind now?

Wayne flicked his head and motioned for me to follow him. I didn’t want to leave Michelle and Maisie alone, but I also wanted them far away from this creep.

“Michelle, I’ve just remembered there’s somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to show my face at a party tonight. Can you walk Maisie home the rest of the way?”

“Sure, no problem.” She looked disappointed, but what choice did I have? I could make it up to her later.

It was dark, but the streets around here were safe. Certainly safer than being anywhere near Wayne.

As soon as the girls were out of sight, I ran over to Wayne and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “I’ve told you and Carl before, I want nothing to do with your little betting scheme.”

“You should come with me,” Wayne responded. “Trust me, you don’t want to piss off the boss right now.”

-*-

I followed Wayne to Carl who had now set himself up in a slightly larger DIY store. I knew what this meeting would entail, but I didn’t let that make me complacent. Carl and Wayne were not good people, and they were no doubt capable of doing terrible things when they didn’t get their own way.

“Good evening, Mr. Cornish,” Carl said, lighting a cigarette from behind a makeshift desk.

I sat down in the empty seat and did my best to look cool and composed. There was another one of his minions in the corner, but at a push I could take the three of them.

I shouldn’t be here. Even being near these people carried a great risk of being implicated in a betting ring that would ruin my entire career. This was how it had started for Gary: innocent meetings that soon turned nasty.

“How is young Shaun doing?” Carl asked. “I hear you’re looking after him at the moment.”

“He’s an orphan now, thanks to you. How the fuck do you think he’s doing?”

“From what I hear, he had a tragic car accident. I don’t see how that’s my fault. If only he hadn’t gone to the police, he never would have been driving that night and never would have crashed his car.”

“What do you want, Carl?” I asked. I couldn’t sit here and listen to his bullshit about Gary. I knew what’d happened. He’d reported the crime to a dodgy cop who had then informed Carl about Gary’s confession. Carl must have sent one of his lackeys out to sabotage the car. I’d never be able to prove it, but I knew what happened.