He’d have made a sap out of me, and it would’ve hurt like a motherfucker when it all went wrong.
This was for the best. The sensible option. End on a high, right?
But this was no high. This was the fucking pits.
I scrolled to his name on my phone, desperate to hear his voice one last time.
No. That would be crazy.
I pressed delete instead. Temptation removed. Forever.
Jason
“Come on, Redfern! He strolled straight fucking past you!” Trevor shook his head, shot me one of his looks. “Keep your eye on the fucking ball, lad.”
The weather befitted my mood. Grey as fuck. Cold and pissing drizzly. I couldn’t even pretend to care about this training shit. We’d been here since bastard dawn, practicing for the next shitty game against Newcastle. Two days without my dirty girl and life was fucking sour. I’d tried to forget about her, struggling to lose the itch with an overdose of porn and chatline girls. None of it had worked. The itch ran way too fucking deep for that. She’d squirmed all the way inside and left a bitter fucking ache in my gut.
The ball headed in my direction and I booted it wide, sailing it past Winstanley’s head to bounce off the side rail.
“Pissing hell, Redfern. Did you wake up on the wrong side of April this morning, you clumsy shit?”
Lunch couldn’t come soon enough. I checked my phone, heart stuttering to see a load of missed calls. Numbers I didn’t recognise.
I checked my answerphone, hoping to hell it would be my dirty girl’s voice waiting for me.
It wasn’t. It was so much worse.
It was Caroline Vaughan from Gables PR.
Jason, please call me. I’ve had the Daily Times on the phone seeking comment on an article that went to press this morning. About a chatline girl? Call me, urgently.
Another one. April.
Oh my fucking God, Jason, you fucking asshole! You absolute cunt! It’s all over the fucking news. I’m a fucking laughing stock. Don’t even bother coming home, you worthless piece of shit.
My blood turned to ice as I checked the third voicemail.
Mr Redfern, it’s Gareth here at the Daily Times. We’d really like to know your side of the story about your relationship with Gemma Taylor. Please call, the number is...
I hung up. Pulse loud in my ears. Not as loud as the baying laughter from the canteen. I turned the corner to find the whole squad crushed around a table. A mass of faces grinned at me as I made my way over, until Fernandez picked up a paper and held it open for me.
My Gemma’s beautiful green eyes looked out at me, an old photo most likely. Her hair was wild and messy, her freckles dark against her skin. Another one behind it, an unflattering snap of her bending over to blow out birthday candles.
Chatline chubster in Premier League scandal.
Winstanley waved another tabloid piece of shit, showing just the front page. Redfern scores... BIG!
My dirty girl on the cover, another shot of her from a bad angle, and me. Walking through her yard, oblivious to the camera, a bunch of fucking roses in my hand.
I already knew what was coming when they held up the third paper. That blonde bitch, Chelsea, looking all fucking sad in her Singers scarf. I thought he wanted me, but he was after my fat friend the whole time.
My blood fucking boiled. I’d been watched. Of course I’d been watched. How could I have been so fucking stupid?
“Didn’t know you were a chubby chaser, Redfern.” Fernandez had a stupid grin on his face. “I bet she oinked like a fucking piggy. Do my fat pussy and call me lardy, oh yeah, baby, fuck me. My chubby cunt’s all hungry for you, baby.”
There was a roar of laughter until I tore him from his feet. He was flat to the wall in a heartbeat, eyes big and wild as he flailed around.
“Don’t you ever, ever fucking speak about her like that again. Understand? I’ll tear your fucking spleen out.”
Hands pulled me away. Lots of hands.
Calm down, Jase, it’s only a bit of banter.
Chill the fuck out, mate.
Leave it, Redfern, calm the fuck down, man.
He’s only joking. It’s just a fucking laugh.
I shrugged them off, muscles wired and ready to fight. That fucking bitch. That nasty, devious, spiteful fucking bitch. I thought of my poor Gemma. Did she know? Was she hiding under the covers as chaos broke all around her?
I daren’t call. Who knows who she’d be with, she’d probably hate the sound of my name, hate that she’d ever met me. The ache in my stomach got worse, so much worse.
Fuck knows how I got through the afternoon, but the gates were teeming with press as I left the ground. They followed me all the way home, pulling up at the bottom of the drive and aiming their fucking lenses at the house.
April was waiting. She threw a vase at my head the moment I stepped over the threshold, screaming blue murder as it smashed in the doorframe. She was going for another as I reached her, pinning her arms at her sides as she hissed obscenities in my face.