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‘What a nice day for soccer,’ she said.

‘Facts,’ Byron said. ‘Did varsity already play?’

He knew they had, of course he did. His air of casual ignorance was fooling no one, but himself.

‘They did,’ Ryan said. ‘Four–one over Yarmouth. That’s a statement win. Bodes well for the rest of the season.’

‘It’s only one result,’ Byron said. ‘But that’s awesome! Congrats.’

‘The team really gelled,’ Ryan said. ‘They look strong, in all areas.’

Mary intervened. ‘Hopefully the JV team can do the same. Is Forkie looking forward to it?’

Rona nodded. ‘He had a sore toe after practice, but he’s playing.’

‘He may get called up to varsity, if he plays well,’ Ryan said. ‘There’s always a chance.’

Byron straightened, and shook his head. ‘He’s not interested in that,’ he said. ‘He’s fine on JV. It’s no big deal, bro’. He knows that. He’s an old soul. He’s not bothered at all.’

There was an awkward silence.

‘There’s nothing wrong with having a goal,’ Ryan said. ‘Better that, than not try.’

This was getting out of hand. Ryan’s tone – a kind of mock seriousness – was final confirmation, if any was still needed, that he was enjoying winding up Rona and Byron. It seemed Byron had also noticed; a red flush rose up his neck and he stared into the distance.

Rona smiled nervously. ‘Are you staying to watch?’ she said.

Ryan shook his head. ‘I have to take Sally to a hair appointment,’ he said.

‘I’ll be here for the first half,’ Mary said. She had been planning to leave immediately, but that suddenly felt too awkward. ‘Should be a good game!’

Folded Crisply in Half

As the half-time whistle blew, Mary turned to Rona and gestured to the exit.

‘It’s a bit of a tough one,’ she said. ‘But they’ll bounce back.’

It was difficult to find something to say, given that the opposition had scored five early goals and then spent the rest of the half passing the ball around to avoid an early finish. If a team scored too many goals it triggered a humiliating ‘mercy’ rule, which meant that the game was stopped to end the misery of the weaker team. To face this possibility before half-time was an embarrassment, a fact which was etched on the face of Forkie, who had taken to shouting instructions to his team-mates after they made a mistake, presumably in an attempt to highlight that he was not the one committing the errors.

It was not really working.

Rona was looking into the distance; Byron was staring at his phone, his posture one of studied and superior indifference.

‘OK,’ Rona muttered. She gave Mary a half-hearted hug. ‘See you soon.’

Mary walked along the touchline, nodding at the people she knew. She had developed a strategy that allowed her to leave parties or sports events – in fact any gathering in Barrow – without stopping to talk to everyone she saw: a steady march to the exit, acknowledging the people she passed with a nod, or a friendly pat on the shoulder, or a mouthed Got to go. If she didn’t do this, she would never get out.

Her car was parked at the far end of the car park. She felt in her bag for the keys. For many years she had left the keys in the car, either in the glove compartment or simply on the front seat. It was quite common around here; it made it easier if someone needed to borrow your car as there was no need for them to come and get the keys from you. That had changed over the years, but even now, she didn’t bother locking it.

She sat down and closed the door with a thud. She put the keys into the ignition and started the engine, then lifted her bag and reached out to put it on the passenger seat.

She froze, the bag suspended in mid-air.

There was a piece of paper, folded crisply in half, in the middle of the seat.

She lowered her bag into the footwell, the metal water bottle clanging against something, and picked up the paper. She unfolded it. She knew what she would see: the same printed font, centred in the middle of the paper.

She looked away before she started to read. She didn’t want to know what it said, didn’t want this to be happening at all.