Page 24

Oh, God, it’s because of the make-up, isn’t it?

‘No, no, no plans,’ I assure him truthfully, because crying and eating was never an official plan, more of a prediction of how my day was going to go.

I’ve got one more night booked in my budget hotel, so I was going to make the most of having good Deliveroo options while I still could. I thought about biting the bullet and calling my parents, asking if I could go stay with them, but they live in a village about thirty miles from here, which is not an impossible commute, but it’s not a pleasant one either. I think, for now, the best I can do is try to find somewhere cheap to stay, until I can find a bargain flatshare. I can’t even think about it right now, because I’ve got whatever is going on here to worry about.

‘Well, we’re not so formal here, but we do appreciate the effort,’ he tells me. ‘Please, take a seat.’

Lord have mercy, he thinks I’ve dolled up for my first day. I must look like such a try-hard.

I do as I’m told and take a seat.

‘So, the reason I’ve asked you to start early is because we’ve got a bit of a PR emergency,’ he explains.

It’s just my luck, isn’t it? To have a PR emergency on my first day.

‘Okay,’ I say, sitting up a little straighter to show him that I’m here and I’m in professional mode – regardless of what my glamour-model level of make-up suggests.

‘You’re bleeding,’ he points out, his attention snapping to my arm.

I examine the elbow I hurt last night and, sure enough, it’s bled a little, soaking my new cream sleeve.

‘Oh, sorry,’ I reply, unsure why I’m apologising; it’s not like I did it on purpose. ‘I, er, fell last night. It’s fine.’

Shit. Have I just made it seem like I went on a wild night out? He won’t think my make-up is from last night, will he? Like I went out and then I never made it home? Because there’s enough truth in that to make the worst version of it seem true. The reality is so different. Hopefully he realises my make-up is too perfect to have been on that long.

‘Right,’ he replies. ‘Well, as I briefly touched on, we’re trying to broaden the appeal of the league. We need more bums in seats across the board, more teams from other parts of the country, more people tuning in to CrashSports to catch the matches. We’re working on the image of the sport, we want it to have universal appeal, and that means smoothing out some of the players who are rough around the edges. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an aggressive sport, we need fiery lads playing, but we don’t want controversy. We’ve got this one lad, he’s brilliant, knows exactly how to push his opponents’ buttons with a bit of playful taunting. But he’s got a reputation for being a bit of a hothead – he’s been warned about it before – and I feel like this time he’s given me no choice but to take action. It’s a shame, he’s a great bloke, he’s had one hell of a career – this is probably his last year playing for England, maybe for Leeds too, if he decides to retire… but playing in the World Cup once the league is over might not be happening, not after what he’s done…’

‘Oh no,’ I say, trying to keep up to speed. ‘What did he do?’

Bryan turns around his laptop and presses play. It doesn’t even take me a second to realise what I’m watching. You can’t see everything, not well, but the bit that is clear as day is Eddy punching Ron – well, you can’t tell that it’s Ron, the person filming is behind him, and they haven’t filmed everything, pretty much just the punch. Shit.

My jaw drops.

‘We can’t condone violence,’ Bryan tells me. ‘There’s no excuse for fighting in public. It makes us look like louts.’

‘Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks,’ I suggest.

‘Brooke, if there’s a way to spin this, I’m all ears, but look at him, look at the anger in his eyes…’ He plays the video again. ‘It breaks my heart, because what a horrible way to end a glittering career.’

‘What if he had a good reason?’ I reply.

‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we? But it’s not going to be easy to justify…’

The thought of Eddy’s career being over – his last chance to play for England suddenly gone forever – makes me feel sick, because I dragged him into this mess. I need to get him out of it.

‘It’s my fault,’ I blurt.

‘What?’ he replies. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s my fault Eddy hit that man,’ I explain.

I think for a second. You can’t tell it’s Ron in the video, and there’s no sign of Trish. If you look carefully, you can see me on the floor, but the video cuts off right after the punch. Obviously I can’t say that it’s Ron because, as much as I’d love to out him, Ron and Trish is one hell of a scandal, and I’m supposed to be reducing those, not causing them. So I can’t say it was him, and I can’t say that it was him insulting Eddy that added fuel to the fire.

‘Eddy was just… defending me,’ I say. ‘You can see me there, on the floor. That man, the one he hit, is my ex. He was being verbally abusive to us both – he pushed me, I fell to the floor, and that’s how I hurt my elbow. Eddy was reacting to that. If anything, he’s a hero.’

Bryan pulls a face.

‘So… your ex was being abusive, and Eddy just happened to be there to step in?’ he checks, an eyebrow raised. ‘He just hit him?’