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‘Then follow me,’ he says.

He leads me out through the doors, right up to the side of the pitch, and he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to.

‘Wow,’ I blurt. ‘It’s so… peaceful when it’s empty, and so big. You don’t get a sense of how massive the pitch is, from up in the stands.’

‘Yeah, it’s really something,’ he replies. ‘You can see the newer parts, and it’s great that we have all of these new facilities, but this place is so rich in history and tradition, and you still get that, if you know where to look.’

I smile at him. He’s kind of a nerd. A different player wouldn’t have gone into it so much; they would have been like, ‘Here’s the changing room, here’s the pitch.’ Job done. I know Eddy has been here for a long time, compared to other players, but he seems to really love the club. Judging by what I saw on the walls, he’s only played here too. I wonder how common that is.

‘Well, that concludes our tour,’ he tells me. ‘The gift shop is that way.’

I laugh.

‘Thanks for that,’ I tell him sincerely. ‘I’ve been feeling so nervous, starting early, knowing nothing, and… with our complication. So thanks.’

‘I’ll give you my number,’ he tells me. Then he lowers his voice, even though we’re out here alone. ‘Because it makes sense, that we would have each other’s numbers, but also so that you can message me if you have any questions, or if you get into any more trouble.’

I hand him my phone to key in his number – the butterflies in my stomach go crazy.

‘Thanks,’ I reply. ‘For everything.’

‘Thank you too,’ he says. ‘I’m heading back inside, to get my things, but if you head that way, along the edge of the pitch, you’ll know exactly where you are.’

‘I guess I’ll see you later then,’ I tell him.

‘Yeah, see you around,’ he replies.

He heads inside, letting the door close behind him.

I mean, as fake boyfriends go, I’ve picked a good one – a great one. On the one hand, it’s going to be easy to pretend that I fancy him because, physically, who wouldn’t? On the other hand, this arrangement is going to be significantly easier if I only see Eddy fully clothed from now on.

No, I can’t believe I’m saying that either.

9

I’ve been living in the hotel for a few days now, and do you know what? I kind of like it. I have my own kettle in the room, and a fresh supply of tea, coffee and biscuits every day, and each morning a continental breakfast dropped off at my door. I could almost convince myself that I’m living a life of luxury. And then for dinner, it’s great, because I’m getting things delivered, ordering from my favourite places, trying out new restaurants, and all from the comfort of my hotel bed. I’m eating in front of the TV, watching whatever I want, eating chocolate I picked up from the Sainsbury’s Local down the road. Dare I say it? This is the life.

The room has started to feel less like somewhere I accidentally woke up after a night out and more like somewhere I live, which is both comforting and deeply depressing.

This place is essentially my own, and I’m sure there are worse places to recover from a break-up. Having to keep living with Ron – not that he suggested it – would be much bleaker.

The hotel is quiet most evenings, and the view is still incredible. Sometimes I sit by the window, eating pizza straight out of the box balanced on my knees, looking out over the empty pitch while the floodlights cast long shadows across the grass. They don’t have all the lights on, just enough to make the pitch glow, to make the place not feel lonely. Truthfully, I don’t know how many people are around at night. There’s always one person manning the hotel desk – at least there has been, when I’ve nipped down for my takeaways – and I’d assume other people were staying here, but I’ve never passed anyone out in the hallway.

It almost feels like being on holiday, in a strange way. I mean, there’s no pool, and I’m essentially above where I work, but still… it’s a change of scenery.

It’s nice being in Headingley too. I feel like a student again. There are enough cafés, bars and restaurants to keep me fed. I even venture out for lunch, when I can. I’ve settled into life here nicely, even if it is only temporary.

On Sunday I went back to Ron’s flat to collect my things. I chose Sunday specifically because I knew he would be in Warrington, covering a game.

I made absolutely certain he wouldn’t be there, watching the pre-match coverage on my phone as I made my way through the centre. Only when I saw him standing pitchside with a microphone in his hand did I dare venture inside.

I felt like I was doing something wrong, like I was sneaking into a flat I had a key for.

I kept expecting someone to stop me in the lobby or for an alarm to go off when I opened the door. Imagine getting arrested for trying to retrieve your own underwear from someone else’s flat?

When I opened the door, everything looked exactly the same, like nothing had changed. It didn’t feel like home any more though – well, I don’t suppose it ever did. I just had this silly idea that Ron could be my home. Ugh, I could be sick in my mouth even entertaining the thought.

One of the things that bugged me – if I were judging Ron by the current state of his apartment – is that he must be fine, because everything looked fine.