Page 6

‘Well, you’re in luck, because they’re looking for someone who works in PR,’ he replies. ‘All of the clubs are trying to get more people watching the league – do more with their socials, attract families, smooth out any negative press. They’re looking for someone to work in-house. I could give them your name, if you like?’

My jaw drops a little.

‘You would really do that for me?’

‘Of course,’ he replies.

‘But I don’t know anything about rugby…’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ he insists. ‘PR is PR. And you can learn on the job, if you get it… I can promise to put your name forward; I can’t make them hire you.’

‘No, of course, even mentioning me is incredible, thank you so much,’ I reply.

He leans back against the sofa, pulling me with him.

‘What are boyfriends for, eh?’ he says. ‘Although I’ll probably just tell them that you’re a friend, or a professional connection, for now – I don’t want them dismissing you.’

‘That makes sense,’ I say. ‘I won’t mention it.’

I can’t believe he would do this for me. I’ve never had a boyfriend who did things for me – not beyond the bare minimum anyway.

I rest my head against his shoulder.

‘I really am lucky,’ I say quietly.

He kisses the top of my head.

‘You really are,’ he replies.

I laugh, because I know that he’s joking.

Ron reaches for the remote, flicking on the television.

‘Come on then,’ he says. ‘Let’s start your rugby league education.’

He always records the games he works at – and always watches them again when he gets in.

I can feel my eyes getting heavy, not because it’s boring, watching Ron’s pre-match banter, but because suddenly I feel like I can breathe again – and like I can sleep tonight.

Suddenly there’s hope. And it’s all thanks to Ron.

3

‘Brooke – always late,’ Tina says with a laugh – laughing at me, not with me.

I try not to frown. I’m not late, they’re just always early.

I’m at a coffee shop in a town just outside Leeds, where I grew up, meeting up with my old school friends.

There’s Ann (who has two kids), Tash (who has three), Jaz (who has three) and Tina – our ringleader, if we had one (who I think has at least four). They always arrive early, essentially making me late, even though I’m right on time.

‘Hey!’ I say brightly. I notice they’ve all got their drinks already. ‘I’ll grab a coffee.’

‘Take your time,’ Tina says. It’s the way she says it – trust me, there’s a tone. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I had to bring Barnaby.’

Barnaby, bloody hell, I still can’t believe she called him that – not least because her married name is Barnes. Barnaby Barnes, incredibly fun to say, sure, but you’ve got to feel sorry for the kid. Then again, Ann has one called Orson, which only makes me think of Bree’s unhinged dentist husband from Desperate Housewives. I feel like they’re all going for something with the names, like perhaps they think they can elevate their kids’ social status by giving them fancy names.

I can’t quite see Barnaby, Tina is feeding him, so he’s sort of under a blanket. I’m never sure what you’re supposed to do when you meet babies for the first time; it’s not like you can introduce yourself and shake their little baby hand. Well, not while he’s being fed anyway. I’ll pick my moment.