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Shit. Why would anyone knock on my door? It’s too late for housekeeping. And only so many people know I’m here – unless it’s someone who has the wrong room?
The knock comes again. I dare to look through the spyhole and see Eddy is standing in the corridor.
My stomach twists into knots as I open the door.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Hi,’ he replies.
He is wearing dark tracksuit bottoms, trainers and a black jacket zipped halfway over a grey T-shirt. Oh, no, and I look like this. No game face on – no bra on, even. Just a scruffy tracksuit that probably stinks of chips.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘Nice to see you too,’ he replies.
‘No, sorry, I just meant, well… yeah, what are you doing here?’
‘Can I come in?’ he asks, instead of answering.
‘Of course.’ I step aside. ‘I was just about to make a cup of tea, if you want one?’
‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘Just milk, if you have it?’
‘I have these little long-life bad boys,’ I tell him, holding up two small plastic containers. ‘Fresh milk is a real novelty for me these days.’
He laughs as he closes the door behind him. The room suddenly feels so much smaller. Not because it is small, although it sort of is, but because Eddy has the physical presence of maybe two or three regular men.
He looks around. Not nosily, just taking in where I’m living – or, more likely, how I’m living.
My suitcase is open on the floor, near the wardrobe, as though I’ve just got back from holiday and can’t be arsed to unpack. My shoes are all by the door. There’s stuff everywhere, to be honest. Oh, and the stuffed Pikachu is on my bed, because I’ve been snuggling it at night. I casually toss something over it, hopefully before he sees it and thinks I’m a bunny boiler.
‘How is it, living here?’ he asks.
‘It’s better than living nowhere,’ I reply. ‘It’s not too bad really. I love the view.’
He looks out of the window.
‘Yeah, that’s pretty nice,’ he replies.
‘Are you nervous?’ I ask. ‘About the Grand Final?’
‘Nah.’
I laugh.
‘Should I be?’ he asks.
‘I guess not, I was just curious – I’d be terrified,’ I tell him. ‘In fact, I’m terrified for you.’
‘Is Jamie worried?’ he asks, although I suspect it’s a rhetorical question.
‘No – he’s Jamie,’ I reply. ‘But he’s all mouth, all the time. You seem genuinely calm.’
‘I’ve played in finals before, and worrying doesn’t change anything, does it?’
‘Well, I do it anyway, just in case,’ I joke – and by joke I mean I present the information for a laugh, not that I’m kidding.
I place his cup of tea down next to him – as well as putting the chocolate buttons where we can both reach them. He eats one right away.
