Page 1 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)
CHAPTER ONE
Lola
Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived. And Lola would get out of this alive too. She hoped. It was all about perspective. Anne of Cleves and Catherine Parr had been through slightly worse, after all.
Director to her executive status– despite their similar ages, degrees and CVs– Julian and his mullet had only been with the sales and marketing department a few months following a mysterious transfer from the sister branch of Celebrate and Commiserate.
But he was growing bolder by the day in his new workplace with his volleys of lewd comments, creepy stares, and stinky microwave meals.
Lola knew she should call him out, but like many a female she was scared of the implications and odds that were unfairly stacked against her.
The medium-sized greeting card company she worked for didn’t have a Human Resources department and she needed to keep hold of her job.
Whilst the #MeToo movement had planted a seed for change, one too many women knew, there still wasn’t a gaslighting story out there with a guaranteed HEA, where justice prevailed and wrongs were righted.
Typically, Julian had proved that he could sell the most hideously outdated stationery to wholesalers all over the world, and he was already regarded as a legend when it came to generating a buzz for the frontlist. Small wonder when he’d pilfered three of Lola’s biggest buyers shortly after waltzing into the open plan office; shaking up the layout so that he had the highest spec desk, swivelliest leather chair, and best city view.
Even smaller wonder that she’d been overlooked for a pay rise.
Lola let out a weary sigh. Thank god for the plastic flute of Pimm’s and lemonade in her hand.
And the innocent-looking hairbrush in her handbag whose handle doubled as a convenient place to smuggle in a measure (or two) of gin.
Not that she was an advocate for turning to alcohol to drown out her life problems, but in today’s extenuating circumstances, needs (probably) must.
‘Shuffle along, guys!’ Harry trumpeted.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that Lola was flanked by a garlic and beer breath Julian on her left, now the CEO was bounding down the stadium’s steps on her right.
The twinkle in Harry’s eyes suggested that all his Christmases had come at once.
This wasn’t on account of Lola’s pink, asymmetrical, organza dress and today’s flowing mermaid locks, but the realisation that she’d be his one-way conversation companion.
The model employee who smiled politely and nodded in all the right places as he prattled on about politics, profit and pickleball– the latter his latest joint hobby with his wife.
Lola batted her free hand, resigned to her fate as she gestured at the row of mostly men to make room for their stocky colleague. Moaning and groaning, everybody shifted positions so that Harry could plonk himself in the end seat, which joined in with a groan of its own.
Contrary to the despondent vibe she was giving off, Lola loved a live event.
Bopping to her favourite bands at Glastonbury or cheering on her gym bunny friends in the Bath half marathon.
And then there was her current theatrical obsession, SIX, which had enchanted her so much that she’d caught the British musical five times on its tours up and down the country.
But this afternoon was going to be torture.
She sank reluctantly into her newly-designated seat and crossed her left leg firmly over her right, pivoting her body away from Julian and his rapidly approaching thigh.
Thankfully, the iconic intro to The Final Countdown blasted across the stadium’s sound system then and the two rival teams strode onto the pitch.
Bath in royal blue T-shirts to match their stadium’s seats.
Meanwhile, York Bulldogs were kitted out in tomato-red.
Bobby, the head designer seated on Julian’s left, elbowed his colleague to get on his feet and Lola slowly blew air from her cheeks.
The welcome reprieve gave her the opportunity to top up her flute as the bulk of Celebrate and Commiserate stood to clap and cheer the players’ arrival, as if they were the embodiment of the happier ranges of greetings cards that they designed and sold.
Despite the less than perfect circumstances, goosebumps flooded Lola’s body.
She was even treated to one of those lovely ASMR tingles on her crown.
This often happened when she was part of a large audience and she felt blessed to be in the approximate twenty percent of the world’s population who got to experience such things.
But suddenly it was impossible not to share the nervous excitement with everybody else– with the exception of icky Julian in his Panama hat, even if this was a slight improvement on his hair-do.
The players peeled off to their respective benches and a blue number six called the coin toss.
Lola guessed he was Bath Beasts’ captain, her knowledge of all things cricket was limited.
A York player stood next to him as the umpire oversaw proceedings and the large video display on the opposite side of the stadium finally flickered to life, capturing the coin as it fell on the wicket.
Tails it was. Number six’s eyes might have been shaded by his cap, but his lips sported an unmistakably smug grin.
The game got started as Bath’s lanky first batters took to the field in their protective gear and York’s short, unassuming bowler positioned himself at the end of a long run-up. The crowd hummed in anticipation, and Lola squinted to concentrate on the action, wishing she’d brought her shades.
The bowler might have been pint-sized, but he charged towards the batsman as if he was an athlete in the 100 metres final, hurling the ball in a perfect arc towards him, only for it to shoot past and land in the wicketkeeper’s gloves.
The majority of the spectators, who were there to support Bath, let out a collective cry of disappointment.
But on his next attempt, the batter’s swing was fiercer.
He smashed the ball and it flew across the pitch toward the boundary, allowing both of the blue batsmen to run back and forth between the wickets, switching places to score runs.
The crowd roared as the fielders bolted to intercept the ball and throw it back, trying to stop Bath from clocking up the score.
Lola’s shoulders began to relax as she thought about the lovely lie-in she’d enjoy in the morning after a long week of work and worry.
Maybe this was the speedier version of cricket, but there was something strangely therapeutic about it.
‘Great atmosphere, isn’t it?’ said Harry, fanning himself with a battered Agatha Christie paperback, which he was clearly hoping to dive into during the boring bits.
Hmm, maybe Lola could borrow it when he wasn’t reading; it would make an excellent Julian shield.
‘Don’t be embarrassed if you need me to explain the rules of the game. ’
Normally Lola would have declined an opportunity to get trapped in the headwinds of sporting trivia, but even though Julian had his back to her now, arse in his seat, absorbed in conversation with Bobby, and Stingy Suzy from accounts, it was a good idea to nip things in the bud.
She pretended to listen to Harry intently.
‘Basically,’ he said, without even waiting for Lola to reply. ‘Each side gets twenty overs and each bowler is restricted to four overs max. Then there are fielding restrictions for the first six overs… Blah, blah, blah dee, blah…’
‘Fascinating,’ Lola feigned interest, mimicking the Wow emoji as Harry waffled on and the intimate details of the game flew over her head.
She took another sip of her drink, the hit of the extra gin cushioning the blow of her current coordinates.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Lola’s uni friends might be making leaps and bounds up their respective career ladders in The City and beyond, but most of them had burnout already and none of them were granted a monthly Friday afternoon out like she was.
Okay, she really was trying to brainwash herself about this new arrangement at C and C, which had so far involved Bobby getting hit badly in the crotch after stopping to snack on a trippy mushroom during a paintballing session on the Somerset Levels, and group bickering over the clues in one of those panic-inducing escape rooms. But it went without saying that even the most ambitious of her friends would have at least one shifty workplace character to deal with, too.
Such was life. Besides, so far so good. Ten minutes down, another hour to go until the first innings were over.
That much info she’d retained from Harry’s dump, anyway.
As if reading her overly-optimistic mind, Julian’s head swiveled, his eyes burning into her side.
Damn, she shouldn’t have worn this dress.
But she’d only just bought it, the weather was warm enough for once that she didn’t need one of her trusty cardigans and she rarely got the opportunity to go out out these days.
Which was a term she abhorred for its accuracy when it came to describing her barren social life.
True, her outfit’s layered fabric wasn’t revealing, but compared to Suzy’s sensibly high-necked floral number, it probably was akin to wearing a bikini.
Lola shifted as far to the right as was physically possible without falling into Harry’s lap.
‘Jumpy,’ Julian quipped.