Page 5

CHAPTER 5

“ Y ou know I hate doing this?” Ash mock-scowled into Cam’s phone. The warm evening breeze tickled her nose as they relaxed on their villa’s expansive balcony, overlooking the pool. In front of them was a table set for ten, next to the largest barbecue Ash had ever seen. Bigger even than her dad’s industrial-sized grill, which was no small feat.

“I had absolutely no idea. Was it the way you constantly huff whenever I try to get you to do any socials? Or the way you bat my phone away whenever it comes close? I’m not sure.”

Cam rolled her eyes at her best friend.

Where Ash was blonde and had a resting I-might-fuck-with-you face, Cam had long dreadlocks, and a smile that belonged on sports drink commercials (and frequently was). She was also taller than most trees, which was helpful as she stopped the ball flying into the net for a living. Cam had waited patiently in the wings, but was now England’s nailed-on No.1. She was also the person Ash trusted the most in the whole world. Even now, when Cam sported so much mascara, it almost threatened to glue her eyes shut.

“Social media is ridiculous. Fans only want it one way, right? They want a 24/7 window into our lives, and I’m not giving them that. That’s when they love you. But when you make a mistake on the pitch, the vibe soon turns. It’s why I gave up doing my own.”

She’d watched it all unravel after England’s Euro triumph. The Royal Ravens stumbled early in their campaign, and suddenly her every move was under the microscope, with social media giving everyone a chance to chip in with their thoughts. Form questioned, performances analysed, private life dissected. The England captain’s armband meant there was no hiding from the spotlight. Her MCL injury halfway through the season only complicated matters, and now she was fighting her way back to full strength. With a home World Cup on the horizon next summer, and Ash turning 30 the same month, time was of the essence.

But however bad it was for Ash, it was doubly worse for Cam, being a woman of colour. That’s why she advocated careful curation and sharing, in an effort to control the narrative.

Cam kissed her cheek, then reached over to wipe the lipstick off. If that got on her socials, the interest would reach fever pitch.

“You are right about social media. However, if you give them a little, it gets them off your back for a while. Plus, we’re all dressed up for a night out. We never look this good in our kit. Now is the time to share. Summer solstice. The longest day and the shortest night. The Celts believed this was the day when the veil between the two worlds was thinnest, so anything was possible.” Cam bumped her with her hip. “Ready?”

They spent ten minutes filming, Cam’s boundless energy infectious as Ash found herself genuinely laughing at her friend’s antics. The two of them were perfect, Cam a natural balance to her own personality, even if tabloids constantly hinted at romance between them. The truth was simpler: they’d grown up playing football since the age of eight, remaining close despite Cam now playing up north for United. It made this holiday precious, a rare chance for the long-time friends to reunite and decompress after a demanding season. Ash had promised Cam she’d let loose and enjoy herself.

“Hey lovebirds, are you decent?”

Ash rolled her eyes as the Royal Ravens’ club captain Sasha Goodall appeared on the balcony carrying two bottles of honey-coloured booze, closely followed by their teammates Kyla Thomas and Marissa Marquez. The former carried cutlery, sauces, napkins; the latter a tray of shot glasses. The trio put their wares on the rectangular stone table and sat in three of the chairs.

“You missed us getting it on by at least two minutes.” Cam glanced up from her phone. “You need better timing.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.”

Sasha was the joker of the pack. The one everyone looked to when the vibe needed lifting. Sometimes, she got on Ash’s nerves, but they’d all be lost without her. Sasha was 33, but you’d never tell with her performances for club and country. She was the defensive midfielder that every team in the league would like. Combative. Sweary. Creative. A wall.

“Food is ordered, and it arrives in ten minutes. Burgers and chips all round because it’s the off-season and we can. We’ve also got a few bottles of tequila to get the night revved up, because George Clooney’s brand sent us a case as a present for being gorgeous humans.” Sasha waved an arm towards Kyla, currently pouring golden liquid into shot glasses. “Two shots before dinner, two after. No exceptions.”

The rest of their crew appeared, all looking very different from their sun-drenched, bikini-clad look of a few hours ago. Footballers didn’t get a chance to dress up and be glamorous very often. When they did, they embraced it.

Sasha beckoned Ash and Cam to the table. They downed their tequila shots, half the crowd whining they’d have preferred Tequila Rose.

“George Clooney didn’t send us that, so stop moaning,” Sasha told them.

“Have you seen our new patron is in Marbs at the moment?” Kyla held up her phone with a photo of Princess Victoria and Dexter Matthews getting on their private jet. “We might run into royalty this week as we’re booked into some swanky clubs now we’re famous, right?”

Ash jolted, her interest piqued.

“If we do, Ash can introduce us seeing as you met this week already,” Kyla added.

Ash nodded, like it was a done deal. “I’ll message ahead to let her know we’re on our way. She’ll be stoked.”

“Maybe she’ll have Tequila Rose,” said their pacy Spanish winger, Teresa, who’d been nominated as the group’s spokesperson tonight because she spoke the local lingo.

“If she doesn’t, she can get it,” added Kyla, refilling the shot glasses for round two. “Imagine being a royal. I’m sure she can get whatever her heart desires.”

“She’s already got that with her fit bloke!” England striker Denise Maloney was definitely on the pull tonight, with her low-cut little black dress that never went out of fashion, and heels the height of townhouses. She’d already kicked them off under the table.

Sasha pulled back her shoulders, reached over and downed her second shot, then slammed the glass down. “I’ve always thought Princess Victoria might swing both ways. And if she does, maybe she’ll want a little something extra before she commits to a life of hetero-sex. A walk on the guaranteed orgasm side.” Sasha shimmied her shoulders. “If I can be of any assistance, I would humbly oblige.”

Ash laughed. “For Queen and country, Sash?”

“I’m all about duty.” Sasha gave an elaborate bow.

The doorbell rang, and Teresa and Kyla disappeared to get the food. When the spread was laid out, Cam shot a video of their spread, with the caption: ‘Off-season, carb-loading.’

Ash made sure to keep the burger as far away from her white halter-neck top and trousers as humanly possible. As they ate, she stared out to the wide expanse of pinky-blue ocean that stretched out before them in the still-hot evening. The serenity of this moment was exactly what she craved.

The year had dragged, between her ruptured MCL, the long road to recovery, and the Ravens losing the title on goal difference. It was a wound that still stung, though softened by their FA Cup triumph. Perhaps this escape was the reset her overactive mind needed. For the first time in ages, her mental static began to fade, and her shoulders finally dropped their tension.

“I could get used to this.” She ran her fingertips over her knee, knowing her surgery scar was directly below the material.

“You should, because we’re here for the next eight days,” Cam stretched out her long limbs. “Relax into it. Dinner every night by the pool, looking out over the ocean, hot women to meet, your best mate by your side.”

Sasha handed Ash the second shot, which she downed with a shudder. “Tonight, we celebrate us,” Ash declared. “We almost clinched the league this season. Next year, it’s ours.”

“Damn right,” Sasha agreed, sparking whoops from the group.

“We’re hitting a fancy club tonight, and we’re dancing,” Ash announced, despite her notorious lack of rhythm.

“Marianne says this club is top-notch,” Sasha added. “No photos without permission. Apparently, it’s full of famous people seeking privacy.”

Their shared agent knew the best spots. Plus, Ash knew that famous people craved anonymity. Fame didn’t change the fundamentals: even Princess Victoria put her pants on one leg at a time.

“Line your stomachs, and let’s do Marbs right,” Sasha rallied. “Cocktails with glitter, partying with movie stars. We’re living large, just for a few days. No counting calories, no training sessions. Touch up your lippy, and let’s go!”