Chapter 7: Six

I was upset about not being in the England squad for the international break.  It wasn't disappointment about not being selected, because I had known there was no possibility of that happening; it was more the idea of missing out on the experience that had me bitter.

The week of training was unusual: without so many big personalities in the team and, most importantly, with none of my closest teammates there, training felt almost soulless.  Frank did his best to try and lift the spirit at Cobham, but even he gave up on Friday and called training off early.

England were playing at Wembley on the Saturday night.  I'd been planning to go since the fixture was announced, and throughout the day my anticipation as well as my envy grew.  It would be hard sitting on the stands watching my team play, but I loved going to Wembley and watching the side too much to miss it.

Emma Washington had instantly snapped up my extra ticket.  I had known Emma since I was eight: we grew up together playing for the Wolves academy and stayed exceptionally close even when I left for Chelsea when I was seventeen. She had broken into the Wolves first team the season that I'd been injured, so thankfully we hadn't had to face enough in the Premier League yet.  It was tough having her far away, but with her parents living in London greater, she still had plenty of reasons to come visit me.

Emma had been at my house for most of the day already by the time we departed for Wembley.  We ate at a restaurant on route to the stadium and then decided to walk the rest of the way instead of getting a taxi.  Spending time with my mate and soaking up the atmosphere meant my spirits were high when we arrived at Wembley.

Thanks to one of my sponsors, I'd managed to score tickets in a box, which was an added bonus.  A couple of familiar faces greeted me and Emma as we entered and after snacking on a selection of free platters and making some small talk, we took our seats for the game.

From our vantage point, I made out Mason instantly.  He was standing between Kyle and Hannah Kingsley, my rival in more than one way. The City left back had taken my place in the team, obviously, and it pained me to admit that she had been doing a pretty good job.  My stomach twisted as I watched Mason throw an arm around her shoulder before the opening chords of God Save the Queen sounded around the ground.

The anthem was what threw my good mood out of the window.  I yearned to be on the pitch with the rest of the team; I needed to be back with them. As good as Hannah's current form was and as nice of a girl as she was, I sent silent hate towards her as the team stripped off their jackets and lined up for the picture.

"You good?  You look like you're about to murder someone, Beck."

I had been so caught up in the moment that I'd almost forgotten Emma was next to me.  She was pointing towards the pitch, her eyebrows raised in amusement. My thoughts had clearly been easy to read on my face and I felt my cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"I just want to be out there," I muttered. "And it's easy to hate Hannah from up here."

"She's so sweet, though," Emma laughed. "When we played City, she tackled Ruiz pretty badly and for, like, ten minutes after the game she apologised."

"Maybe she should toughen up."  Emma laughed at my sulky voice. "Weakling."

"Don't hate the player; hate the game."

"Why did I invite you again?"

Our laughing almost drowned out the sound of the starting whistle, but my attention was fully focused back on the pitch below us as the stadium echoed with cheers.

The game was relatively good.  Bulgaria weren't a fantastic team and it was clear that, even with us not playing our best, we would come away with a simple win. The first half ended with us two nil up, with goals coming from Marcus Peterson and a pen from George Carroll. Emma and I shared a plate of snacks in the break and as the second half progressed, I started losing interest in the game.

We were dominating possession and on the odd break that Bulgaria had, we would win it back quickly.  Harry Sutherland scored a header from a corner and Bulgaria finally had a shot on target.  It seemed like the game was going to finish three-nil, but then Mason pulled off the most incredible long ball across the pitch for Walter Wright, Kyle's sub, and we were four nil up.  In the last movement of the game, Hannah fired in a regrettably good cross that George got on the end of, only for VAR to rule it offside.

Emma was raving about the team as we exited the box.  As a defensive mid herself, she loved watching Terry Daniels, the veteran ex-United, now Bayern Munchen midfielder, play and I knew that she liked to base her game off Terry's.  Deep into an analysis of Terry's passing game and the excellent through-ball she'd played to set up the eventual pen, we headed towards the lift.

"Okay, but pass of the game has to go to Mason," I interrupted her.

"You're just biased."

"No ways, Em!  That ball to Walt was unbelievable, you have to admit."

The doors to the lift opened as Emma tried to argue against me.  She trailed off as we entered and both noticed the pair of girls that had just walked in after us, one of whom was giving us a strange look.  There was something strangely familiar about the blonde, and judging by her attire, I guessed she was one of players' girlfriends. Her expression threw me off, though; most of the partners in the team I had met before, and any of them would have been quick to greet me.

As I started back at her, she tilted her head to the side and then said: "You're Rebecca Hart, aren't you?"

I frowned and could feel my cheeks heating up. "Um, yeah, I am."

"I thought I recognised you."

The corner of her lip pulled up into a half-hearted grin. She was stunning, I had to say, with flawless skin and bright blue eyes.  But there was something mean about her that put me off. And also something incredibly familiar.

"Sorry, I don't think I've met you before," I said awkwardly.  The lift had started, but she still stood facing me in the confined space. Throwing her hair over her shoulder, she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well, you can blame Mason for that." My stomach dropped as I put two and two together. "I'm Liv, his girlfriend."

My heart seemed to stop for a moment as I regarded the girl in front of me in a new light.  So this was the girl who had been taking up all of Mason's time for the last year – who had been the stake in dividing our friendship.  A mixture of emotions filled me: rage, sadness, jealously. But I plastered a smile on my face that I hoped didn't seem as fake as it was and tried to ignore Emma's unsubtle cough from behind me.

"Wow, Liv.  It's good to meet you finally."

"Likewise," she replied.  It sounded forced, like the smile that was on her perfect face.  Even though we were basically the same height, she seemed to look down on me as she shrugged."I've been telling Mason for months to invite you over or something.  It's, like, so weird that I've never met you, considering how good friends you two are."

I felt an uncomfortable twist in my stomach at her words and the mocking tone they held.  Emma cleared her throat again and I had to resist the urge to kick out at her.

"Yeah, it's real strange.  We've been telling him for ages to introduce us to you, but he's never gotten around to it."  I tried to fire back the same sarcasm at Liv that she had used with me, but it came out too genuine-sounding.

"Well, at least I'll meet some of the England team tonight."  The knot in my stomach intensified.  "They're having this dinner thing after the game."  She waved a hand through the air.  "Pity you aren't going to be there."

If I was unsure of her before that comment, I disliked her now.  I felt my hands involuntarily clench into fists at my side as I cleared my throat. I didn't want to say anything I would regret later, so instead I just shrugged.

"Well, I'll be back soon," I promised. And I meant it.

By that stage we'd reached the ground floor of the stadium.  Liv spun around and stepped off, followed closely by her friend who had yet to say anything.  I got out after them and found Liv waiting for me, arms crossed over her chest.

"I don't doubt that."  Her tone suggested otherwise.  "But hopefully now that we've met, I'll see you again soon."

"Yeah, for sure," I replied, smiling toothlessly at her.

She mirrored my action and lifted a hand to wave.  She was one step away when she looked over her shoulder.  "Oh, and I'll tell Mason how good you thought his pass was."

She turned away before I could say anything in response.  I was seething, with irritation and with jealously.  Left with nothing more to do than stare at her retrieving figure (and roll my eyes at how good her bum looked), I heard Emma groaning beside me.

"What a bitch."  Looking at my friend, I saw she was shaking her head.  "Seriously, how is Mason dating that piece of work?"

"Don't ask me."  My voice was soft; Emma's words had struck something in me and the anger I'd just felt was receding, being replaced with sadness.

"Hey, are you okay, Beck?"

"Yup."

We started walking towards the exit, Emma a silent but comforting presence at my side.  I replayed the interaction between Liv and I in my head, trying to pinpoint just what it was that Mason was drawn to.  Sure, blonde hair and long legs and a perfect bum were attractive to some, but I'd always pegged Mase as more low-key than that.

Eventually Emma laid a hand on my shoulder. "Don't let her get you this upset, Beck. It's not worth it."

"Who says I'm upset about her?" I shot back. Emma was just trying to help, I knew, so I sighed and apologised.

"It's okay.  Must have been hard seeing that today."

I nodded and swallowed back more regret. Instead, I silently vowed to myself that, come the next international break, I'd be the one stepping out at Wembley and chucking astonishing passes that Emma could gush about.  And, almost most importantly, I'd be attending the post-match dinner, too, not just Liv Prescott.