That One Moment (Lost in London #2) Page 10

  Booker’s eyes alight. “Timing should be all right. Training will have started, but I think I can get away for the weekend.”

  “Brilliant!”

  “Are you doing all right, otherwise?” he asks, eyeing me curiously.

  “‘Course I am,” I frown as I pour oil onto the griddle. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Shrugging, he replies, “It’s just…you seemed a bit emotional on your birthday a couple of days ago. I wanted to talk to you about that before everybody gets here.”

  I stop what I’m doing and look at him. “I was just trying to make a daft point. Don’t read too much into it.”

  “Well…you haven’t dated anyone since Pricky Pierce and I was wondering if you are okay. You aren’t still holding candles for the prat, are ya?”

  Pricky Pierce. I’d laugh if I didn’t think it’d only encourage him. “No candles I assure you.”

  “If you ever did, you can talk to me about it, ya know. I’m not as stupid as the rest of ‘em. I won’t go completely mental.”

  I shoot him a sardonic smile because I’m not sure I fully trust that. However, Booker always did have a special fondness for me that superseded my other brothers. They always seem to put protection above affection. But with Booker, it’s more often affection first and it’s why he’s got a special place in my heart.

  Hayden’s face flashes in my mind as I consider whether talking about my situation with him is a good idea or not. “Booker, how would you…describe me?” I grab the prepared pancake batter and pour it onto the hot griddle.

  He moves over and props himself against the counter next to me and frowns. “What do you mean?”

  Poking mindlessly at the pancake bubbles with a spatula, I reply, “Like, if you were to tell me my most obvious traits, what would pop into your head?”

  “A great cook,” he grins dopily.

  “Anything else?” I’m trying not to be too pushy, but I’m feeling a titchy bit anxious.

  He nods earnestly. “‘Course! You’re fun. Upbeat.”

  “Like…bubbly?” I ask, my smile dropping.

  “Maybe a bit…but it’s more than that.” He looks away like he’s trying to form his words. “You’re funny…but not in a joking way…More like you laugh really easily…which makes you a great time to be around.”

  I nod. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “It’s brill.” He turns and opens the double fridge, placing the cream inside and grabbing the fresh berries. He walks them to the sink for rinsing. “You’re a bit soft, though, which I don’t know how the bloody hell that happened since you grew up around all men.”

  I eye him seriously. “More like a pack of wolves. I’m probably emotionally scarred.”

  He chuckles. “I don’t mean the soft thing in a bad way. You just feel everything very deeply. You’re protective like Gareth, but in a different way. You take shit personally on behalf of the people you care most about, ya know? Like, remember that red card I got in Liverpool last season. The one when—”

  “God, don’t speak another word about it! I swear that call was complete fucking shite,” I seethe with a scathing glance over my shoulder. “I could spit just thinking about it! I very nearly got that referee sacked, ya know.”

  “Don’t spit! We’re making pancakes!” Booker laughs, “You did get the bloke suspended, though.”

  “Well, he was rubbish!” I exclaim as I turn and toss the spatula into the sink.

  “See what I mean? You’re passionate about something that happened to me, and you’re not even a coach or a teammate. You don’t even play football yourself. You’re just my sister.”

  I nod thoughtfully. He makes a pretty good point. “Maybe I just don’t make good first impressions.”

  Cutting his eyes at me speculatively, he asks, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  I shrug. “I just…I met this bloke that’s sort of a friend of a friend and I don’t know. I thought we hit it off, but then he got all awkward and his description of me just leaves me feeling a bit…poorly.”

  “What did he say?” Booker’s brow furrows.

  I squint and look up at the ceiling, hoping I’m quoting him right. “A beautiful, bright, bubbly, blonde distraction.”

  Booker’s face freezes, as do his hands on the berries. “I want his fucking name.”

  “Stop, Book. You’re supposed to be different.”

  “I’m not messing about, Vi. He needs to be talked to. Only two of those adjectives are relevant. The other two are utter codswallop. You are so much more than those things.”

  “I know. Just calm down. I think we’re just friends anyway.” Or at least that’s what I’m trying to decide. I’m not sure I can handle being with Hayden.

  Booker shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a great idea to be mates with the bloke, Vi. Especially one who obviously has his head up his arse.”

  I hear voices in the hall and quickly shush Booker just as Camden, Tanner, Gareth, and our dad come strolling in, laughing heartily about something.

  “My Vi,” Dad says loudly, coming around the counter and scooping me up into a big bear hug while rubbing his scruffy chin on my cheek. Vaughn Harris is legendary status in the world of English football. But to me, he’s just the guy who sneaks a sausage before it’s time to eat. He’s wearing his usual Bethnel Green polo with cream trousers, looking the picture of a man who lives his passion. His salt and pepper whiskers cover his chin and match his greying hair perfectly. “Happy birthday, my darling.”

  “Oi! Let go of me, Dad,” I giggle and squirm out of his embrace, rubbing the area that he purposefully whisker-burned.

  “Oh, happy birthday, my darling,” Tanner coos in a high-pitched voice mimicking the Queen.

  “Do just look at her, Tanner,” Camden starts in a high, nasally tone and claps his hands together in adoration. “She’s got her boobies. Our little girl has gone and got her boobies now that she’s all grown up.”

  Gareth roars with laughter as Tanner picks up where Cam left off. He grabs two lemons out of the bowl on the table and holds them to his chest saying, “Oh, fiddle fettle, she won’t fit in the beach ball jumper I got her for her birthday. She’ll look like a proper tart!”

  “Shut it, you prats!” I exclaim, rushing over and shoving them hard while giving Gareth a swift kick for laughing. Camden grabs my wrists and restrains me as I continue throwing kicks at Tanner who’s wresting to grab my ankles.

  “Enough,” Dad says, his husky voice booming. “The pancakes are going to burn.”

  Shaking my head, I eye him like a petulant child. “You raised them,” I jokingly accuse.

  “That’s debatable,” he replies, grinning proudly. “I could smell the sausage from outside. It looks great, darling.” He dips his finger into the batter and licks it, closing his eyes appreciatively.

  “It’s almost ready,” I reply. “Cam…Tan…Why don’t you two stop being little sods and make yourselves useful by setting the table.”

  In no time, we’re sitting down at the high-top table and devouring the feast of pancakes, sausages, fresh fruit, and jam. I am certain we are all probably internally musing over what they would taste like if our mum actually made them for us…just once.

  BOX OF SECRETS

  Hunched over the workshop counter, I rub the sanding block against the dark Philippine mahogany, smoothing the surface and wiping away the excess sawdust. With every touch, I grow more and more excited about the fact that I’m nearly finished with the final one. It feels good working with my hands. It’s therapeutic. In the past I’ve only worked on the books and the appointment side of Theo’s business, C. Designs. Theo’s talents cannot be disputed, but I’ve since found that I too have some abilities I wasn’t even aware of.

  Theo comes strolling into the workshop. “Hey…Marisa just went down, so I think Leslie and I are going to turn in early. She’s knackered from all the wedding shite. Are you making more?” he asks, gesturing to the keepsake bo
x in my hands.

  “Uh…yeah,” I look down awkwardly, rubbing my hands down my navy T-shirt covered in sawdust. My tattered work jeans don’t look much better. It’s been three days since I last saw Vi and instead of calling her like I want to, I’ve been keeping myself preoccupied.

  “Are these for Vi, perhaps?” he asks knowingly and adjusts his glasses while inspecting the three I’ve already completed. After I finish sanding the one I’m currently working on, they all just need to be stained and varnished. I shrug and his brows rise knowingly. “Want to talk about it?”

  Shaking my head dismissively, I reply. “There’s not much to talk about. Except for the fact that I sort of agreed to do this ridiculous countdown challenge for Doc, but it’s a horrid idea.”

  “Why is that?” Theo grabs one of the metal stools. He drags it up to the counter and sits down.

  I pause what I am doing and reply, “It just is, all right.” I glare at him, annoyance dripping from my features as I grab my leather cuff and nervously unsnap and re-snap the clasp.

  “Easy, sport…No need to get testy. If it’s a bad idea, why are you working on more boxes?”

  “I don’t bloody know.” I stand up straight and toss the sanding block on the counter in a huff. Leaning back on the opposite counter with my arms crossed I continue, “Maybe I’m just trying to be a nice bloke for a change.”

  Chuckling, Theo replies, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” I slice my hands through my hair and then scrub them down over my face. “I’m just feeling confused by her. She’s so good, you know?”

  Theo balks. “How do you know she’s good? What do you actually even know about her?”

  My eyes find his. Christ, he’s right. I hardly know her. We sort of went from cake to suicide in two seconds flat. I know sod all about her and I feel like a proper jerk for just now realising. “I guess I don’t know that much, but that’s part of the stipulation of the challenge.”

  Theo rises. “Well, I don’t think it’d hurt you to get to know the girl a bit if it helps you finish your mission. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, mate.” He touches the box closest to him and smirks. “And look, you went to all this trouble.”

  I eye the four keepsake boxes wistfully as Theo makes his way back up to the flat insinuating in no uncertain terms that it would be wise if I stayed down here for a bit longer. Living with Theo and Leslie has been good for me, but it’s not ideal. I basically bear witness to them falling even more in love with each other every day as they tackle happy family life, fussy baby and all. It’s a lot of fighting and making up and me taking long walks to give them space. I definitely need to find a place of my own…and soon. But I’ll feel a lot more confident with myself if I can get through Doc’s challenge first. His approval means so much to me.

  Seizing hold of my brief moment of bravery, I shoot Vi a text. To my surprise, she agrees to my request even though it’s already after nine. I quickly get all my supplies ready and wait on bated breath for her arrival.

  Thirty minutes later, I’m standing outside the shop thinking about how nice a cigarette would taste right now when she comes striding up. Her blonde hair is tied up on top of her head in an adorable messy bun. She’s wearing black leggings, ballet flats, and a deep V-neck, black shirt that reveals a colourful neon yellow tank beneath it. She looks cosy, like she had been planning on a quiet night in.

  “Where’s Bruce?” I ask, pushing myself away from the side of the building.

  “Left him at the flat,” she says, eyeing me like she’s trying to figure out my motive. “I don’t have to lug him everywhere, ya know.”

  I eye her seriously. “Probably safer if you do.”

  She frowns at my protective suggestion and says, “So what are we doing? Your text was rather cryptic.”

  I grin and hold the door open for her to walk past me. My hand brushes the small of her back as I guide her through the shop entry. The urge I feel to touch her more is heady, but I push it away as quickly as it arrives. She steps in and looks back at me in confusion. I gesture to the large wooden workshop counter and her eyes alight in realisation.

  “Are these the same boxes?” She hustles over and picks one up, opening it and looking inside with a surprised smile that I take a mental snapshot of.

  “They just need to be finished,” I offer.

  “Where did you get them?”

  I give her a sheepish look. “I made them.”

  Her jaw drops. “You made them? But you never said anything before!”

  Shrugging, I reply, “I thought maybe you could help me finish them and we could talk.”

  “Oh yes, I’d love to!” She begins tugging at her top, attempting to knot it around her waist. “We can continue with your countdown while we work.”

  “Actually, I’d prefer we skip the countdown tonight.” I walk over and grab a pair of rubber gloves off the counter. “I just thought…I don’t know. I feel like a wanker for not knowing much about you, so I thought maybe we could spend the night talking…like I’m not some complete fuck-up with a dark and twisted past.”

  I glance up just as her bright blue eyes darken. “Hayden, I’ve never looked at you like that…Not once.”

  Her severe expression winds me up. I nod awkwardly and hand her the gloves. “All right, tonight I’m going to teach you how to stain. Think you’re man enough for the job?”

  She watches me for a moment, evidently letting my self-deprecation slide. “Manlier than most bubbly blondes I’d say.”

  I frown at her peculiar reply. Not entirely sure of how to respond, I make quick work of showing her how we dip the cloth into the stain, rub it on heavily, and then wipe it off. I’ve already applied a thin strip of painter’s tape across the top of each box for the design element I’ll add later.

  I set her up with her own supplies and she sits down on the stainless steel stool next to me. Her loose shirt keeps getting in her way, so she stops what she’s doing and peels off the offensive material.

  I try to look away, but out of the corner of my eye, I’m transfixed. Now wearing only her small tank, her creamy alabaster skin is on full display and her cleavage is drawing me to her. My body reacts reflexively to the lush softness of her skin.

  She catches me eyeing her. “So, what do you need these extra boxes for?” I ask, dragging my possessive gaze away from her and back to the box in my hands.

  “My brothers,” she replies, applying the first stroke of stain. “The one I got Sunday will be for my dad.”

  “What are you putting inside them, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  She looks over at me with a fleeting look of embarrassment. “Erm, it’s just something I stumbled upon earlier this year. It took me a while to get it all sorted. But now that I have, I want to make it a special gift.”

  My brows lift as I angle toward her. “Do I get to know what the gift is?”

  She shrugs. “It’s not so much a gift I suppose. Just…I found a series of poems my mum wrote and some other trinkets. I think they’d all make the best surprise gifts.”

  “That’s a lovely idea. How does she feel about you giving away her poems?”

  She looks back at her project and murmurs, “She died when I was young.”

  My heart clenches. “Vi, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “I was only four. I don’t really remember much. But we shared a birthday, so I’ve always felt a connection to her on some level.”

  I look at her thoughtfully. “So what are the poems about?”

  “They were written in Swedish, so it took me a while to find a translator. But they’re quite cool. They’re all about motherhood. It’s odd, but I felt like I got a glimpse inside her heart when I finally got them translated into English. Some of them are really beautiful, some tragic, some funny. It was surreal. I really connected to them…To her. My dad and brothers don’t even know they exist. The book was tucked away with all of her cookbooks, so i
t’s no wonder they never saw it.”

  “It’s going to be incredible when you give them their gifts.” I give her a smile and ask, “So, what about you? Do you like to cook?” I can easily picture her in the kitchen looking just as she does now with a towel tossed over her shoulder. The image elicits a tiny smirk.

  Her brow furrows as she catches my playful expression. “I do. I love it. I did all the cooking growing up and my brothers can eat, let me tell you.”

  “I’m sure,” I chuckle good-naturedly. “What was it like living with a bunch of athletes?” My curiosity over her lifestyle is definitely piqued. I grew up watching football on the telly and my entire family is Manchester United fans through and through.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know any different.”

  “You played too, I assume?”

  She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “No, I didn’t. I traveled with my dad and brothers instead.” Suddenly, she stops what she’s doing and looks up at the ceiling as if she’s having an epiphany. “You know what I just realised? Without even knowing it, I grew up as a mum. I submerged myself in their world and their schedules so much that playing football myself didn’t even occur to me!”

  I frown. “Surely there were some things you did for yourself.”

  She looks at me seriously as if she’s just been whacked in the face by a sad truth. “Not a lot. I didn’t even have many mates. Really, the first proper thing I’ve done was get my own flat last year. That’s pathetic.” She shakes her head in frustration.

  “It’s not pathetic to be close to your family. Growing up traveling with them sounds amazing. I’m sure being in a house with your brothers and dad was a life experience all in its own.”

  “You have no idea,” she chuckles in a secretive, knowing way. “Are you, Theo, and Daphney close?”

  I pause and try to determine the best way to answer without turning the conversation around on me again. “We used to be. Then we weren’t. Now we are again.”

  Her face screws up in confusion. “Mind embellishing a bit?”