something idiotic. I always talked utter shit when I was nervous and six feet something of blond hair, big brown eyes and an annoyingly adorable lopsided smile definitely made me nervous. He looked as though he should be in an advert for outward bounds holidays in Iceland, not running his own advertising agency. And while I wouldn’t necessarily say I had a crush on him per se, I could admit to having lost the odd half hour imagining the two of us stranded on a desert island with nothing but a bottle of tequila, a never-ending supply of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and some baby oil.
‘Not a big football fan then?’ Charlie asked, spreading out across the sofa and forcing me into Miranda’s armpit. Fantasy Charlie would never manspread. Fantasy Charlie would have got down on the floor and given me a foot rub. Fantasy Charlie was the best.
‘I used to go out with someone who worked for the FA,’ I explained, snapping a hair band off my wrist and bundling up my hair. I hated the feeling of hot hair stuck to my neck in the summer. ‘We went to a lot of games, I think I’m just footballed out.’
‘Congrats on your award thingies, we were only joking with you before,’ he said, leaning towards me as the players streamed out onto the pitch and everyone on the roof began to cheer. ‘Do you think you’ll win?’
‘We’d better,’ I replied readily, a proximity shiver running down my back. ‘I mean, I’d like to think we’re in with a shot to win something.’
And when I said something, I meant everything.
‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,’ he promised. ‘I’ve seen so many people go in and out of that end office, really glad you’re managing to make it work.’
‘Thanks?’ I said, folding my arms over my boobs, shrinking down into the sofa. ‘We’re trying.’
Charlie did not need to know about our cash-flow problemette. As soon as last month’s invoices were paid, it would all be solved; the last thing we needed was word getting around that we were struggling.
‘You know, I’m always here if you need any help,’ Charlie offered, flexing the manly bicep that peeked out from the short sleeve of his England shirt. ‘I only started up a couple of years ago and I know it isn’t easy.’
I smiled, melting just a fraction.
‘Actually, that’s really helpful, thank you.’
I turned my attention back to the TV before I could ruin the moment. The camera zoomed along a long line of men with expensive tattoos and identical haircuts as they sang the national anthem. If I wanted to make a getaway, now was the time. It wasn’t that I actively disliked football, it was more a Pavlovian response to having spent every weekend travelling from stadium to stadium for five long years with my ex. There wasn’t another woman on this planet who knew how to find the cleanest ladies’ loos at any given premier league team’s home ground as quickly as I did.
But it was a lovely evening and we did have all that fizz and there would be no convincing Miranda to leave now Martin had made an appearance. And then there was Charlie. Maybe it was worth sticking around, at least until half-time.
On screen, the national anthem ended but instead of the clapping and jogging shenanigans that usually followed, the camera panned around the stands. An entire section of the stadium had taken off their England shirts to reveal bright pink T-shirts and when the camera pulled out, they formed a massive heart in the middle of the all-white-wearing crowd. All at once, the same section held up their phones until they joined together in one enormous high-tech jigsaw that read MARRY ME KARINE.
‘Oh god, it’s a flashmob,’ I heard Miranda mutter at the side of me. ‘I’d murder someone if they did this to me.’
‘Point taken,’ Martin whispered back.
But I was too busy staring at the screen to comment.
The words were replaced with an image of a couple on the big screen pitchside. He had dark hair and olive skin and she was tiny and blonde and beautiful. She was so delicately pretty, it looked as though her features had been carved out by unicorns. So that’s what their horns were for. Eventually, the cameraman found the couple themselves and zoomed in on their corporate box. They needn’t have zoomed in quite so close, you could have seen the ring from space, it was enormous. And of course, Karine said yes.
Suddenly, I seemed not to be breathing and my hands were clamped over my mouth. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, completely mute.
‘Mortifying,’ Martin scoffed. ‘Who proposes at a World Cup game?’
‘Someone romantic?’ suggested a random voice behind me.
‘Someone with a massive pair,’ Charlie commented.
I exhaled for the first time in what felt like minutes. I happened to know first-hand that they were both wrong because it was Matthew, my ex-boyfriend.
Like I said, every once in a while, everything comes together and for a single day, your life is amazing.
Unfortunately, this was not going to be one of those days.
‘Did she see it? Did she see it?’ Brian sprinted across the roof, knocking several people out of the way as he lunged in front of the big screen. ‘Annie, close your eyes. Take out your contact lenses. No, you don’t wear lenses, poke out your eyes.’
I opened my mouth to say it was fine but nothing came out.
‘Are you all right?’ Miranda asked while Brian began unfastening his button-down shirt in order to cover the screen where the happy couple were busily waving to their thousands of new friends. ‘Annie, talk to me.’
‘I’m missing something here,’ Charlie said, shielding his eyes from Brian’s pasty torso.
‘And I’m missing the game,’ Martin shouted. ‘Get out the way, dickhead.’
‘This is bigger than twenty millionaires kicking a ball around,’ he shouted back. ‘That’s Annie’s ex. Show some respect, man.’
‘Twenty-two!’ Martin gasped in horror at the idea of someone not knowing how many players made up a football team. Charlie, Miranda and Brian all stared, waiting for me to say something.
‘I’m fine,’ I insisted. ‘Really.’
There were at least three dozen people on the roof terrace, some I knew, most I didn’t, but every single one of them was looking at me. If you took off my clothes, threw in a couple of murderous clowns and a box full of spiders, it was my worst nightmare come true.
‘Yes, Matthew’s my ex-boyfriend,’ I confirmed to Charlie with a breezy smile. ‘But very ex. Long time ago. Not a big deal.’
‘Well, it’s not quite been a year, has it?’ Miranda corrected helpfully.
‘Feels like much longer,’ I said, pinching her thigh tightly as I stood. ‘You know, I’m not really in the mood for football. I think I might head home after all.’
‘We’re
