to make up for lost time. Yeah, right. Just wanted a slice of my money, more like. Told him where to go.’
For a moment his lively face looked bleak, far away. So I told him about my father and the drunk driver.
‘So we’re both half-orphans then,’ he said. ‘Not easy, eh? But I had lots of dads. Different one every few months. Mum would get lonely. Not surprising, she was only young. Then some bloke would move in, start throwing his weight around and then there’d be a row and in the morning he’d be gone too. There was a lot like that. Losers, most of them, absolute losers. Except for Travis. Travis was all right.’
‘What made Travis special?’
‘Well, for a start he stuck around longer than most. He could cope with my mum’s moods and tempers—which took some coping with, trust me. She had a mean temper on her. And he used to take me to the park, so we could both get out of her way. He’d kick a ball about with me. He was sound. It was Travis who took me to the Lions Boys’ club. Knew the guy who ran it. Told him I had talent. That was my big break, all thanks to Travis. He used to come and watch me, cheer for me. I told everyone he was my dad. Wished he was.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh, in the end even he had enough of my mum. I looked for him, you know, when I signed for my first club. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to be proud of me. But I couldn’t find him. Then a few years later I heard he’d died, been killed, knifed. Got into an argument with the wrong guy. ‘
He took a fierce forkful of the vegetables piled high on his plate.
‘What’s your mum doing now?’
‘Selling overpriced clothes in a little shop in Spain. She went out there a few years ago with some guy she met on holiday. Actually, he seems all right. Don’t see much of him. But he makes Mum happy. Him and the sun. She’s really nice when she’s happy, you know? If it had worked out with my dad, she might have been happy all the time and been a different person. Who knows? Anyway, I bought her this shop and a villa, so if it all goes pear-shaped—which it usually does with my mum—then she’s got somewhere to live and a job to keep her occupied. But this guy seems to have lasted longer than most. He’s a lot older than her but they do a lot of travelling together and a lot of partying. She’s having fun and deserves that. Like I say, she was only a kid herself when she was left with me. Can’t have been easy.
‘Was it the same for your mum?’ he asked. ‘Was there always a new dad in the morning?’
I shook my head. ‘The complete opposite. She didn’t want anyone else. All she cared about was me and work. Too much so, sometimes. I wished she had let another man into her life. It might have taken the pressure off…’ I went back to my meal—wonderful juicy scallops with lemon and ginger and the finest angel-hair spaghetti I’d ever tasted. My childhood hadn’t always been easy, but hearing about Clayton’s I had no right to complain.
‘Which just goes to show,’ Clayton went on, ‘that in the end you’re on your own and you’ve just got to look out for number one, because no one else is going to do it for you.’
There was a moment’s silence as we both backed off from the conversation that had quickly got so heavy.
But soon Clayton was relaxed again. He leant back in his seat, took a sip of wine and grinned at me over the glass.
‘You look nice, Miss Freshface,’ he said, ‘All clean and outdoorsy.’
‘Well, I feel a mess,’ I said, and told him about the goodie-bag of brush and comb, which made him laugh.
‘I guess they’re well used to providing such things for unexpected female visitors,’ he said.
There was a sudden frisson in the air, a little ripple of something that suddenly made me feel not so safe. What had I got myself into—getting into a helicopter with a complete stranger, about whom I knew so little? If I had to make a run for it, I was done for. No money. No credit cards. I’d have to hitch back to High Hartstone Edge. It would take me some time. Especially as I wasn’t even sure exactly where I was. As I began to panic, some spaghetti unrolled from my fork and fell messily onto my chin. Clayton leant over and gently wiped it away with his napkin. He held the napkin close to my face for a little while longer than necessary. ‘What big eyes you’ve got,’ he said, gazing into them. ‘Beautiful big eyes,’ he said slowly, dreamily, seductively…
Then he suddenly crowed with delight.
‘And you blush! Oh Miss Freshface, you blushed.’ This had him chuckling to himself. ‘You know, I spend a lot of time with a lot of lovely ladies. Seriously hot ladies. They have all the clothes, the hair, the look, you know. But not once have I seen one of them blush. But you, girl, are the brightest, prettiest pink. I can’t really believe you’re a city girl. Really, you’re a little country miss at heart, like that girl in the book, Tess, that’s it—Tess of the D’Urbervilles.’
Oh God, why did I blush so easily? Now he probably had me down as a little girlie completely overcome by the big famous footballer. As if.
So to change the subject, I told him about my great-great-grandmother and how my family was from round here. He looked almost wistful for a moment and said it must be nice to have roots somewhere, to belong.
‘Oh, I’m as much a stranger as you are, but it’s interesting seeing where some of the family comes from, tracing any connections. And yes, I think it already feels special somehow.’
The waiter cleared our plates away and offered desserts. Clayton shook his head but said, ‘The lady will have one.’
‘No, it’s all right. I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Have a pudding. I bet you’d like to really.’
‘Well, yes,’ I grinned. He’d clearly read my mind. ‘Go with the flow,’ I’d said, hadn’t I? ‘I suppose I would.’ So I ordered the lemon tart, so deliciously sharp and lemony that it almost made my eyes water. Clayton watched me eat it, rather as though he were an indulgent uncle. As I took the final forkful, he smiled, ‘It’s good to see a lady enjoying her food.’
Which, of course, immediately made me feel huge and greedy. I bet the women he normally took out for lunch did nothing more than nibble a lettuce leaf with no dressing. Maybe an olive if they were going really mad. I went pinker.
‘Aren’t you shooting today?’ I asked hurriedly before he could comment on it again. ‘I thought that was the point of coming up here.’
‘Nah, it’s pretty boring really. You stand where you’re told, wait for some guys to shoo all the birds in front of you and you go bang! bang! and that’s it. And it’s all rules and etiquette and, “If you don’t mind, sir,” and a gamekeeper with a seriously bad attitude. I wanted to go off and shoot in another direction. I could see plenty of birds there, but he just says, “I’m sorry, sir, we’re not shooting those drives today.” Well why not, eh? And you should see the clothes. He was wearing a suit right out of a picture book, like that boy in the film about the trains, you know, the one with wotsername in.’
‘Jenny Agutter? The Railway Children?’
‘Yeah that’s the one. All tweedy with trousers to the knee and bright red socks. What a prat.’
By now Clayton was well into his stride. I could just
