replied, using the obvious watchword of the day.
When they reached the front doors of the Wellness Sports and Spa Fitness Centre they had to weave a path through the giggling mothers and sisters to get inside. As soon as Emma got Dominic through into the foyer she saw why. Guy was sat at a table with Ally, signing autographs and posing for pictures while her friend tried desperately to enrol the children on the day’s course.
‘Sorry, was that Adam Peters? Or Peter Adams? I can’t hear myself think here. Shit, my pen’s run out! New pen! I need a new pen! Milo! A new pen is needed!’ Ally bawled in the direction of a shaven-haired youth loitering near the door to the office.
‘Are you OK? Here, I have a pen,’ Emma said, delving into her handbag and producing one.
At the sound of her voice Guy looked up from signing his name on the back of a leaflet about judo for an almost hysterical mother of a boy with a Mohican.
‘Oh Em, we’re inundated. Which is all good, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve had two call in sick already. Milo hasn’t even been inducted yet and as you can see it’s chaos! I should be showing the children into the changing rooms but I’m stuck here enrolling,’ Ally informed. Emma noticed a slick of perspiration on her top lip.
‘Mum, you could help Aunty Ally, couldn’t you? You do register and stuff at school. It would be easy for you,’ Dominic piped up.
Bless him. He had good ideas beyond his years but she really wished he hadn’t come up with one right now.
‘I know, Dom. But it isn’t quite the same,’ Emma spoke quickly. She turned her body sideways to minimise her view of Guy.
‘Oh but it is! Here, you just write down the name and a contact telephone number for emergencies. Write the name on the sticker, stick it on the kid and send them to the changing area. Emma, please, I’ve got the hangover from hell after playing rummy with Kathleen Dobbs until the small hours. And if I hear another mother gush about Guy’s
magnifique
physique I’m going to be sick,’ Ally said.
‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ Dominic whispered. Emma looked to Dominic, not missing the awestruck expression on his face as he watched the football idol posing for photos at the other end of the table.
‘Yes, that’s him. If I didn’t feel like death I would be sat on his lap. But, right now I just feel like swilling out my mouth with antiseptic and then eating a bacon sandwich,’ Ally said, fanning her face with her clipboard.
‘Go on,’ Emma said, putting her bag down on the floor.
‘What?’
‘Go on. Go! Go and do whatever you have to do. I’ll book the kids in, stick the stickers on, whatever. Go before you make
me
feel sick,’ Emma ordered, moving around to the other side of the table.
‘You’re a life saver, Em, really you are! Milo! Come hither!’ Ally called, hurrying out of the crowds and beckoning her colleague.
His heart was in full palpitation mode. There he was. Dominic…his son. He was tall for his age, with hair the same colour as his own. It was brown, cut short at the back but longer on top. It flopped down over his forehead, just like his did. He could barely sign his name. He couldn’t hear what the crowds were asking him. He was transfixed on this boy,
his
boy, just yards away from him.
‘Could you sign my breast? It’s a treat for my husband. He’s a big Whites’ fan,’ a middle-aged woman asked him.
‘Sure,’ Guy answered. He wasn’t looking as he moved his pen forward.
‘Breast, love, not my flippin’ navel,’ the woman laughed, lifting Guy’s hand higher.
There was a pillar in between them. A well-polished, chrome and mirrored pillar. If she leant too far forward she caught sight of his dark hair falling forward over his face. If she leant back she could see his football shirt tightening across the contours of his back. It was a no-win situation for her.
Suddenly, as she reached forward and stuck a label onto curly-haired Henry
When they reached the front doors of the Wellness Sports and Spa Fitness Centre they had to weave a path through the giggling mothers and sisters to get inside. As soon as Emma got Dominic through into the foyer she saw why. Guy was sat at a table with Ally, signing autographs and posing for pictures while her friend tried desperately to enrol the children on the day’s course.
‘Sorry, was that Adam Peters? Or Peter Adams? I can’t hear myself think here. Shit, my pen’s run out! New pen! I need a new pen! Milo! A new pen is needed!’ Ally bawled in the direction of a shaven-haired youth loitering near the door to the office.
‘Are you OK? Here, I have a pen,’ Emma said, delving into her handbag and producing one.
At the sound of her voice Guy looked up from signing his name on the back of a leaflet about judo for an almost hysterical mother of a boy with a Mohican.
‘Oh Em, we’re inundated. Which is all good, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve had two call in sick already. Milo hasn’t even been inducted yet and as you can see it’s chaos! I should be showing the children into the changing rooms but I’m stuck here enrolling,’ Ally informed. Emma noticed a slick of perspiration on her top lip.
‘Mum, you could help Aunty Ally, couldn’t you? You do register and stuff at school. It would be easy for you,’ Dominic piped up.
Bless him. He had good ideas beyond his years but she really wished he hadn’t come up with one right now.
‘I know, Dom. But it isn’t quite the same,’ Emma spoke quickly. She turned her body sideways to minimise her view of Guy.
‘Oh but it is! Here, you just write down the name and a contact telephone number for emergencies. Write the name on the sticker, stick it on the kid and send them to the changing area. Emma, please, I’ve got the hangover from hell after playing rummy with Kathleen Dobbs until the small hours. And if I hear another mother gush about Guy’s
magnifique
physique I’m going to be sick,’ Ally said.
‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ Dominic whispered. Emma looked to Dominic, not missing the awestruck expression on his face as he watched the football idol posing for photos at the other end of the table.
‘Yes, that’s him. If I didn’t feel like death I would be sat on his lap. But, right now I just feel like swilling out my mouth with antiseptic and then eating a bacon sandwich,’ Ally said, fanning her face with her clipboard.
‘Go on,’ Emma said, putting her bag down on the floor.
‘What?’
‘Go on. Go! Go and do whatever you have to do. I’ll book the kids in, stick the stickers on, whatever. Go before you make
me
feel sick,’ Emma ordered, moving around to the other side of the table.
‘You’re a life saver, Em, really you are! Milo! Come hither!’ Ally called, hurrying out of the crowds and beckoning her colleague.
His heart was in full palpitation mode. There he was. Dominic…his son. He was tall for his age, with hair the same colour as his own. It was brown, cut short at the back but longer on top. It flopped down over his forehead, just like his did. He could barely sign his name. He couldn’t hear what the crowds were asking him. He was transfixed on this boy,
his
boy, just yards away from him.
‘Could you sign my breast? It’s a treat for my husband. He’s a big Whites’ fan,’ a middle-aged woman asked him.
‘Sure,’ Guy answered. He wasn’t looking as he moved his pen forward.
‘Breast, love, not my flippin’ navel,’ the woman laughed, lifting Guy’s hand higher.
There was a pillar in between them. A well-polished, chrome and mirrored pillar. If she leant too far forward she caught sight of his dark hair falling forward over his face. If she leant back she could see his football shirt tightening across the contours of his back. It was a no-win situation for her.
Suddenly, as she reached forward and stuck a label onto curly-haired Henry
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