Authors: Michelle Betham
‘Yes, and you know I am. They said you asked if I could present it tonight because of Brandon’s interview.’
‘I just want the kid to feel comfortable, Amber. I really wanted to be there with him myself, but I’ve got a meeting with a player in Munich tonight, so the next best thing is to have you there to keep an eye on him. You don’t mind, do you? I thought with you being down there anyway you might as well do something.’
‘No, I don’t mind. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do. And there’s no harm in showing a bit of enthusiasm, is there? Seeing as I’m still very much the new girl.’
‘Amber – there’s nothing wrong, is there?’
Amber stopped drumming her fingers and stared down at her wedding ring. ‘Why would anything be wrong?’
‘No reason. Just checking. I’m your agent, it’s what I do. I make sure everything’s okay.’
‘For whose benefit?’ She hadn’t meant that to sound quite as cynical as it had done.
‘Yours, Amber. Just think about the Ice shoot, will you? Please? I’ll talk to you later.’
Amber threw her mobile down next to her and sat back against the cushions of the cobalt-blue sofa, closing her eyes and sighing heavily.
‘That’s all I’ve heard you do these days,’ Ronnie said.
She opened one eye and looked at him. ‘What?’
‘Sigh. And are you working tonight or something?’
‘I’m presenting
Scoreline
.’
‘Since when? I thought Steve was doing that?’
Amber sat up, clasping her hands between her knees. ‘Well, he isn’t now, is he? I am. That’s why I’m here this afternoon, checking things over. There’s a lot to talk about in tonight’s show, including that interview with my new stepson. That should get the viewers in.’ She’d let the cynicism take over again, but she couldn’t help it. She was in a cynical mood.
Ronnie watched as she stood up, shaking out her long, dark red hair. ‘Brandon’s coming here? Into the studio?’
‘Yeah. Wearside Spartans’ match at the weekend is in north London, as you know, and the squad are already here, so…’
‘And they asked
you
to interview him?’
‘Well, Max asked them if I could interview him, actually.’
‘And you’re all right with that?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Amber got up and walked over to the long, semi-circular-shaped desk at the rear of the studio. ‘It’s what I do.’
Ronnie followed her, perching himself on the edge of the desk as she started rifling through a pile of papers. ‘Your behaviour, Amber…’
She looked up sharply. ‘What about it?’
‘It’s pretty erratic, to say the least.’
She didn’t reply, just resumed the sorting through of those papers.
‘Amber?’
She looked up again. ‘What? What do you want me to say, Ronnie?’
‘I know these past few days have thrown up a few things that can’t have been easy to deal with…’
She raised her eyebrows at that comment.
‘But…’ Ronnie continued, ‘… I just think… I think… You need to be with Jim.’
‘And that’s your considered opinion, is it, Dr. White?’
‘Quit with the flippancy, Amber.’
‘I need to be
here
, Ronnie. Okay? I need to be here, and I need to be busy. Anyway, Debbie’s coming down tomorrow. We’re going shopping.’
‘That’ll be nice.’
‘Now who’s being flippant?’
‘And you really think that you, sitting there interviewing his son on live TV – you think that’s gonna make Jim feel any better about things? Because if
I
was married to you that would be confusing the hell out of me.’
She looked down at that pile of papers again. ‘Yeah, well, you’re
not
married to me, are you? So it’s not your problem.’
‘Oh, it’s very much my problem, Amber. I’m making it my problem.’
‘Well don’t.’ She stared at him, her eyes telling him to back off. ‘I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I just need to face things head-on, and that includes getting to know my stepson.’
‘By interviewing him live on TV? Why not just take him for a drink or out to dinner, or something? But this… And why are you doing this without Jim?’
‘Will you stop bringing Jim into this, Ronnie, please?’
‘Look, Amber, I’m not the guy’s biggest fan – not on a personal level, anyway – but is it fair to leave him back home, alone, dealing with the fact you’re Christ knows where feeling Christ knows what?’
‘He knows where I am. And can we just stop this now. Just… just, stop it.’
‘Why? Am I hitting a few nerves?’
‘You’re not being fair.’
Ronnie said nothing for a second, just looked at her, holding her gaze. ‘Well, that’d make two of us, then. Wouldn’t it?’
‘Jesus. I’d forgotten how loud this place can be,’ Ryan shouted, throwing himself down into a seat in what he hoped was going to be a quieter corner of the VIP area in one of the city’s more exclusive Quayside bars.
‘Here, get this down you.’ Gary grinned as he handed Ryan a vodka shot.
Ryan eyed it warily. He’d once spent nights knocking these back, setting up rounds of them in all different flavours just so he could impress the ever-present crowds of women who flocked around him before picking out those he quite fancied spending a bit more time with. That life seemed like such a long time ago, yet it had only been a matter of months since those nights of partying to excess with women whose names he could barely remember the next day. He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t miss the adrenalin rush that lifestyle gave him; the high knowing every woman in the room wanted you was something he still craved from time to time. But when he remembered what he’d almost lost – what he actually
had
lost – through living the way he had done, it didn’t always feel so glamorous.
‘One isn’t going to hurt,’ Gary said, noticing Ryan’s reluctance to take the shot. ‘And you know your limits now, don’t you?’
Ryan took the drink and knocked it back, placing the empty glass down on the table in front of him. ‘Yeah. I do. But doubtless you’ll be keeping an eye on my alcohol intake anyway.’
‘Don’t be so frigging cynical, Ryan. I’m not your babysitter. I’m your friend, and I care about you, you dozy sod.’
Ryan looked at him, throwing him the famous Fisher grin.
‘And that doesn’t work on me,’ Gary said, rolling his eyes. ‘I’ll go get us a couple of beers. Don’t want to put you in temptation’s way by letting you go to the bar yourself, do we?’
Ryan sat back on the comfortable black suede sofa, watching as the VIP area filled up with local celebrities, footballers, and what seemed like an abundance of glamorous women in figure-hugging short dresses that showed off an array of never-ending legs. For a brief second he felt as though he was back in heaven, that kid in a metaphorical candy store, because he could, if he wanted, have any one of those women. He knew he could. Just because he was in the process of trying to clean up his act it didn’t mean to say he had to start living like a monk. He was only human. And famous. And incredibly good-looking. Not to mention loaded.
‘Well, long time no see, Ryan.’
Ryan’s head turned quickly to his right to see a very beautiful, very blonde young woman sitting beside him. With her smoky grey eyes and pale pink pout, she seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place where he’d seen her last. But that was no surprise. Over the course of his years as a professional footballer he’d had more women than he could keep track of, the majority of which had never stayed in his life for more than a couple of days. Most of them were lucky to last a few hours. As yet, he wasn’t sure which category this woman here in front of him fitted into.
‘I haven’t seen you since that incredible night in The Goldman last September,’ she purred, her hand resting lightly on his leg.
The Goldman Hotel was one of the most upmarket hotels in the North East, and, despite its reputation as a top-class riverside establishment, it was the venue of choice for celebrities, rock stars and footballers when they needed to ‘let off steam’, as it were, with people they’d rather not be seen with. The hotel offered a very discreet service to its celebrity clients, and any member of staff found offering information of any kind to reporters or photographers – no matter how tiny a titbit – knew they could face instant dismissal. As a one-time regular Ryan knew this, and he’d made use of The Goldman’s discreetness on many an occasion. Too many to remember, if truth be told.
Ryan grinned as recognition slowly began to take over. She’d been a ‘few days’ girl – starting off in The Goldman after a night in the casino, and ending in The Goldman just a couple of days later. For no reason other than he’d become bored of her. ‘Paula, isn’t it?’
She nodded, running a finger gently along his thigh. ‘You remember me, then?’
‘It’s pretty hard to forget you, sweetheart, considering some of the things you did to me in that hotel room. I’m not even sure half of them were legal.’
She laughed a low, throaty laugh that was actually incredibly sexy, stirring up something in Ryan he hadn’t felt in a while – that urge to indulge in no-strings, no-questions-asked sex with a woman who didn’t want anything from him other than his body.
‘You haven’t been out and about for a while,’ Paula went on, her hand now stroking his arm, and he watched as she uncrossed and crossed her legs slowly, letting her skirt deliberately ride up her thighs. ‘And after everything that happened I wasn’t sure if we’d ever see you back here again.’
‘I went into rehab, Paula, that’s all. For a number of reasons. And they’re all sorted now.’ Were they? Really?
‘Still…’ She smiled, edging closer to him, ‘… it’s good to see you again.’
He looked over towards the bar where Gary was deep in conversation with one of their teammates, and suddenly a night of sitting exchanging small talk about Debbie’s latest ideas for interior design seemed like something Ryan really couldn’t be bothered to face. He wanted some fun. He
needed
some fun, before he made a decision that could change his life. For a little while, anyway.
‘You here with anyone?’ Ryan asked, turning his attention back to Paula.
‘Nobody I mind leaving.’ She smiled. ‘Not if
you’re
after some company.’
‘Oh, it’s more than company I’m after.’ He grinned, grabbing her hand and pulling her up off the sofa. ‘Come on. Me and you, we’re gonna relive some old times.’
Jim stood in the kitchen, facing the TV on the wall, sipping a small glass of whisky as he watched Amber’s
Scoreline
interview with Brandon. His handsome son and his beautiful wife. Together. What a mind-fuck
that
was turning out to be! He’d only found out she was going to be talking to him when Brandon had called him earlier, and it hurt more than Jim cared to admit that Amber couldn’t have told him herself. Especially as she’d finally answered one of his frequent calls just half an hour ago, only minutes before she’d gone live on air. She could have easily told him about the interview with Brandon then. But, at the same time, just hearing her voice had been enough to calm him slightly. She wasn’t blanking him completely, although it had been obvious to him that she was still upset. But she’d told him she loved him, and he couldn’t begin to describe the relief he’d felt when he’d heard her say that. She loved him. That didn’t mean everything was suddenly going to be okay; it didn’t mean that once the weekend was over and she was back in the North East – if she came back to the North East, that is, because she hadn’t exactly told him
when
she’d be back – it didn’t mean that she was going to forget everything and it would all go back to normal. He’d just told her he had a twenty-year-old son, and she’d just been told she may never be able to have kids of her own. How could anything ever really go back to normal after that?
He turned his attention back to the TV, watching as Amber laughed and joked with Brandon, putting him instantly at ease, because that was what she did. She was good at her job, the best. She conducted interviews like they were the most natural thing in the world to her, making every person she spoke to want to stay there and chat longer than their allotted time slot. And it didn’t seem to matter what else was going on in her life, she never displayed anything other than total professionalism. She never gave anything away, and even though he knew how she still felt about the revelation that Brandon was his son, all he could see there on the screen was a woman who was giving this young footballer the airtime he deserved in order to let football fans across the country get to know him.
Of course, it was inevitable that the interview wasn’t going to pass without some mention of the family ties involved, and Jim couldn’t help but flinch as she mentioned his name, because her face showed nothing. There was no emotion, not even a flicker of something he could grab onto that could make him think she’d had the space and time she needed and was now ready to come home and let him explain. Not that he could explain much, really. He’d lied to her. Again. What on earth had made him think she was just going to take that? Didn’t he know her well enough after all this time?
Swallowing the last of his whisky, he switched off the TV and headed upstairs. The house was too empty without Amber in it. The silence was giving him way too much time to think about things. An early night seemed a much better option. When he was asleep he didn’t have to think about what he might have done, what he might have lost. What he might have to fight twice as hard to keep now. But if he had to fight, he would. Whatever it took.
‘Thanks, Amber. For doing this.’
She looked up at Brandon. The show was now over but he’d hung around for a while after they’d come off air to chat with some of the
Scoreline
team. It was still quite unnerving to see how closely he resembled his dad, and although she’d managed to put it to the back of her mind during the interview, all it was doing now was reminding her of Jim. And right now she didn’t really want to be reminded of him.
She smiled, pulling her jacket on and running her fingers through her hair. ‘You’ve got nothing to thank me for. It was the guys here at
Scoreline
that wanted to interview you, I was just doing my job.’