The Own Goal ✔️

Prologue

I walk in, dumping my bags in the hall.

I can smell food wafting from the kitchen and the low din of music.
I follow the smells and sounds and stop in the doorway, watching him.

I'll never get bored of coming home to him cooking for us.
Admittedly, it's mostly reheating ready prepared food prepared at an eye watering cost by his personal chef, but still it's the thought, the gesture behind it that means a lot.

He could easily pull the 'too tired to help' card.
God knows most of his friends and colleagues do.
To be honest, I guess his work is harder, in a sense, but I'm out of the house longer hours quite often now, and I adore the fact that even though I know he's been playing FIFA all afternoon, that the dishwasher will always be unloaded, things will be generally tidy, and dinner nearly always on when I get in.

I've known him nearly 3 years now, but there's still so much to learn.

He senses me watching and turns, giving me that ridiculous cheesy grin "ya alright beautiful?"

My reply comes as a returned smile.

"Where's Mia?" I ask

He nods towards the garden, through the open folding doors.
She's laying on the little fairy princess trampoline we got her for her 2nd birthday a few weeks ago, watching the clouds drift over her head.

He saunters over, "reckon we've got like two minutes before she realises ya home"

Oh fuck, his Brum accent more of a drawl. He's eyes sparkling.
"No, don't go getting all unnecessary before dinner" I scold.

"I'm always fuckin' unnecessary....." He leans in, but bypasses my mouth totally, landing his lips on my neck and over dramatically starts licking and nibbling, sending me into a fit of giggles.

As if on cue, she hears me, she runs towards us "mummy!!" She squeals.
But as always, it's actually him she runs to, as always, wanting to be scooped up by daddy.

I watch them.
It's hard to think back to a time before this.

As if by some bizarre coincidence a song comes on the radio that I haven't heard for years, a trancy dance number that I can't remember the name of, but recognise it from the first beat.

I'm transported immediately back to the Greek island three years ago, to the club.

Jack feels the jolt too.
Still cradling his prized possession, his absolute world, his little Mia Moo, his eyes flash at me, dark and brooding.......just like that night.

I'm transported to that hot, sticky, dimly lit corner, his hand was just gently resting on my back.
His words flash back to me.
"Nah, ya names neva Chelsea? I'm not havin' that! I'll hafta think of somethin' else t'call ya"

So innocent then, I'd asked what he was on about.
I close my eyes at the memory.
Savouring it.
Savouring the time before life got complicated.

"Cos I'm not callin' out Chelsea when I score with ya later"

That had been his chat up line.

The line that absolutely got me into bed with him.
The line that led to the most amazing summer trip of my life.

The line that had led me to find myself crying alone in my bathroom a few weeks later, staring at another type of line entirely.

The line that had me messaging Jack fucking Grealish 'We need to talk'.