I stared at her, waiting for her to burst out laughing at the preposterousness of her story. Instead she turned to me, her eyes defying me to disagree with her version of events.
‘Good job I didn’t come steaming round to tell you she needed to go to rehab then.’ I became aware of our feet squelching on the ground. As we neared Patrick, Lee and Mum, I stopped. ‘You won’t say anything about what I’ve told you. Obviously Victor – although he’s doing brilliantly – has had a lot of change in the last six months, so we need to be a bit sensitive in how we manage this. And Phoebe, God knows how she’ll react.’
Faye wrinkled her nose. ‘Yeah. You’re going to have to be careful with that.’
I was going to have to accept that Faye would always have a slight ‘tone’ when she talked about Phoebe. On the other hand, who was to say that if she hadn’t been my daughter I wouldn’t have had the sighing-eyebrow-raising-head-tilting malarkey going on?
I took a tiny shred of comfort that all the spectators erupted into excitement, clapping and shouting Victor’s name as he swallow-dived over the touchline.
Even Lee was clapping. ‘He’s good.’
I didn’t look at Patrick. I didn’t want to see that puff of pride of ‘It’s all in the genes.’
I scrutinised Faye in case she was giving the game away by making some kind of ‘Wonder where he gets that from?’ wink, wink, type comment, but she played her part perfectly. My heart softened towards her. Yes, she was fiercely protective of her kids, but in the end, so were we all.
On the other side of the field, Phoebe was cheering with her friends. They were surprisingly focused on the game, given that even when she watched a film, she had one eye on her phone. She looked so natural and happy. It was hard to believe that she was taking drugs. What was so lacking in her life? What had I missed, failed at, reacted wrongly to? I watched as Victor ran over to her to get some water. She hugged him. Hugged him! She never let either of us within two yards of her these days. But it was so natural, a genuine, joyful, congratulatory hug. Despite all the conflicting emotions that Victor engendered in me, knowing that there was some genuine affection somewhere in Phoebe’s life cheered me. And, by the looks of her friends gathering round, some street cred from existing in the rugby players’ inner circle as well.
The game drew to a close, with another win for our school and Faye’s son, Jordan, pronounced Man of the Match. Secretly, I thought Victor had played better and it seemed I wasn’t alone, judging by the noise that ensued when the coach announced that he’d been voted Players’ Player.
Within a few minutes, Phoebe and her friends were mingling with all the lads and I wondered if Faye noticed the long moment when Georgia hugged Victor and the chemistry between them nearly singed the grass to a cinder. I asked what plans she had for the rest of the weekend to distract her.
Phoebe, who usually pretended she was an orphan at any school event, came bouncing over to us, not at all abashed about seeing Faye, who in fairness managed a reasonably pleasant greeting. ‘Guess what?’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Victor’s setting up a girls’ rugby team.’
I bit back the ‘Really?’ and swerved into a ‘And are you going to play?’ despite failing to imagine Phoebe risking nail breakage, let alone getting covered from head to toe in mud.
‘I definitely am. So’s Georgia. Rhiannon. And Kat, you know, Jasmine’s daughter.’
I didn’t comment but was surprised to hear Phoebe mention Kat as one of the crowd. I loved Jasmine’s daughter. She turned up in purple flares to non-uniform days with her hair held up with a pencil. Nothing about her suggested that every social occasion triggered a refusal to eat carbs for a week beforehand, an emergency fake-tanning session that led to the demise of every white towel in the house or several hours parading every outfit she owned before declaring that her mother was far too stupid to know what teenagers looked good in. Kat, mud and having to stop worrying what you looked like would be a stride in the right direction.
‘When do you begin training?’ I asked.
‘Next week.’ And she danced off, back to her friends.
I wanted to have faith that she’d really get involved, that