Bad Boy (Invertary 5)

“My parents have been there for me, ever since

I was about seven.”

David Beckham, former English national player

It was the Mad Hatter’s tea party and Abby was playing Alice. Victoria was the Red Queen. At any minute, Abby half expected her to point to Flynn and demand Lawrence remove his head. Katy was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. And Flynn, Flynn was the Hatter.

“Damn shame about your leg,” Lawrence said. Lawrence didn’t belong at the Hatter’s tea party. Abby was beginning to think her mother’s lawyer was the only sensible person in the room. “I saw you play at Wembley last year. Great game. I follow Chelsea myself.”

Victoria looked disgusted at this confession, and Abby had to admit she was surprised too. She’d figured Lawrence for a cricket man.

“Ah, Chelsea.” Flynn grinned mischievously. “The pet football team of a Russian billionaire. Boys and their toys.”

Lawrence laughed, as though that was hilarious. “They did win the league last year.”

Flynn shook his head. “It’s amazing what money can buy you these days.”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying they bought the win?”

“I’m saying if you throw enough money at a club you can buy guys with skill. There’s no denying there are amazing players on the Chelsea side, but are they a team? Nope, just a bunch of egos chasing limelight and money.”

“They still won.”

Flynn shrugged but his jaw tightened. “It’s not the way I like to see football run. Look at Man City. The Emirati come in and buy them up, throw money at them like it’s going out of fashion and the team are edging out Manchester United.” Flynn leaned forward. “But where’s all this taking the game? Isn’t it better to be part of a club that nurtures its players, that fosters real team spirit, that enhances the national side and creates football that’s a joy to watch?”

“Like Arsenal?”

Flynn grinned widely. “Like Arsenal.” He sat back in his chair as though he’d won a debate.

Abby shook her head to clear it. She had definitely fallen down the rabbit hole. She didn’t understand the conversation at all.

“Arsenal?” Abby said, mainly because she felt she should say something rather than sitting there quietly and politely. As though she were a character from a Jane Austen novel who didn’t concern herself with “manly” topics. Great, now she was jumping genres—Alice in Wonderland to Pride and Prejudice. What was next? War and Peace?

Lawrence gave her an indulgent smile as he pointed at Flynn. “Flynn is a Gunner.”

Yeah, now she was totally lost. She looked at Flynn, aware her ignorance and confusion were written large on her face.

His eyes flashed with pain and anger, but it didn’t seem to be directed at anyone in the room. The look was quickly covered with his trademark lazy smile.

“Used to be a Gunner,” he corrected.

Lawrence shrugged. “With your record, you’ll always be a Gunner. You scored more goals for that team than any other player this decade.” He turned to Abby. “The Arsenal players are called Gunners. Flynn here has been with the team since he was a teen. You were in their academy, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, moved down there when I was thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” Abby stared at him. “You went to live in London at thirteen? To play football?”

Flynn’s eyes sparkled at Abby’s astonishment. “I started out with Rangers when I was ten. Was picked up by one of their scouts and played off and on in their academy. A guy from Arsenal spotted me during one of those games and offered a better opportunity. I have relatives in London, Dad’s brother. So I went to board at the academy and my aunt and uncle took care of me. It wasn’t like I was sold into slavery, sugar—I wanted to do it. Hell, I was begging to do it. Do you have any idea how many great players went through the Arsenal academy? I owe them everything. They’re my team. The only one I ever wanted.”

He looked down at the table, suddenly overcome by his thoughts. It took Abby a minute to realise he was grieving. He’d lost his team, his life, when he’d lost the use of his leg.

“I’m sorry, Flynn,” she said.

He gave her a soft smile that melted something within her.

“What’s she sorry for?” Katy asked with a mouthful of cake.

Flynn cocked his head towards Katy. “Remember I told you I couldn’t play football because I hurt my leg? Well, your mum is telling me she feels sorry for me. She knows how much I enjoyed playing. She knows I miss it.”