Never Too Late (27 page)

at and the Anorak Girlies gave her an appraising look.

Flushing to be singled out so noticeably, Cara waved

back at him.

‘You’re Ewan’s friend Cara,’ cooed the red head, cute as

a button in a purple velvet hat that set off her ringlets

beautifully. ‘He told us all about you. Come and cheer

with us,’ she invited. ‘We’re his friends. I’m Arlene, going

out with Michael,’ she said proudly, ‘the one who nearly

scored. And Barbara’s dating Dave, the left back.’

‘Coo-ee, Dave,’ shrieked Barbara, as if to prove the

point.

Dave looked around and a Dems man cannoned into

him, knocking them both to the ground.

Barbara giggled nervously. “I hope he’s OK,’ she said.

‘Probably just concussion or a cracked rib or two,’

reassured Cara, a dedicated Arsenal fan who took a dim

view of people distracting the players.

Both women giggled skittishly again. ‘You are a card,’ Arlene said, ‘Isn’t she, Babs?’

Cara smiled tightly and took a step away. How did she

come to get stuck beside them? And whatever did they

mean by ‘Ewan’s told us all about you’?

By half-time, she’d managed to put at least two yards

between herself and the Anorak Girls, and St Helen’s had

managed only to let in two goals.

‘Hi, Cara,’ said Ewan, emerging from the sea of mud

with a broad smile on his face. ‘You got here OK, and I see

you met Babs and Arlene.’

They were busy waving excitedly at a concussed-looking

Dave and a very muddy Michael. But like lap dogs, hearing

their names and sensing titbits, they smiled in Ewan’s

direction.

‘They’re great, aren’t they?’ he said fondly, running a

sweaty hand through his equally sweaty hair.

‘Marvellous,’ Cara said brightly, thinking that she hadn’t

wasted nine-fifty on a taxi to stand beside the sort of

women she couldn’t bear to talk to under normal circumstances.

Over made-up in the extreme, Arlene and Babs

looked like they were done up for a disco, not a freezing

February football match.

‘I told them to watch out for you,’ Ewan said sheepishly.

‘Didn’t want you feeling lost. Are you enjoying yourself?’

Suddenly, it was as if the day had turned tropical.

Instead of the icy wind clutching her extremities, Cara felt

as if she was being warmed by a benevolent sun.

Ewan had wanted her to feel at home. He’d warned

people in advance about her coming. Forget what she’d

thought about this not being a date: it was one.

‘Absolutely,’ she replied, eyes shining.

He touched her arm briefly in response. ‘Great. I’d

better go and discuss tactics,’ he said, and then added

ruefully: ‘Or discuss how not to lose too humiliatingly.’

‘You’re doing great,’ Cara said with an encouraging grin.

‘Go get ‘em.’

He ran off and she found herself admiring him do it.

Those baggy jeans hid a well-muscled form, she realised,

as she watched his gluteal muscles ripple under filthy

shorts.

‘Want a sandwich?’ inquired a voice and she looked

around to find Arlene opening a Tupperware box containing

freshly cut brown bread sandwiches glistening with

succulent egg. ‘Babs has coffee and we’ve got a hip flask of

brandy.’

‘Because it’d freeze your boobs off out here,’ said Babs

with the inevitable giggle.

‘I’m sure you’ve only got cups for two people,’ said

Cara, astonished.

‘No.’ Babs reached into her giant handbag and extracted

a mini tower of polystyrene cups. ‘I’ve brought loads. I

always do.’

Babs and Arlene went up several notches in her estimation.

They weren’t as dumb as they looked.

‘Thanks,’ she said gratefully. ‘I’d love a sandwich and I’d

kill for a coffee.’

Fortified by coffee, sandwiches and a decent nip of

brandy - Babs’ flask proved to be of the big variety - Cara

watched the rest of the match in comfort and enjoyed

herself chatting to the girls.

While St Helen’s went on to score two goals, Babs and

Arlene gently grilled Cara about herself and she, just as

gently, grilled them about Ewan. He’d been at school with

Dave and Michael, loved skiing and hadn’t brought anyone

to a football match since breaking up with his last girlfriend, an advertising executive named Layla who was,

according to Babs, ‘a complete bitch’.

‘She thought she was so clever and looked down her

posh nose at us,’ sniffed Arlene, who was a beautician,

‘because she was a big noise in her company.’

Cara felt a twinge of guilt. She’d been looking down her

nose a bit at them too, judging them totally by their girlish

giggles and heavy make-up. They could just as easily have

judged her on her bolshie, couldn’t-give-a-damn clothes,

but they hadn’t. They’d kindly given her the benefit of the

doubt before they judged.

‘And her hair …’ shuddered Babs, a colourist by profession.

‘She thought that fat blonde streaks looked nice on

jet black hair, God help her. Somebody should have told

her it looked awful.’

‘If she hadn’t been going out with Ewan, whom we love,

I’d have certainly told her,’ Arlene said menacingly. ‘Proper

little cow, she was.’

Cara roared with laughter. ‘How do I measure up?’ she

asked gleefully.

Arlene turned away from the match and raised one

exquisitely pencilled eyebrow as she surveyed Cara.

‘You’ll do,’ she grinned. ‘You’re normal, like us. Ewan

said you were dead on and he was telling the truth.’

The final whistle blew. Three:two to Dems.

After the usual back slapping and hand shaking, the

teams dispersed, running either into the tiny clubhouse or

over to the knots of supporters.

Arlene and Babs hurried off to their boyfriends while

Ewan loped over to Cara.

‘The girls giving you the third degree?’ he panted,

bending over and stretching his muscles.

‘They now know my birth sign, my bank account

number and what shampoo I use,’ she joked. ‘And we

shared coffee, sandwiches and brandy which kept me from

freezing to death. They’re great fun, I like them,’ she said

truthfully.

‘Knew you would.’ Ewan stood up straight. ‘Well, we got

hammered, so myself and the lads feel we should go out

and get hammered again, if you get my meaning. You’re

still on for going out for a meal?’

Even hot and sweaty, his face flushed from exertion,

Ewan looked good. That wide, mobile and eminently

kissable mouth was waiting for her answer.

‘Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Great. I’ll give you my keys and you can sit in the car

while I shower.’

In the car park, Arlene and Babs were rummaging inside

a massive black jeep, the doors open and M People’s

‘Moving On Up’ pumping out of the stereo system.

Cara wandered over to say hello and her jaw dropped.

They had come prepared in more than just the catering

department, she realised with a shock as they both

emerged from the back seat sans anoraks, wearing dressy

clothes. Babs had replaced her faded denim outfit with a

black brocade jacket worn over velvet bootlegs while

Arlene was now encased in spray-on black jeans and a

long-sleeved purple body that revealed a dizzying amount

of cleavage each time the matching cardigan swung open.

They’d swopped their pitch-side flat shoes for high heels

but, even so, were both at least four inches shorter than

Cara. Beside them, she felt more than a bit inadequate, not

to mention very tall.

‘Girls,’ she said equably as she looked at her man’s navy

overcoat, tattered faded jeans, ancient lace-up brown

boots, and Phoebe’s crimson chenille jumper - lent for the

occasion because Cara had nothing clean - ‘you make me

sick. How come you pair are done up to the nines after

watching a football match in the freezing cold and I look

like I’ve been playing in it?’

‘Listen, girl,’ said Arlene firmly, ‘I have to make a big

effort to look good because I’m short, put on weight

quicker than a pregnant woman, and without blusher I’ve

a face as round as Ronald McDonald. You, on the other

hand, don’t have to do anything. Look at you,’ she said in

exasperation, staring at Cara’s fine-boned gypsyish face

with its plump lips and huge dark eyes. ‘You’ve amazing

bone structure, blow job lips …’

Babs broke into howls of filthy laughter at this. ‘Lucky

Ewan,’ she shrieked.

‘And,’ continued Arlene, ‘you’ve got a great body with

those bleedin’ long legs I’d kill for.’

‘Whaddya mean, great body?’ muttered an astounded

and embarrassed Cara. ‘I’m just big, I’m like a man.’

‘You’re athletic,’ Arlene said. ‘Not big. If I looked like

you do in jeans and that jumper, I wouldn’t be bothering

with all this slap now. So,’ she asked with a smirk, ‘does

this worrying about what you’re wearing mean you’re

coming out with us? Ewan’d like you to …’

Cara swatted Arlene’s red ringlets with a gentle hand.

‘Docs the word “subtle” mean anything to you, Arlene?’

she demanded goodhumouredly.

Babs roared with laughter again. ‘You wouldn’t ask that

question if you saw the leopardskin bikini she’s just

bought. It’s got so much uplift, her boobs are pushed up

around her chin and she could eat her dinner off them.’

By the time the lads arrived back at the cars, wearily

carrying sports bags and slugging back cans of isotonic

drinks, Cara and the girls were having their own little party

in the comfort of the jeep, listening to M People and telling

dirty jokes. Babs had produced a bag of diet chocolate bars

which they’d wolfed down with the rest of the coffee,

spiked with brandy, naturally.

‘You were wunnerful!’ slurred Babs, flinging herself at

Michael when he opened the driver’s door.

‘You little wagons, you’ve started without us,’ he said,

getting a sniff of her boozy breath. ‘We’ll have to catch up.’

‘Not the hip flask again, Babs,’ Ewan groaned, appearing

at the other door beside Cara, freshly washed dark hair flopping around his eyes. ‘I told you pair to look after her, not get her pissed.’

‘Nobody got me pissed,’ interrupted Cara. ‘I’m not

pissed.’

‘OK,’ grinned Ewan, ‘get out of the jeep and let’s see

you walk a straight line.’

Laughing, she tumbled out of the door, caught her boot

in the dangling seatbelt and would have fallen flat on to

the tarmac if he hadn’t grabbed her.

‘Shit!’ she gasped, head buried against his scratchy

woollen sweater, arms clutched around his waist as she

tried to right herself.

‘Not drunk, huh?’ his voice said, surprisingly strong arms

holding her safely.

Inside the jeep, the other girls were convulsed with

laughter.

‘She’s pie-eyed!’ screeched Babs between snorts of

laughter.

Cara wriggled upwards, trying to get her balance back

with one hand leaning on the jeep, the other on Ewan’s

shoulder. But he still held on to her, arms around her waist

until they were standing face to face, hip bone to hip bone.

That close, she could smell the just-showered smell of

him and feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

For a brief moment she gazed into his face, letting her eyes

roam over the intelligent, sexy eyes and down to the

mobile mouth. He was watching her watching him, his

gaze intense. The electricity between them was palpable

and Cara felt as if time had stood still, as if there was

nobody watching them, as if they were alone in the car

park and anything could happen.

‘Bruno’s?’ said somebody.

Cara wondered if she’d imagined it, a voice breaking

into their own private world.

‘Bruno’s?’ said the voice again. ‘What do you think,

Ewan? Are you on for Bruno’s?’

He moved away from her, just a tiny movement but it

broke the tension between them. ‘Yeah, that’d be fine.’ He

looked at Cara. ‘Would you like to go to Bruno’s to eat?’ he

asked softly.

She nodded, thinking of what she’d like to do with Ewan

and eating dinner in Bruno’s wasn’t on the list. Not at that

moment anyway.

As if he could read her mind, Ewan grinned, kissed her

gently on the lips in almost brotherly fashion, and took her

hand. ‘Let’s go. We can go off for a drink on our own later,

if you’d like?’ he added.

Cara wondered if her eyes could bore into his soul,

because she was sure he could see into hers. It was a heady

feeling. She gave him a liquid gaze, her eyes dark. ‘I’d like

that very much,’ she said in a voice that sounded huskier

than normal.

They piled into two cars - the jeep and Ewan’s sports

car - and drove to the DART station where they left the

cars and took the train into the city. Despite losing the

match, everyone was in high spirits and it was a good

humoured group of six which piled into the restaurant,

taking a table by the window where they could look

through the frosted glass and watch the trendies of Temple

Bar walk past.