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“Actually,” I said, “there is one little surprise I had in store for your daughter next week. I hope you don’t mind being home alone with Mom for a few days. Jenny and I are going to take a little trip.” 

For my second trip to England I went first class all the way. The flight from New York to London now felt too short; I hadn’t wanted it to end. Jaxon couldn’t drink because he was still on his medication, but I indulged in a few glasses of champagne before stretching out my legs and resting my head on his shoulder.

The obvious thing to do on a flight where you had plenty of legroom and the ability to turn your seat into a bed would be to go to sleep, but that felt like such a waste of the experience. In the end, my eyes made my decision for me as they closed about two-thirds of the way through the flight and didn’t open again until we were landing.

Another short haul flight took us up to Liverpool where we stayed in a hotel overlooking the waterfront. According to a guide book provided by the hotel, our room was overlooking the docks where the Titanic had stopped on its way from Belfast, where it was built, to Southampton, from where it set sail. Many families in the area had lost people on that ill-fated voyage, and we explored a maritime museum one afternoon which had a memorial to the tragedy.

We spent one day looking for a house to buy when we moved over, but I wasn’t really cut out for the job of choosing between properties worth millions of dollars. House prices in the area were climbing after the city had been named the European Capital of Culture for 2008, but money still went a heck of a lot further here than it did in New York.  

The properties Jaxon took me to all looked so far beyond anything I had seen before that I had no idea what to make of them. Did I want the one with a massive swimming pool? Or was I happy with a smaller pool, but an added jacuzzi? I liked the idea of chilling out with Jaxon in a jacuzzi, but it was easier to add a jacuzzi to a property than to extend the size of the swimming pool. It wasn’t that long ago that I’d felt guilty for splashing out on an expensive set of underwear. Things had changed a lot over the summer.

House hunting wasn’t the only reason Jaxon had brought me back to Liverpool. My last experience in the city hadn’t been all that positive, and Jaxon had noticed my apprehension about the move. We’d come to spend the week here and soak up everything the city had to offer. We could also have lived in London, but London had a lot in common with New York and I was ready to leave big city life behind me for a while.

We’d left New York the day after the news broke about our relationship and it hadn’t been a moment too soon. The scandal was reported in all the trashy magazines and websites, although much to Jaxon’s relief the sports sites hadn’t covered the news in much depth. The reporters there sounded uncomfortable even talking about it, and you could tell they just wanted to focus on sport and not on who a recently-retired soccer player was dating.

The attitude was much the same in England. The news certainly discussed us, but there wasn’t a lot of crossover between those who read gossip magazines and those who watched soccer. Other than a few stares from passers-by, we were largely ignored and when people did approach all they wanted was a selfie with Jaxon. It was like I wasn’t even there.

Jaxon had a few meetings to discuss working as a coach. He made no secret of his desire to teach children, but everyone he spoke to told him to keep his options open and consider a career coaching at a big club or maybe even becoming a manager.

“I agree,” I said, when Jaxon recounted the words of advice he’d received. “Presumably children are in school most of the time anyway. I’m sure you can do both and I think you would miss being around the hustle and bustle of the big time.”

“If I work for a big club then it would mean obtaining proper coaching licenses. I must admit, I like the idea of getting the proper training before I start trying to train others.”

“That’s settled then. Now, what are we going to do for the rest of the day.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Today is the first day of the season and Liverpool United is playing at home. The chairman invited me to use one of the executive boxes.”

“Oh yeah,” I said slowly, remembering the last time I was in an executive box with Jaxon.  

“We won’t be able to do that again,” Jaxon said, reading my mind. “There will be far too many people around this time. But it should still be fun.”

“I’ve never been to a soccer game before. I’m always going to regret not getting the chance to see you play.”

“I’m actually glad you never came to any of my games. There’s no way I would have been able to concentrate with you in the crowd. Speaking of the crowd, I should warn you that if the opposing team’s fans find out you and I are at the game—and I’m sure they will—the songs they’ll sing will be far from pleasant.”

“Oh. That’s to be expected I guess.” I pictured myself hiding from the glare of the cameras while thousands of people chanted abuse in my direction.

“Try not to worry about it too much,” Jaxon said. “Everyone gets abused at these games, so it’s nothing personal. It’s more like an initiation thing, really.”

“They won’t go easy on you because you’re ill?” I asked.

“God, no,” he replied, shaking his head. “And I wouldn’t want them to. Come on, let’s head out for lunch and get to the ground early. I want to buy you a replica jersey to wear during the game.”

-*-

The stadium sat about the same number of people as New York United’s, but it couldn’t have looked more different. It was over one hundred years old and apart from the executive suites—which had been recently remodeled—it looked every bit of its one-hundred-plus years.  

Despite that, I found myself preferring this stadium
because
of its age, not in spite of it. The history of the club was evident from the paintings depicting past accomplishments hung on all the walls, and the older fans who looked like they had been coming to games for at least seventy years.  

The executive suite had its own wait staff and all the comforts you could possibly need, but I wanted to soak up the atmosphere a bit and the sun was shining, so we sat on the reserved seats outside while the teams came out onto the pitch. The chairman came to say hello, but he was quickly whisked away again by another former player who had shown up.

The cameras picked us up early on and minutes later the songs started. At first, it was just the home fans singing songs of appreciation for Jaxon. “There’s only one Jaxon Foster,” reverberated around the ground, followed by “He plays on the left, he plays on the right, Jaxon Foster, he makes Messi look shite.”  

To me the whole thing was incredible. I knew Jaxon was a huge star, but to actually hear the noise of about forty thousand people singing his name was something special. I wished the executive suites had one-way glass so I could have my way with him while the crowd chanted his name. Unfortunately, we had to settle for watching the soccer game.

When the noise of the home fans died down, the away fans took it upon themselves to sing a few songs of their own. I guess no one knew my name, because the first chant I heard—or at least the first where I could understand the words—was “Foster’s sister takes it up the arse.”  

Jaxon leaned over and whispered into my ear. “Do you?” he asked cheekily.

I slapped him on the arm and smiled, hoping that little exchange wasn’t picked up by any of the cameras.

The next song struck a little closer to home. To the tune of “We are Family” by Sister Sledge, the away fans sung, “He keeps it in the family. Foster fucks his sister’s pussy.” There were more words but fortunately Jaxon’s former team nearly scored and the song died away.

“They’re surprisingly creative,” I remarked to Jaxon. It was becoming harder and harder to keep a smile on my face, but I knew if the cameras picked up on me looking upset then the away fans would just redouble their efforts.

On the twenty-fifth minute, the strangest thing happened inside the ground. All the fans stood up and started clapping. Nothing had happened in the game to warrant the applause, but I stood up to see what was going on and so did Jaxon. Everyone was doing it, even the away fans. The fans nearest us turned around and looked at Jaxon as they applauded.  

“Is this something to do with you?” I asked.  

The chairman of the club suddenly appeared behind us. “Yes, this is for Jaxon,” he said. “The fans wanted to show their appreciation and support with a round of applause on the twenty-fifth minute.”

“Why the twenty-fifth minute?” I asked.

“It was my shirt number,” Jaxon replied.

“Everyone’s behind you, son,” the chairman said.  

Jaxon and I looked around and admired the view of everyone in the ground clapping. He hadn’t been phased by the home fans chanting his name, but I could tell this was getting to him. Jaxon raised his hands above his head and waved to all four corners of the ground.  

The applause died down as the clock ticked over into the twenty-sixth minute, but the change in the atmosphere stayed in place for the rest of the game. The home fans kept up the songs in support of Jaxon, but the away fans stuck to cheering on their own team and stayed clear of my sexual preferences.

“You’re popular here,” I said, as Jaxon posed for more photos at the end of the game. We hadn’t even managed to leave our seats yet and there was still a long line of people waiting to get a photo with him. At this rate we would still be here for next week’s game.

“There’s nothing like having a serious illness to get people behind you,” Jaxon joked.  

“You should come back here as a coach,” one of the fans suggested as he snapped a photo. “You’re always going to be well-remembered. Not many players would have rejected all that money on the basis of it not being fair to the club. You’ll never have to buy a drink in this town again.”

“Good,” Jaxon said. “Because I might not be able to afford one.”

The fan laughed and walked away and another one quickly took his place. I went back inside the executive suite which we had barely used and grabbed a plateful of food before sitting down and watching Jaxon with the fans. He would never be able to give this up. He was completely in his element here, and we wouldn’t be able to replicate this in the US, where soccer was far less popular than football, basketball, and baseball.  

Any lingering doubts I’d had about moving here vanished in an instant. Liverpool might not have been the sexiest of destinations for most Americans—or even for the Brits who seemed to disparage it quite a bit—but I thought the place was beautiful and could picture myself spending many happy years here.

Jaxon had another month to go before he got the final results, but I wasn’t prepared to wait. Jaxon had initially insisted on not buying anywhere until he’d received the final all clear from the doctor, but I couldn’t think like that.  

I pulled out my phone and examined the photos of the three houses we were considering. Jaxon had been encouraging me to make a decision on my favorite, so I did just that. I replied to the email from our estate agent and told her we would be making a bid on the one with a jacuzzi and a sauna.  

Decision made. Now we just needed to get the all clear from the doctor. The next month was going to be the longest of my life.