Archive of Our Own

It feels like a trap, she thinks the moment she steps into the house and spots the woman.

“You’re late, sausage,” her mum tells her by way of greeting before she can even put her bag down. Deborah is sitting with a woman Rebecca doesn’t know and doesn’t want to get to know. Her mum has never introduced her to someone who isn’t as infuriating as her own self.

“Hello, mother,” Rebecca answers as she approaches the table. She finds out that the bohemian-looking woman is Tish, the psychic. Tish, of course, is not even the first psychic her mum has kept as some sort of life coach slash pet. There had been Lucia, who read tea leaves (Lipton included), and Marc, who had “the gift”, and even old Marge who read auras (Rebecca’s had been green, whatever the hell that means), and so many others Rebecca has since lost count. Her mother had tried many times to get Rebecca to see them for a “session”, but she had managed to dodge them all. She even remembers Marc, that twat, telling her mum Rupert would make Rebecca really happy so she figures she should continue giving all sorts of psychics a wide berth. She has no time for con artists.

Her mum, on the other hand, is all flutter. A twinkle in her eye that tells Rebecca she’s feeling naughty and that everything is going according to plan. It makes her wonder how many times Tish here has come over for tea only for Rebecca to cancel at the last minute - she sees her mother more often these days, but she still prefers to do it on her own turf instead of stepping into this house. She also wonders if Tish still gets paid even when she cancels. Christ.

Still, after canceling for the third weekend in a row, Deborah’s motherly guilt trip last Wednesday (delivered in person) had finally worked and now Rebecca is here, cornered into hearing from a psychic all about how much of her life she’s doing wrong while having marmite.

She sighs deeply and it’s at that moment that Deborah decides to bring over their tea - an excuse to leave Rebecca alone with Tish, who looks a tad too bewildered for a psychic. Rebecca eyes the biscuits on the table that will surely not taste like the buttery crumbly perfection she had just this morning before asking the woman to get on with it. “My mother is probably hiding behind the door listening and I’m sure we both want our tea.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Tish replies at the same time as Rebecca hears a muted sound from the direction of the kitchen. And really, if the woman is going to act like she’s not in on it then maybe Rebecca really should leave.

She’s halfway to grabbing her purse when her mum, more prescient than the psychic, walks back with the kettle. “Now don’t be rude,” she says as she pours hot water for them both and then herself. “Tish here just wants to help, sausage. You know how helpful she’s been since your father’s passing.”

Rebecca doesn’t actually know that and she’s not sure how helpful Tish here could even be. Last she heard she had suggested a trip to Corfu, which Rebecca had heard about only when Higgins had walked into her office and told her her mother had requested her yacht for most of August. Deborah had come back with a tan and stories of a man named Yiorgos and her fascination with his chest hair. The whole thing had been horrifying.

“Well, I’m not in need of any help,” she tells them and the pitying look she gets from both of them is frankly offensive. Why would they think she needs help? Her appalling marriage is now long gone, even if the man herself is still a pebble in her shoe, she is the owner of a Premier League football team that’s on track to having the best season of its existence, and she has her friends. Close friends who care about her.

She is single, yes, but at this point it is mostly by choice. Keeley calls it her sabbatical, a year free of cock. Although it’s not actually that serious, the truth is just that Rebecca had deleted all dating apps several months ago and doesn’t go out enough these days to meet interesting men. Not unless she’ll stumble upon him at the Crown & Anchor wearing Richmond colors. But still, she’s happy with her life. For the first time in a long time.

Her mother interrupts her thoughts with stories about how Tish has helped Marian, the one whose husband left her for his secretary twice, and Marianne, the most recent divorcée in her mum’s group of friends, but Tish interrupts her. “How about we have some tea first, huh, Deborah?” she asks then changes the subject to something mild like the latest Bake-Off.

It diffuses the situation just enough for Rebecca to begin stirring her tea, which, in a way, makes sense. Rebecca figures you cannot go far in life as a psychic if you can’t at least read people. And the look of thunder on her own face right now is very easy to read.

They have their tea - Rebecca is right and the biscuits taste all wrong, hard instead of crumbly and way too sweet - and she lets her mother babble on about her club, politics, and last night’s dinner with the occasional input from herself and Tish. They’re on the subject of Nora, who’s coming to stay with Rebecca next weekend, when she remembers one of the reasons why she had decided to come.

“Mum, do you remember my anorak?” Nora, like all teens who aren’t old enough to know better, has decided that nineties fashion is the coolest thing since eighties fashion and during their last phone talk she had mentioned a picture of Rebecca and Sassy as teens she had seen in an old photo album.

There’s a pause before her mum replies. “That pink and purple monstrosity? Of course, you wore that everywhere.”

“Do you think it’s still in my room? I want to give it to Nora.”

Her mother grimaces, which is fair, but then gets that look on her face again. “It might be. I’ll check.” And when Rebecca tries to stand, Deborah waves her off. “No need, sausage. I’ll be right back,” and dashes for the stairs, a little too spry for a woman in her seventies.

It’s another excuse to leave her alone with Tish again, of course. Rebecca eyes the woman sitting in front of her and taps her perfectly manicured nails on the table. The silence stretches on for minutes, uncomfortably. Rebecca is the first one to break and she hates herself for it. “Come on, then, before my mum perishes right in front of us. What do you see when you look at me?”

Tish takes a sip of her now cold tea, stalling. “What do you want me to see, Rebecca?”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing you read people very well. Won’t you tell me I will meet a tall handsome stranger soon?”

Tish, who’s reaching for the bowl with biscuits, shakes her head as if Rebecca is being too obvious. “Oh no, you’ve met him already. I should warn you to be on the lookout for any vehicles, though.”

It’s the first part that makes her pause, the tapping of her nails stalling. “I’ve met him?”

“Uh-huh,” Tish tells her with a mouthful of biscuits. “He has an accent, if that helps.”

Rebecca scoffs at the same time she goes through the rolodex of men with accents she knows. The list is too long to even count in her fingers. She lives in London, for Christ’s sake. She wants to tell Tish exactly that, that she’s surrounded by people with accents different than hers all day, but then Tish drops a bomb on her: “American.”

She eyes the biscuits at the same time Ted’s name flashes in neon inside her head. Which makes sense, she thinks, quickly smothering the image. He had walked her to her car not even an hour before. The last person she saw before her mum. She’s saved from telling Tish how absurd she sounds by her mother entering the room again with a folded anorak in her hands.

“Here, it needs a good wash,” Deborah tells her, handing her the jacket, the smell of mothballs filling the room. “Did you two have a nice talk?”

“We did, yes,” Tish tells her while pouring her mum some tea. “Now…”

Rebecca stays for another fifteen minutes, which is just enough time for her to shove a couple of cucumber sandwiches in her mouth. She leaves with the excuse that it’s match day tomorrow - it isn’t, but her mum won’t know that - and by the time she gets home she shoves the anorak in the washing machine along with any thoughts of what Tish had told her.

Naturally, the thoughts are back in her mind the minute Ted walks into her office at eight on the dot on Monday.

He has the usual box in hand and hands it to her through her desk, her laptop already open and ready for the day. She looks up as he does and immediately and unintentionally considers his height as she watches him settle on the chair in front of her desk.

“Morning, boss. Nice day out today, the whole weekend really,” and he launches a tirade about his weekend adventures.

Rebecca eyes his legs, extended fully in front of him, and thinks he must be at least six feet. She knows she’s taller than him in heels, but she thinks he might be an inch taller when she’s not. The absurd thought that the tall man she’s somehow already met surely would be taller than her no matter her choice of footwear enters her head. Or would he just be taller than average?

Ted is definitely taller than most men. Certainly tall for most people. Now handsome? That she’s not so sure of. She watches him as he tells her all about his Sunday trip to the Met that turns into a story about young Ted’s obsession with anything ancient Egypt and that will certainly turn into some sort of King Tut dance, going by the way he’s getting ready to get up.

“Ted?” she warns before he does it.

“Yeah, boss?”

“No dancing.” He smiles at her bashfully and she rolls her eyes at him, fond.

“What about you? Did anything fun this weekend?”

“I wouldn’t say fun. Saw my mum, but you know that.” There’s a pause. “Saw her psychic as well.” She doesn’t know why she said the last part. Probably because now that the thought is back in her head she just really wants to talk to someone about it. How absurd it all is. Maybe she’ll call Keeley and schedule drinks this week.

“Whoa there, a psychic. Like, a real one?”

“Is there such a thing as a real psychic?” She should have known he’d be like this.

“Sure thing, boss. Nostradamus, the furry fella who can tell how long winter is going to last, Cassandra. Wait, was that her name?”

“Her name is Tish and I doubt Tish from Surrey is truly a psychic,” she lets the name drip from her mouth with as much distaste as she can as she bites hard on a biscuit.

He smiles at that, somehow always amused by her venom. “Yeah, but come on, what did she tell you? You will meet a tall handsome stranger?” he wiggles his eyebrows at her leaning in on the joke and she chokes. “Did I guess that right?”

“Somewhat,” she replies, somehow not wanting to tell him Tish had told her she has already met the man. Knowing Ted she’d never live that down. Every man over five-nine in her vicinity would become a potential soulmate. Present company very much excluded. She’s sure Ted wouldn’t joke about that. And if she mentioned he’s supposed to be American, then, well, best not to think about that.

Still, as Ted gets up and heads downstairs, the thought keeps bouncing around her head as she nibbles on her last biscuit. She’s able to shove it away only until after her morning Zoom meeting. At ten, she gets up to stretch her legs and make herself some tea. Higgins walks in soon after with some papers and she asks for him to open her window as she kicks off her heels and lets the sound of the boys training wash over her as she goes through her emails.

Ted is in a good mood today, more than usual. Or maybe she’s just too acutely aware of his voice. How much he yells his support to the boys, how he cheers at every play gone right and shouts words of encouragement when one of them gets it wrong. At some point she actually hears a yeehaw. It’s deeply American. It’s distracting.

She gets up and closes the window.

On Wednesday she tells Keeley over drinks, who laughs loud enough that the bald man on the other side of the bar raises his glass at them. Rebecca ignores him.

“So, Ted or Beard then?” Keeley asks, taking a sip of her martini. “Or maybe Victor? Didn’t you say he’s American?” and she giggles at the thought.

“He is, yes,” she replies after a pause. Victor is her hairdresser who pretends he’s from France when he was actually born and raised in Louisiana. Something about it being better for business. “And none of them, obviously.”

“Well, what other Americans do we know?”

“Keeley,” she warns and watches her friend pout and tell her she’s no fun.

She lets Keeley go on about Jack, some ancient New Yorker Rebecca met at a party from Keeley’s firm, and how maybe it’s him. She’s teasing her, but Rebecca stops listening when she realizes throughout this whole thing that she had never once thought of Beard, a man she sees most days. The thought, of course, is even more outlandish than Ted, but still. She downs her own drink, raising her hand to ask for another one, and changes the subject to Roy’s incoming birthday party. He’ll hate it, but Keeley will love it so he’ll come around.

It’s enough for her to forget all about fortune tellers for the rest of the night and most of Thursday - Ted still comes up for a biscuit delivery, which has the thought peeking out of the box she shoved it in. But that same night, as she has her tea and is craving a biscuit, she realizes she seems over it, whatever Tish had said didn’t even cross her mind as she left the office and came by Ted and Higgins debating the merits of canned soup. Not even Ted’s “you have a good night, boss” in his droll accent had her thinking of Tish’s words. Good.

It’s match day against Aston Villa.

Rebecca is in her office when Sassy walks in with Nora, the latter wearing a red and blue scarf, and she immediately takes off her coat to put on the anorak Rebecca hands her. The clash of colors is a little nauseating, but Nora is beaming so Rebecca smiles in return. They’ll be sitting at the owner’s box together along with Keeley, who arrives soon after.

Nora escapes the chaos of Keeley’s arrival by going after snacks for the match, a wincing Higgins trailing after her. Rebecca watches her friends coming together and is hit by the heartfelt thought that she enjoys how much both of her closest friends seem to like each other.

And then immediately regrets the thought when Keeley says “Did Rebecca tell you about the psychic?”

She puts her hands against her face and groans as Sassy fixates on her like a hawk who just saw some prey. “Did Deborah finally get to you?”

“She said Rebecca has already met her soulmate. Apparently, he’s American,” she gleefully tells Sassy.

“For fuck’s sake, Keeley,” Rebecca answers. This is why it’s best to keep them separate. Of course, at that exact moment the one American she seems to talk to every day decides to knock on her door.

“Howdy, y’all,” Ted says and then immediately takes a step back when three heads turn to look at him.

Rebecca, who knows Sassy better than she knows her own self, sees the exact moment everything clicks and she wants to shout at Ted for him to leave, save himself and her from whatever embarrassing thing is about to happen. She doesn’t. Instead, she watches as Ted approaches her, pink box in hand.

“Hey, Keeley, you staying for the match?” he asks as he hands Rebecca the biscuits. “And Sassy Smurf. You staying too?”

Sassy ignores his remark to raise an expectant brow at Keeley as if asking her to tell her exactly what else the psychic said.

“Tall and fit,” Keeley says, the traitor.

Ted looks bewildered as Sassy squints at him, and Rebecca tries to tell him with her eyes for him to run.

“Y’all talking about Rebecca’s run-in with Cassandra?”

“Her name is Cassandra?” Keeley asks

“Her name is Tish,” Rebecca tells them then turns to Ted again. “Shouldn’t you be downst–?”

“Ted, tell us where you were born again?” Sassy interrupts her with a shit-eating grin on her face and Rebecca is actually going to waste a box of biscuits by throwing it at her head.

“Sassy!” she shouts and her friend goes quiet, just barely, and then she gives Ted one of her looks. “Ted? Downstairs. Tell the boys good luck from me.” He leaves in a hurry, Keeley and Sassy’s laughter bursting as soon as he leaves.

“You two are horrid,” she tells them after a beat.

“It’s all in good fun, babe,” Keeley tells her, rubbing her back. “I know it’s just Ted, but he fits, right?”

“Plus, he’s fit,” Sassy helpfully puts from her place on the couch. “But I’m off. Text me where we’re having lunch on Sunday, my train arrives at noon.”

By the time the team makes its way onto the pitch, Rebecca can’t seem to let go of Sassy’s comment. Is Ted fit? She can’t seem to come to a conclusion. As she watches him shake Gerrard’s hand, she thinks he’s not unattractive. Sure, he looks good in a suit. And his hair, how much of it he still has, is certainly a plus. And it’s no easy feat carrying that mustache, but Ted does it well. He also has a nice smile, Rebecca especially likes it when it’s brought on by something she said, his dimples in full display. She also likes his eyes, always kind and warm, and there’s also something about his hands.

As he bends over to grab one of the balls to throw back to one of the ball boys, she admits to herself that he fills out the khakis he’s so fond of decently enough. It’s not the first time she’s looked.

They win two-nil, their fifth win in a row, and it’s madness by the time they go back in. Nora joins in on a Richmond chant and Keeley finds Roy while Rebecca congratulates some of the players, refusing an effusive hug from Dani Rojas, who’s dripping sweat everywhere.

Isaac yells that he’ll see everyone at the Crown & Anchor and she lasts maybe ten minutes before she succumbs to Nora’s puppy eyes. It’s not a club and she has seen children there before so she figures it’s fine. Even some of Higgins’ boys have been known to come from time to time.

By the time she, Keeley and Nora get there, the place is already packed with regulars. They head for the coaches’ table, Ted getting up so they can slide into the seat. He quickly disappears, coming back with a G&T for her and a coke for Nora. “Here you go, boss.”

She thanks him at the same time Nora tells them that she wanted a beer. Then laughs at the befuddled look on both their faces.

“Just kidding, aunt Stinky. Beer tastes like feet,” then gives her a kiss and gets up before Ted can sit down, heading for an impromptu game of darts being played between Sam and Jamie. One of the Higgins’ offspring is already there watching.

“Is this what I’m in for in a couple of years?” Ted asks her while sitting down by her side. It’s a tight fit between Roy, Beard, Keeley, herself and now Ted.

“Afraid so. I’m quite knackered. Do you know what a TikTok is?” She had told Keeley she’s sure her lack of coordination while dancing to pop songs will land her in The Sun. “Good match today.”

Ted beans at her. “The boys did good today, didn’t they?”

She nods. “They did. They’ve been doing well all season. It makes me think we might actua–” but she stops whatever she’s saying when she feels Ted’s hand on her knee.

“Shhh, boss. Don’t say it, you’re gonna jinx it.”

She arches a brow at him, her whole body flushing at the contact. It lasted a second, Ted already removing his hand to take a sip of his beer. Roy looks over at them, forehead creased.

“Rebecca here was about to say that thing we all said we shouldn’t say,” Ted explains.

“For fuck’s sake,” he looks at her and she scoffs. She can believe Ted is superstitious, Beard too even, but Roy?

She tells him as much. The whole idea absurd. “And now I can’t even say we might—”

“Shhh,” they all shush her, including Keeley.

She looks at her friend incredulously, but Keeley just shrugs at her, and then Rebecca scowls at them all. Listens, not patiently, to Ted explaining to her the old marriage between superstition and sports, with the occasional input from Beard, and examples ranging from baseball to Michael Jordan’s shorts. By the time he’s done, she’s finished with her drink and sees that Nora is chatting enthusiastically with the Higgins boy.

“Want another one, boss?” Ted asks her and she does, but she’s also on aunt role tonight and the gin already gave her a mild buzz so she feels she shouldn’t.

Ted nods understanding and then pushes his glass towards her. “I know you’re not a big fan, but if you get thirsty then feel free, yeah? Or I can get you some water.”

She thanks him and turns to Keeley, chatting about this new restaurant they want to check out next week and the client who wants to pay Keeley is in designer bags. Roy is grunting something at them when she takes Ted up on his offer, reaching for his beer. It’s a quick sip, he doesn’t even look at her as she does, chatting with Beard and one of the pub’s patrons.

Rebecca keeps it up for the rest of the night. At some point, she reaches for his glass and it’s empty and she pouts in annoyance, just a little, and then hears his snort as he gets up to get them some more. He comes back with still just one glass, which surprises her. Watches as he takes a long drink before sliding the glass towards her and sitting back down, his thigh touching hers.

He watches as she takes her own sip and then she notices his eyes falling down to her mouth as she licks away some of the foam trapped there. But then Jan Mass stops by to ask him something and the moment is gone. It throws her off balance, whatever it is.

Ted disappears after that, something to do with Colin, and she lets the beer go lukewarm now that he’s not here to share it with her. By the time he’s back, Higgins had replaced Beard and Rebecca had taken over most of Ted’s seat. She shuffles just enough so he can squeeze in. There’s a discussion going on about sports movies, Roy pointing out that there are no good football movies, and Keeley wonders if they might ever do one about them.

She’s watching Ted rub the rim of the glass with his fingers as they discuss who’d play him - someone named Ed seems to be a popular suggestion - when she gets an idea.

“You know, they’ll only make a movie about us if we—” and there it is. His hand on her knee again, shockingly warm, as everyone groans and tells her to be quiet, Higgins included. Apparently everyone at Richmond shares the same superstition.

The topic changes to who would play Beard and Roy as Ted leans closer to her.

“Now you’re just doing that on purpose,” he whispers it low, just for her to hear and she smiles, opens her mouth to do it once more before he’s squeezing her knee again, leaving his hand there just long enough for her to feel the callous on his fingers, and then pulling away smiling, the dimples showing up among day-old stubble. “You’re gonna get us in trouble, boss.”

She grabs the glass in front of her and takes a swing of now tepid, awful-tasting beer.

Yes, Ted is handsome.

That night seems to break something in her and now she can’t seem to see Ted as anything but slightly delectable. She notices the tendons in his arm when he hands her her biscuits in the morning, the sleeves on his shirt folded up. Notices the tendril of his hair that always seems to make a run for it after a long day. She even notices the smell of his aftershave, something she had never done before, not until he was leaning over her shoulder one morning to peer at her laptop and give a quick hello to the agent of the Brazilian midfielder they’ve been thinking of hiring for next season. It’s distracting.

It’s madness. She wants to put out a hit on Tish and even on her own friends for putting the thought into her head. She knows Ted is not her quote unquote soulmate, as if such a thing even exists in the first place, but even so she wants to go back to a time where she’s not constantly noticing his arse.

And then Amsterdam happens.

It’s a friendly match against Ajax - a good testing of the waters to see if they’re up for playing Champions League matches next year, if they’re able to keep their place on the league table until the end of the season. Not that anyone says this out loud, of course, but it’s why they’re going.

Rebecca mostly goes as a show of support for the boys. She wanted to take Keeley, but she’s too busy with her own firm to come, and even Sassy had too many appointments she couldn’t get out of for a weekend of fun in Amsterdam.

And then she falls into the canal.

It’s nasty, freezing and humiliating. She’s helped by some man who hits on her the moment she’s back on land, still dripping, and her phone is now an expensive piece of brick. She had made the mistake of deciding to walk to the stadium, the boys having left the hotel hours before, and as she’s chilling in her wet trainers, she regrets coming at all.

She makes her way back to the hotel, the receptionist giving her a pitying look, and leaves a wet trail on her way to the lift. She gets in the shower and scrubs her skin pink and by the time she’s out, she knows she has already missed the first half of the match. She considers putting on clothes and grabbing a taxi for about thirty seconds before she turns on the telly and settles in bed in her fluffy robe.

Richmond is already three-nil down.

The rest of the match is a massacre. Ajax is playing well, but not that well, not really. It's Richmond that’s floundering and Rebecca half winces, half yells at the missed plays she sees. Ted seems distracted and keeps looking at the stands like he’s surprised that so many people came to the match. The camera keeps focusing on him because he’s doing it so much. She’ll have to ask him about that, she thinks, as she watches him call up Woodcock to replace Richard only after Roy throws his hands up in the air.

Ajax finishes five to one, by far Richmond’s worst result of the season, even if this match doesn’t count for much of anything. She knows the boys will be disappointed. She’s in enough of a foul mood that she thinks good, they should be, as she turns off the telly and decides she’ll have a nap before dinner.

Her nap is interrupted by the loud noise of banging on her door and Ted’s voice sounding a little desperate. “Boss, you in there?”

She gets up, bleary-eyed, and opens the door to a Ted who looks just this side of frantic.

“Jesus Christ, boss. Is everything okay? Sassy called me at half-time and said y’all was talking and then she heard a commotion.” He looks like he ran from the stadium to the hotel, even though she knows that can’t be right.

She explains everything to him, the bike and her phone and the trek back to the hotel. Watches as he makes a face at the way she describes exactly how dark and freezing the water in the canal is. She sends Sassy a quick “lost my mobile, will explain later” text from Ted’s phone and stares at the screen long enough to see that they aren’t in the habit of texting each other, had never, in fact, before today.

“Shouldn’t we take you to a hospital? How’s the water in those things? Is it nasty?”

She had asked the receptionist exactly that and found out that while one shouldn’t drink it, it’s not exactly dirty. She'll be fine and she tells Ted that.

He looks at her like he’s not fully convinced. “Don’t want you growing any ears, boss. Although if anyone could pull off a third one it would be you,” he tells her, looking right at her face and not at the expanse of her cleavage her robe shows.

And she must be really out of it if such a ridiculous comment makes her blush, but she blushes all the same. Rolls his eyes at him too for good measure.

Ted convinces her to have dinner with him at the hotel restaurant, telling her she needs to eat, and she says she’ll meet him downstairs in half an hour.

He’s already waiting for her by the time she goes down, a white box on hand, that he hands it to her the moment she reaches him.

“Bellboy told me there’s an Apple store two blocks from here. Caught them right before closing,” he explains.

“Ted, you didn’t have to,” she tells him, touched. She won’t be able to do much until she’s home, but at least she’ll be able to use the hotel’s wifi. Still, it's too much.

He shrugs. “I’m sure you’re feeling a little naked without it. Plus, Keeley keeps texting me wanting to know what happened. Guess Sassy Smurf called her.”

She thanks him again, profoundly, as they head to the restaurant and she tells him she’ll pay him back. He won’t hear of it, of course, and she figures she’ll have to take him out to dinner soon. Or maybe get him a nice watch, she thinks, as he takes off his jacket and rolls his sleeves up. He has nice wrists.

She then asks where everyone is, surprised that they’re the only ones out of their entourage here.

“Some club or other. The guys wanted to drown their sorrows. Don’t worry, there won’t be any funny business. Roy is with them,” he says, calling the waiter. “Beard too, but, well.”

And she knows exactly what he means. No way Beard would be able to keep a bunch of young men who aren’t allowed to consume any drugs, no matter how legal they are here, from actually doing just that. If she had to bet, Beard has been high since the moment the plane took off. Roy, though? He’ll keep them in line.

Dinner is fine, although Ted seems subdued. Especially when the television at the hotel starts replaying the match’s highlights. He sags a little on his chair as they both watch all five goals, like it’s his fault they lost so spectacularly.

“It’s fine, Ted,” she tells him. Because it is. They’re still number three on the league table.

“Yeah, I guess. Kinda stinks, though,” he replies, taking a sip of his beer. “Hope it won’t mess with their heads, you know? They’ve been doing so well.”

“I’m sure it won’t. You’ll give them one of their speeches before the match on Wednesday, they’ll tap that sign of yours and they’ll be ready for anything.”

He smiles at her at that, still somehow surprised by her utmost faith in him. One day she’ll make him understand that while winning would be nice, brilliant even, he doesn’t have to do it for her. That the team they’ve built, just as they are, is more important than any trophy.

Finishing ahead of West Ham, though, is something she hopes he’ll hand to her. She thinks he will. “Besides, Ted, next year when we–” and she watches as his eyes flicker to where her knee must be under the table remembering that night in the pub. “Shut up, I wasn’t going to say it,” she grins as she watches his ears go pink at being caught. “Anyway, next time we’re on the continent they’ll want blood.”

Ted grins right back at her. “I’ll drink to that.”

By the time they’re heading to their rooms, both a little buzzed and very tired, Ted talking about how Ajax’s changing room looked like something out of Star Trek, she remembers what she wanted to ask him.

“Ted, I wanted to ask. During the match you kept looking at the stands. Why?”

“Huh,” he hums, swaying a little on his feet. “You, boss. You know, the only matches we lost this season were the ones you didn’t attend. You’re our good luck charm,” he tells her like he fully believes it, a lopsided grin on his face.

She’s taken aback by his words, counting back in her head until she realizes he’s right. “Me?”

He chuckles. “Can’t believe you hadn’t noticed that. You know how they say women are bad luck on ships? Well, apparently this ship can’t run without you. We got crushed today, boss, so take pity on us and come to Leicester with us on Wednesday.”

And just because he’s asking her so nicely and she's too tired to think why she shouldn’t, not when she’ll have to cancel two meetings to go, she says yes.

Sees him beam at her when she does it. “Oh, yeah? You know, I was going to give this to you on the flight home, but I figured you’ve earned it after today,” and he digs inside the pocket of his jacket and hands her a pink box. The second box he has handed her this evening. “Now, they only have two because I ran out and they might taste a little stale–”

And then she’s reaching for the box, the one thing that could make today less of a wash, and then she’s inhaling a biscuit like she hasn’t had one in weeks instead of just twenty-four hours ago and well, Tish’s words just come spilling out of her. Just about the bicycle. How she had warned Rebecca to watch out and she hadn’t listed. How maybe she should start listening.

“So there might be something to your Cassandra after all?” Ted asks her, a twinkle in his eyes.

And she’s starting to think that yes, there might be.

She’s soaking in her tub on Monday night, sulking a little over Rupert’s comments on the Ajax match, when her mum calls her and she hits accept before she can think better.

“How was Amsterdam, sausage? Did you win?”

And she has to tell her mother that no, they didn’t. They actually got trounced by people named Fokke and Van Dijk. That she spent a lot of money to send Richmond over to get run over by a Dutch bus. She’s in a mood.

“And tell Tish she was spot on, by the way,” she hisses remembering. “I ended up in a filthy canal thanks to a bicycle.”

“What ever do you mean, Rebecca?” her mom asks. “What did Tish tell you?”

“That I should watch out for bicycles and that I would meet, have already met, a tall, handsome man. She might be two for two, mother. Who knew you’d find the only actual psychic in the world in bloody Surrey of all places?”

“What did I tell you?” And she hears the smugness in Deborah’s voice dripping from the line. “Tish is usually right about these things. You know she told Emma to not go on that trip to Sri Lanka last year and you know what happened? It got flooded.”

“Mother, it was monsoon season.”

“But she also told me not to go to that charity dinner and I did and I regretted it.” Rebecca heard that story for months. There had been a grease fire. Not enough for anyone to get hurt, not at all, but enough that some smoke had traveled to the cloakroom. “My fur still smells like a barbecue. And she was right about your bicycle. Now I wouldn’t take what else she said so serious–-”

“It wasn’t my bicycle,” she says and then catches on to what her mother is saying. “Wait, why?”

It’s like she can hear her mother waving her off. “Oh, Tish always says this about handsome foreign men. They’re always tall too because who wants a short man? Did she tell you he’s foreign?”

Rebecca frowns. “Yes, she did. American.”

“Perish the thought,” her mother says with a shudder. “Mine was supposed to be Danish. Dreadful language. But Tish always says this. She told Jackie she’d meet a handsome Frenchman and we know Jackie has given up on men ever since she’s met Pam at yoga.” Rebecca has no clue who Jackie is. “But she’s always right about everything else.”

She can feel her stomach dropping as her mother goes on about Tish’s history of impressive predictions which now all sound like horseshit to Rebecca’s ears. Nothing but platitudes that anyone else could guess. Right there she even remembers Tish telling her to watch out for vehicles, which could be anything from a bike to her own jet. If her car had gotten a flat tire on a drive from Chiswick, Tish could have counted that as a win.

She quickly ends the call with her mum using the now cold bathwater as an excuse and dries herself off. Tries not to think of the pit in her stomach as she puts on her pajamas. As she gets into bed and moves to turn off her lamp she considers her own feelings. It’s not like she believed Tish in the first place. She didn’t.

Rebecca regrets saying yes to Leicester by the time Monday rolls in. She only doesn’t back out because Ted had been so excited when he had handed her her biscuits and because Keeley had told her she’d come along.

Still, it’s been a weird couple of days. Rupert keeps being a twat on the news, but even though she knows her mood has nothing to do with him, she can’t seem to figure out why she feels so down. Ends up browsing sun lamps during her lunch hour.

Ted does his best to cheer her up. Especially when on Tuesday he sees the newspaper Higgins had handed her the day before, a frazzled picture of her and the words “Welton Wants Ham Back” as Rupert looks on, charmingly rakish - they’ll be playing against West Ham again in less than three weeks.

It doesn’t work. In fact, it makes her even more muted.

Something about Ted giving her a concerned look, handing her truffles along with her biscuits with kind eyes that tell her that he’ll hold her hand or even hug her if only she would ask makes her want to close herself off even more.

Of course, it’s not Ted’s fault so when he shows up early on Wednesday and rushes into her office with the biscuits before leaving on the team bus she tells him she’ll see him at King Power. Thaws a little at how happy he looks.

She draws the line at riding the bus with the boys, though.

She saves the biscuit for the drive. George, her driver, is being paid extra to chauffeur them from London to Leicester and back. She wonders if the match will go well now. She can’t seem to believe she could be anyone’s talisman.

It goes very well.

They score three goals in the first half and then just cruise until the final whistle, Jamie still scoring another goal at the last minute. She and Keeley are still cheering as she sees Ted turn to look back at the stands - not the first time that day, he had done it as soon as he stepped on the pitch - and gives her a salute as if saying “told ya, boss.” She smiles at him, her first genuine smile all week.

The ride back to London goes by fast. They’re somewhere around Wembley when Keeley gets a text from Roy telling them they’ve parked the bus in front of some pub or club or “watering fucking hole” and they maybe should drop in for a pint or just come pick him up.

Rebecca is not really in the mood so she figures she’ll just drop Keeley off and head home. Maybe stop by Nelson Road first so she can grab some paperwork. Ted doesn’t let her. He opens the car door the minute they’ve parked and even though she tells him she’s just here to let Keeley out, he convinces her to get out and stretch her legs. The dimples on him telling her that if she leaves the car she’ll soon have a drink in her hand.

They chat outside for a couple of minutes, just enough for Rebecca to give in and tell George to head home, that she’ll grab a taxi soon, while Ted does a fist pump and she flounces inside.

There are two empty seats at the coaches’ table, as if they all knew Ted would win her over, and also some white wine and a pint. As she congratulates Beard and Roy, Ted mentions how she’s their good luck charm this year.

“It’s good you have a jet since you’ll be coming along with us to Newcastle next week, yeah,” he teases her.

“Not bloody likely,” she tells him. She hates Newcastle and she thinks he knows it. “But Christ, when did you lot get so superstitious? Roy, don’t tell me you’ve been wearing the same underwear since our first match.”

It’s Keeley who replies. “Roy doesn’t wear underwear,” and that’s a little more than Rebecca would like to know. The way everyone else groans tells them they feel the same way. “Plus, you’re one to talk. Did she tell you about her psychic?”

And of course they all want to hear about it. She lets Keeley tell them, although the story has become more exaggerated as time passes, like how she was supposed to be hit by a red bicycle and how she could have drowned. How she had already met the love of her life somehow. How sexy he was supposed to be.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she tells Higgins when he asks if she had made a list of potential suitors already. She doesn’t tell him the list would be very short. Keeley had never mentioned the man was supposed to be American.

There’s a woman by the bar. Blonde, great tits, maybe Keeley’s age. She’s seen her taking a picture with Jamie and Dani at some point, but it’s with Ted that she strikes up a conversation when he goes to get them another round. She’s tall, but even in heels Ted has a good inch on her. She watches as Ted laughs at something she says, that tendril of his hair bouncing as he does. The woman is batting her lashes at him, she’s sure, and she thinks Ted is into it, going by how his body is turned to hers.

She looks away. Sees through the window a couple of smokers and gets the urge to light up a cigarette. She knows Keeley has some in her purse hanging over the chair and digs in without asking for permission.

A girl who must be all of twenty-two lends her a lighter and she inhales deeply. The first hit of nicotine seems to calm and darken her mood at the same time. She doesn’t look back towards the bar, instead she focuses on the night sky. It’s a clear night. A group passes by her, a man bumping into her, and his “sorry” sounds off. American. She thinks about Tish.

She thinks, just as Ted is getting some pretty perky blonde’s number inside, that it might be time to admit that she’s disappointed. It’s laughable to be disappointed at something so obviously fake said by a grifter.

And it’s Ted, her mind scoffs at her, and she shouts back that yes, it is. Kind Ted, warm Ted, Ted who has never once made a joke about her heels, who brings her biscuits and a smile every morning. Who talks so much, so much, but who also listens. Is always listening. That Ted.

She wants Ted.

And the moment she’s hit with that realization and needs to maybe sit down, a strong drink or perhaps just pass out, he makes her jump out of her skin. “It’s chilly out here, boss.”

As she turns she thinks she’ll maybe see him in a different light, but he’s still the same Ted as always. Navy jacket, tan trousers, Nikes, a mustache that could use a trim, and hair that she would really like to run her hands over, tuck that maddening lock of hair back into place. Her Ted. It takes her breath away.

“You wanna tell me why you’re out here? Or maybe why you’ve been off since we got back? I know ol’ Ruper-dupes–”

She laughs, loudly, enough for Ted to frown. “It’s not Rupert. God, Ted.” Rupert is so far from this equation that he could be running for chairman of the FA and she still wouldn’t be thinking of him at all. “It’s silly,” she says, taking another drag of her cigarette, then blowing smoke away from him. “It’s the psychic.”

“Cassie?”

She rolls her eyes then winces. “I had actually started to believe her.”

“Hmm,” he ponders like she’s not being ridiculous. “You will meet a tall handsome stranger?”

And she squishes up her nose and nods, somewhat. ”Have already met,” she amends then sighs. “Shouldn’t you be inside, meeting your own stranger?” and she nods towards the bar. Watches him frown and then remember the blonde.

“You know she’s from Missouri? Came all the way to London, just like me.”

“How fortunate.” A kindred soul then. “Tall, fit, American. Maybe Tish just wanted me to deliver a message.”

And at that he pauses and tilts his head at her, like something is clicking into place. “Your fella, he’s supposed to be American?”

Her stomach clenches and she feels like she’s said too much. She takes one last drag of her cigarette and nods. Doesn’t look at him as she tosses it on the floor and puts it out with her foot.

When she looks up again Ted has gotten a lot closer. “You know, most people would say I’m tall. Not like, Dutch tall. Some of the guys I saw back there? Phew. Felt tiny for the first time in my life,” and he takes a step closer making her back up. He keeps going. “And I do have an accent, you know? To pretty much everyone who’s not from Kansas. Now handsome, well, that’s in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?” he tells her, stepping enough into her space that she has to back against the wall of the pub. “Tell me, Rebecca, am I handsome to you?”

“I’m–” and her eyes dart everywhere, landing somewhere on his face. She can see stubble growing there. When he puts his hand against the wall, right next to her head, she notices that in these heels they’re the exact same height. “You’re–” She breathes and is hit by the smell of him, faint but there. “You’re not not handsome,” is all she’ll admit to him.

He smiles at her and there’s something in her stomach that flutters. It’s sexy, that smile.

“So kinda tall, kinda handsome and definitely American,” he squints at her. “Think I could be your guy?”

“You can’t be,” she says and watches as he frowns. “He’s not real. Apparently the psychic tells that to everyone. Mum was supposed to meet a Dane.”

“Awful language.” Then Ted tuts at her. “That’s too bad then. I like to think there’s a little bit of magic out there in the world. Kinda had proof of it when I met you. Still think I get some proof every day when I step into your office.”

And it sounds like a line, but Rebecca knows he’s being sincere. The catalog of Ted’s smiles she has in her head tells her so. How he always seems a little bit in awe of her every morning. It makes something uncurl inside her chest.

He takes a step back from her, suddenly shy. “Now me? I’m as common as they come, but–”

And she wants to tell him that there’s nothing ordinary about him at all. That no one who could make alchemy of flour, sugar and butter could ever be common, not when it melted away the wall of ice she had built brick by brick over a decade. Not when he had pulled her from the brink just by existing, a concoction of patience and relentless kindness that she knows he fights for it every day.

No, he is the most extraordinary man she knows, Tish’s description fitting him only by accident - he’s so much more than a fortune-teller could ever describe. And as she watches him turn shy in front of her, the hesitation and uncertainty in his face, she thinks about the dark waters of a canal and knows she’s in for another plunge, this time by choice. She puts a hand to the side of his face, her thumb reaching to touch the dimple on his cheek as he smiles softly at her and she jumps.

And maybe there really is some magic in the world, she thinks, as her lips close over his, the feeling of his mustache making her shiver. The alchemy of their souls, some astrological chart that has marked them for each other long ago because nothing could be more right than this. She wants to scream at the gods for keeping this from her for forty-odd years, but as Ted leans back, dazzled and amazed, she thinks that maybe she should be grateful instead. So many people will never experience this even once. As he leans in for another kiss then another and starts peppering her neck with kisses she looks up at the stars and sends out a thanks to the universe.

When she brings Ted over to her mum for tea, Tish is there. He’s over the moon about it, treating her like some sort of prophet and wanting to know everything about runes and tarot cards and tea leaves and auras. He has Tish recounting her “prophecy” (his words) and she has to roll her eyes at how both her mum and Ted stare at her enraptured.

“Didn’t think it’d be me, though,” Ted tells Tish as she finishes her now much longer tale.

Rebecca kisses his cheek as she takes a tray back to the kitchen. “It’s always been you, Ted.”