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ROY KENT, GIRLFRIEND CELEBRATE RETIREMENT
Roy Kent, until recently Centre Midfielder of AFC Richmond, seems to be enjoying his retirement. The footballer and his girlfriend (model Keeley Jones) were spotted this weekend painting the town red. Our photographers caught the lovebirds with their arms full of chic eco reusable shopping bags. [Link: Our editors’ favorite stylish shopping bags of the year.] Where they’d been is anybody’s guess, but it looks like they were feeding a crowd, and the champagne bottle peeking out near Roy’s shoulder gives us a hunch as to the vibe…
[Photo of Roy and Keeley carrying their shopping. The bottle neck might be foil-wrapped, or it might just be a gold-colored label.]
We next snapped the couple with these adorable balloons in the Richmond colors…
[Photo of Keeley with balloons. She is looking at the camera and making an irritated face.]
And wow! Some serious jewelry! Could we spy wedding bells?
[Photo of Roy and Keeley by the trunk of Keeley’s car. While she arranges their purchases, Roy holds a paper gift bag from Tiffany’s UK. It is visibly scuffed and creased.]
Roy kissed Keeley’s neck. “What are you reading? You're doing a face like you know a secret, and you’re really hoping nobody notices.”
She showed him her phone, with the tabloid’s masthead clear above the article. “They think you proposed to me during an elaborate retirement party.”
He eyed the first photo, partially visible. “Because we bought fucking groceries?”
“Because we did a big grocery shop and got Phoebe balloons to take to her friend’s birthday party. Also because I keep my car first aid kit in a Tiffany’s bag.”
“Why is that, anyway?”
“Because! The first really nice thing I bought with my own money was a little bitty Tiffany’s charm, so I kept the bag. It was exciting!”
He kissed her again, chuckling. “What do you want for dinner?”
“I’m feeling chickeny. Or maybe I’m feeling, ‘Augh, shit, I bought these chicken breasts without a recipe in mind-y.’ You’ll have to help me use them up, now. I stuck them in the fridge. Also: ice cream. It’s mint choc chip. My favorite, for future reference.”
Roy made a low growl of agreement to the plan. “There’s a menu in Samin Nosrat’s book I’ve been dying to try. Chicken pot pie with a salad.”
Keeley bit her lower lip, enthralled. “D’you cook a lot of Samin’s recipes, then?”
Roy silently opened a cabinet door, where he stored a row of cookbooks, well used, all with sticky note flags poking out at the top. “I bounce around.” He donned an apron—salmon pink, with pineapples on it. He winked at her.
“You know,” Keeley said, sitting on his counter. “I saw a ‘top heartthrobs who even look good with their shirts on’ list the other day that used a pic of you in your uniform. They don’t know what they’re missing!”
TOO MUCH FREE TIME? ROY KENT DRUNK IN DAYLIGHT
Football pundit Roy Kent was caught falling down drunk on Friday night, along with girlfriend Keeley Jones (currently working as an influencer and PR manager, according to her Instagram). Kent and Jones exited a pub in Richmond and fell splat on the pavement, which lucky onlookers recorded in a clip that’s been making the rounds on YouTube. Embarrassing! Hope he’s not partying too hard—we are loving your plain speaking on the air, Roy!
[Clip is embedded. That’s exactly what it shows, but...it looks like Keeley caught her high heel in a grate, and Roy, holding her arm, went down with her.]
“I feel really bad about this one, Roy.”
“It’s hardly your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. There was a stupid fucking grate, they knew we’d had a drink, of course they’re blowing it up. They do this shit all the time.”
She sighed and tried to concentrate on the list of movies showing at the theater a couple streets over. “I know,” she said. “But it’s the first time I’ve made someone else look bad in the press. It’s embarrassing.” She grimaced. “I sort of phoned your sister to promise her I’m not really a disorderly drunk.”
“She did mention that. She said it seemed really important to you that she has a good opinion of you.”
“It is!” Keeley said, shifting to sit cross-legged and more upright in Roy’s chair. “Because she and Phoebe are so important to you.”
Roy reached over and played with her hair, smiling softly. “What did she tell you, then?”
“That it didn’t bother her, she didn’t even click on the stupid articles, because everyone’s entitled to get sloppy drunk once in a while. And she was really kind, she let me vent about how mad I was that they misrepresented me like that, when anyone can see in the clip why I stumbled.”
He nodded sympathetically. He’d spent much more time in the public eye than she had—being actually famous as opposed to being sort of famous for being almost famous—and had learned to shrug the feeling off. He remembered how helpless and angry he felt the first few times, and thought Keeley was coping with remarkable grace. “Is there a PR thing I can help you do to counterbalance it? I could do something for an anti-drunk driving campaign, yeah?”
Keeley shook her head emphatically. “That would do nothing but suggest it was true. We just have to wait for it to blow over, I’m afraid.”
“Gross,” Roy said, with a lot of feeling. Keeley felt a little better.
ROY KENT’S HEALTH ON THE ROCKS?
Exclusive: AFC Richmond Assistant Coach Roy Kent has been limping around London following an injury on the field to his knee, sources say. One Twitter user took this snapshot of Kent entering an urgent treatment center in Richmond, supported by one of our favorite WAGs, Keeley Jones.
[Grainy photo taken on a rainy day. Keeley has her hand on Roy’s waist.]
We all know injuries are part of the game, but what’s more troubling is that Kent has been out and about sporting a knee brace and walking cane! Could this be a sign of permanent trouble?
[Photo of Roy in a metal outdoor-use chair, with his injured leg elevated on a second chair’s seat, against which leans a cane. He is wearing shorts, displaying the knee brace. He has on sunglasses and is reading a book. A little bowl of green ice cream sits in front of him.]
An insider close to the AFC Richmond team describes Kent’s health as, “Shattered…. He’s a shadow of his former self.”
Mr. Kent’s representative has not responded to our request for comment.
Roy grimly passed Keeley his tablet. Her mounting outrage as she read the article made his face soften. “Oh!” she exclaimed, disgusted. “That is not on! Roy, I’m going to complain.”
He rubbed the bearded half of his face. “Don’t do that. It’ll just tell them they got under your skin.”
Keeley passed him one of her fluffy pillows to hug. “Babe, I work in PR for the team now. It wouldn’t be just me complaining. They took a photo of one of my coaching staff in my private garden! That’s not acceptable.”
He was starting to smile now. “We’re your coaches, eh?”
“Obviously,” she confirmed, her tone more serious than playful. She adjusted his ice pack and squeezed his hand. “I’ve got you.”
“Thank you.”
Keeley, dressed all in bright yellow, came out of her house and waved at Roy before locking up. She joined him in his car, brimming with cheerfulness. “Hi, babe!” She kissed him. “How’s your day been?”
“Interesting,” he told her, putting his car into drive. “You know that tabloid that ran the shitty photo of me in your yard?”
“Yeah? Oh, no, what have they done now?”
“They reached out to me. They apologized, and they said, and I quote: ‘Please, mate, call off your guard dog.’ I almost felt sorry for them.”
Keeley bounced in her seat, clapping her hands together with delight and pride. “Ooh! Is that me? I’m your guard dog? Oh, I love that!” She gave him a cartoonish growl and a bark. “That’s how you know I’m a Greyhound, innit? What did you say?”
Roy worked his neck muscles, tilting his head from side to side. “I told them to use your name with respect, or shut their fucking mouths.”
“Ooh! Well, that’s nice. I really like that we’re both the guard dog in the relationship, that’s very healthy of us.”
He braked for a stoplight, taking the opportunity to look at her face fully. “You’re not too bothered? That they implied you’re a bitch?”
Keeley rolled her eyes at him. “I like being a bitch. That’s just what people say whenever I’ve done something a bit difficult. Just like when your team is playing really well, and the other fans get verbally abusive about it. It’s just like, oh, right then, I’ll carry on just like that, shall I?” Roy laughed. Keeley smiled at the passing scenery for a moment before putting a thought into words: “But I like it even more that it pisses you off.”
Roy half-shouted and half-laughed, “It pisses me off so much!”
Keeley laughed too. “Watch the road!” she reminded him, when he had gazed too long at her happy face.
They parked and joined the line for the Ethiopian restaurant Roy had picked out on a whim. “Damn it,” Keeley muttered. “Roy, can you put your coat around me? I just felt my bra unhook itself.” He took her crossbody purse onto his own shoulder unasked and held his coat around her back like a curtain. It was plenty to cover her while she twisted her arms up the back of her top to refasten the bra. It should have been discreet enough for the street, and for an anonymous couple, it would have been. Someone’s camera flash went off in their eyes.
Roy draped the jacket onto Keeley’s shoulders. Still holding her purse, he wheeled on the other patron. The camera was a trendy new-wave instant one belonging to a pair of teenage boys with the distinct air of students on break. They were possibly adults, and certainly old enough to know better. “Oi! If you rip up that fucking photo, you can have free tickets to a match. All right, wankers?” He didn’t threaten an alternative; he didn’t need to. The boys knew the correct answer.
Keeley smiled to herself. They didn’t let the bastards get them down, her and Roy.