Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy

by Katey Lovell

  Chapter 7

  The wine I’d been necking the previous night should have done a good job of knocking me out, but I’d struggled to sleep. Instead of being out like a light when I got home, I’d laid on my back, staring up at the ceiling through the darkness, trying to make sense of my blossoming feelings for Max. As well as making me laugh by telling daft jokes he’d been generous, even insisting on paying for my taxi home when his brother had shown up and I’d left them to enjoy the rest of the band’s set. His kindness had meant my self-imposed budget had remained intact.

  The lack of sleep meant I was swallowing down yawns as me and the girls dissected the night as we sat in the park.

  “I never thought I’d see the day you went out with someone other than Darius,” Tawna said. She sounded as though I was letting her down, not trying to move on. “Me and Johnny have been waiting for you two to get back together. You know he’d take you back in a heartbeat, don’t you?”

  “Do you think?”

  “Definitely. We saw him when we were out last night and he asked after you.”

  My heart plummeted to my feet, but I shouldn’t have been surprised at Tawna mentioning my ex – he regularly cropped up in our conversations. She and Johnny saw plenty of Darius, both socially and through the business.

  In the past our double dates had been legendary. Sophie and Darius, Tawna and Johnny. Newcastle had been ours for the taking. We’d drunk ourselves stupid at the poshest bars in town, living the high life, and I’d been head over heels in love.

  Eve’s spidey-senses must’ve tingled, because she said, “You’re not thinking of giving him another chance, are you? You deserve much better than that creep.”

  I grabbed a handful of grass, pulling it out of the ground, roots and all.

  “Darius and I have a history. But there’s a spark between me and Max too, I think.”

  “We’ve heard all about your sparks before,” Tawna said with a bawdy wink. “All those stories about you and Darius. You don’t find sexual compatibility like that every day you know, Soph. I really think you should consider giving him a second chance. There’s a lot to be said for having a connection with someone.”

  “She just said she had a connection with Max too,” Eve pointed out.

  “She hardly knows the guy,” Tawna said with a dismissive scoff.

  The way they were talking about me as though I wasn’t there irritated me.

  “I really like Max,” I admitted. “He’s easy to be with, easy to talk to… But you know how it is with Darius. He’s hard to get over.”

  Eve looked up at the sky, studying the clouds. I had the distinct impression I was disappointing her.

  “I loved him for so long. We shared so much. And I can’t even begin to put into words how much I miss Summer.”

  Just mentioning Darius’s daughter caused my heart to swell. Summer might not have been mine, but I couldn’t have loved her any more, even if she had been.

  Eve nodded sadly. “I get that. She’s a gorgeous kid.”

  “She really is. I wish I could see her.”

  “If you got in touch with Darius, I’m sure he’d love for you to see Summer when she’s next up here,” Tawna said. “We went bowling with them the other Sunday. You’d hardly recognise her now, Soph. She’s really growing up.”

  “Stop putting ideas in her head,” Eve snapped. “You’re only interfering because you want her and Darius back together.”

  She looked like she’d been sucking on an especially sour lemon, but then Eve had never been a fan of Darius. Tawna thought she’d been envious of the two of us being in pairs as she tagged along solo, but I didn’t think that was the case. Eve had always insisted she’d got a bad vibe from Darius, right from the off. She’d actually whooped with joy when I’d finally deleted his number from my phone.

  Tawna ignored Eve’s retort, reaching out and patting my arm affectionately. “I knew you weren’t over him. I could tell. You should talk to him. I know he’d get back with you if you asked him to.”

  “She’s over him! She misses Summer, not him.”

  “You never liked him,” Tawna folded her arms defensively across her chest, “but he was good for Sophie. Look at how she’s been lately. She’s practically a recluse! That’s not a healthy way to live.”

  “Changing yourself to keep a man isn’t a healthy way to live either,” Eve fired back, “nor is competing with his power-tripper of an ex.”

  Her words dug into me like a knife sliding between my ribs. Eve was right – I’d been desperate to get one over on Summer’s mum, Nadia. But however hard I’d tried, however much I spent on top-of-the-range cosmetics and cutting-edge beauty treatments, I’d never been able to shrug off the thought that I was a poor substitute for the woman who’d given Darius the beautiful daughter who was the light of his world.

  “I wasn’t competing,” I said faintly, “but it’s hard when your partner has to spend time with their ex.”

  Inwardly, I could admit that I’d been jealous. I’d only met Nadia a handful of times, avoiding her as much as possible in an act of self-preservation, but she’d made it clear she wasn’t happy with me spending time with her daughter, making snide comments and telling me to “take care”. She’d insinuated mine and Darius’s relationship wouldn’t last, and that it would be confusing for Summer to form a bond with me when I’d “probably not be on the scene for long”.

  Actually, Summer and I had got on really well. With her large chocolate-brown eyes and mahogany hair she’d been a miniature Darius, and that had made her entirely lovable in my eyes. She had her father’s genes, and I was so besotted with him that it would have been impossible not to love Summer too.

  “You’d have to get used to Nadia if you got back with Darius,” Eve said. “She’ll still be clicking her fingers for him to come running at her beck and call.”

  “He runs because he’s a brilliant dad who cares about his daughter,” Tawna argued back.

  My hackles were rising. I’d known he was a father right from the start. Summer was part of the package and I’d willingly accepted that, building a solid, loving relationship with her over time. But I’d not given much thought to the fact Nadia would always be lurking in the background, bitter and twisted, and waiting for things between me and Darius to go tits up.

  “I don’t like the man,” Eve confirmed. “Never have, never will.”

  “We know,” Tawna retorted, seeming even more put out than I was by Eve’s tirade against Darius. “But there’s an explosive chemistry between them, even you can see that. Animal attraction like that should be acted on.”

  “Explosive chemistry? More like nuclear warfare,” Eve said with a sarcastic eye-roll. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. They gave it a go, it didn’t work out. Why should Sophie go back? Especially when there’s a hot new man waiting in the wings.”

  “Why take a risk on someone who’s been around for five minutes when a man who knows her inside out still loves her?”

  My heart panged at that. Since Darius and I had split up I’d had many a lonely night. The comfort that came with being in a steady relationship was appealing, and although things with Darius hadn’t always been easy, I knew him inside out too.

  “Well, you know what I think.” Eve looked directly at me as she pinched the stem of a daisy between her thumb and forefinger and plucked it out of the ground. “It’s been ages since you’ve been this excited about meeting a man. You know what you’d be getting if you took Darius back. Max is all new, you should give him a chance. You’ll only end up regretting it if you don’t.”

  She handed me the daisy and I plucked the fragile white petals away one by one.

  He loves me.

  Pluck.

  He loves me not.

  Pluck.

  He loves me.

  Pluck.

  He loves me not.

  Pluck.

  He loves me.

  Although it was nothing more than a s
illy childish superstition, a warmth radiated from my core when only the bobbly middle of the flower remained.

  He loves me. But who is “he”?

  Chapter 8

  “Is it awful to be glad that my other half’s got a fever?” Finley asked cheekily, as we climbed the steps leading to our gate into St James’ Park. “I’m glad you could use Joel’s season ticket. I always think of you as a bit of a lucky charm.”

  The comment made me chortle. We’d lost the previous match I’d attended at the back end of last season five-nil.

  “It’s the scarf that’s the lucky charm,” Dad insisted, fondling the fronds of the black and white knitted accessory that was hanging around my neck. “Three generations of the Drew family have worn that scarf when watching the Toon. It’s forty years old.”

  “It can’t be that lucky, we’ve not had forty years of non-stop glory,” Norma huffed, pulling herself up on the metal handrail. “If only!”

  “There have been some great nights though,” Fred reminded her. “More than some supporters ever get. Think of those poor sods stuck watching non-league week in week out, they’d love to be here in the pouring rain at a big match like this.”

  A man barged past Norma, almost sending her flying on the slippery steps. “Watch it,” I shouted, firing him a dirty look. Norma was a tough cookie, but she was still an elderly lady and it annoyed me when people didn’t show the older generation respect. “Are you all right, Norma?”

  “I’m out of puff.” She exhaled as she reached the top of the concourse, her body almost bent double as she clutched at the wall. “It’s those steps that’ll be the death of me, not some idiot with no manners. I’ll be fine once I’ve got my breath back.”

  “Take your time, it’s slippy.” Dad hooked his arm and offered it to Norma. “And there’s no reason to rush, there’s still ten minutes until kick-off.”

  The familiar strains of one of Newcastle United’s most famous anthems played out. Mark Knopfler’s “Going Home”, the theme from Local Hero, had become synonymous with watching our beloved Magpies. Being at the ground warmed my soul, bringing back memories of some of my happiest times. Coming to the match with Dad had been as much about bonding as it had been about football, and being back on this patch made me wish I came more regularly. Maybe one day I’d get a season ticket again, if I could afford it.

  We filed through the turnstiles, the sounds of match day all around us, and I drank in the atmosphere as we made our way to our seats. It felt like coming home. Even though the ground had changed over the years, nothing was unfamiliar. The same smell of Bovril coming from steamy plastic cups clutched in the hands of monochrome-clad fans, the same roar of the crowd as the team took to the pitch, the “Blaydon Races” song accompanying the eleven chosen ones. Most importantly, there were the same people around me, with the exception of Joel, whose seat I was filling.

  “Werther’s Original?” Norma offered me a paper bag brimming with the butter mints, and although they weren’t my favourite I took one. I noticed Dad craftily sneak three, popping one in his mouth and the other two into his pocket for later.

  “Get stuck in!” Finley yelled, face creased in annoyance as the midfielder who’d given the ball away three times in as many minutes shirked a tackle. “I could do better than that and I’ve not put on a pair of boots in twenty years.”

  Two minutes later everyone rose to their feet – some more quickly than others – as our star forward (as much as we had star forwards, not being in a position to compete with the Real Madrids of this world) surged into the box. There was a collective intake of breath as his foot connected with the ball, everything seemingly in slow motion as we waited to see if it found its way into the back of the net…

  It didn’t. The ball bounced back off the post, to the chagrin of the crowd.

  Fred was apoplectic as he lowered himself back onto the plastic flip seat, furiously rubbing his hand against the contours of his hairless head. “Players these days don’t know they’re born. They need to take lessons from the greats. Watch videos of Alan Shearer or Malcolm McDonald and see how it’s done.” Fred blew out a puff of air in exasperation as he replaced his flat cap, covering the liver spots that speckled the skin on top of his head.

  “Sophie surprised me with an old programme,” Dad told him. “Supermac was on the front cover and I was telling her what a joy it was watching him play the beautiful game.”

  “Where did you find that?” Finley asked me.

  “Second-hand shop,” I mumbled, not wanting him to ask what I was doing rifling through a box of mildew-damaged programmes.

  He raised his eyebrows quizzically, but didn’t have chance to ask any further questions because we were on our feet again, the ball having crossed the halfway line. Two passes later, it was skied over the bar, to much derision from the crowd.

  Swearing and chuntering (not just from Dad) echoed around the stadium as we sat back down, fifty thousand people lowering themselves into their seats in a reverse Mexican wave. That’s when I noticed Norma wasn’t hurling abuse, she was calling for help as she whacked the heel of her hand into the groove between Fred’s shoulder blades.

  “He’s choking on a Werther’s!” she screamed, her eyes wide in terror. “Do something, someone!”

  Finley, who was sat directly behind Fred, immediately intervened, instructing Fred, whose face was turning the colour of an overripe blueberry, to lean forward and cough as hard as he could. I didn’t think Fred had a cough in him as he helplessly gasped, but he somehow managed to release a loud bark, dislodging the sweet and firing it out of his mouth and into the hood of an unfortunate child in the row in front.

  “Thanks, Finley.” Fred sat down as though he hadn’t just scared us all half to death.

  “Always good to have a nurse on hand.” Finley pretended to brush dust off his shoulder, proud at the success of his first aid, and Norma offered him another sweet as a reward. He refused. “No other medics around to save me if I choke,” he whispered.

  The remainder of the match was uneventful, both on and off the pitch – a nil-nil draw devoid of any drama other than the choking incident which we were still talking about as we walked away from the ground.

  “Coming to the pub, Finley? I’ll buy you a drink as a thank you for saving my life.” Fred laughed, seeming oblivious to the worry he’d caused his wife. Poor Norma. She’d looked petrified when she’d thought her husband was going to snuff it. They’d been together so long I couldn’t imagine them ever being apart. They were the partnership to end all partnerships. Norma without Fred would be like Ant without Dec – unthinkable.

  “I’d best get back to Joel,” Finley said, although his gaze lingered longingly on the pub door. “He’ll be ready for a bit of TLC by now.”

  “Chicken soup and a cold flannel,” Norma advised, as though Finley’s nursing registration counted for nothing. “Makes any illness better.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind.” He winked in my direction, showing he was only humouring her. “Good to see you, Sophie, even if we didn’t win.”

  “Can’t win them all.” I shrugged.

  “Can’t win any of them at the moment,” Dad complained. “At least there’s only one more home match to get through and then the season will be over. I’ll be glad of the break.”

  I knew that wasn’t true. He’d be bored stiff on a weekend without football. Mum would have to drag him around Homebase or Ikea and get him started on a project around the house to keep him busy until August rolled back around.

  “Want to go for a quick drink, Soph?” Dad asked.

  “Come on,” Norma encouraged. “Live a little. We need some young blood for company or we’ll only end up talking about how much better everything was in the good old days.”

  “All right,” I conceded, and I swore my Dad perked up at my response.

  “I knew I could rely on you.” Norma placed her hand on my arm. “You’re a good girl, Sophie.” Then she turned to my dad, saying,
“You did something right with this one. Kind-hearted and would bleed black and white if you cut her open.”

  “Indoctrination,” I quipped.

  “Maybe,” Dad agreed good-naturedly. “Although it never worked with Nick or Anna. Even as kids they weren't fussed about football. Tried all the usual tricks – bribing them with hot dogs from the burger vans and taking them to matches under the floodlights so they’d associate the football with staying up late. None of it worked. Although I used to love our Saturdays together, just me and my biggest girl.”

  A rush of happiness took over my body at his words. It was as though a blanket had been thrown around my shoulders. I’d loved those Saturdays too.

  “I’m glad you came today, Soph,” he continued, wrapping an arm around me. “It’s been like old times. Just a shame the lucky scarf didn’t work its magic.” He sighed.

  “Maybe it brought another kind of luck,” I suggested. “Fred could have been in serious trouble with that sweet, if it wasn’t for Finley knowing what to do.”

  “That certainly was lucky,” Dad agreed. “And I feel lucky to have spent time with you. We should do this more often, get together, just the two of us.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Me too,” Dad said, planting a kiss on my head. My heart gushed with love.

  In that moment I was a little girl again, and when he handed me a packet of dry roasted peanuts to go along with my drink, the same way he had so many times in the past, I was full of contentment.

  Chapter 9

  “You knock.”

  “No, you.”

  Eve and I had been standing on the doorstep of Tawna and Johnny’s house for five minutes already, debating who was going to take the initiative and let them know we’d arrived. Bridesmaid dress hunting had been scheduled for a month, but with Tawna still insisting I should give Darius another chance I wasn’t particularly looking forward to what should be a special day. Neither was Eve, who was firmly in the opposite camp.