Mundane [a Gerard Piqué fanfiction]

Eight.

"Never in all my years at the club has this happened!" Joan Laporta, the Barcelona president, ran a hand through his thinning hair and looked towards Pep and Tito for any idea of what to do. "I don't even know how to proceed; do we continue with the preseason party, the one that is organised with the premise of celebrating winning the Joan Gamper Trophy? Do we invite the Mataro team? Can their players even drink, are they old enough?"

"You're overreacting, Joan." Tito said calmly, trying to sooth the situation. "It was only a preseason friendly, and sometimes its nice to see the smaller teams win something."

"Yes, yes." Joan agreed. "From a football point of view, it's nice for a team like that to win something. But from a financial point of view it's more complicated; this preseason party has been organised for months, do you even know how much it has cost?'

"No, how much?" Tito seemed extremely intregued.

"An open bar and a five-star three course meal for two hundred people..." Joan trailed off, as if recosidering his frank honesty. "Actually, it's probably better that I don't tell you."

A moment of silence passed between the three men in the Barcelona manager's office, as if each were trying to think of the best solution. It was the assistant manager who broke the silence.

"Look, invite the Mataro team; the coaches and the players," said Tito. "It will show that we're not sore losers and that we support the smaller Catalan teams."

"Yes, invite them." Pep spoke for the first time in a while, having spent most of the conversation brooding quietly in a corner. "I must admit that the young lady has peaked my interest. I'd like to talk to her."

"Want to get some coaching lessons, do you?" Tito joked.

Pep rolled his eyes but couldn't help but chuckle at his old friend's comment. "Not exactly..."

"Well then, we'd better send someone to tell them before they head back off to Mataro tomorrow morning."

***

"So," Gerard began, pushing away an empty plate that had, fifteen minutes ago, held a huge piece of fresh sole fish. "Who is Arnau Martell?"

"Oh." Montserrat looked taken aback by his question, but quickly regained her composure. "Just someone we used to know from school. I hadn't seen him in over twenty years before tonight."

"You looked really surprised to see him." Marc added, looking sceptically at his mother. "Did you guys have an argument or something?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Joan spoke for his wife. "We hadn't seen him in a really long time, it was strange." He was silent for a moment before looking somberly at Montserrat. "He didn't look good, did he?"

"I heard that his cancer is stage four." She agreed sadly. "There's no coming back from that; he probably has six months at best."

"I thought you said that you hadn't seen him for years?" Gerard inquired, suspicious of his parents' strange behaviour. "How do you know all of that?"

"Just because we haven't seen him doesn't mean that we don't know how he's doing." Montserrat rolled her eyes. "People kept in contact with old school friends before Facebook, you know."

"Anyway." Joan decided to change the subject rapidly. "How are you doing Gerard? You're looking much better these last few days."

Gerard sighed inwardly; the last thing that he wanted to do was have to bare all of his feelings with his whole family in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but he knew that they would not let it lie until they had an answer that they wanted to hear.