More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Thirty Six

On Friday morning I drove into a surprisingly sunny Cobham with a smile on my face. For the first time since before the international break, I didn't feel miserable parking my car: no dread crept up my spine, no uncomfortable knot twisted my stomach. In fact, excitement bubbled in my chest as I stepped outside. 

Things were looking up on all fronts. Newcastle was far behind me, there was the Spurs game to look forward to tomorrow, Frank's gala the day after, and whatever weirdness there was between me and Mason seemed done with. 

Shutting my door, I stopped for a minute beside my car. Weak sun bathed down on me and, despite the frostiness in the October air, my skin warmed under the rays. Leaning back against my door, I shut my eyes. 

"Yo, Beck!" 

Drawn out of my daze a few minutes later, I opened my eyes. Squinting into the sunlight, I turned my head to see Kyle approaching me. He raised his shoulders in a shrug, removing the stylish glasses he wore from his head at the same time. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Appreciating the sun," I said with a shrug of my own. "Might be the last time we see it until March." 

"True that." With a chuckle, he leant against the side of my car, too. "Thought you might be trying to catch a last minute tan before Sunday." 

I shook my head. "That ship sailed a long time ago." 

"So, you excited for it?" 

"We still have tomorrow to get through," I reminded him. 

He waved me off. "Yeah, well, we do that every week. We don't go to fancy dinners every week." 

"It's a gala, not a dinner." I laughed as Kyle pulled a face at me. "I am excited, though. I think it'll be fun." Kyle made a noise of agreement. "Is Nat happy with her new dress?" 

"Oh, God, don't get me started." With a groan, he pushed himself off my car and stood in front of me. "Yesterday she put on the new dress – you know, that we spent three hours getting last weekend? – and she said she preferred the first one. After all of that." He threw his hands into the air. "Unbelievable." 

I grinned. "Well, as long as she's happy." 

Kyle rolled his eyes and fell back against the door again. "She better be." 

A car rolled into the space a few down from mine and Diego climbed out. He gave us a wave but retreated inside before stopping for a conversation. I knew the Argentine would be at the gala – the South Americans always enjoyed the party – but a lot of the squad had decided against coming. Annika, who hated attention in all forms, vowed to stay well clear, and Olly had declined, too. Fran and Abby lived for things like this, something that surprised me the year before, and Mason I knew loved the schmoozing the event presented. 

I thought back to the previous year. The day before, my physio agreed that I could go, with the promise to keep off my feet as much as possible. Fran jumped on the bandwagon when I told her and insisted she'd sort me out for the night, which she did. She got me ready, stuck by my side as I hobbled around, and made sure that when everyone else started dancing, I wasn't alone. The rest of the team offered their support, too: Kyle fetched me plates of snacks the whole night, Abby snuck me drinks from the bar, and Mason, in between sucking up to retired players or pundits or journalists, relayed any juicy stories he'd heard. 

"Beck?" 

"Huh?" Dragged out of my memories from that night, I realised Kyle had been speaking. 

He frowned. "I said what are you wearing?" 

"It's a surprise." With a grin, I straightened up.