Come Wednesday, I was so relieved that most of the squad would be back at training that I didn't even mind the rain that was falling as I arrived at Cobham. Those from the England camp would be back, as well as Annika, Fran and some of the other European players. Olly and the South Americans would only be around for training the following day again.
I spotted Kyle's car in the lot as I arrived and sure enough, he was waiting in the canteen with some tea as I arrived. It wasn't unusual for us to be among the first to arrive, given that Kyle and I tended to be early to almost everything. In fact, when I'd first arrived at Chelsea, Kyle was one of my first proper friends because of that reason. We always found ourselves basically alone before every session and meeting, and after all the time we spent chatting, a solid friendship started to form. When he wasn't selected for the World Cup, I'd almost been as gutted as he was.
Kyle's face lit up as I entered the cafeteria. He was up and bounding over to hug me in no time, and I laughed as he spun me around.
"Hey, you champ!" I cheered as he set me down. I took his shoulders and shook him dramatically. "You flipping beast, Kyle! I'm so proud of you."
In our second qualifying game, we'd beaten Kosovo five-three, thanks to a first international hat trick from Kyle. He'd played probably the best game of his career, getting an assist under his belt too, and I'd been bursting with pride as I watched at home.
With an embarrassed smile, he chuckled and thanked me. Quickly, though, he was asking about how my "time-off" was; his humble nature often left him out of the spotlight, but I wasn't having any of this morning.
"My time off was boring as hell, what do you think?" Hitting him on the arm, I brought up his game again. "Tell me about the game!"
It took a bit more encouragement, but I managed to get Kyle gushing eventually. I'd never seen him look so proud of himself, and my chest was warm with pride for my friend, who deserved some recognition for a change.
Our team had a bad habit of overlooking Kyle, which was strange considering he was our current top goal scorer. The way we played meant that Kyle wasn't our only high scoring player, but the work he did by opening up spaces and holding up the play was so tactically important when he wasn't scoring goals, too. It felt like, because he was expected to score, no one really paid him much attention when he continually did.
"Oh, my God, you're never going to guess who I met after the game," he suddenly cried out, his eyes glinting mischievously.
"I'm pretty sure I can guess, because I met her, too." I grinned at the disappointment that took over Kyle's face, and then the confusion.
"How the hell did you meet her? I only saw her because of the dinner we had afterwards."
"Yeah, well, I was also confused," I mumbled.
In great detail, I explained the run-in I'd had with Liv Prescott. Kyle listened keenly, and when I was midway through the story Fran arrived. I'd greeted her just as enthusiastically as I had Kyle, also congratulating her on Belgium's two wins. When Liv's name was mentioned, she was as rapt as Kyle had been and demanded I start the story again.
"So, that was kind of strange," I finished. Kyle and Fran shared an unimpressed look, and I had to appreciate the way Fran rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, well, she's awful," Kyle piped in. I shouldn't have been so happy to hear him say that, but the words overjoyed me.
"Look how happy she is," Fran laughed, pointing at me. Worried at the expression that must have been on my face, I simply shrugged. "Hey, I'm here for it, don't worry." Turning to Kyle, her eyes widened expectantly. "Tell us why she's so bad."
Kyle let out a groan and launched into the story of their team dinner. It had been at the team hotel close to Wembley, he started, and almost everyone's girlfriends or boyfriends or wives or husbands had been there. Kyle told us that Natalie, his long-term girlfriend and generally one of the nicest people I knew, took one look at her and disliked her. Coming from Natalie, the comment must have been caused by something.
He continued to tell us about the night: apparently Liv had wanted a dozen photos with Mason, even dragging him to the lobby for tens of minutes. The rest of the time, Kyle said she either spent on her phone or talking only to Mason, not interested in any of the others at the table.
"God, and then your name came up," he groaned. This grabbed my attention in a new way, my head spinning at the possible outcomes that conversation could have had.
"How?" Fran asked with too much eagerness. She seemed to be enjoying this just as much as I was.
Kyle grinned at her, clearly thinking the same thing. "We were talking about the World Cup, and how if we'd had you for the whole game we would have been in the final."
Even though the game was months ago, the comment still stung. I forced myself to grin and thank him for the compliment, but an uncomfortable taste lingered in my mouth as I thought back on that game, and how much it had changed the following year for me.
"Anyway, she butted in and told us how, with all her knowledge on football, it wouldn't have made that much of a difference." I felt my mouth drop open as Kyle's words sunk in. He was nodding, looking just as appalled, and Fran cursed at the absent Liv. "But, don't worry, Mason and me and Marcus defended you, and she got all awkward after that."
"What the hell? What does she know about football?"
"Clearly not much," Kyle replied with a laugh. "Don't get me wrong, she doesn't seem very stupid. Just didn't really seem to care for the topic when it came up."
"Oh, Guilio also hates football," Fran laughed with a shrug.
"Really?" I asked in surprise. Fran's boyfriend definitely struck me as the type to enjoy the sport.
"Yeah, he thinks it's boring. He prefers rugby."
"Nat also, sometimes," Kyle added. "Maybe footballers are all attracted to people that hate football."
I shook my head and scoffed. "Finding it boring isn't hating it."
"Why are you getting so defensive, Beck?" Kyle teased, a grin on his face.
"I'm not."
Fran giggled, but before either of them could say anything more, Kyle flicked his head towards the entrance of the dining room.
"Oi, watch it," he muttered. "No more gossiping about Liv today."
Mason was walking in, at Cobham rarely early. He tended to arrive just before we needed to, but almost always stayed later to practice his free kicks or penalties or seek out advice from Frank. Now, though, he was wandering in with a physio in tow. Worry forced a frown to my face and intensified as I spotted the limp in his step.
"Why's he limping?" I couldn't help asking Kyle. Turning to look at my teammate, I saw his face twisted into a frown, too.
"I have no idea."
We watched in curious silence as Mason exchanged a few final words with Nicki, nodding gravely. As soon as the physio had turned away, Kyle let out a loud whistle that attracted the attention of more than just Mason, who was now heading over.
"Hey, bro, what's with the limp?" Kyle muttered as he stood.
Mason shrugged, stopping in front of Kyle and slapping his hand. "Don't really know. Just woke up and my ankle was really sore."
"What did Nicki say?" I piped up. I met Mason's eyes from over my shoulder as he glanced down. With a chuckle, he leant forwards and wrapped his arms around my shoulders in a hug.
"Don't look so freaked, Hart." I rolled my eyes, ignoring the blush in my cheeks. "Think I just rolled it yesterday and it's a bit stiff. And Nix just rubbed my calves and they're fucking sore."
"So you're not going to die?" Fran asked jokingly.
"Not today, at least."
I scoffed and shrugged his arms off. "Well, sorry for being concerned."
Taking Kyle's abandoned seat next to me, Mason smiled warmly. "Thanks for the concern, Beck, but it's nothing."
Holding his gaze, I nodded in response. Fran asked Mason how his break was, causing his attention to shift to behind me, but I kept watching him for a moment longer. I couldn't help the way my thoughts drifted back to that lift in Wembley; to the interaction I'd had with Liv Prescott.My heart panged uneasily as I watched Mason's face curl into a smile. Looking away, I forced myself to put the feeling down to residual worry about his dramatized limp. Later that afternoon, though, it was hard to still blame it on that.