Page 2 of Safe Hands

“Only joking,” Lauren yelled back. She picked up the kettle as it hit boiling point and poured water over the tea bags.

“No luck finding a replacement?” Paige asked.

“Nope, and I can’t imagine why. Who wouldn’t want to give up their Saturday afternoon to take abuse from a bunch of jumped-up seventeen-year-olds who all think they’re the next Alessia Russo? Baffling, really.”

“Mind-boggling. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Carry on coaching them, I guess. Keeps me out of trouble. Unless you fancy breaking up with Becky so she can manage the under-eighteens again?”

“Er… no. I think I’ll keep her for now.”

“That’s my fate, and their losing streak, sealed then.” Lauren set one of the mugs on the table. “Speaking of decisions, does the poor kid have a name yet, or are you waiting until he’s old enough to pick his own?”

“It’s still a work in progress. We have a few weeks.”

“You’ve had nearly nine months.”

“Alright! Just because you’re on a new productivity kick doesn’t mean I’m rushing into naming my son. He’ll be stuck with it for the rest of his life. Unlike most of your decisions, which only stick for a few weeks.”

It took Lauren a beat too long to smile. She knew Paige was joking. Still, that one landed close.

“How about Ruben?” she suggested. “Or Antoine? Or… Phil?”

“Phil? How did you get from Ruben to Antoine to Phil?”

“She’s listing Manchester City players!” Becky called from the hall.

“Pep?” Lauren tried.

“Their old manager!”

A roll of packing tape flew through the doorway at Lauren’s head. She ducked. It missed by a mile and skidded across the tiles.

“My son is not being called Pep,” Paige said, folding her arms. “Or Phil. Or Antoine.”

“Those are all great names.”

“They’re terrible. I want something that won’t embarrass him for his whole life. A name with a few variations he can choose from.”

“Pep is short for Josep. That has variations. Or Enzo. Short for Lorenzo.”

“Which sounds a lot like Lauren. How convenient.”

Lauren picked the tape up off the floor and lobbed it back through the doorway. Something in the hall crashed over.

“Shit.” She winced and fetched her running shoes from the back door. “Time to make my exit, I think.”

“Running?” Paige frowned, blowing steam off her tea. “What have you done with my best friend? The one who spent her weekends hungover on the sofa watching cartoons in her boxers.”

“You two killed her.”

“Sorry, but you said you wanted a fresh start.”

“I did. I just hadn’t expected every part of my life to go under renovation at once. Living alone, coaching teenagers, starting a new business, cutting my hair… Is there anything left of the old Lauren?”

“Hopefully not.”

Lauren pressed a hand to her chest, mortally wounded, and Paige grinned into her tea.