A WAG Abroad

Raiders have started doing extra training sessions in the evening because Dean wants them to spend more time on the pitch and less time in the spa. They must think he’s a right miserable sod. ‘Oh my God, training was perfect!’ he says. ‘Let me get a soya milk, banana and walnut smoothie and I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘A what? Bloody hell, Dean. Are you pissed?’

‘No,’ he says, mashing up banana into this glass bowl and sprinkling nuts on. ‘I told you, I’m not drinking any more.’

‘Loser,’ I say, making an ‘L’ sign with my fingers.

‘I’m going to get fit and healthy and I’m going to turn this club round. I’ve got my first game in charge on Saturday and we’re gonna win it. I swear. Everyone says we’re set to come bottom, but we won’t, love. You wait till we play Galaxy. We’ll beat them hands down.’

OK, now he’s got me.

‘Galaxy?’ I enquire. ‘You mean LA Galaxy? David Beckham’s team?’

‘That’s right, Candyfloss,’ he says, tipping sunflower seeds and goat’s milk yoghurt into a bowl. ‘Where are the pumpkin seeds?’ he asks.

‘Pumpkin seeds? How the hell do I know? I didn’t know pumpkins had seeds. What’s going on, Dean? Where did all the food come from?’ I’ve not been near the kitchen except to get glasses for champagne.

‘I bought it,’ he says, and I think to myself how remarkable my man is. Most of all, though, I think, When are they playing LA Galaxy? When will I meet David? Will Posh be there?

‘When are the matches against LA Galaxy?’ I ask. I’m only vaguely aware of how this American soccer thing works (you can’t call it football here, or they automatically think you’re talking about a game like rugby in which they wear helmets). I know that the Raiders are new into the league, which contains fourteen other teams, so now there are fifteen of them, and they play each other team twice during the season. That’s all I know. That’s all I want to know. The only really interesting thing about any of it is that David Beckham plays for LA Galaxy. I think that Dean should be calling David and making friends with him, but he thinks that would be too ‘gay’ and that we’ll bump into them eventually. I think that this approach, to steal Dean’s language, is thoroughly ‘gay’.

‘When do you play LA Galaxy?’ I ask.

‘I’ve marked them on the calendar in the kitchen,’ he says.

We have nuts, seeds, yoghurt and a calendar? Who knew? I jump up and rush into the kitchen.

‘There we are, dear,’ he says, pointing out the dates over my shoulder. ‘We play them at home on 21 June, then on 9 August, away. Both MLS games.’

‘MSL?’

‘Major League Soccer. That’s what we’re playing in.’

Oh, right. I’m guessing that’s the American equivalent of the Premiership, and what it means is that there are two formal occasions on which I’ll meet Victoria, and all the possibilities that will arise through Jamie’s friendship with her as well as the fact that I’ll be tipped off every time she goes into Koi. So many chances to meet my heroine. Soon-to-be best friend. Ooooooooh, it’s so exciting. I give Dean a great big hug. ‘I love you,’ I say, and he hugs me back.

‘Come on, Tracie, let’s explore.’

‘Explore?’ I ask, concern ricocheting through me. Why on earth would we ever want to do that? I’ve never heard Dean use such a word before. ‘Go out?’ I say. ‘Is there an opening of a bar or restaurant somewhere, or are there photographers around? A film première? Why else would I want to go out?’

‘Nah, silly,’ he says with a loud guffaw. ‘Not out and explore. I meant explore the TV. There are loads of channels on it, you know. Most of them are American, but there are some brill cartoons and that. I can’t find Midsomer Murders yet, but it must be on here somewhere. Come on, love, let’s get some telly watched. You’ve been in Los Angeles for over four days and you haven’t sat in front of the goggle box for more than an hour at a time.’

‘You’re right, love,’ I say as we snuggle together on the sofa in this strange foreign country where the sun always shines. Dean is flicking through the channels with a smile on his face and I’m dreaming of shopping, pampering and getting rat-arsed with Victoria. We’re on the other side of the world, but nothing, really, has changed at all. Phew.

Email to: Mich & Suzzi

From: Tracie in LA

Hi, girlies. Thanks for the email and the gossip update. I can’t believe Mum’s back in Luton! When did she get there? It’s so weird. I thought she was loving life in Spain and about to settle down with the twenty year old.

I know that nothing Angie does should surprise me any more, but turning up at Luton and announcing that she wants to adopt three African babies? Does she think she’s going to attract someone who looks like Brad Pitt if she acts like Angelina Jolie? Someone ought to tell her that it doesn’t work like that! Poor thing – I hope she’s OK. Do you think I should write to her? All the letters I sent to her in Spain were sent back marked ‘Return to the bitch’ so Dean told me to stop writing. Let me know what you think, and remember to keep me updated on what she’s up to.

I’ll have a look for the chewing gum you mentioned – the stuff that you chew three times and it makes your skin look ten years younger. I have to confess that I haven’t seen any over here, and I certainly couldn’t find those sweets that you mentioned – the ones that make your hair blonder. You know, I’m starting to think that a lot of the things that appear in magazines about LA simply aren’t true.

Will write again soon, Trace

PS. I can’t believe someone’s smashed the statue of the Boy David in our garden. Who would do that? Didn’t anyone hear anything? Must be the same person who cut the heads off all the flowers. Kids, no doubt. Thanks for getting it all fixed. x