I can’t believe that you beat me again! What’s your secret?’ marvelled Seb, switching off the laptop and following his gran downstairs.
Shirley paused and turned. ‘It’s all down to judgement and experience when it comes to Football Manager. Simple, really. You’ve either got it or you haven’t.’ She winked at her grandson.
Seb joined her in the kitchen, slumping onto a chair and dragging it towards the table. He sighed before cupping his chin in his hands.
Shirley carried over two glasses of milk and settled into the seat opposite. ‘Here you go,’ she said, placing one in front of him. ‘Take a biscuit too. Otherwise, I might scoff the lot, and then I won’t be able to get into my new wetsuit.’
Seb glanced over. ‘Oh, I meant to ask about the wild swimming, Gran. How’s it been going?’
‘Fine, I’ll tell you about it another time,’ replied Shirley, hesitating. His knee was jiggling under the table.
‘More to the point, Seb, how’s it going with you?’ she probed. ‘I can’t believe this mood is just because I
