The Coaching System
Chapter 290: A Day Away From Football

Chapter 290: A Day Away From Football

March 22nd – Valley Gardens, Harrogate

Jake checked his watch—8:23 AM. Early for most, but not for the Wilsons.

Emma was already by the car, loading the last of the picnic supplies into the boot, while Ariel clutched her stuffed fox to her chest, her wide, curious eyes taking in the world from her car seat. When Jake caught his daughter’s gaze, she broke into a toothy grin that made the morning’s gray skies seem irrelevant.

"She’s been asking for ’whee slides’ since six," Emma said, closing the boot with a soft thud. "I think someone’s excited."

Jake smiled—not the measured, careful grin he reserved for press conferences, but the genuine one he saved for moments away from football’s relentless pressure. He reached over and tucked a strand of Emma’s hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering against her cheek a moment longer than necessary.

"That makes two of us," he replied softly.

A door slammed upstairs, followed by the thunder of footsteps. Ethan appeared at the front door, his hair still damp from the shower, a school training bag slung over one shoulder.

"Dad, did you pack the football?" he asked, more statement than question.

Jake nodded toward the boot. "Already in. But remember—"

"I know, I know," Ethan interrupted, sliding into the back seat next to his sister. "Today’s not about training. It’s family time."

The drive to Harrogate took less than an hour. Ariel hummed to herself in the back, occasionally pointing at passing trucks with excited squeals. Ethan had his earbuds in, but Jake caught him making silly faces at his sister in the rearview mirror when he thought no one was watching.

Emma’s hand rested on Jake’s thigh, her thumb tracing small circles just above his knee. They didn’t speak much—they didn’t need to. The quiet was a luxury after months filled with tactical meetings, press conferences, and late-night analysis sessions.

By the time they arrived at Valley Gardens, families were already filling the park, though the morning chill kept the crowds manageable. Jake lifted Ariel from her car seat, and she immediately pointed toward the playground visible through the trees.

"Whee slides, Daddy! Now!"

Jake hoisted her onto his shoulders, her small hands gripping his hair for balance. "Patience, little fox," he said, using the nickname that had stuck since her first Halloween costume. "We’ve got all day."

Emma unfolded the picnic blanket beneath a sprawling oak while Ethan scanned the open field, already mapping out potential spots for a kickabout later.

"It’s nice," Emma said, looking up at Jake. "Seeing you without that game-day expression."

"What expression?" Jake asked, setting Ariel down as she wiggled to be free.

"The one where you’re solving equations no one else can see."

Jake laughed—a rare, unguarded sound. "I leave the equations at Apperley Bridge."

Emma raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

The playground was busy but not chaotic. Ariel made a beeline for the smallest slide, climbing the three steps with determined concentration before sliding down with a squeal of delight. Jake stood at the bottom, catching her each time, even though he knew she didn’t really need it.

"Again!" she demanded after her fifth descent, her excitement undiminished.

Ethan had wandered to the edge of the playground, where older children were clustering. Jake watched him—the careful way he stood, just close enough to be noticed but not so close as to seem eager for inclusion. It reminded Jake too much of himself at that age.

"Go," Emma said, appearing beside him. "I’ve got our little daredevil. Ethan’s trying to look like he doesn’t want company."

Jake crossed the woodchip-covered ground with measured steps. Ethan spotted him coming and tried to appear nonchalant, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Alright?" Jake asked, stopping beside him.

Ethan shrugged. "Yeah."

A group of boys nearby took turns on the climbing frame, racing to the top. Jake recognized the body language—the competition, the testing, the unspoken hierarchy being established.

"Want to check out the boating lake?" Jake asked, not pushing, just offering an alternative.

Ethan hesitated, then nodded.

They walked in step with each other, navigating through families and down the sloping path toward the water. Jake didn’t fill the silence with questions about school or football; he simply walked, present and patient.

"Chapman’s ring," Ethan said finally. "Is he actually going to propose?"

Jake glanced sideways, surprised. "You noticed that, did you?"

"Everyone did. He kept checking his pocket during the Alkmaar celebration."

Jake smiled. "Yes, he’s proposing. He probably already has by now."

"Cool." Ethan kicked at a stone on the path. "I liked how he played against AZ. The way he manipulated the space off-ball."

"You saw that?" Jake asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Of course I did." Ethan shot him a look filled with teenage confidence. "I’m not blind, Dad."

They reached the boating lake, where colorful pedal boats drifted across the water’s surface. Families laughed as they navigated in wobbly circles.

"Fancy a go?" Jake asked.

Ethan surveyed the scene, weighing the childishness of the activity against the appeal of spending time alone with his father.

"Maybe," he conceded.

Jake spotted Emma approaching, Ariel’s hand clutched in hers. The little girl was mid-sentence, explaining something with great seriousness to her mother, who listened with exaggerated attention.

"Daddy! Boats!" Ariel exclaimed, noticing where they were.

"Yes, little fox. Big blue boats."

"I want the swan one," she announced, pointing to a pedal boat shaped like an oversized swan, its white fiberglass body gleaming in the morning sun.

Ethan rolled his eyes but didn’t protest.

"Swan it is," Jake said, already heading toward the rental kiosk.

Out on the water, with Ariel secured between Emma and Jake in the front seat and Ethan pedaling from the back, the world narrowed to just the four of them. The pedals turned smoothly beneath their feet, propelling them toward the center of the lake.

"I can do it myself," Ethan insisted after a few minutes, and Jake obligingly lifted his feet, allowing his son to power the boat alone.

Emma leaned her head against Jake’s shoulder, her hair brushing against his neck. "This is nice," she murmured.

"Mmm," he agreed, watching a pair of real swans glide past their artificial counterpart.

"You’re still thinking about the United match, aren’t you?" she asked, her voice too quiet for Ethan to hear.

Jake didn’t deny it. "Not the tactics. Just... wondering if they’re ready."

"They are," she replied simply. "Because you’ve made them ready."

Ariel squirmed between them, reaching out toward the water.

"Look, fishies!" she cried, though no fish were visible in the dark depths.

"Where?" Jake asked, playing along. "Show me the fishies."

Ariel pointed emphatically at random spots on the water’s surface. "There! And there! Big blue ones!"

"She has your imagination," Emma said with a smile.

"And your certainty," Jake replied.

They completed a lazy circuit of the lake, with Ethan occasionally calling directions from the back, taking his navigational duties seriously. Jake found himself relaxing into the moment, the nagging thoughts of formations and press triggers fading with each turn of the pedals.

Later, in a quieter corner of the gardens, they spread their picnic blanket near a bed of early-blooming daffodils. Ariel immediately sprawled on her back, watching the clouds drift overhead, while Ethan unpacked the football from the bag.

"Just passing," Jake reminded him. "This isn’t training."

"I know, Dad." There was an eye-roll in his voice, even if his face remained neutral.

Jake stood up, stepping onto the grass a few meters from the blanket. Ethan backed up, creating space, then rolled the ball across with the inside of his foot.

They passed it back and forth—nothing fancy, just the satisfying rhythm of ball meeting boot and returning. Simple. Clean. The foundation upon which everything else was built.

Emma watched them while preparing sandwiches, the domesticity of the moment not lost on her. Eventually, Ariel noticed the football and toddled over, arms outstretched.

"Me too!" she insisted.

Jake crouched down. "Ready, little fox? Here comes the ball."

He rolled it gently toward her. Ariel stared at it, then stuck out one foot. The ball bumped against her shoe and stopped. She looked up, beaming with pride.

"Goal!" she shouted, raising both arms above her head.

Jake laughed—a full, unrestrained sound rarely heard at Valley Parade or Apperley Bridge.

"That’s not how—" Ethan began, then caught himself. "Actually, nice one, Ari. Good stop."

Jake looked at his son, noticing the deliberate kindness in his correction, and felt something tighten in his chest.

"Come on," Emma called. "Food’s ready."

They gathered on the blanket, forming a tight circle. Jake accepted the sandwich Emma handed him, watching as Ethan helped Ariel open her juice box.

For a few precious hours, there were no players to manage, no tactics to adjust, and no press to handle. Just his family, a picnic blanket, and the simple joy of a spring day away from football’s relentless demands.

Later, he would return to the pressure and responsibility. The shape of Monday’s game would need addressing, and the weight of both the FA Cup exit and the upcoming semi-final would settle back on his shoulders.

But for now—just for now—Jake Wilson was simply a father and husband enjoying a sandwich in the park, watching his daughter chase butterflies and his son practice keepy-uppies against a backdrop of blooming flowers.

And that was enough.