The Kevin Pietersen saga has been a roller coaster of emotions for all involved, just like a trashy romance novel. So we've written the story in that manner. Read Part 1 of the trilogy if you haven't already, and then continue below.
A few weeks had passed with only sporadic contact between the pair, like when England asked for the Jerusalem CD it'd left at Kevin's place, and both parties were feeling the ache of constant longing.
From the moment England walked out of the Long Room and away from Kevin's day-to-day life, the young man felt adrift. He was listless, not even going onto Twitter unless he had to, and spent his time checking his bank balance and leaving sorrowful messages with England's secretary.
England was irritable, sitting in its office at Lord's, knowing it had to go to Sri Lanka on business without Kevin, after their previous trips together had been so memorable. England took a look out the window and stared at the famous weather vane, Old Father Time mocking the passage of weeks without a resolution to the affair.
The iPhone sitting on the edge of the desk buzzed. England closed its eyes and took a deep breath, instinctively knowing what had caused the vibration. This time though, it picked up the call, giving in to the desire to hear Kevin's oddly accented voice.
"Hello Kevin," England said, and it heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, Kevin clearly surprised to be speaking directly to England and not a voicemail recording.
"Hi... Um, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up for a beer or something?" the dark-haired man asked. All his mates had been telling him that he just needed to 'have a beer' with England and all would be fine, so he thought he'd give it a shot.
England hesitated, desperately wanting to see Kevin, but also knowing so many questions remained unanswered. What did those texts say? Why did Kevin send them? Did he still speak to Protea? So many questions...
"OK, I'd like that," England said, resolving to voice those queries at their meeting. "How about tomorrow, around five at The Dog and Duck?"
"That's great! Thank you. I... miss you," Kevin said in a soft, hesitant voice, not wanting to express his true emotions in case his heart got further ripped to shreds.
"Ok, well, see you tomorrow..." England replied, not responding in kind even though it wanted to. Not yet, it thought. I'm not ready yet.
Kevin drummed his fingers on his knee nervously, his usual cocky demeanor abandoning him as he sat in the corner of the pub in an armchair. He was drinking a pint of Protea's sponsor brew, which he figured was a bad idea in hindsight and downed it quickly.
The pub door tinkled, and Kevin's breath caught in his throat as he watched England, dressed completely in blue, search the room for him. Their eyes met and the pub went quiet, to Kevin's ears anyway, and he smiled at the face he saw every time he closed his eyes.
Kevin stood up as England approached, unsure about what to do next. Hug? Wave? High five? England made it easy for him, reaching out to squeeze his tattooed bicep quickly before sitting in the armchair across from Kevin's.
"So..." England started as Kevin moved to sit down.
"Can I get you a drink? Do you want a beer? I can get you a beer. Or wine? Or..." Kevin rambled, starting to move towards the bar.
"Kevin, stop. Sit down," England said, enjoying Kevin's flustered energy. It figured this was a good way to get some proper answers out of him, catching him off guard before he could formulate his responses.
"Look, I won't lie and say I don't want you back. I miss you," England confessed, also realising that it needed Kevin in many ways, business matters not the least of the concerns. But it didn't voice that selfish desire.
"But I can't move forward without resolving that texting issue. It's been killing me, not knowing what you said to Protea about me, or why you did it. Can you just be honest with me about that?" England asked, its brow furrowed.
Kevin leaned back and closed his eyes in frustration, thinking quickly. He'd hoped this matter had been forgotten about, and his friends were very tired of discussing it with him. He needed to get England to move on from it, no matter what.
"I can't even remember what those messages said, I erased them and mutual friends have told me that Protea didn't keep them either. Can't you just let it go? Why are you so fixated on this? I already told you I loved you, I'm committed to you. Did you not watch the Youtube video I made?" Kevin's voice rose with each sentence as he lost patience.
"I can't just 'let it go'!" England responded, fury making its voice softer rather than louder. "I keep imagining Protea laughing at me behind my back. And now I have to go to Sri Lanka without you, where Protea will gloat about breaking us up."
"Protea didn't break us up. We broke us up! I made mistakes, you made mistakes. We've been stubborn long enough, can't we move past this without a forensic examination?" Kevin begged.
"Because I need to know what you said. Unless you tell me, we'll be done for good. I need to move on," England said, thinking back to the proposition Jos had made towards it recently. That one 32-run over had taken England's breath away, sending shivers down its spine.
"Fine. It's not like I haven't had other offers," Kevin taunted, reading England's mind about moving on.
"Oh yeah? From whom? Who are you going to whore yourself out to next? Australia?"
"Maybe..." Kevin mused, thinking about Big Bash. "But no, not right now. I'm going to take ESPN up on a very sexy offer, and you'll be sorry you let me go. You'll hear my voice every day, but you won't get to touch me."
"What the hell does that mean?" England demanded, confused. ESPN? Wasn't that some American harlot who'd offered Kevin vast riches?
"I'll see you in Sri Lanka, baby!" Kevin teased, running his finger down England's cheek before sauntering out the pub.
To be continued...
Lindsay du Plessis