“Same here. What is this? Strangeways?” Dad said, eyeing the high wall that surrounded the school.
I smiled, remembering Jenny-Jane’s indignant face when she’d asked why I wanted to go to St Agatha’s. Well, this was why. Not the weird blazer or the grades or the facilities but the solid stone wall surrounding it. It was protection.
Amy and her mum, Debbie, were waiting in the car park. Mum, Debbie and Dad pecked each other on the cheek and Amy grabbed my arm. “I am so glad you’re here. There are way too many Hermione Granger types around,” she declared, scowling at a girl whose dark curly hair bounced as she walked.
“You’ll be amazing,” I told her. “I know you will.”
Debbie squeezed my shoulder. “Thank you, sweetie. That’s what I’ve been telling her all morning, but she’s got the collywobbles.”
“Really?” I stared at Amy in disbelief. She did look pale.
“I’d rather be playing Lutton Ash,” she confessed.
“See what I mean?” Debbie asked. “She’s that bad.”
“Come on,” I said, linking arms with my closest friend and looking after her for once. “This is going to be a breeze.”
Together, we marched in through the main entrance of St Agatha’s school, and three hours later, we marched out again, bumping shoulders with the other hundred or so girls who’d taken the exam. Amy’s collywobbles had disappeared. I knew because she did nothing but complain. “Not one question on compound words,” she chuntered as we skipped down the steps. “Not one.”
“Never mind. I bet you’ll still have passed, even without them.”
“‘With-out.’ Compound word.”
“Foot-ball. Another one. I wonder what the score was.”
She rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Hurst.”
Across the grounds I could see Dad straining his neck to pick us out in the crowd.
“I can’t.” I grinned. “It’s in the blood.”
10
On Monday, Eve pounced on us before we’d even got through the door of after-school club. “How was it? How was it? How was it?” she trumpeted as Amy and I struggled to unload bags and coats and sandwich boxes in the titchy cloakroom.
“You mean the exam? It was OK,” I said. “Better than we expected. How was the match?”
Eve plonked herself down on the bench opposite us. “Postponed. Waterlogged pitch.”
“What? That’s two in a row.”
“Tell me about it,” she groaned.
“What’s two in a row?” Amy asked, half listening while she foraged in her bag for her pile of magazines. She was planning to catch up on lost reading time.
“Unplayed games. Lutton Ash was called off and Cuddlethorpe was abandoned because of the snow.”
“Oh,” Amy mumbled, arranging her magazines in order. She couldn’t have been less interested.
Eve beamed. “It can snow every week if it means I can spend another afternoon at your house.”
“’Scuse me? What?” Amy asked, suddenly all ears.
“Eve came to my house when the match was abandoned. Her mum’s car broke down,” I explained briefly. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about that Saturday yet. Well, I had – but I’d been postponing it because I knew how she’d react.
“Hey, did you find your trophies?” Eve asked, not noticing Amy’s eyebrows getting higher and higher.
“Yes, they were in my toy box.”
“Did you polish them?”
“Well, Dad did but I helped by telling him which bits he’d missed!”
“’Scuse me? What?” Amy asked again. Not only were her eyebrows in danger of disappearing altogether but she had dropped all her magazines.
“Aw. I loved your dad. He was ace,” Eve continued blithely. “And my mum was really grateful that Kriss took me home. She says she’ll do the run this Saturday. The car’s mended now.”
“It’s my mum’s turn, isn’t it?” Amy frowned.
Eve and I gawped at her. Amy never volunteered her mum if she could avoid it.
“It’s OK. My mum feels bad for the Cuddlethorpe thing,” Eve told her.
“Well, my mum does too,” Amy countered.
I held up my arms to stop an argument developing. “Chill out! Nobody’s mum has to do it. My dad and I have had a chat and…” I paused, took a deep breath and said, “he’s going to pick up and drop off until the end of the season.”
“Really?” Eve said. “Kriss Merrin-Jones is going to take us to football?”
“Really. So there’s no need for the rota any more.”
Eve leapt off the bench as if she’d been fired from a gun. “That is so cool. High five, pard’ner.”
“High five!”
Eve headed towards the club door. “See you both inside. I’m decorating cupcakes – come and help me when you’re ready.”
“Sure,” Amy said, closing the door quietly but firmly behind her. She leaned against it, her arms folded, her foot tapping. “’Scuse me, ‘pard’ner’, but what in the name of Lindsay Lohan’s leggings is going on?”
I sighed and explained what had happened as briefly as I could.
“You told her? Everything?!” Amy asked.
“Not everything. I didn’t tell her about … you know.”
“I should think not,” Amy replied, looking genuinely shocked. “But she knows who your dad is? Who he played for and everything?”
“Yes.”
“And Kriss knows you’re a hotshot superstar who makes everybody else look feeble?”
“He knows I can play a bit,” I corrected.
There was a moment’s pause while Amy let that register. Then she bent to pick up her magazines. “Fine. It’s your life. I just hope you’re ready for the fallout.”
“There won’t be any fallout.”
“No, Gemma. Course not.” She stood up and strode towards the door, pushed it open with her elbow and was gone. I stood there for a moment, frowning as the tiniest seed of doubt began to grow.
11
The seed of doubt grew some more on Saturday morning. I was soon having kittens about Dad taking me. Amy was right. Even if Eve didn’t blab, people were bound to ask questions. I mean, he’d been like the Invisible Man for a year and a half. I’d never even talked about him. How would I explain his sudden appearance?
“Easy. Just tell them he jacked-in fishing,” Amy suggested when I admitted I needed her help. “And tell him to come up with an excuse why he’s given up, too.”
So Dad had been primed to say that he’d given up fishing because Mum was so busy in the shop she needed him to help out. It sounded reasonable. “You could have given me a hobby I knew something about,” he had grumbled.
When we arrived at the ground, Dad melted away into the background, going to stand on the other side of the pitch.
“Why doesn’t he go over to…” Eve began, saw my expression and pulled a pretend zip across her lips.
I needn’t have worried about the team. Megan and the others greeted the three of us like they always did. Petra asked us about the exam, but most of the pre-match conversation was about Hixton Lees. “They’re doing all right in the league,” Megan said in that earnest way she has; “so we need to watch them.”
Good, I thought, hoping everyone would listen to her. If they were watching Hixton, it meant they wouldn’t be watching Kriss Merrin-Jones.
As it turned out, the only one who seemed to be aware of my dad was me. I wasn’t used to him or anyone from my family standing on the touchline and I found it hard to concentrate. I missed a cross from Nika and fluffed three really easy chances on goal. Luckily, Eve was around to cover my back. She was playing a blinder – falling back in defence, helping out in midfield, charging down the Hixton goalie every time she had a goal kick. Once or twice she was even a little greedy and didn’t pass to Nika when Nika was in a better position to shoot. But still, it was miraculous that we ended the first half without scoring.
“Someone’s had their Weeta
bix.” Hannah smiled at Eve when we walked off at half-time.
“Coco Pops, actually.” She grinned.
“You all right, Gemma?” Hannah asked me. “Only you seem a little distracted.”
“No,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at Dad and wondering whether I ought to go over and talk to him or stay with the team. He was chatting to Holly and Nika’s parents, but put his thumb up at me when he saw me looking. “No, I’m fine.”
In the second half I began to play a little better. Nobody on the team had said anything and my dad had somehow blended in with the other parents, so I relaxed. I began to tune in to the game more, predicting where balls would go and how they would go. My interceptions became sharper and my ball control surer. I scored twice, once from outside the box with a full volley and once with a simple side-foot in that the keeper wasn’t quick enough to stop.
“Nice one, mate!” Eve said, running to congratulate me.
A few minutes later I was doing the same to her as she neatly slid in a pass from me to put us three–nil up. “The Dream Team strikes again!” she declared.
Mid-table Hixton Lees didn’t let us have it all our own way, though, and replied soon after with a zinger that caught out our defence. Game on!
I was enjoying it and could have played for ever, but Hannah pulled us both off midway through the half. “Better give the others a chance, eh?” She grinned, patting our backs as we made way for Jenny-Jane and Amy.
“Show-offs!” Amy said as I high-fived her.
“Shurrup!” I laughed.
Usually we hovered around the other resting team-mates when we weren’t playing, but Eve shook her head when I asked if we should join Lucy and the others. “No. Let’s go and talk to Kriss,” she said and began haring around the perimeter of the field to where he was standing. I trotted after her, feeling a little strange and wondering what he’d say. It was all right for Hannah and everyone to big me up, but my dad had been a professional. He might think I was useless.
“Not bad,” was what he said.
“Not bad? We’re brilliant!” Eve told him and punched him in the arm.
I laughed and decided it was cool having my dad watching. Really cool. Why had I left it so long? I linked my arm through his. Eve, standing on the other side of him, saw me and did the same. I didn’t mind a bit. He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for her. I hadn’t felt so happy in ages.
12
The following Saturday we were playing Greenbow at Greenbow.
“You’ll like these guys, Kriss,” Eve told my dad in the car. “They’re good. And their coach has dreadlocks even longer than yours.”
“Yeah?” Dad asked.
“Yeah,” she continued, the top of her head just visible above the raised headrest. “But be careful where you park in the community centre. It’s in a well dodgy area. Last time my brothers played here they had half their kit pinched from the minibus.”
He already knows, I wanted to say. I told him this morning.
I was about to lean forward in my seat to hear better, but Amy pulled me so close towards her that I could smell the peppermint toothpaste on her breath. “Where will you put all your stuff?” she asked me in a low voice.
I glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
She pressed her lips together to stop herself from giggling. “When she moves in with you.”
“Shut up!” I told her, digging my elbows into her ribs.
“OK, change of subject. Why is it taking so long to get our results? Mum’s going to buy me a pair of boots if I pass and if I don’t hear soon I know my size will have sold out. Happens every time.”
“I don’t know. Next week, maybe?” I shrugged and turned away. I didn’t want to talk about St Agatha’s. I wanted to talk about football with Dad and Eve. I leaned forward again, eager to join in but Amy interrupted me again, and again. In the end I gave up.
We arrived at the ground quite early, so Dad was able to find a parking spot right under the CCTV camera in the car park. “Nice,” he said, glancing around at the boarded-up pub and dilapidated-looking community centre. “It reminds me of where I grew up. I hope the pitch is in better nick than the car park.”
“It’s not bad,” I told him. “A bit bobbly.”
“Hang on a tick,” Amy said as Dad and Eve began walking towards the playing field.
I turned to see what she wanted.
“I need to do my hair,” she explained.
“But it looks fine.”
“It’s not prepped,” she replied. She ducked down to check out her ponytail in the wing mirror, decided it was a disaster and began retying it. Meanwhile, Eve and Dad had sauntered ahead.
“Come on,” I told Amy as she began double-checking to see if her hairslides were even. “Hurry up.”
“This is my routine. You know it is.”
“I know but it’s not important. The important part is playing.”
I’d never done that before. Hurried her along. Told her how annoying it was to wait for her to faff about with her hair and make-up. I’d always kept quiet, but that day I didn’t have the patience. I wanted to chat to Dad and to be with Eve and the others, warming up, getting into the zone. Greenbow were good – they would give us a decent game. Amy, though, wouldn’t be hurried. She’d produced a pot of lip gloss.
“Amy! Not the lip gloss!” I pleaded with her.
She put it on anyway, gave her ponytail one final tug and then got out her iPhone.
“Now what?” I groaned. In the far distance I could see Eve and Megan heading a ball to each other. This was agony.
“Oh, look! I’ve just had a Tweet,” Amy said.
“What?”
“A Tweet, which says: ‘Remind G that some people aren’t here to play. Some people couldn’t give two hoots about playing.’”
I snorted. “You can say that again.”
She held up her hand. “Second Tweet alert: ‘Some people are here because their friends used to need them around.’”
With that she began striding towards the field, her ponytail swishing back and forth like an angry teacher’s finger telling me off. My chin wobbled. She was right. I was the reason she was here. I was the one who had persuaded her not to drop out of the Parrs after the first couple of weeks when it became painfully obvious that she found playing football only mildly preferable to being slapped by a wet fish. But she came anyway, for my sake, to be my bodyguard and my friend.
I chased after her and threaded my arm through hers. She didn’t shrug me off. She never does. Amy’s not one to sulk. “I still need you,” I told her.
“I know you do, babes,” she said, smiling good-naturedly. “I’ve seen inside your wardrobe.”
13
Despite the bad start with Amy and the day being grey and drizzly, the first half of that match against Greenbow was the best one of my life. I loved every moment. Everything went right. I’m not talking about the three goals I scored – they were just the icing on the cake. I’m talking about the feeling I had when I tracked the ball. The adrenalin rush as my crosses found Eve or Nika nearly every time. The elation at evading the Greenbow defence – dancing around one, two, three of them as they tried to close me down. The buzz as Eve linked up with me and we passed the ball forward between us until one of us had a shot at goal. I was playing out of my skin, and for the first time I didn’t care who knew it.
For once, Hannah didn’t swap me midway through the half like she usually does so that everyone has a chance of a game. I glanced across at her when she took Eve off, but she just stuck her thumb in the air for me to “Carry on” and leaned over to whisper something to Katie.
On the other side of the pitch, Dad was standing slightly apart from the rest of the parents, watching me intently. Even while I was on the ball, fully focused, I was aware of him and I knew he was proud. I knew he thought I was more than “not bad” today, and that was what I wanted. To show him what I could do. To make up for all the times he’d missed.<
br />
When the whistle blew for half-time there was a moment’s stillness. I walked towards the touchline, took a swig of water and tried to act normal, but my heart was bursting. I couldn’t wait to go over to Dad, but Hannah crooked her finger at me, pulling me away from the others. I gave her a shy smile.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“Sure,” I told her.
But she didn’t seem to know where to begin. I think she was trying to work out how not to scare me off, so that I wouldn’t become uncomfortable with her like I usually am.
“I let go,” I said, hoping that would help her out.
Hannah laughed then. “‘You let go’? Yeah, just a bit! Gemma, you were beyond awesome…”
“Thank you.”
“You know you’ve got a real talent, don’t you?”
I nodded. It would have been churlish to deny it.
“And you know you mustn’t waste it. You’ve got to go for trials next season, either with a big club that has a girls’ academy or at the new centre of excellence.”
“OK,” I said.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “OK? Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, that was easier than I thought it was going to be.”
I shrugged. “I’m … I’m ready now.”
Hannah pinched my cheek. “You were born ready.”
“What about Eve?” I asked, glancing around but not seeing her in the huddle. “Will she be able to come for trials, too?”
“Why not? We can’t split up the Dream Team, can we?”
“No,” I agreed; “we can’t.”
“Come on,” she said, putting her arm around my shoulders; “let’s get back to business.”
14
I wish I could tell you that was how it ended. That I finished the season with the Parrs on a high, winning both the league and the cup, and that afterwards me, Eve and a few others had trials for the centre of excellence and we all got in. Oh, and that Amy and I aced the entrance exam, but Portia Poohsbreath failed and we all lived happily ever after.
We're the Dream Team, Right? Page 4
