by Fox Brison
And I loved her all the more for it, if that was at all possible.
England scored seconds before half time and Natalie leapt so high I thought she would hit her head off the central ceiling fan. She and Abby fist bumped because they’d identified a possible weakness in the Scottish defence that could be exploited only moments before; a slide rule pass through the two centre halves who were taking risks and pressing higher and higher up the pitch confirmed their suspicions.
Allegedly.
I say allegedly because although I enjoyed watching football, especially when Nat was playing, I didn’t truly understand all of the nuances of the game. However, I did gather that the England No.9 was quicker than the two Scottish defenders.
Go me!
Overall, the first half was a cagey affair, only the last minute goal separating the two sides. Abby had prepared a beautiful lunch for the fifteen minute break, but Natalie was too nervous to eat and merely picked at random bits on her plate. Thankfully, there was nothing that would spoil once it was returned to the fridge, and she’d eat once the game finished.
I may not understand soccer nuances but I was growing accustomed to my girlfriend’s that was for sure.
The second half was even tenser than the first (especially after Scotland equalised right at the beginning of it) and neither team were giving an inch. England had a few half chances, and as the last five minutes approached, I seriously worried for Nat’s heart. She was up and down like a demented jack in the box and cursed the referee so many times, the poor woman would probably end up with the whistle permanently affixed where the sun didn’t shine.
“Do they go into overtime?” Brooke asked.
“No, it’ll be a draw,” I said softly. Neither Natalie nor Abby spoke they were too engrossed.
“Go wide, go wide,” Nat chanted quietly. As if she could hear Natalie an ocean away, Jenny the midfield captain, slipped the ball to the winger. “That’s it. Take her on. Skin her… skin her!” Again, Nat’s voice was heard an ocean away.
“Skin her?” Brooke asked, her eyes wide.
“It’s a technical term,” I said like the expert I wasn’t. “It means go past her easily.” I think. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a reference to the principal in the Simpsons, but I could be wrong.
The ball was glued to the winger’s foot and she made the by-line where she supplied an inviting cross. Harriet Davis met the ball with a flying header and it nestled in the back of the net. “Yes!” Natalie clenched her fists. “Fucking yes. That’s how you do it!”
In all honesty I would have preferred it if someone who Natalie hadn’t slept with had scored the winning goal and been the hero of the hour, but Nat was happy and that was all that mattered.
***
“It was a good match,” I said as Nat and I strolled along the edge of the lake, twilight lighting the path. I was exhausted but it was a good exhausted. After the game the four of us were pretty het up, especially my totally wired girlfriend, so Brooke proposed we go canoeing on the lake. As a result my arms were like pieces of overcooked spaghetti; limp and plump with no strength to do anything other than gingerly hold Nat’s hand.
“Very good,” she agreed.
“Happy?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Much more than I thought I would be.”
“That’s because you, my darling, don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
“I don’t?” she said sceptically.
“Nuh huh. I’ve seen your x-rays and talked to specialists in the field. Not one. Nada. In fact you’re somewhat of a medical marvel, because not only do you not have a mean bone, you don’t have a jealous one either.”
“That’s not strictly true. Sometimes I get jealous when mini me is on the phone every five minutes.” She lifted her arm and I cuddled in. That was much better.
“Mini…” I laughed. “Oh you mean Tess?”
“Yes I mean Tess. Call her single white female and be done with it!”
“Anyway…” I drawled, and deflected the Tess reference. “I knew you’d be behind the team one hundred and ten percent.”
“I’m so glad it was algebra you tutored me in, not percentages!” she teased before sobering up. Even though she was relaxed, and I could feel how relaxed she was because I was held so closely, her voice held the familiar note of tightness whenever she mentioned the England team. “It’s weird but watching the girls celebrate after the match ended… that’s what I miss more than anything. That feeling of camaraderie, win, lose or draw.” She became melancholic, and her smile was a pale imitation of her usual thirty thousand watt light up the dangerous rocks one.
“And you’ll get that back, I promise.”
Even though it was a promise I had no right making.
Chapter 7
Skye
“Hey, baby,” I called when I heard Nat’s bag thump into the tiny hall cupboard where she kept her football paraphernalia. I frowned because there was an excess of venom in the action and I half expected her football boots to come flying through the wall into the lounge. “A few seconds earlier and you could have spoken to Sara.”
“What did she want?” Wow okay little miss sunshine was wearing her big girl grumpy pants today. I didn’t say that, of course. We’d been back from the cabin for a week and the relaxed, feel good Nat was a distant memory.
“She wanted to know if I’d booked our flights for Christmas yet.” I was sick of shouting through to the kitchen, so followed the crash of frustrated cupboard closing and stomping feet.
“For God’s sake I can’t worry about Christmas, it’s only July!” she exploded
“Nat?” I tentatively reached a hand towards my normally equable girlfriend, but lowered it when she stropped past me through to the living room.
“Skye, just tell her to sort herself out and let us worry about us, okay?”
“Maybe you’re shooting the wrong person here, Natalie,” I said from the door but in such a way as not to wind her up any further.
“What?”
“I gather you had a bad day?”
She sighed and collapsed onto the sofa. “You could say that. I’m not even travelling with the team to Seattle for the return fixture this weekend, the coach says I need more time in the gym. Cardio. She says I need to work on my bloody cardio!”
“What?” The tone of my voice registered incredulous on the Richter scale. Jill Stark was seriously taking the piss. Nat would put a butcher’s dog to shame she was so fit.
“I know, right? I train harder than any-fucking-one else on that team!” There was a sheen in her eyes and it broke my heart.
“Oh, Nat, sweetie, isn’t there someone you can talk to, complain to? You’re not being treated fairly.”
“I wish, but it’s not an option. It’s not as if I’m Messi or Ronaldo, there’s no player power in the women’s game. If I get a reputation for being difficult, no one will touch me with a flag pole never mind barge pole. They’ll change my nickname from Thunder Jeffries to Typhoid Jeffries!”
I felt powerless. There was nothing I could say to lessen Natalie’s anguish and it was killing me inside. So I did the only thing I could; I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.
“I don’t know how much more I can take, Skye,” she said quietly. “If only I hadn’t been so freakin’ stupid and hurt my knee I wouldn’t be in this position. But I did, and now I’m here watching it on telly when I should be there.”
I didn’t need Google translate to know that Nat was referring to being dropped by England. “Just hang in there,” I said quietly. “One day, baby, Jill will appreciate how good you are and your name will be at the top of the team sheet every week.”
From the droop of her shoulders, I don’t think Natalie had much faith in anything at the moment, least of all my platitudes.
Chapter 8
Natalie
Get off the phone, Jeffries!” The harsh voice echoed across the gym. I stopped checking my inbox with a guilty flush and looked
up to see the coach standing with her hands on her hips and toe tapping on the wooden floor. Oh this is not going to go well.
“I was only-”
“Don’t care. You know the rules.” She folded her arms across her chest, a subtle air of triumph in her eyes.
“Where’s the harm? I was rehydrating!” I waved my drinks bottle at her; I really wanted to shove it where the sun didn’t shine, but that wouldn’t get me back on the pitch, unless it was a pitch where one team was in orange and the other in stripes.
“We don’t pay you to organise your social life”
“No you pay me to sit on my arse,” I muttered disparagingly. I eyed up the bottles of energy drinks all lined up neatly like soldiers on parade, and contemplated showing her how cultured my left foot was.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Twenty laps, Jeffries.” She reiterated forcefully.
“Again? What am I thirteen?” I’d had enough of Jill effin Stark treating me like I was stroppy teenager and I told her so. “Stop treating me like a kid.”
“Then stop acting like one,” she sneered. “Twenty laps.”
I gritted my teeth and walked out into the cool morning air. If Tess Gerritsen needed a new plot for one of her Rizzoli and Isles books, I had a great one about a homicide at Jordan Field.
And guess who’d be the number one suspect.
***
“Nat, wait,” Abby called as I stormed from training. After my run I returned to the gym, precisely as a team bonding session was coming to an end. Without me. Nice to know where I stand. The last three weeks had been a train ride to hell. I wish I was back at Brooke’s cabin. I wonder if she’d employ me as a groundskeeper or something. I could quit football and live in the woods.
It was damned sight better than the reality I actually found myself living.
I grimaced. True, I’d brought this one on myself, but it still rankled that the only reason I had my phone surgically attached to my left hand was because of the predicament Jill Stark had thrust upon me. “Abby, don’t. Just.” I shook my head. “Just don’t. We both know that bitch is desperate for any excuse to bench me.”
“And you handed her one on a plate,” she said quietly, and even though her words could be construed as judgemental, her tone most definitely wasn’t.
“Damn it, I know, Abbs, I know.” I raked my hands through my hair, again. “But she must have been watching me like a hawk. I saw Taylor check her flashy new iPhone at least twice yet nothing was said.”
“What’s so important it couldn’t wait until after training anyway?”
I gazed down at my shoes. What could I say? I was religiously checking my phone because I was growing desperate to escape Boston? That I was seeking a winter loan deal back in England to rescue my career from the doldrums before I went postal?
Or that no one wanted a loser who couldn’t make the Boston Breakers squad never mind the starting eleven.
“I thought… hoped… it might be from my agent,” I finally answered.
“And was it?”
“No, it was for male hormone therapy.”
“I… what?” Abby started to laugh. “You gonna chance your luck with the men’s team?”
I began laughing too. It was utterly ridiculous when I thought about it. “No, it’s this running joke I have with my sister, Sara. Basically it started when I signed her up to Katie Price’s fan club when I was at uni.” Abby gave me a blank look. I struggled for an American equivalent and the closest I could come up with was, “She’s a poor man’s Snookie. Sara replied by signing me up to a newsletter about Russian mail order brides and it’s been gathering pace ever since.”
“And?” Abby was grinning as madly as I was.
“And?”
“I’m assuming you responded.”
I laughed. “I sent of her details to an adult baby syndrome support group.”
“Are they the ones that wear diapers and dress as…” when I nodded she exploded with laughter. “Oh my god, Natalie, you kill me!”
She wasn’t the only one I was killing, I was doing a grand job of killing my career too. I was aware my attitude sucked when it came to the coach, but nothing I did was ever good enough. I would never have dreamt of being so unprofessional in the past; breaking rules, having screaming matches in front of teammates… I shook my head and glowered. Something had to give or I might end up without a permanent club never mind a loan deal.
Abby touched my arm and I chanced a glance, hoping she wouldn’t notice the despair in my eyes. “If you need to talk you know where I am, right?”
“Cheers, Abbs, but it’ll all work itself out in the wash.” I wished I believed that, but the way things were going my whites would probably end up a brighter shade of pink.
And three sizes too small.
***
I checked my email, again, whilst I waited for Skye to get ready. It had reached the stage where I was as neurotic as she was whenever she released a new book (constantly checking to see if anyone had left a review, going so far as to fumble with her phone in the dark of the night in case a reader in the UK wrote one on the Amazon.co.uk website) and my whole body jerked whenever there was a shrill beep.
In fact, I was so obsessed Skye complained that I stroked my phone screen more than I did her these days.
I needed a loan move to England over the winter break or I might as well kiss my international career goodbye. The England gaffer was good enough to call and give it to me straight; I wasn’t going to make the squad for the World Cup qualifiers unless I was playing week in, week out.
And I wasn’t.
I almost told Skye about the plan Johnny and I had conceived, but didn’t see the point of upsetting the apple cart when in all likelihood it wasn’t going to come to fruition. So far no team back home showed any interest in signing me. Johnny mooted several reasons why this might be… it was the first year of a new league system, an air of uncertainty remained after one of the biggest teams went bust leaving many of their players without a club… Not that I was making any huge wage demands; at this point I’d play for free, heck, I admitted to myself, I’ll pay them to give me a game!
Christ had my stock sunk so low I was in my own mini version of Black Tuesday?
The new year began with such hope and high expectations. This was the year I’d have it all; beautiful partner, a flourishing and productive career and a bright future to look forward to. Currently, I had one out of three which wasn’t simply bad it was soul destroying. Skye was the only thing keeping me sane at the moment, but there was only so much stroppy cow syndrome one person could take; I was in a permanent funk and would probably end up with zero out of three if I wasn’t careful.
“Wow,” I said reverentially when the object of my affection came though from the bedroom.
“What do you think?” she asked giving a twirl. Object of affection? Object of my lust filled fantasies. I lost the ability to think and had gained the ability to drool like a dog waiting for a bone. She was adorable, her brown eyes twinkling as she realised I was staring. The pale blue dress hung loosely below her knee, and I thanked god it was the one with the square neckline that she liked and I loved. Nestled above her cleavage was the gold chain I bought her for Christmas, and adorning her wrist was the slim gold watch that my parents had given her for her birthday. She finished the ensemble with a pair of kitten heels. Meow!
Nothing brightened my world like a dressed up and ready to shine Skye.
“Do we have to go out?” I asked, stalking towards her. “I’m sure Brooke’s parents won’t miss us.” Turns out Brooke’s mother was a huge fan of Skye’s books. Small world, right? And Brooke thought it would make Mrs Delancy’s golden wedding anniversary, if her favourite author of historical romances was at their posh country club for the auspicious occasion.
So even though neither Skye nor I were social butterflies (in fact given the choice between a night out on the tiles or staying in and wat
ching Sense8 on Netflix, we’d choose Sense8 every time) how could we say no? Especially after all Brooke and Abby had done to help us settle in.
“You need this.” Skye held her hand to my chest and stopped me from getting too close.
“I need you more,” I protested. My eyes spoke the truth more than my words ever could.
Lowering her hand, Skye traced her finger down the lapel of my fitted blazer before kissing me. When we came up for air she said, “Think of the first part of the evening as merely deferring pleasure.” She kissed me again and this time her finger trailed from my blazer to the waistband of my trousers. I gulped. “And when we get home tonight you can need me to your heart’s content.” She sashayed to the door whilst I picked my tongue up off the carpet. God I loved her hips. She described them as child bearing. I called them perfect to hold onto when we…
She threw her head back and laughed. “Close your mouth, Jeffries, you’re drooling.”
Chapter 9
Natalie
Tuesday was my favourite day of the week. We had training in the morning, and in the afternoon the team split up and participated in community service. Some of the squad went to local high schools and others, like me and Abby, were assigned to youth centres to mentor young kids. I was nervous at first; my accent often made it difficult for people over here to understand me.
Abby joked I needed to come with closed captions!
This was where she and I first bonded. We weren’t sure what difference, if any, we’d make. Roxbury was an area of high unemployment and above average crime rates, and although it wasn’t required that we attend our community schemes in the off season, both of us did. Fair enough there wasn’t much soccer going on, but we taught them about the importance of exercise and good nutrition.
Basically we hung out and had fun.
We became mentors, role models and friends all rolled into one. The girls had someone to talk to, someone they could trust and by showing these young women what a strong work ethic, team mentality, esteem and pride could achieve, we watched each every one of them grow and blossom, both on and off the soccer field.
