We're the Dream Team, Right? Read online

  For Hanya: awesome footballer, awesome

  daughter

  The Team

  Megan “Meggo” Fawcett GOAL

  Petra “Wardy” Ward DEFENCE

  Lucy “Goose” Skidmore DEFENCE

  Dylan “Dyl” or “Psycho 1” McNeil LEFT WING

  Holly “Hols” or “Wonder” Woolcock DEFENCE

  Veronika “Nika” Kozak MIDFIELD

  Jenny-Jane “JJ” or “Hoggy” Bayliss MIDFIELD

  Gemma “Hursty” or “Mod” Hurst MIDFIELD

  Eve “Akka” Akboh STRIKER

  Tabinda “Tabby” or “Tabs” Shah STRIKER/MIDFIELD

  Daisy “Dayz” or “Psycho 2” McNeil RIGHT WING

  Amy “Minto” or “Lil Posh” Minter VARIOUS

  Official name: Parrs Under 11s, also known as the Parsnips

  Ground: Lornton FC, Low Road, Lornton

  Capacity: 500

  Affiliated to: the Nettie Honeyball Women’s League junior division

  Sponsors: Sweet Peas Garden Centre, Mowborough

  Club colours: red and white; red shirts with white sleeves, white shorts, red socks with white trim

  Coach: Hannah Preston

  Assistant coach: Katie Regan

  Star Player

  Gemma “Hursty” Hurst

  Age: 10

  Birthday: I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind

  School: a prep school somewhere in Leicestershire

  Position in team: central midfield

  Likes: the usual stuff

  Dislikes: answering personal questions like this! Sorry.

  Supports: England, England Women

  Favourite player(s) on team: they’re all great

  Best football moment: they’re all the best

  Match preparation: none, really. I tend to play down the football side of things at home, so I don’t make a big deal out of it in the house.

  Have you got a lucky mascot or a ritual you have to do before or after a match? No – unless waiting for Amy to sort her hair out counts.

  What do you do in your spare time? I just hang out with my friends.

  Favourite book(s): no comment

  Favourite band(s): no comment

  Favourite film: no comment

  Favourite TV programme(s): no comment

  Pre-match Interview

  Hello, my name is Gemma Hurst and I play used to play in the Parrs U11s football team. I played central midfield. It’s January when I start my piece and freezing cold. The weather forecasters had predicted the worst winter in years, but we had somehow managed to play all our matches so far.

  As you can see from the league table (over the page), the Parrs were doing well – but we’d lost in a top-of-the-table clash to the Furnston Diamonds mid-week, so they’d pulled ahead. Our biggest rivals, Grove Belles, had an easy match over Lutton Ash Angels to become joint leaders with the Diamonds. And that’s it. Sorry if you were expecting something more personal. I’m not good at that kind of thing. Writing this has been a real challenge for me and I only agreed because I’d promised Megan and I don’t like letting people down…

  Anyway, here it is. My story.

  Thank you for taking the time to read it.

  Gemma

  The Nettie Honeyball Women’s Football League junior division

  1

  I’ll begin at after-school club because that’s where it all started to unravel. It was a Thursday, half four-ish. Amy and I were trying to revise in the book corner. Mrs Rose, the supervisor, had done a great job of fencing us off from the rest of the kids, but she couldn’t prevent Eve from slipping through the blockade of beanbags. “Come on, you guys,” Eve had begged us. “I’ve got homework, too.”

  We wouldn’t have minded but Eve’s homework seemed to be to talk all the time. “Guess what? Frank Lampard called round to our house last night,” she said.

  “That’s nice,” Amy mumbled.

  “Really nice,” I added.

  “He stayed for ages, drinking tea, eating Jaffa Cakes, having a laugh. Mum asked him to go in the end because she wanted to watch MasterChef.”

  “That’s nice,” Amy mumbled again.

  “Really nice,” I added again.

  “Yeah,” Eve replied. “It was. And guess what else? Before he left he gave me three tickets for the Chelsea–Liverpool game. He told me to bring my two closest friends.”

  “Nice.”

  “Really nice.”

  “Pity that’s both of you out, then.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Amy asked, her voice rising several decibels.

  Eve, head down, arms sprawled across the desk, let out a low groan. “It means I’m so fed up of you two ignoring me that I’m being forced into having imaginary conversations with myself!”

  “No, I mean that,” Amy said and slid her revision sheet across to me. “‘Underline the compound words.’ What in the name of Gok Wan’s glasses is a ‘compound’ word?”

  “Amy! Miss Sturgeon did compound words with us this morning!” I reminded her.

  “You know I don’t hear anything Miss Sturgeon says. I get too distracted by her horrendous cardigans.”

  “Miss Sturgeon? You’ve got a teacher called Miss Sturgeon?” Eve laughed.

  Amy glowered. “Yes? So?”

  “So it’s a funny name.”

  “Not really.”

  Eve turned to me. “Hey, Gemma. Has your dad ever caught a sturgeon on one of his fishing trips?”

  I tensed at the unexpected mention of my dad. “What? I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “What’s the biggest fish he’s ever caught?”

  “Erm…” I stalled, glancing at Amy for help.

  It came immediately. “Eve, babes, no offence, but would you mind butting out so we can revise in peace? This is meant to be the quiet corner.”

  Eve scraped her chair back and stood up. “Sure. No probs. I’ll go mingle with the other common people not going to a posh school next year.”

  “Thank you,” said Amy sweetly.

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling. Sometimes Amy’s help didn’t help at all.

  As Eve headed for the beanbags, I signalled to Amy to make amends. “Hang on, Akky,” she said, and I relaxed, thinking she was going to apologize. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What?” Eve asked, one leg halfway over the beanbags.

  “My mum can’t do the lifts to football on Saturday.”

  Eve twisted back round, a scowl on her face. “Well, mine can’t either. She’s got to drive Claude and Sam to their match in Leicester or Loughborough or Lapland or somewhere in the total opposite direction of Cuddlethorpe.”

  I felt just as put out as Eve. It was the first I’d heard of it, too, and I’d been at school with Amy all day. “What? How come?” I said.

  Amy’s hand swept over her books. “Er … hello … revising!”

  “But it’s only at Cuddlethorpe. We’ll be finished by lunchtime.”

  “Exactly. That’s half a day lost.”

  “But I need you,” I said.

  “No you don’t. It’s football. You never need me at football.”

  “I do!”

  “You don’t. Parties, yes. Classrooms, yes. Football, no.”

  “But, Amy…”

  “She’s right; you don’t need her,” Eve agreed, suddenly at my side, her arm resting on my shoulder. “Not when you’ve got me around.”

  I continued to look pleadingly at Amy. Amy was my faithful bodyguard, always on hand to step in and protect me. She’d been doing it since we were six and I saw no reason for her to stop now. I tried another tack. “But my mum’s really busy. She has to get to the showroom early. It’s t
he January sales…”

  “Hurst’s Modern Kitchens of Mowborough. Today’s modern kitchens made to yesterday’s highest standards,” Eve trilled.

  I cringed. The jingle was bad enough when it was played on the local radio. Hearing it here made me want to dive under the table. “Please come, Amy.”

  “Gem, I’m not a brainiac like you. If I don’t revise I won’t pass the entrance exam, and if I don’t pass the entrance exam you’ll end up sitting with Portia Poohsbreath and that lot at St Agatha’s. Is that what you want?”

  I shuddered. Portia and her gang were dreadful. “No.”

  “Then stop hassling me.”

  I groaned. “Mum’s going to be so cross.”

  “What about your dad? Can’t he drop us off?” Eve asked.

  “He’ll be fishing,” Amy and I automatically chorused.

  “Even in winter?”

  “Especially in winter. It’s an all-year-round sport.”

  “Couldn’t he go later? Just for once?”

  “It’s OK, it’s OK. Mum’ll do it,” I offered quickly, to prevent the bad feeling spreading. “She won’t mind.”

  “Cool,” Eve said, heading back to the beanbags. “See you Saturday, partner.”

  “And I’ll see you Monday,” Amy called.

  “Whatever,” Eve replied. “Which, by the way, is a compound word.”

  2

  As predicted, Mum wasn’t impressed about being volunteered to do the run. “What? But I picked up from training on Tuesday,” she groaned as she dropped down a gear to climb Toft’s Hill.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Amy wants to revise and Eve’s mum is going the other way.”

  “Fine. Add it to the list.”

  “Sorry,” I repeated.

  Mum frowned at me in the rear-view mirror. “We really do need to talk about Saturdays, Gemma.”

  I shuddered at the thought. “I’ll buy you a bar of Galaxy when I get my pocket money,” I told her hastily.

  She caught my anxious tone and sighed. “I’ll hold you to that, though I reckon it’s Amy who should be buying it, not you.”

  “Too right,” I agreed. “Giant size.”

  A minute later we were entering Castle Heights. Castle Heights is a gated complex of seven large, mock-Georgian, detached houses, all set back from each other in a sweeping semicircle. As Mum tapped the code into the keypad by the wrought-iron gates and waited for them to open, I focused on our house: smack in the middle, proudly overlooking the communal oval of grass. I couldn’t help smiling. I was home, safe and sound.

  “I hope your dad’s made dinner. I’m starving,” Mum said, parking behind Dad’s SUV.

  “Me too,” I told her.

  As soon as our footsteps triggered the outside security lighting, the front door opened. Caspar and Jake, our two Border collies, bounded out and started leaping and yelping and going bonkers, like they always do when we come home. I giggled as Jake tried to lick my face.

  “Kriss!” Mum called out, pushing Caspar away from her suit.

  Dad appeared, his arms out wide, his dreadlocks framing his beaming face. “Come to poppa, girls!” he greeted. The dogs, presuming he meant them, turned and leapt on him, but he shooed them inside and held out his arms for Mum and me. I giggled again. Dad looked so daft dressed only in his T-shirt, shorts and bare feet.

  “Dad! It’s minus three!”

  “So? I can deal wid a li’l cold snap, y’know what I’m saying?” he boasted, putting on what he thought was a Caribbean accent.

  “I can’t,” Mum said with a shrug, heading inside.

  The house was roasting. No wonder Dad was in shorts.

  “The gas bill’s going to be enormous!” Mum tutted, turning down the thermostat in the hall on her way to the kitchen.

  “You see, you try to make the home nice and cosy for the missus and the kids when they get back and what happens? Immediate grief,” Dad complained. He winked at me.

  “Speaking of immediate grief, where’s Lizzie?” Mum asked, glancing around the kitchen. Lizzie is my sister. She’s seventeen, at college, has green hair, about three trillion Facebook friends and, despite working weekends in the showroom, is always broke.

  “Ellie’s,” Dad said, going to stir something on the hob. A delicious aroma of spices filled the air. My dad’s a great cook.

  “Did she say what time she’d be back?”

  “Nope. Why? Is there a problem?”

  “Nothing major. I wanted to talk to her about Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” Dad asked.

  “I need her to cover for me while I drop Gemma off at Cuddlethorpe. Problems with lifts, as per.”

  “For football, you mean?”

  “Yes,” Mum said. They exchanged that special little look I wasn’t meant to see and my stomach clenched.

  Dad took a sip from the spoon, then said casually, “I’m free Saturday. I could do it.”

  “No thanks, Dad,” I replied quickly. “Mum’s on it.” I plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and headed upstairs, pretending not to notice Mum’s resigned shrug and the hurt in my dad’s eyes. Amy, you owe me, I thought as I threw my uniform on my bed. You owe me big time.

  3

  Saturday morning was bitterly cold. My breath puffed out ahead of me like a vintage steam train as I hurried down the tiled path leading to the Akbohs’ terraced house. At the porch I swivelled my arms and hips from side to side to keep warm, taking care not to knock into the brightly coloured plant pots full of herbs, while I waited. I knew Eve had seen me, so I didn’t knock – she’d waved from her bedroom window as we’d pulled up outside.

  Seconds later she was there, beaming at me. “Nice day for it, Hursty,” she said, ramming a woolly hat with earflaps over her head. “I know I look geeky, but I don’t care. It’s better than having icicles for ears.”

  “Totally.”

  “I don’t know how your dad can go fishing in this weather. I hope he’s got his thermals on.”

  “He has. Double lots. Did you lock the door?” I asked, so the topic could change before we got into the car. Mum gets more wound up than me if she has to discuss Dad’s fishing trips. Luckily, Eve’s conversation usually leaps about like a frog bouncing from one lily pad to another.

  “Course I did. Wotcha, Mrs H.,” she greeted Mum as she climbed into the back seat. “Cold, innit?”

  “Hello, Eve.” Mum smiled.

  “Thanks for the lift.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ve been compensated.” She patted the bar of Galaxy on the seat next to her.

  “Nice.” Eve grinned. “But for future reference, you should go for a Bounty. It counts as one of your five a day. Coconut, see?”

  “Good tip.” Mum laughed.

  Eve nodded gravely. “I know my chocolate.”

  When we arrived at the ground it felt even colder than when we’d set off. As soon as I stepped out of the car, my face felt like a freshly baked loaf being slid into a freezer.

  “OK, then, girls?” Mum said as she leaned across to give me a kiss.

  “Thanks again for bringing us, Mrs Hurst,” Eve said.

  “No worries. And your mum’s OK to drop Gemma back at the shop?”

  “Defo. She might even be back in time for our second half.”

  “Just give me a shout if there’s any problem.”

  “Will do.”

  “Good luck.”

  “We don’t need luck,” Eve said, clamping her arm around my shoulder. “Not when the Parrs have got the Dynamic Duo.”

  “‘Dynamic duo’?” I said to Eve as Mum drove off and we made our way towards the playing fields.

  “Too Batman-ish?”

  “A little.”

  “The Terrific Two? The Perfect Pair? The Dream Team?”

  I was almost glad Amy wasn’t here. She would have been making gagging noises by now. “Erm…”

  Eve’s eyes lit up. “That’s the one: the Dream Team, because that’s what we are when we play, aren’t we?�
�

  “If you say so.”

  “I so say so!” She laughed.

  We reported to Hannah, our coach, and Katie, the assistant coach, on the touchline. “What a relief to see you two,” Hannah said, marking us off. She glanced around. “No Amy?”

  “Revising.”

  Hannah hit her forehead with her clipboard. “What are you lot trying to do to me?”

  “You’re dropping like flies,” Katie told us.

  It turned out that nearly half the squad was missing. Holly had a bad cold, the twins couldn’t make it because it was their gran’s seventieth birthday and Nika had an eye infection.

  “Well, the good news is you all get sixty minutes!” Hannah said. “Best get warmed up before you all freeze to death.”

  So off we went, jogging round the perimeter of the pitch in a ragged line. Jenny-Jane, Tabinda and Lucy were to my left. Eve was on my right with Megan and Petra alongside her.

  “Hey, Hursty?” Megan said.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it next week you’re off because of that exam thing?”

  “Yep.”

  She screwed up her face as if working something out. “Mmm. Home to Lutton Ash. We’ll hammer them even if we’re down to five and blindfolded. OK, I’ll let you off.”

  “Thanks.” I laughed.

  “My mum wants me to go in for that exam thing next year,” Petra said as we jogged past the back of the away goal.

  “Really?” I replied. “That would be great.”

  “No it wouldn’t. I’m going to Mowborough High with Megan.”

  “You’d better!” Megan told her. “I’m not going on my own. That place is ginormous.”

  Lucy leaned forward. “You wouldn’t be on your own. I’m starting there this September. So’s Eve and Nika and Holly. We’ll watch out for you next year.”

  “Hey! That’s nearly all the Parrs!” Eve observed. She dug an elbow into my ribs. “Why don’t you come, too, instead of going to that boring old Saggy Aggies?”

  “Why do you want to go to that dump, anyway?” Jenny-Jane asked in that blunt way she has. “They look right weird in that uniform. Striped blazers. Who wears striped blazers?!”