Do Goalkeepers Wear Tiaras? Read online

  “Your whole foot has to follow through,” she instructed Petra. “You get more power to it then.”

  “Oh.”

  “You also need to make sure your entire body is balanced. Your arms, your head, your knees all have to be positioned correctly.”

  “All that just to kick a ball!”

  “Yep!” The lady grinned, returning the ball to Petra.

  “What’s your name?” I asked as Petra began practising.

  “Hannah.”

  “Before you go, will you take a penalty against me?” I asked, feeling a bit left out.

  Hannah frowned. “But you’re not wearing padded gear.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does!”

  “Just one,” I begged. “Please.”

  She shrugged, placed the ball on the spot, took a run up and kicked it straight at me. It was such a tame shot it barely reached me.

  “No offence,” I said, throwing it back to her, “but that was not your best attempt. I can tell.”

  Hannah chuckled. “OK.”

  This time she whacked it hard and low. I didn’t even have time to think; I just stood there, stiff as a plank, as the ball thundered into the back of the net with a soft “thut”.

  “Well done,” I said, rolling the ball back to her. “That was much better!”

  “Thank you!” She laughed. “Right, I’d better be off.”

  I didn’t want her to go. This was fun! “Just one more penalty? Please?”

  “Sorry, love. I’m short of time.”

  “Please! Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!”

  “Megan’s what you call high-maintenance,” Petra told her.

  Hannah thought that was funny. She threw her head back and laughed out loud. It sounded lovely. “Go on, then,” she said to me. “One more.”

  “Don’t hold back just ’cos I’m a kid,” I told her, “or a girl.”

  “Understood.”

  This time I crouched, my eye totally on the ball. I’d stop that shot going into my net if it killed me! My heart was thudding against my England shirt as the ball soared to my right, low but rising and heading straight for the back of the net. Without thinking I leapt, my right hand outstretched, my feet off the ground. It felt amazing, as if for a split second I were flying. The ball smacked against my palm and tilted over the crossbar before I crashed to the ground. I landed heavily, skinning my arm. Petra ran over and helped me up, but I was laughing so much I didn’t feel the pain. “I saved it.” I beamed at Hannah.

  “You did” – she nodded – “but are you all right?”

  “I feel brilliant.”

  “So you should! It was an excellent save – and very brave.”

  “Your elbow’s bleeding,” Petra pointed out, fumbling in her jeans pocket for a tissue.

  “I saved it!” I said again, really chuffed with myself. “I did a dive and I saved it.”

  Petra kept dabbing at my elbow and Hannah began jogging again. “Good to see girls playing football! Keep it up, both of you!” she called out, waving to us as she headed towards the public footpath that ran down the side of the ground.

  The back of her tracksuit top had “Parrs” written across it in big white letters.

  We returned to Auntie Mandy’s kitchen. As she wiped gravel and dirt and blood from my arm, I sat on the stool and stared into space. I must have nodded yes and no to her when she asked me questions, but I wasn’t really concentrating. I was too distracted to talk. It isn’t every day you discover what you want to be when you grow up. But I knew, from the minute Hannah struck that ball and I saved it, that I wanted to be a goalkeeper. Not just any goalkeeper, either. The England goalkeeper.

  7

  The next day I went straight to Mr Glasshouse. Forget fairy wings and tiaras; it was time for some straight talking.

  “Mr Glasshouse,” I said as he stood in the playground making sure everyone had heard the bell for morning registration.

  He looked at me and smiled. It’s easier to get his attention in the playground than on the field. He also seems more normal, more approachable, than when he’s taking football practice. “Morning, Megan. Did you have a nice weekend?”

  “I did, as it happens. I discovered what I want to do when I leave school.”

  “Really? That’s…” He glanced over my shoulder and sighed. “Come on, Daisy! Come on, Dylan; the bell went five minutes ago!”

  The McNeil twins in Year Two ran past. “Sorry, Mr Glasshouse! We overslept, then we wept and the mice crept!” they shouted in unison. The McNeil twins are weird.

  “Anyway, Mr Glasshouse, I was wondering if you could help me out,” I continued.

  “Help you out?” he asked, looking a bit worried. “I’m a little busy, Megan… Can it wait until break? I’m taking assembly and then I’ve got to…”

  I took a deep breath. My palms were sweating, but what I had to ask was too important to leave until break. “Thing is, I’ve decided I’m going to be goalie for England, so I wondered if you could put me straight into the school team. The sooner I start, the better.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I took another deep breath and swallowed. “I wouldn’t ask – I know I’m not in Year Six yet – but the thing is Michael Owen was only seven when he started. That’s like, Year Two or Three. I’m way behind already.”

  “You want to go in goal for the school team?”

  “Exactly.” I gave him my best smile. I knew this was a big ask, especially as his son, Jack, was the current goalie.

  Mr Glasshouse blinked a few times. “Well, all I can do is suggest you turn up for practices as you have been doing, Megan, and we’ll see. You never know, perhaps next year…” He began to head inside.

  I hurried after him. Once he’d taken assembly, he’d be in his office and that would be it. He’d be up to his armpits in paperwork. “No! Next year’s too late, sir; I need to start now. I’m serious.”

  Mr Glasshouse stopped and looked at me intently.

  I looked at him even more intently. I would not back down, even if my knees were shaking a little.

  “Well, if you want to be goalkeeper for England – and why not? – wouldn’t you be better practising keeping goal for a girls’ team? It is the England Women you’d be playing for, after all.”

  I had to admit I hadn’t thought of that. “Good point,” I said.

  He nodded and left.

  I nodded and left.

  It wasn’t the result I’d hoped for, but it was better than nothing.

  8

  “I don’t even know why I didn’t think of it before,” I said to Dad, flicking through the sports pages of the Mowborough Mercury later that night. “A girls only team. It’s so obvious.”

  “Have you found one yet?” Dad asked.

  I scowled. “No. I can’t see anything about women’s football in here. It’s all men’s or fishing or rugby.”

  “Try the Internet. There must be a league somewhere round here.”

  Dad was right. In our area there was the Nettie Honeyball Women’s League. “What a funny name!” I said as I scrolled down the list of teams, clicking on one website after another, but every team I tried that had an Under 11s side was too far away. “Look at that one! The Grove Belles. They’re top of the league and they’ve got junior squads!”

  “Sorry, Megan.” Dad sighed. “They’re over in Ashtonby – it’s twenty miles away. That just wouldn’t work out when my shift overlapped with Mum’s and you had a babysitter. You’d end up missing more matches than you attended.”

  I groaned inwardly. Why couldn’t we live in a city like normal people? Manchester or Liverpool or London? Why did we have to live in boring old no-girls’-football-teams-for-miles Mowborough? “Oh, well. It was a nice dream while it lasted. Back to being an airline pilot,” I said with a shrug.

  Dad patted me on the shoulder as I switched the computer off. “It’s a pity the Parrs don’t have any junior teams,” he said.

&nb
sp; “What?”

  “The Parrs. They’re the women’s team at Lornton FC.”

  “Oh!” I said. “The Parrs are a team. I thought that was Hannah’s last name!” I explained about my encounter. “She’s the one who inspired me!”

  “Oh, I see. No, the ‘Parrs’ is the nickname of the women’s team. They couldn’t call themselves the Stags, like the men’s team, so they chose Parrs. Not sure why. Look, why don’t you phone Mandy now and ask her when they train. You can always go and watch.”

  Dads. Where would we be without them?

  Auntie Mandy knew all about the Parrs. They trained at the ground every Tuesday from half-seven to half-nine. And guess what? Hannah – Hannah Preston, to give her full name – was the captain.

  “Do you think they’d mind if I came to watch them train?”

  “Course not. I’ll come and watch with you; the bar’s closed on Tuesday nights.”

  “Wicked!”

  9

  It was dark and drizzling when I arrived, so Auntie Mandy suggested we watch them practise from her living room instead. I pulled a chair as close to the window as I could and knelt on it. Auntie Mandy brought hot drinks for us – tea for her, hot chocolate with marshmallows for me – and together we watched the Parrs training on the floodlit pitch.

  There were about twenty-five to thirty in the squad, like at my school. They jogged round the pitch in their tracksuits first, just like we did, then did stretches to warm up, just like we did. They even had a man shouting instructions at them, just like we did! Some of the drills were similar, too – the ones where you worked in small groups of three or four practising different types of passing.

  It was interesting observing everything from a bird’s-eye view. Well, I thought so, anyway. Auntie Mandy left after a few minutes to watch Holby City. I don’t know how long I stayed there. I lost track of time.

  Then someone blew a whistle and the players began clearing away all the cones and equipment. They were going to have a game! “Auntie Mandy, can I go and watch them outside?”

  “As long as you wrap up warm and stay where I can see you!”

  “Check!”

  I dashed downstairs in time for the kick-off. It felt much better standing near the touchline – even if I was getting wet. The Parrs didn’t seem to mind, so why should I? Their ponytails and fringes were dripping, their thin white shorts clinging to their legs. I pulled up the hood on my hoodie and watched, jumping up and down to keep warm.

  One team was wearing blue bibs, the other yellow. My Parr – Hannah – was a blue and stood out in no time. She was the one who always seemed to find space. She was the one who chested the ball down once she’d received it, brought it instantly under control, turned, shielding her body over it like a crab so no one could take it off her, and then passed, all in one split second. She was the one who volleyed with the most accuracy. She was the one running, pointing, calling out to her team, spurring them on. She was The One, capital T capital O! I was so absorbed in watching her, remembering how nice she’d been to Petra and me, I almost forgot to watch the goalkeepers.

  I focused on the one for the yellows, reckoning she’d see the most action. Unfortunately she was at the end furthest from me and I’d promised to stay where Auntie Mandy could see me, so it was difficult to get a great view of her catching and throwing and taking goal kicks. What I did see clearly was one of the yellow Parrs try to tackle Hannah on the halfway line, but she slipped and went over on her ankle. Play stopped, and all the bibs gathered round to help her up. It looked painful. When she tried to put her foot down, she winced and shook her head. She limped off and headed for the changing rooms. A sub came on and play resumed.

  10

  A minute later the yellows had a goal kick. I had climbed onto the bench to watch how the keeper would strike it in wet conditions when I was distracted by a movement to my left. A girl about my age came tearing out of the changing rooms, heading straight towards me. Immediately the injured Parrs player appeared hopping behind her. “Oi! Come back here!” she yelled. “Stop her!”

  I waited for someone to do something, but nobody else seemed to have noticed; everyone was concentrating on the game. The girl was so fast I realized she’d fly past me any moment.

  “Stop her!” the injured Parrs player called again. “She’s nicked our stuff!”

  Without hesitation I jumped down from the bench, then lunged at the girl as she drew parallel with me, grabbing her sleeve and clinging to it. She spun round, taking me with her, and somehow we got tangled up in each other and both ended up with a thud on the wet tarmac. Even then she was twisting and turning, kicking out at me to get free. She landed a good, solid boot right on my knuckles so hard that I had to let go. Immediately she scrambled to her feet and disappeared along the footpath down the side of the clubhouse. I stood up, feeling shaken, sucking the back of my hand. It killed! She’d scraped all the skin off!

  “Little monkey!” the Parrs player said when she reached me. “She was in the changing rooms going through all our stuff. I think I startled her. Mind you, she startled me, too! Are you all right?”

  I nodded, trying not to cry. My hand was really stinging now and I felt wet and miserable.

  “I’m Sian. What’s your name?”

  “Megan,” I said.

  “Megan, can you bend down and pick those things up for me? I’ll fall over if I try!”

  I nodded. On the ground were two mobiles, an iPod and a purse. I handed them over.

  “Oh! That’s my purse!” Sian gasped.

  “Glad you got it back.”

  “Honestly, you can’t turn your back for one second… But thanks again. You were a star. Do you live round here?”

  “No, but my Auntie Mandy is the manager of the clubhouse.”

  “Oh, right. OK. Well, you’d better let her clean that hand up for you – it looks sore.”

  I nodded and returned to Auntie Mandy’s flat. What a rubbish way to end the night!

  Auntie Mandy was upset when she saw me. My clothes were wet and muddy and I was shaking all over. I had post-dramatic stress! She made me stand in front of the gas fire while she bathed my hand.

  “The girl was about my age.” I sniffed. “With long dark hair.”

  “I bet I know who it was. Jenny-Jane Bayliss! She lives across the road. She hovers outside sometimes and asks for jobs. I used to feel sorry for her, but she’ll be getting no more sympathy from me—”

  Auntie Mandy was cut off mid-sentence by the sound of someone calling up the stairs.

  “What now? Hang on a tick, Megan,” she said.

  A minute later she was back with Hannah Preston and the yellows’ goalie. They were both wearing their tracksuits and had ruffled hair, as if they’d just dried it quickly with a towel. “Hannah and Katie wanted a word, Megan,” said Auntie Mandy.

  “Hi, Megan! Are you OK?” Hannah Preston asked. Her voice was full of concern.

  I stared at her, a bit overwhelmed at seeing her again.

  She waved her mobile phone. “I just wanted to say thank you. Sian says you retrieved this for me. I’m so grateful! I’d be totally lost without it!”

  “That’s OK,” I mumbled.

  “And that was my iPod she took, the little minx!” Katie added.

  “I think I know who she is,” Auntie Mandy said. “I’ll be having words in the morning.”

  Hannah cocked her head to one side. “Have I seen you before, Megan?” Her eyes lit up before I could answer. “I know you! You’re the kamikaze goalie!”

  I grinned. “That’s me!”

  She turned to Katie. “Do you remember me telling you about when I was jogging on Sunday and came across the two little girls playing? This was the cheeky one who made me take my penalty kick again!”

  “You were being easy on me!” I said.

  She laughed that same lovely laugh from before. “Well, I owe you! If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

  My heart was already thum
ping from what had just happened, but when she said that it clattered like a fire bell. “Are you sure?” I asked, a grin on my face wider than Wembley Stadium.

  11

  Hannah looked a bit stunned for a moment after I’d asked her. “Coach you? Oh, I don’t know about that… I am halfway through the Level One Coaching course, but…”

  Luckily Katie backed me up. “Don’t be mean, Han; the girl deserves a reward! I’ll help. She wants to be a goalkeeper, after all, and the most important player on the team needs all the advice she can get!” Katie winked at me. From that moment on I liked her almost as much as I liked Hannah.

  “Go on, then!” Hannah said. “Drop down here at half-six for half an hour before practice on Tuesdays – if that’s OK with you, Mandy?”

  “Absolutely fine by me!”

  “Which team do you play for?” Katie asked me.

  “I don’t. I train with my school team, but I don’t exactly play for them…” I felt my chin wobble. “I’ve been looking for a girls’ team and the Grove Belles looked good, but…”

  Hannah and Katie spluttered. “Grove Belles! Don’t mention those cheating hyenas in front of us!”

  “Big rivals,” Auntie Mandy informed me in a loud whisper.

  Katie scowled. “They’re big somethings! You mustn’t go to them, Megan! Promise us!”

  “I promise.”

  “How many others are there like you at school, Megan? Little girls who want to play but don’t get a chance?” asked Hannah.

  “I don’t know exactly. A few, I suppose.” I rattled off some names.

  Katie grabbed Hannah’s arm. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Hannah frowned. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly.

  “Yes you are! Let’s do it! Let’s start a team up. It’ll be cool. Like Little Ant and Little Dec. We’ll have Little Parrs!”

  “Parrs’ Nips!” Hannah laughed.

  “Parsnips?” I said.

  Hannah stared thoughtfully at her mobile, then looked up and grinned. “OK, you’ve twisted my arm!” she said. “If the club gives permission, bring your friends, too, to practise.”