Can't I Just Kick It? Read online

  “What about?”

  He took a deep breath, looked at me, looked down at his feet, looked at the wall behind my head, then finally looked at me again. “The fog machine for tonight,” he said.

  “The fog machine?”

  “Yes. I want to double-check whether Hannah thinks it’s OK to use it.” He paused. “It occurred to me that the twins might be scared.”

  I gawped at him. “The twins? Dad, they pluck their own chickens and feed live grubs to birds! They’re not going to be scared of a bit of dry ice round their feet.”

  “Nevertheless,” he said, “better safe than sorry.”

  “That’s true,” Mum said, reaching for her work fleece. “You can never be too careful. The health and safety brigade are so particular these days. They want certificates for this and risk assessments for that. Crazy.”

  “Crazy,” Dad repeated brightly.

  Mum gave me a tight hug. “Right, I’m off. See you both later. Good luck, Tabinda. Enjoy the match.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my pulse quickening.

  “And you, chill out,” she told Dad, giving him a kiss and a pat on the cheek. “Save some of that energy for the party.”

  I could tell from his absent nod that he’d be ignoring that advice.

  10

  For once, Dad was quiet in the car. He barely spoke at all as we headed out of town and along the country roads towards Lornton. “It’ll be fine about the fog machine, I’m sure,” I told him, thinking he must have been worrying about that.

  He didn’t reply, so I gazed out of the window. The weather was the total opposite of last week’s. The sky was already a cloud-free blue. The sun was shining, making all the trees and hedges, with their autumnal reds, oranges and bronzes, look even more stunning. “Typical of the Belles to get the best weather,” I muttered.

  Dad heard me this time and laughed. “The Belles aren’t successful because of the weather, Binda. They’re successful because they’re well coached.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You don’t win the cup and league five years in a row without good coaching.”

  “Mmm.”

  “The Belles are a team the Parrs should emulate.”

  “We don’t want to emulate them. They’re totally up themselves,” I huffed.

  “They’re confident. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  The first Queenie arrived when he said that, quickly followed by another and another, like noisy passengers disembarking from a train. “I take it you won’t be expecting me to score sixteen goals today, then?” I said.

  “Scoring doesn’t matter,” he replied, sounding very serious. “Just show the same initiative you showed last week.”

  I shuddered. Showing the same initiative meant the same thing occurring: a high ball aiming to flatten my face like a chapati. I breathed out hard. Please don’t let me have to use the same initiative, I thought.

  Despite the early start, we weren’t the first ones at the ground. Megan, Petra and JJ had already arrived and Eve’s mum pulled up at the same time as us. Eve, Amy and Gemma all spilled out of her car.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Dad said, and tanked off across the field to where Katie and Hannah were assembling the goalposts.

  I joined my team-mates. Megan had already reached the pacing stage. She was walking to and fro, with Petra following her. “This is where it all starts to go pear-shaped,” she mumbled. “You wait. Bend it like Becky’s going to put six past me.”

  Bend it like Becky is really plain old Becky, but we call her that because it’s what her fan club shout at her from the sidelines. She is a pretty decent player. OK, she’s brilliant. We hate her!

  “No chance,” Petra told Megan. “Not six.”

  “No way,” Eve agreed. “Maybe four or five. Not six.”

  “Don’t joke, Eve!” Megan begged. “I’ll be gutted if they thrash us again.”

  From behind us, JJ snorted. “I don’t know what you lot always get so hyped up over the Belles for – they’re nothing special. Just treat them the same as everybody else.”

  I glanced at her, watching as she flicked a tennis ball from one foot to the other, oblivious to everything around her. How could she be so laid back? So unfazed by anything?

  “Red alert, everyone. They’re here!” Petra announced.

  We all turned to see a minibus pulling up in the visitors’ parking bay that butted right up to the bottle bank. First off the bus was their hard-faced coach. Then one by one the Grove Belles descended, each one looking cooler than the last. As they trooped past us without a glance, I looked out for Bend it like Becky, but I couldn’t see her. The other striker, a tall brown-haired girl who always ran circles round me, didn’t seem to be there either. Nor their imposing goalie. Were they all injured or something?

  Katie jogged across to begin the warm-ups. Hannah, amazingly, was still talking to my dad. Who’d have thought discussing whether to have a fog machine or not would be so time consuming?

  “Who’s reffing?” Megan asked, getting down to business. Her voice was calm and brisk. This was the point at which her nervousness left her. Lucky thing.

  “That’d be little old me,” Katie said. “So I expect your best behaviour.”

  “Sorry, but we will be testing you to your limits!” Petra teased.

  “Cheers, Wardy. I love you too!” Katie laughed, then led the way down the side of the field. “Come on, Parrs. Let’s see what you’ve got,” she called over her shoulder. My stomach tautened as all the Queenies took that as a personal instruction to them.

  11

  A minute before kick-off Hannah chose the starting seven. I was twisting from side to side and bouncing up and down to distract the Queenies as she began to call out our names.

  “Woah! Calm down, Tabs – you’re making me feel seasick.” Lucy laughed.

  “Just want to get going,” I lied.

  “And which position would you like to get going in?” Hannah asked.

  I turned to her. What a funny question – almost as though she was letting me choose. “Oh, anywhere. I don’t mind,” I said shyly.

  “Then I’d better have you at the back with Holly, seeing as you ‘excel’ in that position.”

  Something about the way she said “excel” caught me out. She sounded – well, she sounded sarcastic. Hannah was never sarcastic. Ever.

  “Is it just me or did Hannah seem like she was in a mood?” I asked Holly and Megan as we walked across the field to take up our starting positions.

  “Hannah’s never in a mood,” Megan said, touching her bandana that was a replica of the one Hannah – her idol – always wore.

  “Just my imagination, then,” I said, looking for Dad. He was busy talking to the Belles’ coach on the other side of the pitch. It wasn’t unusual for him to do that; just stride over and strike up a conversation with the opposition – sometimes he recognized a customer, other times he said it was his job as sponsor to welcome people to the ground. It never occurred to me that today there might be another reason.

  Katie held her hand up to check we were ready. The sun shone down on the field, like floodlights on a stage. Let the drama begin.

  The first half was wild. First we had possession, then they did, then we did, then they did. There were throw-ins and corners and tackles galore. Megan was brilliant in goal, diving and using her arms, elbows, feet, knees, nose – anything – to keep the ball out of the net. At the other end, their goalie matched her, foiling Gemma and Eve every time they came close to scoring. I managed to intercept quite a few passes intended for their central midfielder, side-footing them out of play to safety.

  “Well in, Binda!” I heard Dad shout.

  At half-time we were still 0–0.

  “I don’t believe it. We’ve kept a clean sheet against the Belles!” Holly whooped.

  “So far,” Megan replied, picking bits of grass out of her ears.

  “Awesome. Absolutely awesome. All of you,” Hannah
congratulated.

  I grinned along with everyone else, feeling I’d done my part but happy to rest in the next half and watch. Surprisingly, Hannah kept me on, and in the same defensive position. The Queenies, who had been about to pack up and go home for a cup of tea, turned around again when she swapped Lucy in for Holly instead.

  The second half began at the same breakneck pace. It was as if some unwritten pact had been made that both sides would give it their all. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I was actually enjoying myself. Most of the play had been on the ground instead of up in the air like it is when teams wallop it any old how. Then the Belles got a free kick just outside their area. “Push up!” their coach instructed, making a sweeping motion with her arms.

  “Get back and defend, everyone,” Hannah told us.

  I did as I was told and ran to stand near the goalmouth, along with Lucy and three other Belles. My nerves went into overdrive. We were deep into header territory here.

  “Watch the back post, Tabs,” Megan warned me. “You might need to jump for this one.”

  I stiffened. That instruction had sounded eerily like the one in my nightmare. Well, so what if it did? I told myself. You can always run forward like you did last week. My shoulders lifted. I could, I thought. I could and if I had to, I would. Except that there was a post on one side of me and two white shirts in front of me this time, pinning me in. I had nowhere to run.

  My heart wasn’t just pounding now, it was clattering against my ribcage like a terrified, trapped bird. I sensed movement as the free kick was taken.

  “Yours, Tabs!” Megan ordered, and that’s when I totally bottled it. In panic, I shoved the nearest Belle so hard in the back she stumbled and fell forward. The ball, meanwhile, sailed harmlessly way above mine and everybody else’s heads.

  “Refe-ree!” I heard someone call out angrily just as Katie blew her whistle.

  There was absolute silence for a few seconds. As in my nightmare, space seemed to miraculously open up in front of me, only this time, coming to stand in my eye-line was a disappointed-looking Katie. “Penalty,” she said quietly, pointing to the spot.

  I stood there, unable to move. I’d given away a penalty! Me. Meek and mild Tabinda Shah. Even Jenny-Jane had never given away a penalty.

  “You take it, Mujgana,” the Grove coach immediately instructed their centre midfielder from the touchline. “Keep it simple, like Becky used to.”

  “Budge then, Tabs!” Megan ordered, because I was still standing by the back post.

  In a daze, I moved away. I couldn’t watch as the penalty was taken. I stared at the grass until it blurred into a greeny mush, my head hanging in shame as I waited in dread for the triumphant yells. But they didn’t come. Instead, I heard a groan and Megan shouting “Yes!”

  I looked up, and Megan, Petra and Lucy were bouncing up and down and hugging each other. Megan had saved it. Unbelievable!

  Play resumed. Megan kicked the ball fiercely, lofting it perfectly for JJ to bring under control and push forward. JJ ran like she was being chased by hungry wolves, clearly determined that no one would catch her.

  “Come on, Parrs!” Megan yelled. “Come on!”

  JJ looked up, passed neatly to Gemma, who crossed to Eve, who had a shot. The ball narrowly missed, glancing off the post instead.

  “Brilliant play!” Megan cried, clapping her hands together. “And again!”

  The air crackled with energy as six Parrs responded to her rallying cry. The seventh went to pieces. I didn’t run for the ball. I didn’t even try to mark up. I just kept reliving the moment I’d pushed the Belles attacker in the back. When Hannah made a rolling motion with her arms a minute later, I almost cried with relief, but she didn’t mean me. She took JJ off instead, and brought Nika on.

  I kept going from hot to cold, from stiff-limbed to jelly-legged. The Queenies were having the time of their lives. They battered the walls of my stomach, like soldiers besieging a castle. After another five minutes I knew I’d be sick if Hannah left me on much longer. I just knew it.

  As if to put me out of my misery, Nika scored with a thundering volley. It was fantastic, but instead of running to congratulate her, I bolted in the opposite direction. “You’ve got to take me off!” I said to Hannah, shaking and clutching my stomach. “I’m going to puke.”

  Her face was full of concern, and the coolness that had been in her voice earlier totally disappeared. “Of course,” she said, and told Amy to get ready.

  “What!” JJ said rudely, desperate to get on again. “Her instead of me?”

  “Chillax, JJ.” Amy sniffed, pulling up her socks so they were just so. “I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up for. It’s only the Belles, remember.”

  Dad appeared then, his face ruddy from jogging across the field. “What’s wrong?” he asked, worried.

  “I feel sick,” I told him. I was bent double, clutching my knees, and sweat was pouring down my face.

  “Ah,” he said, patting my back, “that explains it.” And he dashed off again.

  I stared in disbelief as he strode off, back to the Grove Belles’ side.

  Hannah glanced down at me. “Are you OK? Do you want a sip of water or anything?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head and standing upright. “Thank you.”

  I could feel the Queenies fading away. But if the nausea was leaving me, the shame wasn’t. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

  “Oh – good ball, Gemma!” Hannah said, then turned to me. “Sorry for what?”

  I swallowed. “Giving away a penalty.”

  “Hmm. What was that about?” she asked.

  I was so tempted to tell her – it would have been the perfect moment if JJ hadn’t been in earshot. How do you admit to being scared of headers in front of someone who could wrestle Rottweilers?

  “I don’t know,” I said, my eyes welling with tears.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it, Tabs,” Hannah said, putting her arm round my shoulder. “It’s just one of those things.”

  “Megan’s going to hate me,” I stammered.

  “Megan? Give me a break. She saved a penalty against the Belles. Megan will love you for ever.”

  “She’d have killed you if she hadn’t, though,” JJ added.

  I laughed and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

  “That’s better,” Hannah said, letting go of my shoulder to clap as we scored again. Again! Against the Belles! It was Gemma this time – with a header, no less.

  JJ tore up the touchline with the twins, all three making aeroplane shapes.

  “Mmm. That’ll give your dad something to think about, won’t it?” Hannah grinned.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “He might change his mind about you going over to that lot.”

  “Sorry?”

  She looked at me, and her face turned scarlet. “You didn’t know…?” Her voice petered off and she cleared her throat a couple of times – the way people do when they realize they’ve said more than they should have.

  “Know what? What do you…?” I began, then stopped. I looked across to the far side of the pitch, where Dad was trying to catch the Belles’ coach’s attention. I bit the inside of my lip. Of course! How could I have been so thick as to fall for the fog-machine line? Dad hadn’t phoned a centre of excellence. He’d phoned our biggest rivals instead!

  “Is that why you kept me on for so long?” I asked Hannah.

  Hannah shrugged. “I wanted to give you every chance to shine,” she explained, with a catch in her voice.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Dad striding across the field towards me. Inside my stomach, the Queenies, rudely awoken, were packing their bags and frantically calling out to each other. “Mayday! Mayday! She’s going to blow! Evacuate! Evacuate!”

  “I’m … I’m going to wait by the van,” I told Hannah.

  “Don’t you want to watch the rest of the match?” she asked.

  “No… I … I still feel
sick,” I lied, heading towards the car park.

  “Feel better for tonight,” she called after me.

  12

  “Hey. How are you doing?” Dad asked when he joined me in the car park. I couldn’t reply. I felt like a shaken can of Coke, tab pulled and ready to erupt. “Do you need a carrier bag or something?”

  “No,” I mumbled, sliding into the seat as he held the van door open. I buckled my seat belt while he strode round to the driver’s side. It took me a while because my hands were trembling so much.

  “Let me know if you do need a bag or anything, won’t you? I don’t want the van messy and smelly.”

  “Don’t talk to me,” I snapped.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, don’t talk to me.” I began shaking harder. Back-chatting my dad didn’t come naturally. My parents aren’t as strict as some, but I had been brought up to be respectful. I’d never been so rude before. “How could you, Dad? How could you tell Hannah I wanted to play for the Grove Belles?”

  “Hey, calm down,” Dad said. He reached out his hand, but I batted it away. His eyebrows almost hit the van roof in shock.

  “You’re horrible!” I added for good measure.

  “Now hang on, Binda. I was just testing the water, that’s all,” he blustered.

  “I don’t want you to ‘test the water’. I don’t want you to test anything.”

  “But I have to. If I don’t, how will you improve? Hannah’s very sweet and all that, but she’d be the first to admit she’s not an experienced coach. She only coaches the team for a bit of fun.”

  “I know! That’s why I enjoy it! There’s no pressure.”

  “Well, if you think you can get through life without pressure, think again.”

  “I’m not talking about life, I’m talking about football.”

  “So am I. Football is life to many people.”

  “Not at my age.”

  “Are you kidding? At any age! Haven’t you heard those parents on the touchline? The things they shout out? Are you telling me they’re not taking it seriously just because you’re only nine and ten years old?”