Has Anyone Seen Our Striker? Page 4

  SOUTHFIELDS ATHLETIC (HOME) 14-2

  CUP WEEKEND – NETTIE HONEYBALL CUP SEMIFINAL GROUP “A”:

  TEAMS TBC TEMBRIDGE VIXENS V. PARRS

  LUTTON ASH ANGELS (HOME)

  Two tiny matches left. TWO. Time was running out. For all of us.

  13

  Luck was on our side in one way. Because of the bad winter, a lot of teams were behind with their league fixtures. The Tembridge Vixens had been particularly badly affected and had asked for the date of the semifinal to be put back twice while they worked through their outstanding games. The extra time gave us more free Saturdays than we’d expected. It was what to do with one of the free Saturdays that led to an unexpected development at after-school club. “Isn’t it great we’ve got another Saturday free? I’m hitting the shops. What are you guys doing?” Amy asked.

  Gemma, who had a bit of a cold, blew her nose. “If I’m feeling OK I’m going with my dad to Cannock Chase.”

  Holly grinned. “I’m going to watch City with my dad. They’re away to Leeds.”

  I didn’t reply. Usually I’m fine when people talk about what they’re doing with their dads but every now and then I get a stab of jealousy that jabs me right in the gut. I felt the stab then. I would have given anything to spend a day with my dad in real life instead of at a graveside.

  I pretended I was concentrating on my project. After a few seconds the spasm faded and I looked up, only to find everyone staring at me, waiting for an answer. “Um … the usual,” I mumbled. “Chores and things.”

  Amy smiled. “Cool. OK, I want to check out my budget spreadsheets on the computer. Holly, coming?”

  After they’d gone Gemma put her hand on my arm. “Are you OK?” she asked quietly.

  “Me? Sure. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “You looked a bit sad. Was it because we were talking about our dads?”

  My stomach knotted. “Nah. Too much cornflake tart at lunchtime. That fourth portion was just one slab too far.”

  “You’re fibbing, I can tell.”

  “Can you?”

  “Uh-huh. I recognize that look. I remember it from when we were making cards for Father’s Day and you said to Mrs Rose, ‘Yo, dude, what’s the girl with the dead dad meant to do?’ You had that same look on your face just now you had then. Like it hurt but you were trying not to show it.”

  Our eyes locked. “OK,” I said. “I admit it hurts sometimes.”

  “Do you remember your dad much?”

  “I was nearly six. Course I do.”

  “It must have been awful when he died.”

  “No. It was great.”

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized, thinking I was being sarcastic.

  “I mean it,” I reassured her. “He was so poorly it was a mercy.”

  Gemma seemed uncomfortable when I said that. I get that a lot. People who start to ask questions about dead people don’t really like it when you answer too truthfully. “And I knew he was in heaven, so that helped,” I continued anyway. “It’s the best place to be, isn’t it? Hanging out with Jesus and Bob Marley. It doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “If you believe in that kind of thing…”

  “I totally do. I would never have managed going to school the day after he died otherwise.”

  Gemma gasped. “You went to school the next day? That’s so brave.”

  “I was just carrying on as normal. Claude and Samuel did the same. Besides, we’d promised Dad we’d get a good education. We weren’t about to break our promise on day one.”

  “I couldn’t have done that. No way.”

  “Course you could.”

  She lowered her eyes and shook her head. “I couldn’t. I’m not like you. I’m not that tough.”

  “I’m not tough. I cried enough to fill ten buckets in class.”

  “Did everybody look?”

  “No. They were busy crying too. I like to share!”

  She smiled. “Typical Eve. Always the comedian.”

  I shrugged. “Why not? If I cried every time something got to me there’d be a world shortage of tissues.”

  “But what if … what if something’s happened to someone who’s not like that? Who can’t joke about the bad things? What do they do?”

  She dipped her head and began to draw a circle over and over again on her notepad. No need to ask what she was referring to.

  I swallowed, knowing I had to tread carefully, which isn’t easy with my big feet. “They have to find other ways of getting through it, I suppose.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, my mum keeps busy and…” I stopped. That was kind of all I’d got but Gemma was listening so intently you’d think I was Professor McGonagall or something. What else could I say? Unless I mentioned the Dr Pepper thing. “I have a thing I sometimes do,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  I hesitated. “It’s a bit lame.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, do you remember that Dr Pepper advert that used to be on TV? The one that goes: ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’”

  “I think so.”

  “I sing that when I get excited or nervous. I don’t mean nervous about my dad so much but, you know, nervous about life things. Like going to the dentist or doing a maths test. I sing, ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ to myself, and that helps.”

  “I don’t get it. How does that help?”

  “Well, like if you take a test and you get two out of a hundred or something, what’s the worst that could happen? You have to take the test again or you get told off by your teacher. But that’s nothing, is it? Nobody locks you in a cell, right? Or makes you jump into a tank of piranhas.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And I know that no matter how embarrassing or scary or dreadful something seems it can’t be anywhere near as bad as having someone you love die.”

  The pen in Gemma’s hand stopped. “No. I guess not,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

  I waited a beat then added, “Though missing that penalty against Grove Belles came a close second.”

  Gemma lifted her head and gawped at me before bursting out laughing. “Eve! You’re terrible.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I’m terrible in a good way.”

  14

  Parrs v. Tembridge Vixens (Nettie Honeyball Cup semifinal)

  Things changed after the dead dad and Dr Pepper conversation. Gemma became way more chatty and enthusiastic, not just about the presentation evening but about everything. It was as if she’d had her batteries changed and was radiating energy again. Most of the time we talked about school and homework and stuff like that, but then a few days before the Vixens match Gemma asked us if we’d been practising set pieces. I glanced across at Amy and she raised her eyebrows to red alert.

  “Yeah,” Holly said. “Especially free kicks.”

  “You’ll need to watch that ginger-haired striker. She’s fast,” Gemma said.

  “I know,” Holly continued seamlessly. “Lucy’s going to be marking her.”

  “Good. How’s Megan? Is she getting all tense?” Gemma looked straight at me.

  “Of course she is. Megan’s Megan.”

  Gemma picked up a gel pen and smiled. “I love Megan. She’s a proper captain. If I close my eyes I can hear her shouting.”

  “If you come to the match on Saturday you can hear her in real life.”

  Amy kicked me in the shin and I bit my lip, thinking I’d done my usual and gone too far. But Gemma just shrugged. “OK,” she said.

  “OK what?” I asked, just to double check.

  “I’ll come.” She paused then added, “To watch. Nothing else.”

  And guess what? She did come, even though Amy kept telling me not to hold my breath because Gemma was famous for changing her mind at the last minute. She stood with her dad, her sister, Lizzie, and her dogs, Jake and Caspar, a little back from the rest of the spectators, trying to look inconspicuous. No chance. I’d
warned everyone at school she might turn up and the second they saw her they galloped across the field to swamp her with hugs and high fives. Hannah had to call everyone back to warm up properly and give Gemma a chance to breathe.

  “Well, it’s a start, I suppose.” Megan sighed as we walked back together towards the pile of coats and bags for our pre-match chat. “But I wish she’d brought her kit.”

  “Don’t be like that,” I told her. “Something good’s going to happen today. I can feel it in my cornrows!” It was true, too. Just knowing Gemma was in the crowd had given me a buzz.

  Megan tightened her bandana and turned to observe the Tembridge Vixens limbering up across the field. “I hope so. I don’t think I can stand another depressing conversation with you and Mr Glasshouse in the music cupboard on Monday.”

  As it happened, the next time we saw Mr Glasshouse it wasn’t in the music cupboard but in assembly when he made all the Parrs stand up. “And special mention must be made to Megan’s girls’ team, the Parrs, who are through to the Nettie Honeyball Cup Final. They beat the Tembridge Vixens in the semifinal on Saturday by … what was it, Megan?”

  “Five–three,” Megan announced proudly.

  “And I believe someone scored a hat-trick?”

  “Akky did, sir.”

  All eyes turned to me. “Well done, Eve,” Mr Glasshouse said.

  I grinned. “It would have been four but the wind was blowing in the wrong direction.”

  Everyone laughed, then Mr Glasshouse asked for a round of applause and wished us all good luck.

  Lucy, standing next to me, leaned in and whispered, “We’ll need it seeing as the final is against the Belles.”

  But I couldn’t think that far ahead. I was too busy picturing not the first goal I’d headed in, or the second goal I’d slotted low in from a rebound, or even the third, which came thanks to a brilliant assist from Nika. Instead I pictured Gemma, who, as each goal had been scored, moved closer and closer to the touchline, clinging to a can of Dr Pepper and grinning from ear to ear.

  And this is how the fixture list looked after I’d finished with it. Some people might think the lettering is a bit OTT, but I had to do something to pad the thing out.

  SOUTHFIELDS ATHLETIC (HOME) 14-2

  CUP WEEKEND – NETTIE HONEYBALL CUP SEMIFINAL GROUP “A”:

  TEAMS TBC TEMBRIDGE VIXENS V. PARRS 5-3

  LUTTON ASH ANGELS (HOME)

  NETTIE HONEYBALL CUP FINAL: GROVE BELLES V. PARRS

  15

  The next Tuesday at training felt strange. It was our last official session before our last league match. I’d hoped Gemma would come along, but when I’d mentioned it at after-school club she’d shaken her head. “I can’t, I’m … er…”

  “It’s OK, you don’t have to think up an excuse,” I’d said as her cheeks flushed.

  She’d looked at me gratefully. “I’ll come and watch you play Lutton Ash, though. And I’ll definitely be at the cup final. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

  “I still wish she’d come to training,” I told Amy as we sat on the benches later that evening. “Just so we could all be together.”

  “I know.” Amy sighed. “But we did our best. And Gemma’s mum told my mum she was amazed we’d managed to get her within a mile of the ground, never mind her staying the full length of the match last week. All in all, I think we’ve played a binder.”

  “A blinder.”

  “Whatever.”

  I guess she was right, but coming to training couldn’t hurt, could it? I could have brought in a six pack of Dr Pepper! Still, like Amy said, we’d done our best.

  Once we’d all arrived, Hannah began by discussing the Vixens game and telling us how proud she was of us. “So we’re through to the final, eh? How awesome is that?”

  We all cheered and the twins did their “We’re on our way to Wembley, my knees have gone all tremble-y” dance.

  Hannah moved on quickly before they got too giddy, saying she’d hand details of the final out later. “It’s going to be held at Mowborough Park this year. There’ll be other regional finals taking place at the same time, so it’ll be quite a big event.”

  “You never know, we might even get into the Mowborough Mercury,” Katie added.

  Amy and I exchanged looks. Maybe it was just as well Gemma wouldn’t be playing if the paper was going to be there.

  “OK, let’s crack on,” Hannah said. “Who says we skip the drills and go straight for a match tonight? To celebrate getting to the final? With me and Katie joining in?”

  “Yay!” everyone yelled.

  “Thought you might like that! Warm up, then, girls…”

  That turned into one of the best training sessions ever, with one side trying their best to score against Katie in goal and the other determined to win the ball off Hannah in midfield.

  It was also one of the longest training sessions ever because nobody wanted to leave. All the parents ended up standing around at the back of the hall, fidgeting and checking their watches. “Give us a break, you lot,” Katie protested when we asked for yet another period of extra time. “Mr Cutts will have our guts for garters!”

  “I’m beat,” Hannah finally announced, pretending to collapse in a heap. “Take them away!” she begged our parents and then added, “But bring them back for the Lutton Ash match on Saturday!”

  “Wear extra-strong shin pads,” Megan warned. Lutton Ash Angels were a notoriously dirty team.

  I sighed. Strange as it sounds I’d even miss playing them next year.

  16

  Parrs v. Lutton Ash Angels (home)

  You’d think the last league match of the season would have had a bit of a party atmosphere but it was a real let-down. Lutton Ash only turned up with five players and we had to lend them Petra and Holly. It was against the rules, but if we hadn’t we wouldn’t have had a game at all. It finished 9–2 to us (I netted four, seeing as you asked). They got two goals but only because Megan let Petra, standing in as striker, score them.

  “What’s wrong with you lot? You’ve usually kicked us to pieces by now,” I said to one of their defenders near the end.

  She shrugged. “We’re bottom of the league, aren’t we? We’ve nothing to play for.”

  “You could at least try!” I said as the ball landed next to her and she just stood there. Even Gemma’s dogs looked bored. I felt cheated, especially when they didn’t even hang around for the three cheers at the end. I’d changed my mind. No way would I miss playing them next year!

  “Give me Southfields any day,” Megan mumbled as we headed for the changing rooms.

  At home I stuck the final league table next to my list and wrote “Serves you right” next to Lutton Ash at the bottom.

  I stared for ages at the single remaining fixture on my list: Nettie Honeyball Cup Final: Grove Belles v. Parrs. I was tempted to take the list down and draw around it and pimp it up a bit, but in the end I decided not to bother. No matter how large I made the font or how fancy I made the border, it wouldn’t change the fact that this really was it. The final really would be my last match as a Parr.

  Here’s how the league table looked:

  The Nettie Honeyball Women’s Football League junior division

  17

  It had been a while since I’d met Megan in the music cupboard. “Have you heard the good news?” she asked as we parked our trolleys.

  “School news or Parrs news?”

  “There is only one type of news, Eve. The rest is just stuff.”

  “Of course. What was I thinking? Parrs news, then.”

  “Tabinda can’t play in the final. She has to go to a wedding in London. We’ll manage, I suppose, but it’s a pain. She’s improved loads this year.”

  Then, on the Thursday before the match, there was more bad news. Daisy and Dylan had chicken pox. “Trust them to get something related to farm animals,” Petra said.

  Losing the twins wouldn’t have mattered normally but losing the twins and Tabind
a meant we were down to eight players. Megan passed a note across to our dinner table on Friday: NOBODY IS ALLOWED TO BE ILL OR GO TO WEDDINGS OR ANYTHING UNTIL SUNDAY AND THAT’S AN ORDER!

  I kept the note and showed it to everyone at after-school club. Holly smiled. “My dad says Megan reminds him of Stuart Pearce.”

  “Why, does he have red curly hair and think he’s it?” Amy asked.

  “Not exactly,” Holly replied. While she explained to Amy about the fiery ex-England player I watched Gemma read the note. “Scary, huh?” I said.

  She scanned it quickly, then slid it back to me. “Well, remember what you told me. Ask yourself, ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’” she replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Even if you lose, nobody’s going to lock you in a cell or chuck you into a tank full of piranhas.”

  Ouch. It looked like I’d done too good a job on her.

  18

  Parrs v. Grove Belles The Nettie Honeyball Women’s Football League junior division Cup Final Mowborough Park Ground Kick-Off 2 p.m.

  On Saturday, I sprang out of bed, strode across to the window, pulled up my blind and pulled it down again. It was so bright! Spring had finally sprung. I threw my kit on superfast and then threw it off again when I remembered the cup match wasn’t until the afternoon. Doh! I had a whole morning to kill. I was so desperate to find something to do I actually volunteered to hoover the house.

  Then, when Samuel had come in from his paper round and Claude had finished his GCSE coursework, I got them to help me practise taking penalties in the back garden. That lasted until Mum knocked on the window and said it was time to go.

  The butterflies really kicked in then. It didn’t help that Mowborough Park was rammed with people. It seemed it wasn’t just girls’ teams taking part but boys’ too. We needed a map just to find out where we were. No prizes for guessing whose pitch was the one furthest away!

  When we found it, nobody from the Belles had arrived but most of our families were milling around. All Nika’s family were there, including her uncle Stan, who was painstakingly making his way across the grass with his walking frame. Lucy’s mum, dad and brother Harry (who hated football) had come, as had Megan’s mum, dad and auntie Mandy. They were setting up camping chairs near the goals. With them were Petra’s parents and her sister Charlotte, who had brought a gang of mates. Even Amy’s mum had turned up, but she spent most of her time grabbing Amy’s arm and trying not to fall over in her spiky heels. There was no sign of Gemma. “She’s coming. Don’t worry,” Amy reassured me.