by Matt Drabble
She felt eyes burning into the back of her head and not for the first time. She turned and saw Joshua Bradley, the new American student looking directly at her. He smiled and offered a little wave from the substitutes’ bench. She didn’t know what it was about the kid but he still had a strange air of familiarity about him.
“For Christ’s sake ref, open your bloody eyes!” Stuart startled her as he bellowed from the touchline. “He was a mile offside!”
“Yeah, a bloody mile!” she joined in
The ref merely smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Why am I not surprised? You’ve missed everything else so far,” Stuart said sarcastically.
“Yeah, everything,” she agreed.
“Easy, Ms Mears,” he said with a glint in his eye. “You are supposed to be setting an example after all.”
She couldn’t help but smile as the tension joined with excitement.
Stuart shook his head at another missed call. “Bradley,” he called over to the new boy, “get warmed up.”
Sarah watched as the boy shrugged off his tracksuit and started to jog and stretch on the side of the pitch. She turned to see that Stuart was now looking at her curiously. “I’m sure that I know that kid from somewhere,” she explained. “Maybe I knew his father or maybe he’s just got one of those faces.”
“Maybe,” Stuart said absently.
She shivered as a biting wind blew across the field. The snow had thankfully stopped falling but it had made the playing field slippery with churned up mud. Ravenhill’s superior skill and organisation were being matched by Maplecrest’s raw power and hometown ref.
Joshua jogged back to his coach and Stuart started to go through some final instructions with him. She had assumed that being a fellow American the boy wouldn’t have a grasp of the intricacies of the game, but Stuart wasn’t pulling any of his punches with his instructions.
Up close to Joshua he now seemed less familiar than she had first thought. His face was eager and excited and she felt his passion for the game and his enthusiasm to help. His beaming face was infectious and she found herself hoping that he wouldn’t get hurt. “Be careful,” she suddenly found herself saying, surprised at the words that had just come out of her mouth.
Joshua winked and grinned. “Don’t worry about me, Miss,” he said. “I’m going to win it for us.”
She watched as he ran out onto the field. His kit was sparkling fresh compared with the other players’ kits, which were caked in mud. Joshua carried Stuart’s reorganization orders onto the field with him and she was shocked to see that the other boys crowded around during a break in play. He was soon pointing and ushering and they were soon following, even Alex Thompson.
She looked at Stuart. “How long’s left?”
He checked his watch again, despite looking at it every few seconds. “Last play coming up, last chance to shove it up those bloody thugs,” he growled.
She couldn’t help but feel his loyalty to the Ravenhill badge. “What are we doing?” she asked, staring intently at the set play.
“This is a scrum,” he explained. “It’s our feed so we should get the ball back. We’re going to drive it in field, a couple of crash balls to get in position. You see the posts? Well we’re going to try for a drop goal; he drops the ball onto the floor and kicks it a split second later. The idea is to get the ball between the two upright posts and over the bar. We maneuver Thompson into position, he takes the kick and we win the game; well, in theory at least,” he sighed.
She watched on as the play unfolded just as Stuart had said. Thompson dropped back into what Stuart called “the hole”. She could see the naked aggression on the Maplecrest players’ faces as they spotted what was happening and prepared to try and charge the kick down. Joshua took the ball and prepared to pass just as the opposition rushed, their eyes glazed with effort. At the last minute, Joshua swung his arms back to pass and the defense charged, but he didn’t release it.
“Oh shit,” Stuart murmured. “Don’t dummy it, don’t dummy it,” he whispered.
Sarah watched as the defense rushed and took the bait. Joshua darted off of his left foot and broke through the line as they all charged towards Thompson rapidly. Joshua was in the clear and rushing for the line. Sarah suddenly realised that she had reached out and clutched Stuart’s arm in her excitement as it matched his.
“Go on, go on,” Stuart said softly under his breath.
“RUN, RUN!” she screamed, as Joshua’s legs pumped hard for the line.
The opposition full-back was the last obstacle and he swung his arm across Joshua’s throat in a clothesline.
“Penalty, ref! HIGH SHOT!” Stuart yelled at the ref, who ignored him again.
The two boys intertwined and fell in a heap over the line. A group of chasers reached them and piled on top. The referee blew his whistle repeatedly and loudly. The crowd all held their collective breaths as the ref and his two assistants began pulling the boys apart to see if Joshua had scored or not. She looked at the ref’s face as he neared the bottom of the pile and her heart leapt as his face crumpled in poorly disguised disappointment. It was a try and they had won.
She was lost in the moment and jumped up and down hugging Stuart fiercely as the boys charged around the field in celebration. She heard and felt his sharp intake of breath as she crushed against him before she remembered herself and stepped back. “Sorry,” she said, flushed.
“That’s ok,” he replied, even more flushed than she was.
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Danny Haim threw his boots hard against the changing room wall. The studs clattered hard and sent chunks of earth flying across the tiles. They all blamed him because some kid had broken the line and scored in the dying seconds. He had caught the bastard high around the throat but it had been like hitting a bloody oak tree and his arm still ached from the contact. His shame was further enhanced when it turned out that the kid was a sodding Yank no less. His teammates and, more importantly, Mr. Sutherland were not going to let him forget it.
He slumped down on the wooden strutted bench. His legs were sore from the extra laps that the coach had made him run in punishment. Sutherland was a sadistic old fuck and he had lined the rest of the team up to demonstrate just how to hit a high shot and bring a man down. He rubbed his neck vigorously trying to regain some feeling.
The changing room was deserted as the rest of his so-called teammates had long since departed, leaving him alone and in no doubt just as to whom they blamed for the defeat. His kit was now stiff and cold as the wet mud dried.
Just then the door swung open and shut with a soft whoosh. He heard soft footsteps on the tiled floor.
“Hello?” he called out, receiving no answer. “Who’s that?” he demanded angrily.
The footsteps padded slowly around the room and he stood nervously. He was a big lad and tough with it; fear was normally an emotion that he inflicted instead of felt.
“Look, I’m in no mood for pissing about,” he snapped, hoping that he didn’t sound as uneasy as he felt.
He heard the hiss of water as one of the showers turned on. The splashing water hit the floor and the air was soon thick with steam. Another shower came on, then another and another, all in row until all ten were blasting a hot impenetrable mist into the air.
“For fuck’s sake,” he said worriedly as the footsteps echoed off of the tiles, circling him. He would have assumed that the team was back and looking to inflict a little punishment for his missed tackle. But there was only one set of footsteps.
He suddenly had a terrible thought that perhaps Sutherland had returned. Some of the older boys had joked that the PE teacher had a fondness for his pupils, especially in the showers.
“Mr. Sutherland? Coach? Is that you?” he called loudly above the rushing water.
“Vengeance is mine, and retribution. In due time their foot will slip; for the day of their calamity is near, and the impending things are hastening upon them,” a voice spoke from the shadow
s.
Danny was struck dumb by the scripture quote and he didn’t recognise the voice.
He stood up and backed away. Someone was playing a joke and it wasn’t in the least bit funny. The footsteps grew closer and his eyes darted around looking for any kind of exit. “Look man, this isn’t fucking funny!” he shouted. “I don’t know what your problem is but you come in here and I’m gonna kick your arse.”
The voice started to laugh. The pitch rose and boomed off the walls growing more and more hysterical. Danny pressed his hands against his ears as the laughter pierced his brain and shattered his nerve. He backed away from the sound until he found himself corned by the toilet cubicles. The laughter started to shriek and scream until he thought that he was going mad. He started to scream himself, drowning out the noise that pounded in his head, until he realised that he was the only one screaming anymore. He stood there panting as the wet tiles soaked thought his socks. The showers all snapped off and he started to worry about what a baby he had been.
He was plotting his investigation and revenge into his tormentor when the cubicle behind him flew open and powerful hands reached out and dragged him in.
His cries for help and of pain were mercifully short and the voice spoke into the silence. “It’s good to be back.”
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The bus ride back was loud and rowdy. The boys sang songs from the back of the coach in triumph and celebration and Sarah found herself laughing at some of the more explicit lyrics that Stuart was letting go.
She had waited on the bus whilst the boys had changed and showered and indulged in whatever tribal antics took place behind closed locker room doors. Joshua Bradley had been the last one to emerge, keeping them all waiting as he professed to have forgotten something. But even the usual short patience levels of the other boys had been forgotten as they waited for their new hero.
The game had been exhilarating and the result a great boost for the school’s reputation. Her own heart had pounded a little harder when she’d mashed herself against the maths teacher, momentarily losing herself in the moment. She had to admit that it had felt good to step out from behind her walls, if even only briefly.
They stopped for fish and chips on the way home at Stuart’s expense. She offered to pay half but he refused her gently. Ketchup smeared mouths were wide with the smiles of victors, but faces were soon drooping as tiredness kicked in. The last part of the journey home was quite and dark and Sarah found herself nodding off. At one point she felt her head lying on Stuart’s shoulder and just for a moment it felt right.
CHAPTER 6
Rocco whined and scratched at the door, demanding to be let out. Edna Bailey dragged herself up from the warmth facing the roaring fire. The night was cold and bitter and the fireplace was the only protection for her aching bones.
She wandered to the door as the chocolate Labrador sat patiently. “Be quick,” she said as she opened the door and let the dog out. The dark night reached out through the opening and seized her with its icy claws. She pulled her thick cardigan around her tighter and looked across the garden.
Her home was a small and modest affair but it was hers. She had little of the fondness for bric-a-brac that so afflicted the elderly and her shelves and sides were clutter-free. She had never married and never regretted it. Her life had been full of canine company and that suited her just fine.
The village was compact but friendly. Everyone knew everyone else’s business and no one kept a secret for too long. However, the first mystery to befall them was seemingly the disappearance of Rosa Marsh.
Rosa was a nice woman and Edna had been concerned when the policeman had turned up. Although if she was being honest, at first she had been merely interested at his presence until she’d discovered that Rosa hadn’t been seen. She read enough of the papers to know that the modern world was full of evil men, but they had never invaded this far north before. She couldn’t help but fear the worst for her friend.
She looked over sadly at Rosa’s dark cottage opposite and stared in disbelief as a light came on in the kitchen. She looked on in shock until the light went off; the influx of the returning dark broke her paralysis, and she reached for her coat. She slipped on a pair of waterproof boots and reached out for Rocco’s lead. She stayed her hand and wondered just what use the elderly dog would be anyway. As if to answer her thoughts, Rocco padded back past her and made his way to the fireplace. He turned around twice, yawned widely and settled down in front of the flames. She knew that it would be useless trying to coax him out now.
She closed the front door behind her and made her way across the narrow lane to Rosa’s house. She couldn’t help but feel anxious as she walked up the pathway, but she quashed those thoughts quickly. She wasn’t a child and this wasn’t the movies; her friend had simply returned home from her travels and she was curious to be the first to know where she had been.
She rapped gently on the door and waited. She checked her watch and saw that it was already growing late, but Rosa was a woman of similar age and no doubt affected by the sleep patterns of the aged.
She pressed the doorbell and heard the shrill blast emanating from within. She was about to return home and call the nice policeman that she’d met when she heard the soft shoe shuffling of someone approaching the door. A silhouette appeared behind the glass.
“Hello? Who is it?” the voice behind the door called out softly.
“Rosa dear, it’s me. It’s Edna,” she called back brightly.
There was a long pause and Edna was starting to wonder just who was on the other side of the door. The voice had been barely above a whisper and she couldn’t tell if it was even Rosa or not. Just then she heard the metallic squeak as the chain was drawn back and removed and the door pried open just a crack.
Edna held her breath and suddenly realised that perhaps she was as not as far removed from the evils of the world as she had hoped. She started to back away with a stomach knotted in dread and fear. Fingers peaked out from around the door and Edna suddenly feared the face that was about to appear.
In fact what appeared was her friend. Rosa looked out with a beaming face full of friendship and warmth. “Edna dear,” she smiled. “You gave me fright; I was wondering just who would be calling at this hour.”
“I saw the light on and just thought I’d check,” Edna replied uncertainly.
“That’s very neighborly of you, dear; we really need to look after each other and our community,” Rosa said kindly. “That’s just the sort of society that we all deserve to live in; why don’t you come in?”
“Oh it’s awfully late,” Edna said. “Rocco will be wondering where I am.”
“This will just take a minute, I promise,” Rosa smiled disarmingly.
Edna found herself suddenly caught in her friend’s grip and gently pulled into the house. Rosa had never been the most decisive or authoritative woman, but now she definitely couldn’t say no.
The door closed behind them and it was several hours before Rocco found his mistress coming home. For the first time ever she did not pat him as she entered and she even seemed not to notice that he growled at her for the first time in his life.
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Sarah was enjoying a small glass of red wine in the teachers’ lounge with Stuart. They had toasted the team’s win until the euphoria died a little and they began to feel silly. She was enjoying his company and she felt the steel vault that she’d kept so firmly locked creak just a little.
They chatted about nothing in particular, but it was the mere conversational nature that seemed like a huge change in their relationship. To date, it was only really Jemima that she talked to in anything like “friend” terms, and even then she had kept the young woman at arm’s length.
“So whereabouts are you from Sarah? I mean obviously apart from the States,” Stuart asked boldly, his tongue loosened somewhat by the wine.
She considered the question for a moment. “Lots of places really,” she offered generally
. “I have travelled around a lot looking for somewhere to call home for quite a while now.”
“Jeez and you stayed here?” He laughed. “This is the place that you have decided to call home for the past six years?”
“Six years? You’ve been checking up on me?” she said defensively.
“A little,” he shrugged. “You’re pretty difficult to talk to and I wanted to know more about you. Why? Are you on the run for murder?” he joked.
She knew by the sudden look on his face that her own expression had betrayed a little too much.
“Oh shit,” he said concerned. “Did I put my foot in it? Are you in some kind of witness protection program?” he whispered, leaning in close.
Inexplicably she suddenly found herself wanting to tell him her story. It was a blindside rush of a thought that caught her off guard. She had tried therapy once when she had been living in San Francisco, even getting to the point of telling the doctor her story. It had been an emotional afternoon and the tale had come vomiting out like a putrid festering tumor. She had hoped that spilling the story would have left her with some relief, but there had been none to enjoy; she had only taken the top layer of the scab off and the wound had still been red raw underneath. Now, as Stuart sat across from her with his slightly red and tipsy face, she felt tired of being alone. But still, he would surely run for the hills if she ever spoke of Eden and what she had seen there.
“Yeah, I was a Mafia hitman,” she answered earnestly. “28 confirmed kills until I got caught and had to roll on my bosses.”
“Really?” he said in awe.
She laughed in reply. “Of course not, dummy,” she said, breaking the tension.
“Is that a joke I see before me?” he grinned back at her. “Who knew you had it in you.”
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Jemima watched the conversation from the doorway, a little green around the gills. Ravenhill was not exactly fertile ground for seeking a mate. She hoped that her attraction to Stuart was more down to the isolation that prisoners must feel when they developed crushes on their fifty-something-year-old therapists just because they were the only female faces that they saw.