Here We Go!

by Helena Pielichaty

  Tabinda sighed. “Apparently Southfields Athletic has folded. Their coach walked out and nobody was interested in taking over. Some of them are here today looking for a new club.”

  “They’ve folded? That’s such a shame,” I said.

  “A shame for us,” JJ mumbled. “Who wants them on a team? They’re rubbish.”

  “Erm … I’d better go back to my dad,” Serena said.

  “It’ll be good to have you on the team if you do decide to join,” I told her, not wanting her to think we were all as negative as JJ.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Tabinda told her.

  “Yo, Tabs. Before you go, where’s Sian? I asked.

  “In the middle gazebo, talking to parents.”

  “Cool.”

  I tried to link arms with JJ, but she pulled away. “I’m off home. Got stuff to do.”

  “Please yourself,” I said. I knew if JJ was in one of her moods – and she obviously was – she was best left alone.

  “Come on,” Petra said. “Time to suck up to the new coach.”

  “Help, Petra. The word is help.”

  4

  Sian was sitting behind a trestle-table, her long hair falling across her tanned shoulders as she wrote something on her notepad. She was wearing a thin-strapped top rather than a Parrs shirt. Her face was fully made-up: eyeliner, lipstick and everything. Hannah had never worn much make-up to football events and Katie never wore make-up full stop. I took a deep breath, telling myself not to start comparing. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do that. I was “here to help”.

  I couldn’t offer my services immediately. Our new coach was dealing with a group of people: a man with a neck full of tattoos and four girls. I had no problem recognizing one of the girls. It was Crystal, the Southfields captain. She was what my mum would call “a character”. On or off the ball, Crystal would keep up a stream of conversation, not only with her team-mates but also with the opposition, the ref, the stray dog wandering on to the pitch – you named it, she’d talk the hind legs off it. She was doing it now. “An’ will you turn up every practice?” she was asking Sian while the others looked on.

  “That’s the general idea,” Sian replied. She glanced up, saw Petra and me and winked.

  “And what if we lose? Will you storm off with a cob on?”

  “No, no cob ons.”

  “The last ’un did. She was a right misery guts.” Crystal launched into a tirade about her previous coach. Sian tried to stop her but she had no chance. Every attempt was overridden until Sian surrendered and just sat there, nodding. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from bursting out laughing.

  “Will they get a game, though, if they join?” The man – I presumed he was Crystal’s dad – managed to ask. “Lornton’s a fair trek every week and if it’s just for ’em to sit on a bench it ain’t worth the petrol.”

  “Everyone gets a chance,” Sian told him.

  “That’s what we’ve always done,” I couldn’t help adding.

  They all turned then and stared. Crystal looked me up and down. “You’re the goalie, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thought so. I’d recognize that ginger nut anywhere.”

  I frowned and was about to tell her I didn’t appreciate the ginger thing but forgave her when she continued: “Your lot were the only team that clapped us off at the end of a match without it sounding like you were being sarcastic. That’s why we’ve come ’ere.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s nice,” Petra told them.

  Crystal smiled and revealed a set of shiny new braces. “Anyway, this is Aisha…” She pointed to a girl in a red headscarf and Leicester City top. “She’s a fast runner but her ball control stinks. This is Ebs, short for Ebony…” Crystal continued, indicating a well-built black girl who had a pale orange flower clipped to her hair. “You’ll have to stick her in defence. She doesn’t move much unless she hears an ice-cream van, then she’s off like a champion greyhound.”

  “Don’t lie,” Ebony protested.

  Crystal ignored her and grabbed the final team member, pulling her by her T-shirt to the front. She was a small, fragile-looking girl with straggly hair and lopsided glasses bound by Sellotape on one side. She was wearing jeans about ten times too big for her and looked as if she wanted to disappear down the nearest hole. “And this is Frances, but everyone calls her Midge,” Crystal said. “She’s our goalie, but you’ve no need to worry. She’s not half as good as you. Well, not even an eighth, if I’m honest.”

  I felt embarrassed but Midge just shrugged.

  “So what do you reckon? Will we do?” Crystal asked, staring straight at me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “When’s practices start?”

  “You’ll need to ask Han…” Petra nudged me and I corrected myself just in time. “Sian.”

  Sian handed her a leaflet. “This Tuesday. If you leave your details, I’ll email you.”

  “Got you,” Crystal said and scribbled down hers and everybody else’s contact details before leading everyone away with a cheery wave and promises of doughnuts.

  When they were out of earshot, Sian shook her head. “Looks like I’ll have my hands full there.”

  “Not half,” I replied.

  Sian looked at me. “It’s Megan, right?”

  “How did you know?” I asked, feeling pleased she recognized me. I hadn’t spoken to her at the Parrs presentation evening when she’d come to meet everyone. I’d been too busy having my final fill of Hannah and Katie.

  “Oh, just a wild guess,” she said. “And you must be Petra. Hannah told me you two come as a pair.”

  Petra offered her hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, and thank you for taking over as coach. We’re really grateful.”

  “Aw. You’re welcome, sweetheart. When Hannah asked me to take her spot, I said of course I would. You’ve got to bring on the next generation, haven’t you?”

  “Is there anything we can do to help today?” I asked.

  “Not really. I’ve got everything covered, more or less. Unless my special guest doesn’t turn up and then you can go in goal for the penalty shoot-out later.”

  “Oh, I’d love that,” I said. I knew my gloves were in the boot of Dad’s car.

  “Ah! No need. Here he is now.” Sian grinned. He? The special guest was a he? Joe Hart? Brad Friedel? There was a movement behind me, followed by a voice that chilled me to the bone. I’d heard it often enough, bellowing across the field at the boys’ teams while we practised near by. It belonged to Gary Browne, their ogre of a coach. What was he doing here? “All right, then, flower? How’s it going?”

  “Really good, thanks, Uncle Gary,” Sian said.

  Petra and I looked at each other. Uncle Gary?

  Sian beamed. “Girls, you two are the first to know the good news. Gary’s going to be our new assistant coach.”

  She might have said other things, too, but I didn’t catch them if she did because at that moment this huge, dark cloud descended over Lornton. Everyone began rolling round, choking and being sick. People cried out as they doubled over in agony engulfed in thick, poisonous smog. “Help me. Help me please … arghhh…” Afterwards, Petra told me I’d imagined that bit. She said what actually happened was that I made a gurgling sound and she had to push me out of the gazebo before I could say anything I’d regret. But I’m sure dark clouds were involved. I really am.

  5

  When I got home I wanted to call Hannah, but Dad wouldn’t let me. “No, Megan, you mustn’t,” he said, taking the phone out of my hand.

  “Dad, it’s not like last time,” I protested. “This is an emergency.”

  “No, Megan, it isn’t. Trust me on this one. It isn’t.”

  “That’s not fair,” I fumed. That’s the trouble with Dad being a fireman. He always plays the I-know-what-a-real-emergency-is card when I get in a strop.

  “Think about Hannah,” he soothed. “Think
about the position you’ll put her in. Sian’s her friend.”

  I wasn’t going to give in that easily. “She’s not her best friend, though, is she? And I bet she doesn’t know about Gary Browne. I bet you anything. She can’t stand him. She’ll go loopy.”

  “She can go as loopy as she likes, but it won’t make any difference. Who Sian chooses as her assistant isn’t any of Hannah’s business. She has no say in it.”

  My bottom lip began to wobble. Dad drew me towards him and gave me a hug. “Come on, Megan. It’ll be all right. Browney knows his stuff. His lads have been top of the league for about five seasons in a row.”

  “That’s because they’re scared stiff of what will happen if they aren’t.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Dad said.

  I wasn’t being silly. I’d seen what Browne was like with his squad. We’d played them for about two minutes once and he’d done nothing but insult them. He’d called them useless and a dozy waste of space. “And he doesn’t even like girls,” I continued. “He’s always saying stuff like, ‘Stop playing like a girl’, ‘Come on, get up; you’re not a girl.’ You’ve heard him. You know he does…”

  “Well, then, this is a perfect opportunity to show him that playing like a girl is a compliment, isn’t it?”

  No, I thought, it really isn’t.

  6

  What can I say about the first practice? It was dreadful. For a start, there were only nine of us. I’d been expecting at least twenty from the number of people who’d turned up at the open day, but apparently most of them had been locals, enticed over by the smell of doughnuts. A three-year-old won the penalty shoot-out. That tells you all you need to know.

  So we stood there, staring at each other. Me, Petra, JJ and Tabinda on one side, Crystal, Ebony, Aisha and Midge on the other, with Serena in-between. The Southfields girls stood out from the rest of us mainly because they were ALL WEARING THEIR SOUTHFIELDS SHIRTS. Way to fit in with your new team, gang! Ebony complemented hers with a matching corsage of pale blue flowers.

  I expected Sian to say something about the shirts but she didn’t. Nor did Gary Browne, but then he was too far away to see them. He’d perched himself on the bonnet of his car, and just stayed there, his arms folded across his chest like a bored spectator. Fine by me, I thought. The further away the better.

  Sian welcomed us all and then made us go round in a circle and introduce ourselves, which was when we found out that Crystal’s last name was Ball. “I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What hilarious parents I’ve got.” When it came to her turn, JJ kept her head bowed and mumbled her name. Midge didn’t hear and nudged Crystal, who repeated, “Jenny-Jane Bayliss”, at the top of her voice, then added: “The ’ard one.”

  JJ’s head shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing bad, mush. It’s a compliment. You used to scare the pants off us.”

  “Oh,” JJ said, then a smile spread across her face. “Good.”

  When it was her turn, Serena gave her full name, Serena Helen O’Shea, then, after glancing at her dad, added, “Striker.”

  “Right, then,” Sian said, “let’s get warmed up. We’ll start with a slow jog round the field.”

  Petra, me and JJ led the way. We didn’t intend to; it’s just that we were used to the field and we were used to jogging. Tabinda and Serena weren’t far behind, but the Southfields lot were so slow, snails would have lapped them. Ebony was totally puffed out by the time she’d completed the circuit. Hands on her knees, she panted and gasped for breath as if she’d just done the London Marathon. Talk about embarrassing.

  We began with the drills. Sian kept them really basic, but you’d think the Southfields four had never seen a ball before. We kicked off with the one where all you have to do is dribble the ball between some poles and then pass it to the next person, who dribbles it back. Simples.

  Crystal went first. She managed the first two poles all right, but then halfway between poles two and three, she attempted what could have been a step-over, but she fluffed it and fell over the ball. She bounced straight back up again and shook her head. “What a muppet,” she said, grinning and began again. And did exactly the same thing again: a few metres of fairish dribbling, then the step-over thing followed by a tumble.

  Eventually she reached JJ, who dribbled the ball between the poles at lightning speed and delivered it to Aisha. Aisha, like Crystal, began well, then tried the stupid step-over thing with exactly the same result. Petra and I looked at each other. What was going on?

  Next up was Tabs, who was less zippy than JJ but just as competent. Crystal tapped me on the shoulder. “Blimey, your girls are quick. Don’t expect that from Ebs, will ya? You can have a kip when it’s her turn.”

  I’d like to say she was exaggerating, but she wasn’t. Ebony was concentrating so hard on keeping the ball at her feet she barely touched it. The thing moved about a millimetre per tap. While we slid into a coma, Crystal kept up a running commentary. “That’s it, gal, nice and steady. You’ll get there. Look at that. It’s like the ball’s glued to yer boot.”

  That’s because it might as well have been.

  Serena, as I expected, found the drill straightforward and completed it with ease. Her dad clapped her effort. “Well done, Serena, well done.”

  Last of all came Midge. I had high hopes for Midge. I don’t know why. I thought maybe she’d be like the secret weapon. You know, behind that weedy exterior was talent just waiting to shine.

  I was wrong. Midge was useless. Somehow, she managed to take the ball wider and wider between the posts each time, like a toddler scribbling bigger and bigger circles with a crayon. By the time she’d reached the final post she was nearly in the car park. “Calling Midge. Come in, please!” Crystal joked.

  I didn’t think it was funny. We’d only done one drill and I already knew we were doomed.

  It would be pointless to describe the match at the end. It might have been better if we’d mixed, but Southfields wouldn’t mix. “We stick together, us,” Crystal declared. “Just till we get used to bein’ ’ere.”

  “OK,” Sian agreed.

  We played four-a-side. It wasn’t much fun. Even with a tiny area to play in, I didn’t have anything to do in goal. Our side won something like twenty-two–nil. I glanced across at Gary Browne. He was shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And for once I didn’t blame him.

  7

  “So how did that go?” Eve asked as I waited for Petra at the school gates the next day.

  “Don’t ask,” I said.

  “That bad?”

  I nodded.

  “How many new ones turned up?”

  I held up five fingers.

  “Is that all? Any of them any good?”

  I managed a stiff shake of my head – which was a bit unfair because Serena wasn’t bad, but I’d lost the will to speak.

  “What about Gary Browne? What was he like? Did he shout?”

  Another stiff shake of the head. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I think I was coming down with post-traumatic stress. I could have done with a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate, to be honest. Eve began to look worried. She put her arm round my shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Meggo,” she said. “Think about happy things. Remember the cup match where you had your nose broken and there was blood everywhere. Happy things…”

  I giggled. Only Eve could have come up with something daft like that as a happy thing. It worked too. By the time Petra arrived, I was talking in full sentences and everything.

  I called a Parrs meeting during break. The four of us huddled together in the cloakrooms, moping. “We might as well all wear Southfields shirts,” JJ muttered.

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if there were more players.” Tabinda sighed.

  “We need Daisy and Dylan back,” I said.

  Petra shook her head. “They won’t come. They’re enjoying ballet too much. I asked.”

  “It mi
ght get better,” Tabinda suggested.

  “Or it might get worse,” JJ said.

  The second practice was exactly the same. Southfields showed up in their Southfields shirts and murdered every drill Sian did with us. Then they wouldn’t mingle for the match at the end so got stuffed again. Serena’s dad stayed on the touchlines, clapping every move she made, and Gary Browne kept his bonnet warm with his bum.

  I was in such a fug the following week at school I forgot to keep an eye on JJ. She’d been on report for almost two weeks and was due to be signed off the Tuesday of the third Parrs practice, but she blew it. She joined in with the rucksack-rugby game, and in one bad throw managed to turn Alex Almond’s papier mâché model of a volcano into a cowpat. Her report was extended by another week, taking her up to the end of the year. That put her in a fantastic mood for training.

  It was all OK until the short match at the end. “Count me out,” JJ said when Tabs handed the bibs round.

  “What’s wrong? Are you tired?” Sian asked.

  “No, I can’t be bothered.”

  “What do you mean?” Sian asked sharply.

  “There’s no point,” JJ said.

  “That’s a poor attitude. The match is meant to be fun.”

  “Where’s the fun in winning fifty–nil?” JJ asked.

  I stepped in to try and stop JJ getting into trouble. “Maybe we could mix up the sides?” I suggested.

  But before Sian could respond Crystal shook her head. “No. Not happening. I told you, we don’t mind getting beat. We’re used to it.”

  “We’re not,” I told her.

  “You soon will be with us lot.” Crystal grinned.

  That really annoyed me. I turned to Sian. “Now who’s got a poor attitude?”

  She frowned at me. “All right, Megan. We’re all meant to be on the same side, remember?”

  “It doesn’t feel like it,” I replied. “You haven’t even asked them not to wear their old shirts.”

  Sian’s cheeks flushed and Crystal glared at me. “Is there a problem with that, Ginge? Just say if there is.”