The Year Six Leavers’ Service, the day before the end of term, was when I hit rock bottom. The whole school gathered in the hall, even the reception class, who can’t sit still for two minutes. Year Six parents and grandparents fanned out round the edges.
I was OK at first. Mr Glasshouse started with a speech about what a credit the Year Sixes had been to Mowborough Primary and wished them all luck at their secondary schools. After that came all the singing and poems about their favourite times and best memories. It was all light-hearted and upbeat, but I couldn’t help feeling gloomy. I’d looked up to Mrs Hulley’s class, especially Lucy, Eve and Nika. I’d miss them so much.
All too soon it was the final bit. We clapped as, one by one, all the Year Sixes trooped up to receive a dictionary and a book token. Nika, Lucy and Eve were last. As Nika shook Mr Glasshouse’s hand, I remembered the tournament we’d been on together last summer at Sherburn Sands. Nika had told us an amazing story about her uncle during the war, her uncle who was here, now, in our school hall, looking so proud and dignified.
Then it was Lucy’s turn to shake Mr Glasshouse’s hand and I thought of her and Holly, my two defenders, solid as whatever the hardest rock on the planet is. My shoulders were shaking like crazy now. “Are you OK?” I heard Petra whisper.
I nodded, my eyes fixed on Eve. The smartest, the funniest, the coolest, the daftest of all the Year Sixes and all the Parrs. Who was going to replace her? No one because no one could.
“Cheers, dude,” Eve said, grinning as Mr Glasshouse handed her the dictionary. “Though I’ve heard the ending zucks.”
It was a rubbish joke, but of course everyone cracked up, which was good because it gave me a chance to hide my face and pretend my eyes were wet from laughing and nothing else.
After that we were dismissed and herded back to our classrooms for the last five minutes of the day. I told Petra I needed the loo and that’s where I stayed until I heard the bell go. The second it did, I shot out of the cubicle, grabbed my jacket and dashed across the hall, zigzagging between the groups of grown-ups who were still hanging around after the assembly.
Mum had only just arrived when I reached the gate. “Let’s go,” I told her before she had a chance to catch her breath.
12
I woke up with awful stomach cramps the next day. After ruling out appendicitis, food poisoning, beriberi and a million other possibilities, Mum sighed. “Are you sure you can’t manage to get to school? Just for the last day?” She was due at work soon. Dad had already left.
I shook my head and groaned.
She chewed her lip. “I can’t really take any time off. We’re short-staffed as it is with the summer-holiday season starting. What if I phone Auntie Mandy?”
I didn’t really want to go anywhere, not even Auntie Mandy’s, but I didn’t want Mum to miss her shift either, so I nodded. Ten minutes later, I was in the car, a hot water bottle pressed to my stomach and a pile of magazines in a tote bag at my feet. “I’ll call you at lunchtime to check how you are,” Mum promised.
When we arrived at Lornton, Auntie Mandy was at the club door, still in her dressing gown, waiting. “Come on, then, invalid; let’s be having you,” she said. She put her arm round me and began ushering me indoors. “Leave her with me. I am an award-winning niece-sitter,” she told Mum.
In her flat above the club we sat huddled on the sofa, watching the Nickelodeon channel, until about ten o’clock. My stomach cramps had eased off by then and I just felt disconnected from everything, like you do when you are at home and you should be at school. I glanced outside. It was brighter today. They’d be having outdoor break soon. I wondered if Petra was missing me. Probably not, the way I’d been lately.
Auntie Mandy took my restlessness as a sign that I was on the mend. She unwound her arm, leaving my neck feeling cold and bare. “Well, much as I’d like to watch the end of Hey Arnold! with you, I’d better get my skates on. Will you be all right?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to smile. “I’ve got TV. I’ve got biscuits. Everything a girl needs.”
“That’s the spirit. I’ll be in the downstairs bar or the cellar if you need me.”
“OK.”
Another hour passed and so did the novelty of watching daytime TV. By eleven o’clock my stomach cramps had disappeared and I was mind-numbingly bored. I decided to go downstairs and see if I could help Auntie Mandy.
The main doors were open and a delivery lorry from the brewery was blocking the way. Two burly men were rolling metal casks down a ramp and into the trapdoor leading to the cellar. I could hear Auntie Mandy shouting up from the cellar below and telling them off. “No, I said four bitters and seven lagers.”
“We were told it was the other way round.”
“Well, you were told wrong.”
I decided I’d better leave her to it, so I pushed open the outer door to the main lounge. Auntie Mandy didn’t open at lunchtimes, apart from on weekends, so I presumed it would be empty. It wasn’t. I could hear talking in the partitioned-off seating area just to my right. “Thanks for coming, everybody,” a man was saying. “Sorry for the short notice, but today’s the only time we could all make it to go over the agenda. We’ll crack on as soon as Tony arrives. He’s picking up the minibus from the garage.”
Tony? They probably meant Tony Campbell, the secretary of Lornton FC. I had forgotten that officials from the club sometimes had committee meetings here. I was about to scarper when I heard someone ask “Gaz” how it was going with the girls’ team. Hmm. This’ll be interesting, I thought and pressed my ear to the partition.
“All right, I suppose,” Gary Browne replied.
“It’s always tough stepping into somebody else’s shoes, especially when they were popular,” someone said. It sounded like Andy Dixon, the coach of the men’s senior team. I knew him quite well. He used to go out with Auntie Mandy.
Gary Browne snorted. “Being popular doesn’t mean you’re a good coach. All it means is you give the next gaffer a tougher job. Sian had to stop a fight the other week.”
My stomach clenched. Another man joined in the conversation now. “A fight? Honestly, girls are as bad as lads these days. In fact, that’s what half of them think they are and that’s the trouble. They should never have been allowed the vote if you ask me, never mind play football.”
Here we go, I thought, expecting them all to agree, but actually the man’s sexist comments were derided as “daft” and “ancient”. Even by Gary Browne. “You’re dead wrong, Jimbo. I’ve watched a few Women’s Super League matches on the telly. They’re not bad at all these days. I reckon if you gave women the same opportunities as the men and threw some money at the game they’d be decent.”
“Give over,” Jimbo scoffed. “You’re just winding me up.”
“I’m not, not if you start them young enough. The goalie Sian’s got is as good as any lad I’ve ever seen at that age.”
I nearly fainted. I thought I was meant to be “average”?
“You mean Megan, Mandy’s niece?” Andy asked.
“Yeah, Megan,” Browne agreed. “She’s a natural. Soaks up everything I tell her.”
“Don’t tell Mandy. She talks non-stop about her as it is.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Telling kids how wonderful they are every two minutes is not my style.”
“We’ve gathered that.” Jimbo laughed.
“Well, it’s nonsense. I’ve seen it too often. They’re told they’re special when they’re nothing of the sort and they get above themselves. Start getting all cocky and thinking they’re bigger than the team.”
“Megan’s not like that, though, is she? She always seems level-headed to me,” Andy pushed.
“I’m not saying she thinks she’s above the team, no, but she does dominate it. The new kids are intimidated by her. That’s why I’m giving the lass one-to-one training. It gives the rest of them a chance to bond.”
“And is Megan OK with that?” Andy asked.
&
nbsp; “Why wouldn’t she be? How many Under 11s teams do you know give their keeper individual training? Not many.”
There were murmurs of agreement followed by the sound of cups being rattled. “Right. Where’s Tony? If he’s not here in two minutes I’m off.”
My skin prickled. Time to disappear. I turned and scurried back to Auntie Mandy’s flat.
13
Auntie Mandy found me staring out of her kitchen window. “Any better?” she asked.
“The tummy ache’s gone.”
“That’s good.”
I didn’t mention the turbocharged whirlpool that had replaced it. “Auntie Mandy?”
“Yes, m’duck?”
“I think I’d like to go back to school now.”
I arrived about ten minutes before the end of lunch. I signed in, gave the secretary my absence note, and headed for the cloakrooms. Petra was trying to slide her reading book into the top of an already jam-packed schoolbag. “Aha! Just the person I need to see,” I said and dragged her into the nearest toilet cubicle. We stood opposite each other, our knees touching in the tiny space. “I need to ask you something.”
She looked anxious. “What is it? Are you OK? Where’ve you been?”
“I’m going to ask you some questions and I need you to be honest with me. Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Do you think I’m intimidating? You know, at football?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
“Even with the new ones? Crystal and everybody?”
“Crystal wouldn’t have squared up to you if she’d been intimidated by you.”
I sighed with relief. “That’s good.”
“They have been a bit…”
“A bit what?”
Petra chewed her lip. “You do want me to be honest, right?”
“Yes. I want you to be totally honest with me.”
“OK. They’ve been a bit wary of you, you know, since the argument.”
“Why just me? You, Tabinda and JJ were there too.”
“True, but we’ve made more of an effort to mix since. You haven’t, not really.”
That’s because I haven’t had the chance, I thought. I’ve been on the other side of the pitch, being kept away so I don’t contaminate everyone. Except I knew, deep down, that wasn’t true. I could have mingled during the warm-ups or the matches or at the end where everyone hung around afterwards. I cringed inside. No wonder they were wary. I’d have been fuming if it had been the other way round. It wasn’t like I had a good reason, either. Crystal and co were all friendly enough and they weren’t any worse at football than Daisy and Dylan had been at the beginning and they were certainly a lot keener than Amy Minter had ever been.
I let out a low groan. “I’ve messed up, haven’t I?”
Petra squeezed my arm. “No. It’s just been a weird start, that’s all. Everything will be great when the season begins. Once the newbies hear you make one of your rousing speeches, where you make us feel anything is possible, they’ll be flying down the pitch. No one else is like you for those. Only you can do that.”
“Really?”
“Really. That’s what you do best. You are the bringer-togetherer, after all.”
“Bringer-togetherer? That’s not even a word. Or two words ”
“It is now. Anyway, I think it’s a perfect term for you. That’s what makes you such a wicked captain and such a wicked friend.”
I should have felt better, but I didn’t somehow. I felt too numb. I couldn’t let Petra see that, though. There’s only so much misery you can dump on your friend before they sink under the weight of it. “Well, thank you, Miss Ward, you’ve been most helpful,” I told her. “And you’re not a bad mate yourself, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
She grinned. “I’m not, am I?”
“Anyway, that’s me done. What’s new with you? What did I miss this morning?”
“Nothing much. Tidying trays, returning library books and…” Her eyes widened. “Argh. I’ve got to go. I said I’d help Tabinda with the flowers.”
“Flowers?”
“Mrs Marston’s leaving present.”
“She gets a leaving present? Well, I hope it’s a prickly cactus.”
When Petra had gone I stared at the floor, thinking about what she’d said. I was thinking about what she’d said while Mrs Marston told me off for being late to registration. I was thinking about what she’d said when she walked into the classroom with Tabinda, her face hidden by the biggest bunch of flowers I’d ever seen. I was still thinking about what Petra had said throughout the afternoon as I helped to strip the wall displays down, ready for the next Year-Five suckers in September. You’ll be relieved to know I stopped thinking about what she’d said when I got home. I started thinking about what Gary Browne had said instead. All in all, it was a pretty full-on day, thinking-wise.
By bedtime I’d done that much thinking my head had reached explosion level and Mum and Dad might have been picking blobs of brain tissue from the carpet if Eve hadn’t phoned.
“Soooo sorry to call so late, but I didn’t see you at school and I’m on holiday tomorrow and I wanted to ask you about the match before I went.”
“What match?”
“The England against USA match? At the end of August?”
“Oh, yeah.” I’d stuck the flyer on my pinboard, meaning to show it to my parents, but I hadn’t got around to it.
“Are you thinking of going? I want to, but my mum’s working and Gemma’s going with her centre of excellence and Lucy’s on a stupid trip to London and nobody else I know is mad about girls’ football like you are. So I thought if your mum or dad could take us that would be ace. Only we need to get tickets soon. Please. Pretty please.”
“Hang on, I’ll ask.” I dashed into the front room, grabbed the calendar, double-checked the dates against Mum and Dad’s work rosters, double-checked with them it was OK, then returned to Eve. “You’re on!” I said.
“Yay! What about Petra? Will she come, do you think?”
“I’ll ask. I’ll ask JJ too and…” I stopped just long enough for one of those light bulbs to appear over my head like they do in cartoons. “Eve?”
“Yup?”
“I’m thinking maybe I’ll ask a few more people along, too.”
“OK, cool. How many?”
“Maybe eight or nine.”
“Baggsy I get the front seat, then. It’s going to be squashed in the back.”
I laughed and hung up. The bringer-togetherer was back in town.
14
The following Tuesday, I made sure I arrived at practice before everyone else. “Hello, Megan,” Sian said, a puzzled expression on her face when she saw me waiting by the equipment shed. “You’re early.”
I nodded and reached into my backpack, pulling out a pile of glossy flyers that had come in the post that morning. “I was wondering if we could go to this, coach? It’s England Women versus USA at football. The tickets aren’t expensive and if we have a party of ten or more we can get them even cheaper. It’s at the Keepmoat Stadium in Doncaster. That’s about two hours’ drive max; I checked on Route Planner. It’s worth it to see the top players in the world…” I began running through the names of the US and England players I knew off by heart. It took a while. “Anyway,” I said when I’d finished, “I thought it might be cool if we all went.”
“All?” Sian said, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes, all the Parrs. Crystal, Serena, Midge, Aisha, JJ, Petra, Ebony, Tabs and me. Oh, and Eve. It was Eve’s idea, so she’s kind of essential. And I thought we could ask if we could borrow the Stags’ minibus if they’re not using it? Then we could all go together and bond and stuff…”
Sian smiled. “I think that would be a great idea, Meggo,” she said.
“Me too.” I smiled back.
I can never understand people when they talk about the summer holidays
dragging. Are they nuts? It seemed to me like one day I was unpacking my bag full of old Year-Five projects and squished-up PE kit and the next I was setting out my freshly sharpened pencils and being blinded by brand-new trainers ready for Year Six. Mind you, there was so much going on in between that I barely stopped to catch my breath. We’re talking a week in Cornwall with Mum and Dad and sleepovers at Petra’s and me in overdrive at training, trying to prove I wasn’t as unapproachable as everyone thought I was. Actually, I didn’t need to try that hard. Maybe it was my change in attitude or the warm evenings, but the atmosphere was definitely different.
It helped that Gary Browne and Scott were away for the first fortnight, so I could join in with everyone during the drills. It helped, too, that Ellie, Aleena, Wendy and Cara had decided to join the Parrs properly, because they’d enjoyed the sessions so much. That boosted our squad to thirteen and meant that the seven-a-side matches at the end were way better. Crystal’s girls were now comfortable enough around us to split into pairs, rather than demand all four of them played at once, so their dire passing wasn’t quite as noticeable. The only glitch was me playing outfield. I hated it. All I wanted was to get back into my goal area, where I belonged. Still, I slapped on a smiley face and said, “Sure, coach,” every time Sian directed me into that wide, open space. I’d do whatever it took to prove I was a team player.
Midway through August, Sian arranged a “surprise guest” for one of the sessions. My heart had almost stopped when she mentioned it the week before, thinking it might be Hannah, but it turned out to be Amy Minter. “I asked Amy over especially today because I want her to show you some freestyling moves,” Sian explained as Amy stood there, beaming.
“Is this for real?” I asked Petra, confused by the words “Amy” and “freestyle” in the same sentence.
Here We Go! Page 4