by Tara Wimble
Oliv nods faintly and jogs back into position. Whemb watches from her side and they throw a palm up to each other while Bardsley sets up for a goal kick. Eighteen minutes to go. The crowd bares down on them. The missed shot fuelled their furious fire and they chant for Britain to win and for Canada to go home.
Bella grits her teeth and runs forward to pressure Stoney. There’s no way they’re going home.
“On the ball, on the ball!” John is shouting directions. Never letting up on them despite the lead. He wants more from them. He wants them to win outright and cause the upset of the tournament. If Bella’s honest, he probably wants to rub this in Powell’s face more than he wants them to win.
Bella clips the ball and Stoney trips. Her hands fly up for a call but Carla has already caught the loose ball and switched it to the opposite side of the field. Verdict comes in. Clean tackle.
Boos trickle through the stadium but Bella plays on, she got all ball and she knows it, no use in letting people who can’t make a call anyway affect her play.
She throws out a hand for Stoney to take and then sets back off. Kathryn’s been dispossessed by Jill Scott only to have to double back as Niav regains it.
Bella storms through towards the top of the box, anticipating a cross that never comes. Niav’s attempted pass to Jonelle is intercepted and it’s a hustle to get back onto defense again.
It pretty much sums up the rest of the game for them and despite the fact that they end up beating the host nation by two goals and shutting them out it was an overall frustrating performance after the first half an hour.
Their celebrations are subdued this time around. John is hiding his delight well when he shakes hands with the GB coach but for the rest of them, there isn’t much in openly boasting in front of a crowd that’s just suffered the loss they had. Instead they do a lap around the field, clapping, and pointing out some lone Canadian flags before they get back together to thank Great Britain.
They march back to the dressing room and things get turned up once the door is closed behind them and the music starts playing. Out of sight, out of mind and Bella stumbles into the circle just as Sadie starts belting out ‘The Power of Love’ to cap off their victory.
From there it’s stomping cleats and showers with shouting voices and excitement to get back to the hotel. Recovery isn’t the first thing on everyone’s minds but a few people, including Bella, feel like they’ve prematurely jumped into an ice bath when Whemb reminds people that they’re having to face off against the US in the semi final.
If GB felt like a grind, the US was going to be trying to avoid a slaughter.
“Way to bring the mood down there.” Bella laughs. She hikes the towel around her body up a bit more and walks across the dressing room to get changed again. A few other voices cringe at Whemb’s reminder and the music is turned up again.
Bella lets the thumping sound ease the buzzing in her head. She puts on her bra and finishes rooting through her bag for the rest of her clothes, towel around her waist now, when she notes that Jacque is purposely sitting with her back to her on the other side of the locker room.
She gets dressed a little quicker because Jacque’s doing this thing where she thinks she’s being considerate but she’s actually being weird. And only Bella can snap her out of it.
Her damp hair soaks into the back of her dry shirt and Bella forgoes any warning when she ruffles the back of Jacque’s head. “What’re you waiting for?”
Jacque ends up leaning her head back and Bella doesn’t move her hand. “Someone to wake me up.”
“You dreaming?” Bella asks.
She feels the sigh draining from Jacque’s body. “No.” She tiredly holds onto Bella’s wrist for a second. “I guess not.”
Bella bites the inside of her cheek. “Don’t miss the bus back, okay?” Jacque squeezes her wrist before getting up to get her shower. “I’ll wait for you if you want.”
Despite the buzz in the locker room, and the music, there’s still people gazing around aloof and dazed in victory. So Jacque shuffles back and Bella does all the right things, closing her eyes and swaying her body forward just enough for Jacque to kiss her forehead. “I won’t be long.”
Bella bathes in the darkness until the pressure is gone. The buzzing stays.
*
“--And it seems that the US and the Canadians have done a little bit of a forward swap haven’t they?”
“The Canadians got Ansar but the Americans got Leroux, so really, who got the better deal?”
The analysts in the studio who are breaking down the upcoming semi-final match have strayed slightly off of the main subject.
“Both are more likely to come off of the bench than start, though Ansar did get the start and assisted on the game-tying goal against Sweden. She has one goal on top of that--.”
“Even so, Ansar is 26, about to be 27 in the next year, and really more of a role player. Leroux is fresh talent, future star of the US program. You have to say it’s Leroux in the long run. The US got the better deal.”
There’s a chorus of agreement and then the television shuts off suddenly. Bella looks back and see’s Jacque over her shoulder.
“I was watching that.” Bella argues, but it’s weak because that’s what happens when you witness your value actively discussed on national media.
Jacque shakes her head. “I have no idea why. They’re idiots.” She has a few bags of ice with her to put on before they switch off for the night.
John had stressed their recovery tenfold for the US game and they’ve spent more time in the pool than on the pitch over the last two days. The only practice came this afternoon, after arriving in Manchester, to tour Old Trafford.
Not even the excitement of looking around the Manchester United dressing rooms and seeing Rooney’s cubby can shake the sting of criticism she’s just heard. “They’re right.”
“I don’t agree with that. It’s just an opinion. A wrong opinion.”
“You have to say that.” Bella mumbles, looking down at her feet.
“Oh really?” Jacque stops and looks around like she’s searching for something. “Can you point me to the rulebook that says that because I haven’t seen it.”
“You’re such a weirdo.” Bella looks up, smiling shyly.
“And you’re the better deal to me.” Jacque pauses like she’s caught herself. “To all of us, I mean.”
“Let’s win tomorrow.” Bella answers masking the full smile that wants to break free, she’s doing the deflecting and redirecting for once. “I’m ready.”
“Me too.” Jacque sits in the chair next to her and they talk about everything but the game tomorrow until it’s time to head to their respective rooms for lights out.
There’s a calm soothing feeling that made it’s cruel resurgence every time she’s spent time with Jacque during this tournament. But coupled with it is an unexpected warmth. One she’d felt before in her life but never for Jacque.
It’s a dangerous feeling but no matter how hard she tries she can’t just lock it away in her mind for its time and place.
*
6th August 2012;
Canada v USA;
Bella is already on her knees, broken and sick, before the ball even flicks off Taniya Holden’s head.
One hundred and twenty third minute.
The ball flew off of O’Reilly’s foot and she was across the field. There was nothing she could do, never anything she could have done to stop it short of teleportation.
From her vantage point on the field she sees Jacque utterly lost standing in the back of the net. Chelsea, who Taniya jumped over to score, staring off into the distance.
By some cruel twist of fate they have to line up again knowing there’s no chance, there was only one miracle in this game and the US stole it from them.
Stole their dreams, snatched it right out of their hands and took it as their own.
The final whistle blows and the bough breaks.
Somehow sh
e manages to stay on her feet, already having her moment on her knees, her moment of absolute heartache.
Jacque lays where she stood, flat on her back, staring blankly into the sky. The closer Bella gets the swifter her heart breaks, not only for herself, but for Jacque. Jacque whose singular dream was borne out of a lifetime, a career full of struggle and fight with this team only to come so close to unfathomable heights and then drop so far.
And then Bella realizes where she’s seen that expression before on Jacque’s face, when she handed over the papers after the World Cup, the feeling of absolute loss expressed through nothingness. Only this time the rage wasn’t to come.
Nothing was to come. Their podium dream had just become a fifty-fifty flip of the coin.
One more loss and their dream was a failure. There’s no medal for fourth place, no ribbon that says you tried but you just didn’t try hard enough. The final was an assurance. Win or lose there’s a tenable reward.
She reaches out a hand that Jacque doesn’t immediately recognize, doesn’t even see probably, for a moment.
And then she takes it and Bella pulls her up off the ground, the sudden strength doesn’t last for long and Jacque’s collapsed in her arms silently. There are no tears, nothing.
And Bella’s taken back to that room, her calm plea for Jacque to hold her, and now she’s the strong one. It’s all spilling out and there’s nothing she can do to contain it anymore. Jacque was right, she’s always right, it was naive to think that they could keep everything separate. Keep it all off the field. It hadn’t been off the field for years and Bella was attempting to fool them both by trying.
Jacque lets go and doesn’t say anything, she just walks off in search of the rest of their teammates and to get the obligatory handshakes with the United States out of the way.
Bella’s still frozen in her spot, she still can’t believe they lost but it’s more than that. More than the game.
Suddenly she’s hit with the realization, it’s not just the game that she’s lost.
Her hand feels heavier having to go through the motions with the US. It’s a bitter taste on top of a crushing defeat. Bella can barely look Rebecca in the eye before she’s swept into a hug by her former teammate. It’s all a blur of exhaustion and trying to not completely lose herself in this. Rebecca murmurs something, something she can’t even hear past the white noise in her ears, and then she’s moving on to shake hands with Shannon and A-Rod.
She can’t care anymore about the reception she gets from the US team, it’s been so long since that was her focus that she can only feel solidarity with one shirt, one nation, and it’s the one that’s on her back.
So she shakes hands and moves on and is already thinking ahead to how they’ll pick up the pieces and doing everything in their power to bring that Bronze medal back to Canada.
*
John’s left them alone, after giving his own words on the game, telling them to sort everything out over this meal and then be done with it but no one feels like saying anything simply content to stew to themselves.
Dinner feels more like a wake than a meal.
It’s silent except for the sound of utensils scraping plates but even that’s seldom.
Finally most of the utensil sounds grind to a halt and from there it’s a standoff, who’s going to break the dam, who’s going to start the bloodbath.
It’s Sadie. Of course it’s Sadie because nobody else has to relive the agonizing memory of that ball glancing their fingertips and going into goal, the ‘what if’s’ and the ‘if only’s’ running over and over through her head. Nobody. And it cuts like a knife.
“This is fucking bullshit.” She says it under her breath at first but at the initial flinch the team gives her in response, she’s ignited. “Fucking bullshit- what the fuck was that? What the fuck!”
There’s no captain to calm them down. Whemb’s been pulled from the meeting after a red flag was brought up over a comment she’d made on the field. They haven’t seen her since getting back to the hotel.
“What kind of bullshit ref even calls that!” Sadie kicks her heels into the floor. “This whole fucking system is fixed. Alana Morrisson? Are they serious?”
A rational room would have tried to calm her down but that was assuming there was a rational head in the whole place with enough guts to speak up. Instead it just snowballs. Oliv stares down at her foot as if she’s replaying something in her head.
“They made their decisions the moment they stepped on that fuckin’ pitch.” She mutters. “We know it, they know it and the team that’s celebrating our win knows it too.”
Carla holds her head in her hands and stays silent. Bella brings her knees up to her chest. Jacque leans on the table behind her. She can see who’s about to explode and who will endure the blasts.
“The Americans.” Sadie adds, angrily pushing out of her seat now. “Why is it always the fucking Americans?”
There’s a million answers to that. It’s because they’re number one. Because they’re the closest team. The rivals. The ones that always seem to clip them at the last minute leaving the very thought of the red, white and blue a sickening one.
Desi tries to intervene, attempts to quell the growing fire, already seeing the direction this is headed but it’s too late, Sadie steamrolls right over her calming voice. “Whichever way you want to see it- they took that from us. Not because they played the better soccer, no- because they had the refs in their fucking back pockets.”
Oliv raises her head. “I want FIFA on this. I want someone on this.”
Bella flinches at the mention of FIFA. It’s a mistake because it draws the attention over to herself, she tries to make herself small again but it’s too late.
“You don’t think that’s a good idea?” Sadie snaps out. “What’s up with you? Secretly glad that we lost or something?”
Jacque steps forward. “Sadie, cut it out.”
Sadie makes a crossing gesture over her body. “Are we the only ones who want to say this? This game just cost us a chance for gold and instead of getting pissed at the fact that it was stolen from us by shitty officials and Alana Wambach’s fucking pay off, you two are sitting there- no.” She glances at the room. “All of you are just sitting here!”
Jacque stays standing but she doesn’t have an immediate reply. And then Niav steps in and Jacque takes a sigh of relief. Until she speaks.
“I’m with them. We all should be with them.” Niav spits out. “But there are some people in this room that can’t ever fully understand why we’re so pissed about this.”
Sadie nods along while Niav speaks looking at Bella and then Lauren until she finally settles on Chelsea who has been silent this whole time. Chelsea who, ultimately, was the one who Taniya Holden beat out for the header that cost them the match.
“And you.” Sadie points to Chelsea who immediately braces for what’s coming. Sadie sweepingly looks back at the Americans she’s been not so subtly singling out. “Did you guys plan this out? Huh? The Americans going behind our back all along.”
“Are you joking?” Lauren speaks up for the first time. “Are you actually going there right now?”
Sadie shrugs like ‘yeah, I’m saying that’. Bella cuts in, emboldened by Lauren speaking up.
“You don’t think that I wouldn’t work for this team? That my heart isn’t here? That I didn’t go out tonight and promise in the huddle to leave it all out on the field?” Bella finds the strength in her chest to push past the hurt that Sadie is dishing out. “You need to think about what you’re saying before you go around accusing people- Level out.”
“Level out?” Sadie mocks at Bella’s trying restraint. "Try looking at yourself right now-” She glances at Jacque and picks up on something else bubbling beneath her skin. “-You two haven't been the fucking same since Germany, so don't try and tell me to level out."
Jacque is the one who snaps. “You need to back off.”
“You need to stop pretending that
something hasn’t been fucked up between you two since you came back from Dresden. You’re so busy with whatever that is that you shouldn’t even be on the field. What?” Sadie opens her arms. “Are you guys not fucking enough or something?”
Jacque launches forward. Bella can’t even get in the way and it’s Desi that blocks her body from taking Sadie to the ground. There’s every excuse for them to be this pissed, but Sadie can’t seem to stop. Oliv has come up behind Sadie at the movement and stands behind her. It’s Kathryn though, that gets in between the four of them.
“You need to either take a walk or sit down because you’re crossing some freaking lines tonight Sadie.” Kathryn’s disgust at how low Sadie is trying to hit right now is echoed by a few people. And then Kathryn turns to Jacque who’s still somewhat struggling against Desi and obviously still reeling for a fight. “And you need to not be an idiot. What? Are you gonna knock her out? How many Bronze medal matches do you think you’d have played in then?”
Jacque deflates and her anger is replaced by a look of utter defeat.
Carla pushes between them, despite Sadie being over a head taller than her, and backs her off.
“This hurts, I get it. We all get it.” She forces Sadie back. “But standing here and yelling at each other like we’re less than what we are isn’t going to help us. It’s not gonna get us on that podium and we can still get on that podium.”
She turns and a few people seem to realize that it’s not entirely over. “You’re all gonna cool off and then tomorrow you’re going to apologise. Tomorrow everyone’s gonna wake up and be the team that we are again.”
Sadie doesn’t say a word. The few others that had raised their voices at the start take note from their vice captain in Whemb’s absence and retreat to their seats again.
Bella looks shell shocked to be in the middle of all of this when Carla walks to them. She presses her key into Jacque’s hand. “Go back to the room.” When Jacque opens her mouth to protest Carla stares her down. “Go. Take Bella with you. I’ll handle this, alright?”
It’s almost like Carla can read them like a book but the last few plot revealing pages have been ripped out. Jacque takes the key. Bella takes the lead. Sadie stares after them, covering her mouth with her hand, red in the face.