---

Previously...

GOAL!

My team mates congratulated me like it was a premier league match and were all over me like a rash. I got kissed several times, but hey, boys even do that to each other after a goal, don’t they?

The match continued and we scored another one and I’m glad to say I made it because I went to the goal line near the corner flag and managed to cross for the ball to one of the up and coming youngsters–hark at me–to head it home.

All in all, after the faltering start, I had been treated as one of the team and that is exactly what I hoped for. The only fly in the ointment was how other teams and supporters would treat me, but I wasn’t worried about that as I went with Daddy, Claire and the ever present minders to the shopping centre. I was going to buy a drop dead gorgeous dress for my party and I was going to shop until I dropped!

And now the story continues…

As we approached the shopping centre, I noticed that it was rather busy. We had two cars, one with Daddy, Claire and I in and the other, a 4X4 Range Rover, with blacked out windows with the two security people, Danni and Charlotte in. The Range Rover was in front.

‘Daddy, where are we going to park?’ I asked.

‘It’s all arranged, love,’ said Daddy rather smugly I thought.

I looked at Claire who shrugged her shoulders; she evidently was as much in the dark as me.

We followed the Range Rover as it made its way through the multi story car park and then stopped in front of some barriers. A man in some sort of uniform came out of a small office and went over to the other car. After a few moments the man nodded and the barriers were raised. We followed the other car into another parking area where there were just a few cars and parked beside them.

Daddy turned around to us and smiled. ‘Being famous sometimes helps. I rang the centre manager a couple of days ago and told him that you wanted to do a bit of shopping but thought parking might be a problem. I rang him again today and told him approximately when we would be arriving. I’ll tell you more later. What I can say is that he was only too happy to help, but don’t be surprised if you have to have your photo taken with him.’

‘Why on earth would he want that?’ I asked.

‘Good advertising for the Melchester City Shopping Centre if it’s seen that the great Susan Hurst goes shopping there.’

‘Oh, Daddy, I wanted this to be low key and anyway, I’m not that well known.’

‘You’d be surprised. Anyway, let’s go and do some shopping, although you do know that I hate this sort of thing with a passion and if your mother wasn’t busy today, she would be doing this–’

‘Daddy?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘Do you always whine when you go shopping?’

‘Bloody cheek––’

Claire and I rolled about laughing at that and it was a few minutes before we were ready to get out of the car.

Danni and Charlotte were waiting for us, looking all cool and efficient and we all got into the lift that led to the shopping centre. I did ask Charlotte why they both weren’t wearing sunglasses, but she just poked her tongue out–not very professional that.

I had changed into the usual teenage gear, t shirt, hooded top–pink and rather nice blue jeans, before I left the training ground. I didn’t want to stand out too much. I wanted to wear some sort of hat, but Claire, the font of all teen knowledge said that it wasn’t, like cool, so I went bare headed, my hair in a pony tail.

The olds and I include Danni and Charlotte in that, cos they are older than us, sort of hung back so that we could do some serious shopping without too much hassle. Daddy’s job was to flex his credit card as I was too young to have one. I could have taken cash but our security divas both said with one voice that young girls flashing the cash would get us more noticed.

We sort of started at one end with the intention of getting to the other eventually. There were loads of shops to try and I found myself soon getting used to the inside of girls changing rooms. We tried on countless dresses, skirts and tops and I soon got fed up with getting in and out of jeans all the time. I could see that Claire, who was wearing similar clothes to me, but not so nice–meooow–was feeling the same, so we both bought skirts, black above the knee ones and then wore them out of the shop. The jeans were put into carrier bags and we sweet talked our minders into getting them to carry them and all the other bags we were certainly going to get in the very near future–well if you have minders, you need to get them to multi task!

We bought some tops, skirts and other essentials like undies, nighties, tights and stuff, but I still hadn’t found the dress.

We had decided rather reluctantly on my part that what with everything going on today and tomorrow, with our mega shopping trip today and a photo shoot and appearing live on Sky TV tomorrow, that we would put off my party until the day after that. I only had a mini hissy fit over it, because even I saw the sense of it in the end. Anyway, I still needed a posh frock so our quest was far from over.

I had been aware for some time that I was being pointed at by one or two people and one boy actually came up to me, just as we were going to a shoe shop–

He tapped me on the shoulder. I looked down, he must have been about ten.

‘Sorry miss, you are her, aren’t you?’

‘Who,’ I asked.

‘Markie.’

‘Erm, I’m not Markie any more I’m Susan.’

‘Oh, yeah, right, sorry, can I have your autograph, Ma–I mean, Susan.’

He shoved a dirty piece of paper in my face and a ball point pen. I quickly signed my name and handed it back to him.

‘Thanks–this is great; my mates at school won’t believe this!’

I managed to get away at last when his mum came up, giggled like a little girl and pulled him away. Some people are funny!

Claire and I continued our impression of a locust feeding frenzy by trying and buying lots more things. Shoes, tops, tights, bags, makeup, the list was endless.

I had spoken to Claire early that morning about shopping and as we walked in and out of countless shops, I was reminded of our conversation. We were both propped up on her bed in our jimmy-jams, watching cartoons on the TV. Claire got out her purse and was working out how much she could spend.

‘There’s a nice top I saw in Top Shop the other day, twenty pounds, I think I can like, afford that.’

I looked at her.

‘Is that all you have to spend?’ I asked.

‘Yes, things are like, a bit tight what with Mummy and everything.’

‘I’ve plenty of money now, so you can use some of that.’

She looked at me and then said quietly. ‘No, thanks.’

She then got up and left me.

‘Claire–’ I said to her retreating back.

I was a bit puzzled, I only wanted to help and I just loved giving things to the people that I love and she came close to the top in my book.

I switched the TV off and went in search of her. I needed to apologise but I wasn’t sure why.

I couldn’t find her but I did find Mummy when I went into the nursery. She was changing the girls, or trying too.

‘Oh there you are, Susan, could you be an angel and help with the nappies?’

‘Sure, Mummy,’ I said as I picked up one wriggler, I think it was Poppy, while she took the other.

Soon the little angels were clean and dry again and playing, giggling and gurgling in the lobster pot. I had never seen such contented little ones as these and wondered how long it would take for them turn into The Evil Ones.

I helped clean up the old nappies and other stuff. When we were done, we looked down at the twins as they waved their arms about and played with their mobile.

I gazed at Mummy’s smiling face. ‘C—can I talk about something?’

‘Of course love, what is it?’ She looked at me with a slight frown.

‘I think I've upset Claire.’

‘What happened?’

I explained the conversation that I had with Claire in her bedroom and her subsequent sudden exit. Just then, Mrs Moon came in.

‘Hello, Mrs M.’ I said.

‘What’s wrong with you, Miss Susan? You look like you’ve lost a pound and found a penny.’

‘Oh, just stuff,’ I said shrugging.

Mummy and Mrs Moon sort of looked at each other and did one of those telepathy things, no doubt something about coping with teenage angst, as Mummy steered me out of the room leaving Mrs Moon to watch over the kiddywinks.

We went into the breakfast room. I like this room because it has long wide windows and it overlooks the garden. We sat in two of the deep armchairs and Mummy looked at me strangely.

‘What?’ I said.

‘You don’t understand, do you?’

‘About what?’

‘Claire thinks that you are trying to give her charity and she’s a proud person. She doesn’t want to sponge off you.’

‘Sponge, I don’t understand. I’m well off–got more money than I know what to spend on–and I just love being there for Claire, Andrew and their Mum. I don’t call it charity; I call it being the best friend I can be. I know I’m in a privileged position and I’m going to help as many charities as I can but this is not charity. I want to be there for my family and I consider Claire and Andrew family and their mum too.’

She came and gave me a hug as I was getting a bit weepy–I did that a lot, now I was a fully paid up member of “girlhood”.

‘Oh, honey, I know you’re only thinking of others and that’s sweet of you, but how would you feel if you had nothing and Claire had loadza money and she offered to do what you have done.’

‘I—I don’t know.’ I said, getting an inkling of what she was getting at. ‘Look mummy, I know that Claire isn’t a hanger on and Andrew, I know the he would love to have some new dresses–’

‘What!’

‘Oh, bugger!’

‘Susan, don’t swear like that. What’s this about Andrew? Is there something I ought to know?’

‘No, sorry, I can’t say anything.’

She looked at me for a long time and then nodded. Strangely, she didn’t say anything more about Andrew but she still had a lot to say about Claire.

‘Claire’s a proud person, under that exterior she knows that her mum is still very ill and money’s tight. She hates the idea of sponging off you––’

‘–As I said before, she isn’t sponging off me, I want her here–she’s my sister in all but name–and I love her almost as much as I love Andrew–ooops, I’ve done it again.’

She shook her head impatiently.

‘Everyone including Mr and Mrs Moon and probably the twins know that you two are an item. You can’t go looking at a person all gooey like that, for everyone not to notice that you two are head over heels in love with each other, but never mind that, what are you going to do about Claire.’

‘I don’t know!’ I cried.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes and then she cleared her throat. ‘How big is your fan site now?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s getting huge, especially now that I’m a girl.’

‘And how much fan mail do you get.’

‘Loads, the postman brought a sackful yesterday morning; I should think he nearly had a hernia, poor man. I just haven’t got time to look at anything.’

Mummy looked smug–I hate it when she looks smug. ‘I’ve got an idea–’

So here I was in the shopping centre looking at all the fab clothes with my personal assistant and chief bottle washer–Claire. She was a bit reluctant to take on the job at first, but when Mummy explained that I couldn’t do everything and all my devoted fans would lose out if letters weren’t answered and stuff, she came around and she was now an official member of Susan Hurst and Co.

She had a reasonable salary and Daddy, being my business manager as well as being ever so cuddly has advanced her next month’s wages so that she could blow it all on a spending spree with little old me.

After spending mega bucks on the ground floor, we decided that we needed to refill our tanks, so we went up to the Atrium to have a drink and a sticky bun. Several people, mainly children, boys and girls came over and I did the autograph thing. I was really surprised that I was being recognised but hadn’t realised while I was hiding in my room for all those days that my picture as Susan had been widely circulated in all the media.

Over to the side was a huge screen that played videos, had adverts and stuff to do with the shopping centre.

Daddy, Danni and Charlotte were sitting at one table, surrounded by bags of goodies whilst Claire and I were at another one with just a few bags. We were sucking at our cokes through straws and devouring our buns as if we hadn’t eaten for several weeks.

Glancing up at the screen, I could see that there was a video of Jonas Brothers singing Take a Breath. I was humming along, not taking much notice of Claire as she was wittering on about getting her hair dyed yet another colour and I was thinking about my Andrew. I had bought him a lovely skirt and blouse and hoped that I could get him–or rather her–to try it on tonight. I loved it when Andrea came out to play! I wondered if Mummy would say anything about my slip up to him, I hadn’t had the chance to warn him that I had put my foot in it up to my neck.

Just then, I was snapped back to the present as a video of Melchester United came up on the screen; it was a highlight of a match we played against Cranley and I went hot in the face when I saw my goal against them. Looking around, I could see everyone looking at the screen. I just wanted to go under the table and hide. Claire had a grin on her face that I would just love to wipe off. Anyway, I continued to watch it to the bitter end, where I managed to curve the ball around the keeper and score the goal.

Anyone would have thought that it was a live game the way some of the people, especially kids shouted at the sight of the goal. Then it happened: I saw myself running back up the pitch, arms in the air as my team mates tried to catch me up, then things went into slow motion. Some sort of CGI trick was used as before my very eyes, Mark’s face morphed into Susan’s, complete with long flowing hair and makeup. The only redeeming thing was that I was still in the Melchester strip and not some sort of flowing, girlie gown.

At the end, a voiceover in a suave and sexy male voice announced––

‘–Yes, Mark is now Susan, every bit the talented footballer she has always been. Come and see us and her at our next cup match against Thornby on the 23rd–history in the making…’

The screen froze on my face smiling into the camera. I didn’t know where the photo came from, but I just wanted the ground to open up so I could be swallowed by it. But I wasn’t given the chance as the people who had seen me arrive and had not realised who I was, now clicked that I was Susan Hurst and I became more or less totally mobbed.

After a few minutes of signing more autographs and trying to answer a barrage of questions, Donni and Charlotte together with Daddy, hustled Claire and I away and down a service lift that led to the car parks below.

As we got out of the lift we were met by a man in a suit. Daddy recognised him.

‘Mr Davidson, what the hell is going on?’

He looked a bit embarrassed, but just said, ‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’ He kept looking me up and down in a way that made me feel more than a little uncomfortable.

‘Donni, Charlotte, can you get the girls into the car please?’

We were moved away and rapidly found ourselves in the back of the car. We looked out of the rear window and I could see Daddy throwing a wobbly with the greasy–or is that oily–manager?

‘Like, wow,’ said Claire, breathlessly, ‘do I like, get danger money working for you?’

‘Ha, bloody ha.’ I said, continuing to watch Daddy nearly having a stroke or something, shouting and jumping up and down and–I imagined–on the verge of wetting himself.

Eventually, he came back to the car, got in and slammed the door. He was breathing heavily and didn’t seem capable of lucid speech. Both Claire and I had calmed down a bit now, being in the safety of the car, but Daddy was mumbling to himself as he started the engine and then followed the 4X4 out of the car park and into the street.

‘D—Daddy, are you all right?’

He looked at my face in the mirror and took a few deep breaths.

‘Sorry about that, girls–we were set up.’

‘Set up?’ said Claire.

‘Yes, as I told you earlier, I rang the manager while Susan was at training confirming a conversation I had with him a few days ago. I really didn’t want to have any difficulty parking and there was also a security issue, walking through a poorly lit car park where there may be danger, so Danni suggested finding out if arrangements could be made to park in a more secure area. When I spoke to the manager he was very nice about it and said that arrangements would be made for us. What I didn’t realise was that he didn’t just want to have his picture taken with you, he wanted to arrange it so you were ‘discovered’ at a place to suit him. He must have realised that you would need a break from shopping at some point and then he ‘arranged’ for a promotional film, that hasn’t been passed by me, John Prentiss, the club or you, Susan, to be shown on that bloody great screen and not only that screen but several more dotted around the shopping Centre.’

‘Oh no.’ I said in horror.

‘Yes, you would have been mobbed wherever you went and no doubt that creep had photographers at strategic places–the things some scumbags do to get free advertising. I told him that our lawyers will be talking to his company over the next few days and he didn’t like the sound of that as he asked if I was threatening him and I told him no, I was promising him.’

‘H—how did he get that promotional film?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, but I will find out if I have to tear the publicity company and him apart personally, with my bare hands.’

When we arrived home, we carried our purchases up to our rooms. We didn’t say much because it had been a hard day and I must admit, I was well and truly knackered.

I lay on my bed and cuddled my white rabbit. Staring at the ceiling, I wondered if I would ever harden myself to the fact that I was now a marked person, public property and someone who could be used or even abused like I had been today. It wasn’t only me: Claire was as white as a sheet when we got home and I think that she was seriously frightened. Thank goodness that we had our security people there. Up to now, I hadn’t been sure if we needed any sort of protection. But now, I felt very different. Even as a boy, I’d have felt very vulnerable in that situation, as a girl, I was petrified.

My thoughts were interrupted when there was a quiet knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ I called. The door opened and Andrew poked his head around the corner. I sat up brushed the hair from my eyes and looked at him.

‘Hi, Andrew.’

He came in, shut the door, and coming to me, sat on the bed and opened his arms. We hugged for ages and I’m afraid that I got his sleeve a bit wet as I was leaking somewhat. After a while, I felt better again.

‘Are you all right now?’ Andrew asked, looking at me with concern.

‘Mmm.’ I sniffed, ‘Better now that you’re here.’

‘I told you I should have come with you,’ he said with mock severity.

‘Only because you wanted to try on some girlie clothes.’

‘Not true–well a wee bit, but I wanted to be with you.’

‘I know, honey. Maybe soon you can come with us.’

‘Yes, but I would need to tell my mum about me.’

‘Doesn’t she know?’

‘No, I haven’t screwed up the courage to tell her–I don’t want her to think that I’m a disappointment to her.’

‘She won’t think that. She’s lovely.’

‘Do you think?’

‘Yes I do…but, Andrew, I have to ’fess up to something.’

‘What?’

‘I—I—I told Mummy about you–it—it just sort of slipped out about how you would love to have some new dresses––’

I explained the conversation as he sat there open-mouthed.

‘I am sorry, Andrew.’

‘I’ve seen her lots today while you were out, but she didn’t say anything.’

‘Perhaps she won’t. She probably thinks that it’s your own private thing.’

‘Maybe–’ he said, sounding unconvinced.

‘Anyway,’ I said brightly, ‘I’ve bought you a prezzie!’

‘Me? Why?’

‘Because I wanted to and anyway it was to make up for your not going shopping–mind you, it was a good job you did miss it because it didn’t exactly go as planned–anyway, shut your eyes and open your hands.’ He did as I asked, looking a bit confused and apprehensive.

I grabbed one of the carrier bags, took it to him and put it in his hands.

‘You may open your eyes now.’

I sat next to him on the bed and he did as I asked and then looked first at the bag and then me.

‘Go on, then, have a look.’

He opened the bag and pulled out the black skirt and cream blouse. He stood up and went to the mirror first holding the blouse up and then the skirt.

‘Oh thank you, Susan, they are gorgeous.’

‘That’s all right, do you like the colours?’ I asked as I went to him.

‘Mmm, just right, I’d love to try them on.’

‘Why don’t you?’

‘All right–no, I can’t. I have to go and see mum, she wanted to talk to me about school, Look, what are you doing tomorrow?’

‘Some sort of photo shoot and a couple of interviews, why?’

‘Well it would be nice to try some things on and you can give me a fashion show of the things you bought today.’

‘Well, I should be finished by mid afternoon; perhaps we can do something after that, mind you I still haven't got anything to wear for my party so I will have to sort something out; maybe we can talk about it later?’

‘Great, well I’ve gotta go now. D’you feel a bit better?’

‘Yes, a kiss and a cuddle is better than any medicine!’

He came and gave me a lovely kiss, I wished we could do more, because I really felt the need, but we had to be strong and sensible and boring stuff like that, so after a final, toe curling kiss, he went off to talk to his mum.

Claire and I ended the evening watching a chick flick and eating Maltesers on my bed. We were both wearing beautiful new satin nighties and I adored the luxurious feeling of the fabric against my smooth skin. We did our finger and toe nails in a sort of coral colour while we watched and tried very hard not to get the varnish on the bedding or our nighties. Anyway, after all that hard work, we were both quite tired and dropped off before the film had finished.

When I awoke the following morning, Claire wasn’t there and I was in bed rather than lying on top, so I supposed that Mummy or Daddy must have done the necessary sometime last night. Checking my bedside clock, I discovered it was seven thirty. I yawned and then stretched. Getting out of my warm bed sucked a bit to say the least, but I wanted to go for a run and I had sort of half said to Danni yesterday that I was going for a run this morning.

After putting on my trackies, I went downstairs and there was Danni, looking sickeningly healthy and raring to go.

We ran down to the canal and did our five mile circuit. As usual, Danni seemed not to be breathing very hard and I was puffing away like I was a fifty cigarettes-a-day-girl. I was getting fitter though, because I felt that we were definitely going faster on our runs now.

When we arrived back, I was glowing–as girls don’t actually sweat according to Claire, but what would she know, as she had never willingly put on a running shoe in her life.

The rest of the household had risen by the time we returned, and after my shower and a change of clothes into a skirt and top, I sat down with the others for a hurried breakfast. Daddy was continually checking his watch as he wanted to get on the road, before the traffic built up around the city centre.

First of all, we were going to a photographic studio for a photo shoot for La Chic magazine. I had been told not to bother about makeup, hair or anything as everything would be sorted out when we arrived at the studio. I had put my hair in high a pony tail so that was easy enough.

After goodbyes to everyone, we were soon on our way. I was sitting in the front with Daddy and Danni was in the back. Charlotte was still in bed, lucky thing, as she was on the night shift. It was still a bit strange having people looking after me like this but after yesterday’s problems, I was kind of glad that I had help for when I needed it.

We arrived at the studio in good time and I was whisked away by Tracy, the makeup girl. Now I in my naíve innocence, thought that doing a photo shoot would be easy, but it’s not, it’s very hard work. I didn’t have any time to see how good or bad I looked in the three hours that I was there. I must have had makeup reapplied and changed about ten times. I was put in all sorts of dresses, tops, skirts, cropped Capris and all manner of styles.

Henry Irving, the photographer, was a lovely man; he was using a Hasselblad with a digital magazine so I could see the results immediately on his MacBook Pro. He was so easy to work with, with his showing me how I should look, repositioning me constantly, getting me to smile, look sad, happy, athletic, sophisticated–I laughed at that one and gave him the one shot that he had really looking for to appear on the front cover of the next edition. As I was wearing a rather yummy black taffeta cocktail dress with frothy petticoats, I hoped that it would look good enough for him.

Eventually, we finished. Tracy kindly re-did my makeup for me prior to my changing into the clothes that I would wear for the interview with Sky. It was explained that the makeup girl at Sky would touch up my face where needed and make sure that I would look okay for the harsh TV lights. I was wearing was a stunning Monsoon silk and lace appliqué dress with pretty lace detail and it was lightly boned at the bust, it gave my figure a nice shape and showed what assets I could muster to the best advantage. I hadn’t chosen the dress, a nice lady from the TV station suggested that I wear it when she came over a few days earlier for a sort of run through of what was going to happen.

As soon as we arrived at the studio, we parked in a space reserved for guests and I soon found myself in another makeup room. Angelina was the makeup girl this time and she tinkered about with my look before declaring herself satisfied before I was shown into the green room–a sort of hospitality room where guests could relax while waiting to be called up.

I went to a small bar area and got myself a coke. I still couldn’t believe the sensations I felt wearing gorgeous clothing like this. The feel of the dress as it brushed up against my nylon encased legs, my hair brushing gently on my bare shoulders, the heels, a daring two inches–for me that was daring–the sensation of my pert breasts as they nestled comfortably in their silk enclosure; it was all wonderful and made me feel very girlie. I did feel a bit over-dressed as this sort of thing was usually worn to a swish party, but I had been told that it was normal to glam up a bit for these interviews, so who was I to argue?

Looking at my reflection and the smile on my face, I looked for any sign of Mark. Yes, I was there, as I always had and always will be, but this was Mark out of the chrysalis, I had been a caterpillar and now I was a butterfly. Looking at my reflection sideways, I was wondering if my bum was getting bigger–?

The door opened, Daddy and John Prentiss came in.

‘You look lovely,’ Daddy said; rather proudly, I thought.

‘Yes, a vision,’ John added.

I did a twirl and looked at the men. ‘You like?’

The nods and smiles said it all.

We sat down on the sofas and chatted for a bit.

‘So,’ said John after sipping some coffee. ‘feeling nervous?’

‘Mmm, very, I’m glad you two are here, but I’ll have to go out by myself, I suppose. You can’t come and hold my hand, Daddy?’

‘I would love to, honey, but they don’t want to an ugly old man like me, they want to see the glamorous football star.’

‘Daddy, you are not old–well not very old anyway and you are very good looking too.’

‘Thanks for those kind words, I think. Anyway, they want to see you–not me.’

‘I suppose,’ I said, looking at my feet, were my ankles, slim enough? I wondered, distractedly. Shaking my head and trying to rid myself of such silly thoughts, I looked at John.

‘Were they pleased with the photo shoot?’

‘Yes, Henry Irving said that you were a natural and if you wanted to give up football, he thinks that you would make a great model.’

‘No thanks, I prefer football and anyway, don’t you need to be size zero or whatever to be a successful model?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ John said. ‘Anyway, we’ll stick to football for now. Changing the subject, Jeff has told me what happened at the shopping centre and my legal team are going to make the owners and that so-called manager very uncomfortable. Also, we need to find out, how the hell they got hold of that promo film; I’m beginning to wonder if there is some sort of conspiracy going on here and we need to get to the bottom of it.’

‘What d’you mean?’ I asked.

‘We’ll talk about it later, but all you have to do is go on, be your normal charming self and wow your audience.’

A technician came and fitted me with a tiny radio microphone that was clipped rather close to my cleavage. By now, I was getting a bit wound up. I didn’t know what the audience was going to be for the interview with Mike Knowles, but I did know that it was a live transmission in the UK and the recording would be networked to other countries including the USA and Canada. I tried not to think about the millions that would be watching–and listening to every word I uttered, and hoped against hope that I would not make a fool of myself.

Glancing towards the drinks bar, I almost wondered whether I should have a bit of Dutch courage, but remembered seeing an interview of an old famous player once where he was drunk on set and I really didn’t want to do that.

The door opened and a young girl wearing a headset came in with a clipboard.

‘Susan,’ she said brightly, ‘it’s time.’

I stood up, gave Daddy and John quick hugs and the followed the girl out. She prattled on about how she supported Melchester and that it was about time that girls made men look stupid on the playing field, when we came to a brightly lit back stage. Through a gap, I could see Mike Knowles sitting on a chair with a coffee table in front of him. Almost opposite him were a few other chairs, for his guests. The girl had her hand on my shoulder while she was having some sort of conversation through a small microphone attached to her headset. I couldn’t hear what she was saying and I only had eyes for Mike Knowles who was talking about me.

‘My next guest is the youngest football player ever to play in the Premier League. As Mark Hurst, he stunned us with his brilliant play and wonderful goals. Then he had a horrific accident on the playing field and when in hospital afterwards it was discovered that he is, in fact, a she. Susan Hurst will be playing football at the highest level in the game alongside such stars as Lepe and Ogsood. How does she feel about this and is she able to cope with the lifestyle that has been thrust upon her? Please welcome Susan Hurst––’

After being given a gentle push, I emerged into the brilliantly lit studio. I could hear clapping and the Melchester theme tune in the background but I couldn’t see the audience because they were in the gloom. Mike had stood up and was waiting for me with a smile on his face. I was very conscious of what I was wearing and almost terrified about slipping over on my heals and making an idiot of myself.

Somehow, I walked the ten miles to Mike; we air kissed and he motioned me to a seat. Looking at him I was a bit surprised: he was wearing a lot of makeup and close too, he was older than I had thought he was. Anyway I tried to concentrate on what he said.

‘Well, Susan, judging by the audience’s reaction, you are a very popular young lady. What do you think of stardom?’

I cleared my throat took a deep breath and answered him.

‘W—well Mike, it’s strange. I both like it and don’t like it at the same time. I enjoy the fact that I give people pleasure when I play–well, hopefully–but I don’t like being in the public eye all the time with everything that I say or do being scrutinised. It’s the price I have to pay I suppose for doing something I love–’

The questions went on for about ten minutes and I was getting more relaxed, almost forgetting the audience as it was almost like just having a chat with a friend on a sofa.

‘How did you feel when you found out that you were a girl rather than a boy?’

‘I never really felt like a boy. Oh I dressed like one when I had to and I did boyish things, but inside–where it matters–I always had a feeling that something was wrong and when I could, I dressed as a girl. My step father didn’t like it but my mum tolerated it. Then things went wrong and I had to leave home. My mum, d—died and then things just seemed to happen–’

I could feel a tear running down my cheek, I should have kept quiet about my feelings but this man and his soft questions had given me a false sense of security, I suppose.

‘Well, I can see that you’re upset, Susan, so we’ll leave talk over those other unpleasant things for another time. There have been certain elements of the press that have not been wholehearted in their support for you; how do you feel about that?’

‘Sad really; I haven’t done anything to hurt anyone, so why people like Mister Ferris would want to say things like that, I don’t know.’

‘Do you think that you will be accepted by other players?’

‘I hope so, all my team mates have been very nice about it and the best compliment that they have given me is treating me as one of the lads. I can prove that with the bruises I have on my shin from playing in a practice match the other day.’

The audience laughed at that as Mike seemed distracted; I think that he was listening into an earpiece as the audience clapped. He gave a small nod and then as things had quietened down again, he turned to me.

‘You’ve been criticised by one player in particular, Tom Johansson; what do you think about his comments?’

‘Sad really. I think he’s a great player but I don’t know why he wanted to attack me in the press like that.’

‘Well let’s find out, shall we? Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Manethorpe’s Swedish international goalkeeper, Tom Johansson,’

My mouth opened as the big goalie came in and after being welcomed by Mike, sat down beside me.

I was furious. Looking at Mike I became instantly aware that this had been well rehearsed beforehand and that I had been well and truly set up.

I stood up and Mike appeared to be surprised.

‘I wasn’t told that he was going to be here?’ I protested

‘He was a last minute guest––’

‘–I bet. I’m going now.’

I strode out the back. Daddy was there looking as angry as I felt, and John Prentiss was shouting down the ’phone at someone.

The perky girl with the clipboard said something but I just ignored her and stormed back into the green room, leaving Daddy and John to sort things out.

I went over to the bar and poured myself another coke with shaky hands. I was too bloody angry to be tearful but knew as sure as eggs are eggs, that I would need an exceptionally good cry later on.

Daddy came in and sat beside me.

‘Oh Susan, I’m so sorry.’

‘Why are you sorry Daddy, you didn’t know?’

‘I should be protecting you, not doing this to you. It was a setup. It looks like they were hiding Tom Johansson away so that they could surprise you with his sudden appearance.’

I was looking at the large screen over against the wall, the sound was quite low but I could see Tom Johansson looking disgustingly smug. He was gesticulating and saying something. I stood up and went nearer the screen, trying to hear what he was saying.

‘–so I think that she should not be playing with men, she isn’t built for it and would expect to have special consideration by refs––’

I was still absolutely infuriated and I wasn’t taking that sort of crap from him. Without saying a single word to Daddy who was on his ’phone to someone, I stormed out, along the corridor to the narrow entrance leading to the studio floor. Clipboard Girl was there, but I just stormed past her and on to the floor. Forgetting stage fright, the audience and the watching millions, I strode over to Mike and Tom; Mike, stopped in mid-sentence and looked up with surprise as I seated myself next to Tom and smiled.

‘Sorry about that, I had to go and use the little girl’s room. So, Tom, what was that you were saying about me?’

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, making suggestions that I hadn't even thought of and pulling the story into shape.