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Previously...

‘You bitch, cow, girly-boy!’ he screamed, rushing at me and he was seconds away from grabbing my throat when he was wrestled to the ground by of all people, Danni and Charlotte. Where had they appeared from?

The struggling Ferris was bundled away by the prison officers, who finally got to him after our wonder girls had let him go. He was still screaming oaths and promises to kill me as he was dragged down the stairs and taken away.

There was a lot of shouting in the court and despite the cries of ‘silence’ coming from the bench it took some time before the throng got quieter.

I sat where I was and waited for everyone finally to file out before I left with my parents and minders via a rear entrance to avoid the media.

I said little on the way back, but now Ferris had been sentenced and taken away, for some reason, I wasn’t scared. For two years, at least he would be out of my hair. A lot can happen in two years. I was not going to hide under a blanket waiting for Ferris to come after me. No, I would do as Michelle suggested and get on with my life. Oh, my heart was still banging away, my blouse felt wet with perspiration, my breath was coming quickly and I felt a bit faint, but nothing I couldn’t handle; let’s face it: I play football against great hairy thugs on a weekly basis.

‘Sod Ferris,’ I muttered under my breath.

‘Language, Susan.’

I smiled; nothing really changed––

And now the story continues…

After a couple of weeks of being mistreated by the club doctors, physios and sadists, I was pronounced fit. It was lucky that the club had a relatively easy time while I was injured, as during the first week we had a game against Pangebourne. They were bottom of the league and we slaughtered them 6 — 0.

The second week, England were playing and the premier league had a week off. I still wanted so much to play for England, despite my terrible ordeal at the hands of the now-incarcerated Ferris. Only time would tell if I was picked again.

While on the subject of That Man, it seems he was having a bad time of it in prison. The authorities made the mistake of allowing him to mix with other prisoners and some of them appeared to object to his treatment of me–maybe they were Melchester fans or perhaps they didn’t like young girls being assaulted. Well, he himself got assaulted in the showers by a person or persons unknown and was now in hospital. It wasn’t anything serious or life-threatening but he would–according to our solicitor–be put into solitary confinement when he went back to prison.

I wished that I could feel sorry for him, I really did, but after everything he had done to me, all my thoughts were that he couldn’t get at me from where he was.

Mind you, I had thought that I could forget Ferris as he was out of my hair, but I discovered that it wasn’t so easy––

Outwardly, things carried on as normal–well I say normal, although my life was anything but. I wondered sometimes if I had a split personality. I was a professional footballer, a so-called celeb, a teenager and because of what I was, a businesswoman. Oh, I had people ‘do’ things for me, but while only sixteen, I was encouraged to make my own decisions.

However, I did wonder if that was true because Mummy often pulled me up on the length–or maybe the lack of it–of my skirt or the amount of makeup I wore. Then there was Daddy, he didn’t like me to stay out late, which was daft, seeing as I had my minders to look out for me.

Then, just a few nights previously, I had had my first row with Andrea…

We were sitting in ‘our room’, supposedly secretly, but known to everyone including the cat. We were going at it rather heavily and it was all getting a bit passionate. I couldn’t take much more and wanted to go to bed with Andrea and I could see that she wanted to do the same with me.

We were both hot and sweaty and had got to the stage where we had our tops off. I knew that Andrea still got erections although not as big as before she started taking the anti-androgens–‘male stoppers’–given by the doctor.

We had had many talks about the fact that we wanted to save ourselves until the time was right, but I was getting angst ridden about things, I was a bit like a kettle coming to the boil. I wanted–no needed–her and nothing else seemed to matter at that moment.

‘Please, Andrea, can we go to bed? I really want you now!’

She was wavering, all hot and excited, as was I. I knew that before she made the final decision regarding her gender, she wanted to try sex as a boy and I wanted her inside me as much as anything I had ever wanted.

She kissed me hard, our lips opening and tongues entwining, we needed to only go just one more step––

She pulled away.

‘No, I c—can’t–’

‘Why not?’

‘Because we promised that we would wait.’

‘Why wait any longer, you love me and I love you? We will be married one day–’

‘Yes, but not tonight.’

She got up and put on her blouse as I just sat there looking at her.

‘You don’t love me,’ I said, sniffing and then crying, tears falling down my cheeks and onto my still naked chest.

‘I do, you know I do. Don’t ever say that to me. We promised that we would save ourselves––’

‘–yes but––’

‘–stop it; we both agreed that we would wait and that it would be special. Do you think that this is special? In a room that we have to lock, because we are scared that we might be discovered snogging our faces off, frightened that someone might see us doing it? That isn’t the way I want to lose my virginity and I thought that you felt the same…obviously not.’

She walked over to the door and opened it. Turning to me she said, ‘I love you, Susan, but I think that you have changed. I think that we need to cool things for a bit and then we might get back on track. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

With that, she left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

I sat there in tears. I hadn’t changed; I was still the nice person I had always been. Why did she say those nasty things?

I picked up my top and slipped it on again, not bothering with my bra. It was quite late and there wasn’t anyone about so I went back to my room without being seen, shut the door and turned the key and bolted the door. I had insisted on a bolt as well as a key as I didn’t want anyone to get to me after the last time.

I got undressed, put on my sexiest nightie and then got into bed and cuddled my white rabbit. I had no idea why Andrea was being so nasty to me. Maybe it was her hormones?

~ §~

Training was hard on the Wednesday after I had been pronounced fit. Well I might have been medically fit, but I was out of shape and puffed up and down the pitch like a ninety-year-old geriatric. The lads kept ribbing me about it and I had to just grin and bear it. The boss was watching from the side and called me over after half an hour.

‘What’s up, lass?’

‘Nothing, Boss; still feeling a bit under the weather, I suppose.’

‘I’m not sure that you’ll be fit for Saturday.’

‘I will, Boss, just give me a few more days and I’ll be haring up and down the pitch again.’

‘Hmm, have ye no got anything worrying ye, lass?’

‘No, Boss, really, everything’s fine–’

‘Weel, go and hae a shower noo and be here tomorrow, ye need a wee bit o’ endurance training tae get yer wind back.’

‘I’ll be all right, Boss, let me–’

‘Dew as I tellt ye, lassie, or ye definitely won’t be playin’.’

I looked at his rugged face and realised that resistance was futile. I daren’t flutter my eyelashes at him or do the other things that I normally did with men to get my way. Sandy McPherson was a hard nut to crack, so I just gave him a smile–mind you, I think it might have been more like a grimace–and left the training ground.

~ §~

Thursday and Friday were spent doing media things. I wondered in passing whether I would be flavour of the month for long. It was all very well going on shows and trying to be witty, charming and intelligent and trying to justify my tag as the only female pro footballer playing with the men, but it was getting to the stage where I was fed up with the same old questions being asked time after time, after time, after––

~ §~

This is the bit about which I am not proud, and it hurts me to write it. It’s a period in my life that I would rather forget, but I have been told that it would help me a lot to put what happened down in words and so I will.

I felt quite tired most of the time–I wasn’t sick, but I had trouble sleeping and when I did sleep, I tended to have nightmares. This had been going on for a while now.

I had been given sleeping pills by the quack and she said only take one a night. They had helped at first but not for long. I had thought about having more than one pill at a time, but I didn’t want to get to the stage where I couldn’t wake up in the morning so I prescribed my own medicine to help me relax.

I took to sneaking downstairs sometimes and having small vodka and lemonade and it helped to send me off; well it did at first. I know, I was under age, but a little drink wasn’t going to harm me and anyway, I needed to sleep, didn’t I?

Then it got to the stage when the small vodkas got a bit larger and it took more and more to help me to sleep. How I wasn’t caught out, I would never know. Mind you, I had to be careful as the level in the bottle could give the game away, so I added water to get the level back up or added some to the bottle from the supply kept in the pantry by Mrs Moon.

I hated the idea of being like my stepfather who drank too much and was violent with it; but, according to my confused mind, I was not drinking as much as him, wasn’t violent and would stop as soon as I started sleeping okay.

As far as I was concerned, the sleeping pills and drink were a temporary measure to help me cope with all that had happened. I had no confidence in the trick cyclist who seemed to me to be a moron training to be an idiot and I didn’t want to tell my parents as I did not want to worry them...

That wasn’t the only reason, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself at the time. The fact is, I had been put up on this pedestal. I was, according to others, pretty, resourceful, a talented footballer and had made a real success of my life. Thousands followed me via my website, Facebook and tweets. If the press got hold of the fact that I was just a quivering wreck, things would get awful for me and I might lose overnight all that I had gained.

Stupid thoughts, I know, but that is how I felt at the time.

~ §~

Most mornings I woke up with a headache, which didn’t help my temper very much, but I put on a happy face and tried to work my way through things. I quickly made up with Andrea as I realised that she had strong opinions about the sex thing. Strangely, I didn’t think that it was so much of a big deal now. Most kids of sixteen had had sex; they said so in the papers, why should we be any different? Anyway, I decided not to make too much of it and promised myself that I would get around her somehow, but not now.

I think that as far as my parents and others were concerned, I put on a pretty good front of being cheerful, but inside, I was hurting.

On the Thursday, I turned up for ‘extra’ training and was put through my paces by a couple of the trainers. I realised that I had not done too well the previous day and as I was desperate to be picked for Saturday’s home match against Gossfirth United, I wanted to be in good shape. Gossfirth were top of the table and hadn’t lost a match yet–something we all wanted to change as soon as possible!

Although it hurt like hell and my lungs were breathing fire, I got through the training and managed to impress the powers that be that I was fit enough for me to be at least on the subs’ bench.

~ §~

‘Are you okay, love?’ asked Mummy on the Friday night.

I had gone to bed early, the reason I gave was that I needed to be fresh for the morning, but the truth was that I didn’t feel like keeping up the pretence of being happy all the time. I would wait until later and then sneak downstairs for my ‘medicine’. I was so tired and yet I couldn’t sleep and when I did — it was nightmare time.

I was ready for bed and just brushing out my hair. I looked at Mummy’s worried expression and nearly broke down there and then, but I had had plenty of experience hiding my emotions when I lived with mum and that sod of a stepfather–it was almost second nature to put a lid on my true feelings and smile and reassure her.

‘I’m okay, Mummy, a bit tired, but I always am after heavy training.’

‘What about the nightmares?’

‘Erm, getting better.’ I lied, feeling terrible.

‘So going to the psychiatrist is working then?’

‘I don’t know, Mummy; she just sits there and listens. I thought the idea was that she was supposed to give me some sort of direction and help me.’

‘Mmm, she is. I’ll have a word with her if you like. If she isn’t helping you, maybe we should try someone else. She did come recommended though. Maybe you should give her a bit more time.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Try one more time, and if she isn’t helping then, we’ll think of something or someone else.’

‘All right,’ I said, snuggling under the covers.

Mummy gave me a goodnight kiss, making me think, momentarily, that I was about six years old and feeling nice about it.

‘Good night, honey, remember we all love you and want you to be happy.’

‘I know, Mummy,’ I said smiling.

She went out and closed the door quietly. I switched the light off and then switched it back on again. I hadn’t taken my sleeping pill yet. Maybe, I would sleep through the night without any extra medicine tonight––

~ §~

I was in bed.

Was he was coming for me?

I could hear the tread of his heavy feet as he climbed the stairs.

Maybe, he was just going to bed. He might not be coming here.

He stopped.

He was outside my door.

I could hear his heavy breathing.

The door handle turned, I could hear it.

The door opened and light came flooding in.

He was standing there with a knife in his hand. His face was that of my stepfather which then morphed into Ferris and back again to my hated stepfather.

There was blood dripping from the knife as he advanced towards me.

‘Wearing girls clothes again, girly boy–?’

He advanced towards me and I shrank back, too terrified to speak.

He lifted the knife, I couldn’t tell who it was, Dad or Ferris–but the look of sheer hatred and the murderous gleam in his eye–I screamed––

–and woke up.

I was on the floor, it was cold; my nightie was soaking wet, my hair also. Shivering, I climbed back into bed and didn’t stop shivering even though the bed was warm.

No one came. I couldn’t have screamed loudly otherwise the room would have been full of people by now. Maybe I dreamed that I screamed?

I lay there with my eyes open, panting as if breathless after a long cross-country run. It had been so real, so terrifying–the same dream that I had been having, night after night–

Shortly afterwards I began breathing more easily and closed my eyes.

But I couldn’t sleep. My mind was in turmoil; if I slept without help, I would have the nightmares again.

I got up, changed my soaking nightie and put on my robe and slippers. Quietly I slipped out of my room and went downstairs to the drinks cabinet…

~ §~

Daddy drove me to the ground on Saturday. I was feeling exhausted, too tired really to play. I was lethargic and my head ached, but outwardly I kept up a show of being bright eyed and bushy tailed. I was like an actress playing a part, the part of Susan Hurst, so called teenage superstar footballer and not the frightened little girl I felt inside.

I thought that I would be better once I got on the pitch. That’s what great actors say; when they go on the stage, they forget their problems and stage fright and give a performance worthy of an award.

The football pitch was my stage and I would forget my troubles and help my team to win–cue applause!

The ground was already filling up and I waved to the fans as we went through the private gate to the staff and players’ car park.

Daddy slapped me on the back as he went off to speak to some people. ‘Good luck, sweetheart.’

On an impulse I gave him a big hug.

‘What was that for?’

‘I love you, Daddy.’

‘I know, honey. Are you all right, you look rather pale?’

‘I’m fine,’ I said brightly, ‘just keyed up for the game.’

‘Okay, but if you need me, I’ll be in hospitality.’

‘Okay, see you later.’

He gave me one more slightly doubtful look and went off. I made my way to the room set aside for me to change. As per usual, I was by myself and my kit had been laid out for me in my room, which just happened to be the ladies’ dressing room. Unlike a lot of clubs, we did have facilities for women players. As we had a relatively successful women’s team, they had their own dressing room, partly paid for by a ‘women’s products’ manufacturer. I did wish that some other girls might be with me in the team, but we had to walk before we could run and I lived in hope that I wasn’t just a one off as it was hard to be a bit of a loner.

As soon I was changed and in my trackies, I made my way to the men’s dressing room and knocked on the door. I didn’t want to embarrass any of the poor lambs in the process of getting their kit on.

Outside, the chants had begun as the stadium slowly filled. Already the place was beginning to buzz and I wondered if we would be successful today.

The door opened and I was allowed in. The lads were sitting on the benches and the boss had just arrived. A few had socks, shin pads and boots to put on, but if I was expecting any naughty flesh, I was out of luck.

‘Och, there y’are lassie, feeling gude?’

‘Yes, Boss,’ I replied brightly.

‘That’s great, cos ye’re startin’.’

‘Starting?’

‘Aye, we hae a few more bluidy injuries, this season’s bin a bugger. Ye start, okay?’

‘Y—yes, boss.’

He turned away and I noted one or two regulars missing.

I went and sat by Odongo as Sandy spoke to one or two of the players individually.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘Flu.’

‘Oh hell,’ I said.

‘As you say, ‘oh hell’. We’re gonna be clobbered unless we do something special. We’ll be looking for some magic from you, little one.’

‘No pressure then?’ I said cheerfully.

‘Right, listen up,’ said the Boss, ‘We know that Gossfirth are the form team and have an unbeaten record this year. Well they are up against the best team in the country, that’s us, d’ye ken? I don’t want ye holding back. Go out there and stuff ’em. We might no’ hae a fu’ squad o’ players, but I wouldna hae picked ye if ye canna dae the job, so go oot there and beat the buggers!’

We all clapped and followed Mr McPherson out. I wanted to do my best and I put the problems I had to the back of my mind. The cheers from the crowd as we went out for the warm up, cheered me up a lot and I was happy to soak up the atmosphere.

After the kick about, it only seemed like seconds that I was standing on the pitch and the whistle went.

It was one of those games that was end-to-end. First we piled on the pressure and then they counterattacked and nearly scored. Only a sharp save from Ivan Gloshter, saved the day. I was running up and down and trying my best to get into the play, but I was not quite there half the time and lost the ball to their big centre back Mikel Towner. Then I mistimed a shot at goal which normally would have been a sitter and it went well wide.

I could hear the disquiet in the crowd and I tried as hard as I could to make up for my mistake. The ball went to their midfielder, Ade Roberts, and I tackled him. I swear I went for the ball but messed it up entirely and only managed to scrape his leg with my studs.

I was yellow carded and Ade Roberts, limped off. I was lucky not to be sent off as studs up tackles are bad–very bad.

I felt terrible, I had only ever been yellow carded once before and that time the ref had been wearing his wrong glasses. I would speak to Ade after the game and apologise. Looking at the Gossfirth players, I had a feeling that they would lynch me, given the chance.

The game continued and I did my best to help my team. Every time I touched the ball, the Gossfirth supporters booed me, but I had to try to ignore them.

After a while I had pulled myself together again and sent a cross in which Ogsood managed to connect with and send the ball into the top corner of the net.

‘GOAL!’

There was a mass hug and we went back to the centre circle well satisfied that we were one up.

Shortly after that, the whistle went and it was half time.

The boss did his usual individual chat with each player and soon found his way to me.

‘How are ye, lassie?’

‘Good, Boss.’

‘Ye dinna look tue bricht, I may hae tae pull ye aff–’

‘Don’t do that, Boss, please, I’m okay, I promise!’

He looked at me with that piercing stare for a moment.

‘Pick up yer game then and show Gossfirth why ye are one of the best players in the league and nae mair stupid tackles!’

‘I’ll do my best!’

‘Guid.’

He tapped me on the shoulder and then moved on to the next player.

The second half came too soon for me really. I wasn’t ready, but I would do my best.

The second half carried on the same as the first, with end-to-end stuff. Ten minutes into the second half, Gossfirth scored a great goal. Their striker Santos volleyed past Goshter’s outstretched hands and it was 1—1.

It was tense for a while with the ball getting bogged down in the midfield. I had started getting my second wind and I put my problems and poor first half to the back of my mind and got back into gear.

I started spraying the ball about and we came close to scoring a second with a pass from me that Mike Philber controlled wonderfully and then hit the crossbar.

I felt that the game was going our way now as Gossfirth were camped in their own half a lot of the time, trying to keep us out.

But it was tight, very tight and we didn’t always have our own way. We were lucky that the ref was looking the other way when one of our fullbacks handled the ball accidently. If he had seen it, he would have been sure to give them a penalty, despite the fact that it was unintentional.

That miscarriage of justice gave Gossfirth a bit of a spur on and it was our turn to soak up the pressure. It was only fantastic work by our keeper that kept the match at 1—1 into extra time.

I was getting really tired by now–too many late nights, the pills and occasional drinks were taking their toll.

There were three minutes of extra time. The crowd were going wild. The chants were echoing around the stadium and it gave me heart to hear ‘Suzie–Suzie–’ being shouted by our loyal supporters. I tried to ignore the less flattering chants from the opposition supporters.

The clock was ticking and it looked like the game was heading for a draw. I picked myself up, one final time and tried to help my team to win.

The ball came out to me as if in slow motion. I stopped the ball with my boot and ran up the pitch. I could sense rather than see a player moving swiftly towards me. I stopped dead and he ran past me, overshooting his mark.

This was what I loved. I ran on and the defender was nowhere to be seen.

My teammates were trying to catch up with me, but for once I was flying. I jinked past one defender, chipped the ball over another and then there was the goal, looking huge in front of me. I had to shoot; I had no idea when the whistle was to be blown.

I was being pursued by at least two players who would be less than friendly after my terrible foul and I had little time for finesse.

The goalkeeper rushed out towards me, to narrow the angle, his yellow shirt clashing a bit with the green of the grass, but I had no time for that. I stopped, hooked my foot under the ball and chipped it over the falling ’keeper. The ball rose to about head height and gently fell into the back of the net.

‘GOAL!’

I threw my arms up in the air in triumph. The crowd went mad. Screams of ‘Suzie’ came up from around the ground. I ran along the line and stopped at the corner flag, kissing it.

Then I heard the sound of feet behind me and I turned around, dread suddenly in my heart. Coming towards me, knife in his hands, came a figure: my stepfather or Ferris–I didn’t know which.

I fell to the ground screaming and with my knees drawn up to my chest and my arms covering my head, and waited to be stabbed––

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.