‘Wake up, Susan.’ ‘Wha-a-ah?’ ‘Come on, you must wake up.’ My eyes opened stickily and there was Mummy standing, looking down at me. ‘I don’t wanna get up…’     Football Girl Chapter 30 By Susan Brown Copyright © 2010 Susan Brown

Previously...

I wondered how my mum would feel about all the attention I was getting now. Maybe I was big mouthed, opinionated and shouldn’t be playing with men. Look at how Lance nearly broke my leg in the last game I played? Then there were the vicious attacks by Bob Ferris and The Globe. Will it ever end and would I be allowed to play without all this crap going on behind the scenes? Even the FA seemed to think that there was no smoke without fire as I was now getting random drugs tests. Finally, there was now a website that was actively campaigning and trying drum up support against me. It seemed to me that there were a number of people and organisations that wanted to stop me playing and get rid of me.

My parents and other people were trying to plug the holes and sort things out, but I didn’t know if I could take any more. Tears dripped off my cheeks and onto my skirt. I seemed to go from highs to lows at the moment. A little while ago, Andrea had told me her big secret and that had given me a warm fuzzy feeling inside. I knew that she and I would have problems but, between us, I was sure that we would sort them out in time. I had this dream about us walking down the aisle in matching white wedding dresses and that thought was so good, as was the vision of having children together.

On the reverse side, there was all this hate against me. What had I done to them? Had I hurt them? I wasn’t a murderer or anyone nasty; I was just being me. Why couldn’t people accept me as I am?

I stayed in my room as I didn’t want to face anyone at the moment. There were various knocks on my door but I asked them to leave me alone. Eventually it stopped as they realised I wanted some space.

I didn’t go down for anything to eat, I wasn’t hungry. Eventually, it was about nine in the evening and I just cleaned all the smeary makeup off and got into my nightie, unlocked the door and then went to bed. I turned off the bedside light and clutching my rabbit, I tried to get some well-needed sleep…

And now the story continues…

‘Wake up, Susan.’

‘Wha-a-ah?’

‘Come on, you must wake up.’

My eyes opened stickily and there was Mummy standing, looking down at me.

‘I don’t wanna get up…’

‘Never mind that. You’ve got twenty minutes to have a shower and get dressed. We have a family meeting at 8.30, and I will be seriously displeased if you don’t turn up. Put something smart casual on because we will have a visitor.’

‘Who,’ I yawned, sitting up and pushing the hair out of my eyes.

‘Never mind; just pull your finger out, Missy–’

‘Mummy, that’s rude.’ I giggled, forgetting to be in strop-mode for a moment.

‘I’m sure you hear a lot worse than that down at the training ground; now come on you’ve only eighteen minutes now. Eggs and bacon if you are really quick.’

‘What about a sausage?’

‘Wellll, it’s your figure you want to ruin, so okay, if you want. Now MOVE!’

She left me and I scrambled out of bed, grumbling to myself. I was still in self-pitying mode and not wanting to face anyone, but Mummy in that mood, brooked no argument. I wondered if a call to Child Line would be in order?

I slipped off my nightie and had a shower–using a shower hat because I had no time wash my hair as she said I had to be quick.

As I showered, I recalled the horrible day that I had yesterday and the terrible things that were posted about me on the ’net. The humiliating drugs test, just added insult to injury. I knew that as a pro footballer, I had to be tested sometimes, but not like that, without any warning that I was on some ‘special’ list to be tested at anytime and any place. Would they knock on the door in the middle of the night to ask me to produce some wee? I remembered that horrible doctor and shuddered, there was something a bit slimy about him and I just hoped and prayed that next time they would use a lady doctor.

After the shower–my mood darkening as I thought about how hard done by I was–I dressed in a pink angora sweater and black above the knee skirt.

After applying minimum makeup–I hated heavy makeup at the best of times and if I was going to cry today, to hell with the panda look, so no eye liner or mascara either–I brushed my hair and scrunchified it as I made my way downstairs. I managed to do it in seventeen minutes flat, so she wouldn’t be complaining, at least.

I walked into the dining room. I was surprised as everyone was there, except the twins. Talking stopped as I walked in.

‘Don’t mind me.’ I said, looking around the table.

There was Mummy and Daddy, Andrea, who, if I wasn’t in such a foul mood, would have got a smile and a word of praise as she looked really pretty in a lemon blouse and white skirt; then there was Claire, who was a bit grungy today in a black tee-shirt and jeans and Monica, looking a bit pale but not too bad, considering.

The twins were missing, probably still asleep–if they were lucky. They did like a lie in sometimes and I wished I could join them–not literally as I couldn’t fit into the cot but, oh hell, you know what I mean!

I plonked myself down at the table, still in a relatively foul mood and conversations continued as I had a plate of bacon, eggs and the promised sausage placed before me by Mrs Moon. I poured myself some coffee as I needed some sort of kick start. I listened to the conversations around me, waiting for some sort of comment about my behaviour yesterday, but no one said anything.

I hated these hormonal mood swings; one minute I wanted to laugh, and then cry, then I might get angry and want to throw things and then after that I would probably laugh again. No one told me that being a girl would be this difficult.

Looking at Andrea, I calmed down slightly. She was so pretty and I just wanted to give her a big kiss and cuddle. Her clothes were new, so they must be some of the ones she bought the other day when she and her mum went out to do a girlie shop. I couldn’t do that anymore. Look what happened last time?

The TV was on quietly in the background. It was the morning news. I was devouring the sausage and I stopped mid chew as they were running a story about starving people in Africa and it put me off my breakfast somewhat. Looking at the small, malnourished children with their horrible pot bellies and flies–it was awful. I stopped looking as it was too upsetting and just played with my food. It got me thinking; maybe I was becoming the brat that I thought that I would never be–a self-centred ‘me, me, me’ type of teenager. I know that things had gone a bit against me lately, but I was considerably better off than millions of people. I could feel the tears slip down my face. Mummy was talking quietly to Daddy and I just got up, went round to her and gave her a sniffy hug.

‘Sorry, Mummy,’ I whispered in her ear.

She hugged me back and whispered back, ‘That’s all right, love. I would be throwing pots at the wall if all you’ve had to put up recently with had happened to me!’

We both had a giggle and everyone around the table seemed to relax a bit more. I returned to my seat, blotting my eyes with a tissue.

‘Sorry everyone, for being a diva.’

‘What’s like, a diva?’ asked Claire.

‘Someone who likes diving into a swimming pool,’ said Andrea with a straight face.

Daddy was mid-gulp with his orange juice and sprayed it everywhere. That broke what remaining ice there was and we were soon talking and laughing as if there was nothing happening at the moment.

After breakfast, the table was cleared, but everyone stayed put.

Daddy took a notebook out of his pocket and looked around.

‘Okay, everyone; let’s talk about what’s happening–’

‘–Do you want us to leave you to it?’ Monica asked.

‘Not really, Monica, because you’re all sort of family now, what with you all living here and Susan and Andrea, being super-glued at the hip. All this stuff impacts on you too, so I think that you should all stay.’

I glanced at Andrea, while Daddy was talking and we both smiled and played footsy with each other under the table. I really wanted to get up close and personal to her right then and could feel my panties get a bit damp, but I knew that if I did what I wanted to do with and for her, I would not be flavour of the month with anyone around the table over the age of 16!

‘All right, to business; we’ve all seen that scurrilous website. It’s sick but I hate to say it, Susan, there will always be people who will try to knock you down. What I want to know from you is how you feel about it all?’

I glanced around at everyone and stopped for a moment to collect my thoughts. ‘The way I felt yesterday, I would have gladly chucked it all in. Now I think that I shouldn’t give in, but I don’t know how to cope with it. I’m out of my depth.’

‘Fair enough; what about the rest of you? This is all impacting on your lives too.’

Monica looked at her kids and then at me.

‘Well, I for one, dislike others dictating how I should live. You, Susan, must have felt that you are a virtual prisoner in your own home, not wanting to go shopping or the cinema or anything else a normal teenager–girl or boy–wants to do. While you should be careful, you ought to be able to do things that most normal girls do. As far as I and my two are concerned, we love it here and also love the way that you have accepted us into your home and your hearts. I know that all this impacts on us as well as you, but as I say, we’ll back you all the way, whatever you decide.’

‘Thanks, Auntie Monica.’ I said with feeling.

‘Oh, Auntie now, am I? I hope that doesn’t mean bigger birthday and Christmas presents?’

We all laughed and I went to give her one of my special hugs, with icing on top.

Once we had settled down again, that is after Claire stopped making sick noises in her throat, it was Mummy’s turn.

‘As far as I’m concerned we have to do things to counter the rubbish that has been spread about with such gay abandon by, we suspect, a particularly nasty specimen. I think your father has a few ideas about that which he will reveal later.’

‘Claire?’

‘Me…why ask me? I’m like, cool with anything you agree with. First thing this morning I looked at the fan site, and we’ve had thousands more hits and the forums are, like humming with outrage at that scummy webpage. I like, hate the attacks on Susan and if had my way, I’d put them all up against the wall and like, shoot them.’

She seemed to look far away then with a slight smile on her face. I had once thought all girls were sugar and spice and all things nice, but I had come to realise that there was a wide spectrum of femininity and I was kind of glad, because if we were all the same, the world would be decidedly boring.

‘Andrea, what about you?’ Daddy asked.

She looked at me and smiled in that special way she has and I sort of sighed a bit. She rubbed her nylon encased foot against mine, making me feel rather nice.

‘Susan needs all the help and support she can get. I want her to be happy and anything I can do would be brill.’

I was going all gooey inside at all this and I must admit that I felt I was leaking again. I regretted not wearing industrial strength panty liners as I wriggled a bit and wondered if I ought to go up and get changed or even perhaps have a cold shower…

‘All right, we have all agreed to fight the good fight. I have been fairly busy since last night. I spoke to John Prentice who thinks–as we all do–that this has gone far enough. We have to bring in a media expert: Late last night John had a word with someone he knows and she’s coming here in–’ he looked at the wall clock–‘about ten minutes time. Her name is Sheila Strong––’

‘–Wow,’ I said.

Even I had heard of her. She looked after the interests of lots of famous people. She had the ear of the press and other media and knew everyone who was anyone. Her influence was everywhere, from TV talent contests to film making and I remember hearing that she was also the agent to Michelle Howard–the film star and my new friend from that farce of a TV interview.

‘Yeah, like WOW! She’s soooo cool and she knows like, everyone,’ Claire exclaimed.

‘She doesn’t know me, Claire,’ said Andrea; her tongue firmly stuck in her cheek.

‘Very funny, but as you are –sweet sister–a nobody, that’s hardly surprising.’

After a few moments of mayhem, while Andrea and Claire did the sibling rivalry bit but had to stop when Monica clipped them both around the ears, after which things quietened down again. I loved being in an extended and disjointed family!

‘Right, you mob, behave or leave, I’m trying to be serious here,’ Daddy said, severely but with a smile that belied his words.

‘Sorry, Uncle Jeff,’ was said in unison.

‘Mmm, well then, let’s get on with it. Sheila will be here in a minute and I want everyone’s agreement that she should look after all our interests. Let’s face it, we could all be targets of the media and anyone else for that matter. A show of hands?’

We all looked at each other and raised our hands.

‘Carried unanimously, okay…’

The front doorbell rang, making me jump slightly. Moments later, Mrs Moon ushered the glamorous Sheila Strong into our midst.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ she said, as she swept in. Daddy stood up.

A true tall, blond-haired beauty, she was wearing a cream coloured business suit comprising a white silk blouse, a tailored jacket and skirt that reached to just above the knee. Black sheer stockings and a highly polished pair of black heels finished the look. I was, of course insanely jealous and felt that the other girls around the table were similarly troubled. She was carrying a black leather briefcase and sat down on the empty chair Daddy was holding out for her.

‘Now then, let me see; you are Jeff and Josie, I believe you must be Claire…Monica, hi honey. I know Susan, of course, but who are you, dear, and where is Andrew?’

Andrea took on that deer caught in the headlights look. Monica rose from her chair and stood behind her new daughter with her hands on the girl’s shoulders. ‘This is Andrea, she’s transgendered.’

‘Hi, Andrea, I think that you are very pretty. Right that’s everyone, I think. You know me of course. Don’t believe half that you have heard about me, half the bad stuff that is; all the good things are totally accurate.’

We all laughed and it broke the ice as I think it was intended to. Sheila soon got down to “brass tacks”, as we say in Melchester.

‘It seems to me, Susan, that you have all been running around like a headless chickens; I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but it’s true. I don’t blame you–none of you have the experience needed to deal with such matters on your own, that’s why John suggested me. My thinking is that it’s time to go on the offensive. Don’t get me wrong, you have handled yourself very well in trying circumstances but you haven’t been in control. Things have happened and you have had to react to those things. We need to be in a position where you are the boss, Susan, not the media or even your club. This is your life–as Eamon Andrews used to say–and you have right to lead it the way you want to: agreed?’

‘Who's like, Eamon Andrews?’ interrupted Claire with a frown on her face.

Sheila looked at Claire and shook her head slightly.

‘I must be getting old.’ she mumbled.

‘No way,’ said Andrea, a little too enthusiastically for my taste. I would have strong words to say later!

‘Thank you,’ she said with a sunny smile that must have cost a lot in dental bills.

(Stop it Sue!)

‘Right.’ continued Sheila, ‘do you agree to what I'm proposing.’

I just nodded, liking what I was hearing but not sure how it would work in practice.

‘So, subject to your agreement–I meant what I said, you’re the boss–we lay on some more interviews for tomorrow. Is that acceptable?’

‘What have I got to talk about?’

‘Well at first I just wanted you to put your side of the story and then we could build on that; then John Prentiss couriered over a report from your security team. You may or may not know, but as well as personal security, the company has an extensive team of private investigators with offices around the world. I think that John told you that he thought the incidents that you have had, were linked. Anyway, the investigations have uncovered that the website is based in Italy, and that the site was registered in that country by The Globe. Also, interestingly, it turns out that your arch nemesis, Bob Ferris was behind the site, together with the owner and editor of The Globe. Evidently they belong to a group known as Eclipse. This group is homophobic, transphobic and plenty of other phobics as well. They see you as a danger because you have a high profile and a fair amount of influence, especially with the young. That, I believe, is why you have been targeted so much.’

‘So that scumbag, Ferris is behind it,’ Mummy said, angrily.

‘He is more the monkey than the organ grinder, but yes, he is up to his neck in it together with an alarming number of people in this country who do not like diversity and want to hang on to what they call the status quo. So how do we deal with all this crap? Well, in my book, attack is the best form of defence. This is what we have to do. First we start naming names; we are not slandering anyone as there are proven links that the people who run The Globe are in it up to their slimy rat-infested necks. We demand that a full and immediate front-page retraction of all items of a scurrilous nature published by them, appears in The Globe; if not immediately, then at least within two days. We need to be quick on this as you have a number of sponsorships in the pipeline and these could be jeopardised by the lies that have already been told. The Globe already have an injunction forbidding anything not passed by you from being printed, so we will be able to see what is to be published first. All clear so far?’

We all nodded and then Daddy’s mobile went off. With a mouthed, ‘sorry,’ he got up and went out as Sheila continued.

‘You, Susan, will tell the media that you are unhappy with the way you have been dealt with and hint that you might quit football because of it. You have had thoughts along those lines, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said, removing some pink fluff from my skirt and then flicking the hair from my fringe away from my eyes. ‘I have thought about it–lots lately. I miss the games that I played over at the playing fields; it was all so simple then. Look at me now, a so-called soccer star, stuck indoors and afraid to go out in public. That’s no bloody life–’

‘Susan!’

‘Sorry, Mummy. To tell you the truth, this all needs to be sorted out once and for all. I don’t mind the fame bit, it’s the price I have to play for being an above average player; but it hurts when people say malicious things about me, or accuse me of being a druggie and other lies. If I was a mad, bad girl–into drinks, drugs and the high life–I would understand it, but I’m not; I’m just a girl–who, incidentally, used to be a boy–with a bit of talent. If I do do something wrong, then I am fair game for the media, it’s them saying that I’m doing dreadful things when I’m not that makes me feel like I want to throw it all up and go and live in a nunnery.’

‘Don’t you dare go live in a nunnery!’ chirped up Andrea, looking a bit alarmed.

‘Yeah, like, it’s a bad habit!’ said you know who.

We all started laughing at that and it relieved the tension. Just then Daddy came in looking puzzled and sat down at the table.

‘What is it Jeff?’ asked Mummy.

‘It the Football Association,’

‘What about them?’

‘They…they––’

‘What?’

He looked around the table and then his eyes rested on me. Had I done something wrong? Had the drug test been doctored? Was I going to be banned from playing? Butterflies were rampaging in my tummy, my spine had shivers going up and down it and my heart was thumping in my breast as I asked, ‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’

‘They…they say that no drug test was ordered on you yesterday and they know nothing at all about it––’

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.