Previously...

‘This can’t be true. How can he get away with this?’

‘Money talks and big money talks big.’

‘What will this mean to the club and me?’

He looked at me sadly.

‘I don’t know honey, but what I do know is that Hiram would be mad to get rid of the best manager in the league and one of the rising stars.’

‘You mean me?’

I noticed that Daddy had a paper in his hands. He handed it to me.

It was a copy of an e-mail sent to a senior director of the club, Mike Newell, it was from Hiram.

I refer to my previous e-mail to you and the rest of the board. I am coming over to Melchester this PM and expect to have a meeting with the board at 8.00am GMT at the club headquarters.

Matters to be discussed are as follows.

1. The manager
2. The players
3. Wage structure
4. Compulsory redundancies
5. Refinancing and selling the club ground to raise capital
6. Any other business

Please note that attendance is non- negotiable

Hiram B Atwater

I looked at Daddy.

‘Does this mean that I could be sold?’

‘Yes honey, it does.’

A day that had started sadly with memories of a great man and then continued with all the highs of a great game, now had ended with the terrible prospect of the club being torn apart with me being right slap bang in the middle.

But I wasn’t a weak kneed little girl who hides behind others. I had gone through too much to let things slip away. I would fight with every means available and I was sure that there were others at the club too who felt the same way. Also and most importantly, you could not discount all the fans that supported us come rain and shine through the lean times and the good ones. They would not let any one man become bigger than the club. If Hiram B Crapshooter thought that he could ride roughshod over the premier club in the league, I genuinely believed that he was in for a big surprise.

And now the story continues…

The following day I awoke earlier than usual. I hadn’t slept very well as everything happening at the club and to me and my family had played on my mind.

The real prospect of upheaval at the club was bad enough, but the attack on Andrea really made me wonder what might happen next.

In the end, I just got up, put on a track suit and trainers and then while everyone else was still snoring in their beds, I went out for a run in the grounds with just my cool iPhone and the Glee Cast as company.

It was cold, crisp, clear and a bit frosty under foot. The sky was blue and it looked like the day was going to end up rather warmer than the previous day. I could see my breath as I jogged and then once warmed up, completed some intervals. I normally liked this time of day. It was early and the whole of the day was stretched out before me. However this day, I believed, was not going to be a nice one. I knew that Hiram B would be meeting the board and I just knew that the meeting and its aftermath was going to affect me and everyone else connected to the club that I loved almost as much as my family.

After about forty minutes of heavy breathing and muscle crunching, I had had enough. I spent a short while warming down and then went back in through the kitchen door. Mrs Moon was in the kitchen and my mouth started to water at the smell of baking bread and other delights.

Mrs M liked to get in the kitchen early so she could get things done before the mob descended on her demanding to be fed.

I sometimes wondered how she put up with us, but she always had a smile on her face and seemed to be enjoying herself.

‘Hello Mrs Moon.’

‘Hello dear; have a nice run?’

‘Not bad; at least it blew away the cobwebs.’

‘What’s happening at the club?’ She asked as she thumped some dough.

‘I don’t know,’ I said as I pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and poured it in a glass, ‘the new boss arrives today. I don’t think he likes the way the club’s been running lately.’

‘I don’t see why that is, you are near the top of the table and are still in contention for all the cups.’

‘I know, it seems daft, but he seems to think that we could be better. He doesn’t like our manager for some reason and I don’t think that he particularly likes the fact that there’s a girl on the team.’

‘That is madness. Sandy is the best manager in the country and you are a great player.’

‘I don’t know about great...’

‘Don’t put yourself down Susan. Since you started playing for the team, things have been going well. He must see that.’

I shrugged.

‘Maybe his bark is worse than his bite.’ I said hopefully.

‘Perhaps; anyway, don’t just stand there making sweaty puddles on my kitchen floor and catching a chill, go and have a shower. If you are quick, you can have some fresh warm rolls with your breakfast.’

It was at about 11.30. I was up in my room reading a magazine. The TV on the wall was down low and I caught a mention about Melchester. Looking up, I saw a reporter standing outside the ground. I turned the sound up.

I could see that there were many fans milling about, some of them with banners saying things like “Save Our Club” and “Go Home Hiram”.

‘Speculation has been rife since it was made known that Hiram B Atwater was effectively the new owner of the club. The board have been meeting for over two hours now and Mr Atwater has been expressing his views as to how he feels the club should move forward. Manager Sandy McPherson arrived at the club about half an hour ago but declined to comment. We do know that the training session scheduled for this afternoon has been cancelled and no explanation has been given. As soon as we hear anything concrete we will let you know. Back to the studio...’

‘‘Nice’ I thought, ‘That’s typical, the players only find out that there’s no training from a news report.’

I had been looking forward to training as I could then discuss things with the other players. ‘Maybe I could ring Pete or some of the others to find out what the hell is going on.’ I thought.

It was the lack of information–that was what was getting me all wound up. I was insecure enough and now this. I had felt right from the beginning that it was all a dream and now I wondered if my dream was over and yet another nightmare was looming over the horizon.

So much had happened to me in such a short space of time. I had been plucked from obscurity and put on the public stage. My life had, up to now been strange, almost unbelievable and although I had had a lot of terrible times, I had, up until now, thought that I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, but now, things seemed a lot less positive.

Daddy had gone into town to speak with John Prentiss, Mummy was with the twins at play school–she was helping out. Claire and Andrea had gone to school with Monica (Andrea was loving her new school) and apart from Charlotte and Danni, who were practicing killing each other in the gym and Mrs M, who was knee deep in Shepherd’s pie in the kitchen, I was all alone.

I went on my computer and all I could see was news and speculation about the club. The Melchester Fan Club Forum and the tweets were full of it too. It seemed that no one liked the idea of the takeover and some of the language was colourful to say the least. The betting was odds on that Sandy was on the way out and that the club was going to down the tubes. I couldn’t believe that as the club was one of the most profitable ones in Europe. That didn’t stop the wild speculation and rumours.

My iPhone beeped, I had a message.

‘Hi, babes, how r u doing?’

‘Okay and, missing u.’

‘me 2 u. Call when u hear anything.’

‘okay, loves and hugs.’

‘Hugs and loves.’

I smiled; it must be a break at school. Andrea was so much happier now that she was in a school that understood her needs and with pupils that didn’t think that it was cool to bully someone who was just that little bit different. She looked so cute in her new school uniform.

There was another beep. I smiled and looked at my phone, thinking that it was Andrea replying but it was in fact from Daddy.

‘All players are to come into the club for a meeting at 1.00pm. I think that the new boss wants to address the troops. I am in a meeting with John Prentiss and our friendly Rottweiler, Sheila as we try to work out our next move. Get Danni or Charl to bring you in.’

I looked at my watch, only two hours to get ready. If I was going to meet the boss, I would look as glam as I could. He wouldn’t eat a sweet little thing like me, would he? I had no idea, but I was a girl and we used what weapons we could.

I needed help and I knew the person who could help me.

I rang down to the gym using the neat internal phone system. After a few rings someone picked up the phone.

‘Danni?’

‘No, Charlotte,’ she said sounding breathless.

Now Charlotte was a lovely girl but preferred jeans and wouldn’t be seen dead in a designer dress. Danni on the other hand would commit all sorts of crimes not necessarily excluding grievous bodily harm to get a dress at a sale. I once saw her in action when Next was having a 50% off of selected items sale once. It wasn’t a pretty sight but she got her clothes.

‘Can I speak to Danni if she’s not tied up?’

‘Are you saying that we are that way inclined?’

‘Who me? What you two do in your spare time is neither here or there.’

‘Hmm; hang on.’

A few seconds later Danni came on the line.

‘Danni, we have a code red situation.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I need to power dress.’

There was a pause.

‘Give me ten.’

‘Hours?’

‘Minutes, you idiot.’

I smiled and shook my head as I put down the phone. You just can’t get the staff nowadays!

I won’t go into minute details of my dressing experience, just to say that when I arrived at the club ground, I was looking rather nice....

Alright you twisted my arm. After having a shower and washing my hair, I returned to my bedroom to find that Hurricane Danni had struck and the place was in a mess. Every item of clothing that I had was strewn across the floor and Danni was in the middle of it. I had told her when she came in about the meeting and she agreed with me that I would be at an advantage if I looked devastatingly ravishing. I thought that a team of surgeons and the best designers in the world could not turn me in to anything even resembling that image, but Danni pooh-pooed me and told me to stop acting like a daft cow.

Soon I had on my laciest and flimsiest bra and panties–you know the ones, they have government health warning as men with weak hearts might keel over at a flash of them–not that I would do that as I was a well brought up girl.

Danni, as well as being a hell of an athlete had, in her spare time took a course in health, beauty and professional makeup. Before she broke necks for a living she was going to open a salon or something. Anyway, she took charge of my face and before I knew it, she had done her magic and turned my plain old face into something resembling pretty. My eyebrows had been plucked almost to extinction. The eye shadow consisted of no less than three colours that somehow, God knows how, blended perfectly and gave me that Bambi, deer in the headlights expression that was a bit disconcerting to say the least. My eyelashes were so big that was in danger of creating a gale force wind when I batted them. My rather pale skin was covered by foundation that hid my many imperfections. I even had some discrete blusher applied to my cheeks that made me look like I was permanently, erm blushing.

Then she got to work on my lips. Now my lips have never been my good feature, being thin and a bit lacking in va-va-voom as Claire once and rather graphically remarked. I had tried everything and had considered lip augmentation, but had been shot down in flames by Mummy who said that sort of was for people and not girls of my age.

I of course huffed and puffed, but when Mummy showed me pictures of an actress who had had the procedure and then the graphic after pics that showed where it had all gone terribly wrong and had in fact disfigured her–I could see the sense in not having the procedure done, so I lived with the fact that I had thin lips.

That was before Danni had worked her magic.

Danni worked on me for ages and then showed me the results. I had plump, full and gorgeous lips! I squealed with delight and was all over her like a rash. After I put her down and I had recovered from the shock, we then sorted the dress.

We chose a black Giorgio Armani dress that I had been saving for a special occasion. It was one of those dresses that you could wear at a party, a formal do or even at business meetings. It was silk, just above the knee and had a pretty bead detail on the neckline. It was drop dead gorgeous and I knew that it was the right dress to wear as soon as put it on. With sheer black tights, three inch heels, discrete gold stud earrings and a fine gold heart necklace, I was ready to face Hiram B Atwater and I hoped that all the effort was worth it.

As we drove up to the ground, I could see hundreds of supporters milling about outside, some with placards. They looked far from happy, but at the sight of me, there were a few cheers. I waved and blew kisses as we went through the gates and into the car park. I ignored the cameras, press and media types, just waving and trying to look calm and unruffled–some hope I was scared enough to wet my knickers.

‘Are you ready for this?’ asked Danni.

‘As ready as I will ever be.’ I replied, my mouth feeling very dry for some reason.

‘Good luck,’ said Charlotte with a grin. Nothing ever fazed that girl.

All the players were in the club lounge. As I arrived, it became rather quiet as the lads looked around and stared at me.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Wow,’ said Petre.

‘Cor,’ said Ivan Gloshter.

There were a few whistles and then I realized that I had made a bit of an impression on the testosterone filled room. Well, I hoped that I would get a positive reaction from Hiram B when I saw him. I wished now that Mummy was with me. I could do with a few hints and tricks in the feminine whiles department, this was all new to me and I was winging it a bit.

‘Should I use these tricks to try to get me way?’ I thought, ‘Yeah, why not.’

For a while, we all sort of speculated as to what was going on and then, one by one, the lads left. It appeared that the meeting was going to be done on a single rather than group basis. The people that had left didn’t come back; I didn’t know what to read into this, but I was getting wound up like a spring waiting for my turn.

Daddy texted me then and reading it didn’t make me feel any better.

‘Gates and doors to the stadium are locked and no one is allowed in unless they are staff. Speculation running wild. Don’t agree or sign anything. I will be waiting for you by the players entrance when you are ready.’

Then I received texts in quick succession for Mummy, Andrea and Claire, asking what was going on. I just did a block text reply saying that I was awaiting developments and that I would let them know what was happening soon.

My fingers were aching from the texting when I sent a final one to Danni/Charlotte to let them know what was happening.

Typically Danni sent a reply almost immediately telling me to hit the panic button if things went pear shaped and they would come in and sort it. Guns, hand grenades and bazookas were not mentioned, but implied.

I smiled; it was nice that I had such good support out there.

I looked up and realized that I was alone. Where had everyone gone and more to the point, why was I the last one left?

Another twenty minutes passed and I was getting a bit antsy. I was just going to leave when Monica, the chairman’s P.A. came in.

‘Hi Monica, what’s up?’

She looked a bit red eyed.

‘He’ll see you now. I can’t say anything so don’t ask.’

Monica was normally cheerful, friendly and outgoing. What the hell was going on?

I said no more, but followed her out, up three floors in the lift and then was shown to the boardroom.

Monica knocked, opened the door and motioned me in. As I passed her she whispered, ‘Watch out he’s a nasty sod.’

The boardroom was empty except for one man. He was sitting at Alf’s place at the top of the wide, highly polished boardroom table.

I walked over and offered my hand.

‘Please don’t stand.’ I said without thinking.

He ignored my hand and motioned for me to sit about four seats away from him on the right. My slight sarcasm was either ignored or misunderstood. I sat down and in front of was a single sheet of paper–face down.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ he said as he looked up briefly and then wrote some notes on a pad.

Looking at him, I could see a man in his early fifties. He was plump on the point of portly and had a florid complexion. He looked the sort of man who liked his steaks on the big side and would consider it an insult if he wasn’t offered seconds. The main thing that seemed to stand out to me was that he was wearing a wig, headpiece or a dead squirrel on his head. Whoever persuaded him to purchase such an awful wig should be given a sales medal. It was truly awful and didn’t even match the sparse mousy coloured hair peeking out from beneath the monstrosity.

Hiram B Eatalot had a cigar gripped in the corner of his mouth between clenched teeth and the stench was something that made me want to heave into the wastebasket. To cap it all, he was wearing a rather loud check jacket that did nothing for his florid complexion. I knew a few Americans –some were loyal supporters of the club– and were all round good guys and gals and none of them looked like this…this…person.

I was getting a bit wound up. To be kept waiting until last and then ignored while he doodled on his pad or whatever, made me feel a little bit peed off.

He finished what he was doing, put his pen down and then looked at me.

‘So, you are Susan Hurst. My, you look pretty today.’

The way he said it made me feel that it was a mistake to make myself look pretty. It was wasted on a M.S.P. like him.

‘I’ve seen you on the TV, of course.’ he continued

‘That’s nice.’

‘Very photogenic but a bit too much in the line of self opinion about things that you know nothing about.’

‘What do you mean by that?

‘Never mind, just an observation. So erm…Susan, how do you see your future at this club?’

‘It depends.’

‘Depends; On what?’

‘How well I play, how many goals I score or help others to score. It also depends on whether Mr. McPherson thinks that I am good enough to play.’

‘Hmm; a few things you need to realize young lady. Firstly, McPherson has tendered his resignation and I have reluctantly accepted the fact that he and I cannot work together and I have therefore accepted it. Another thing is that I am not sure that a disruptive influence like a girl playing in a men’s team may not be the way forward that I envisage for the future of this club.’

I was shocked at what he said about Sandy. Without him the club would lose its heart and soul. With an effort, I pulled myself together and tried to say something coherent.

‘Are you saying that I am not good enough?’

‘You have been lucky, I grant you and a few fluke goals give the impression to those who do not know the game that you are more gifted than the usual girl footballer…’

‘Hang on; you don’t think that I can play and what I have done for the team counts for nothing?’

He sucked in on his cigar and looked at me.

‘Look, you are a girl. Girls are not as strong as men. Football is a man’s game, everyone knows that. There are women’s teams, we have one here. You could play with them. I will lay my cards on the table. I am an honest simple man and I see things in black and white. You are a girl, and yes, you can play a bit of football and you sometimes show more skill than would normally be seen by a girl. I put that down to the fact that you were brought up as a boy and have had more of a chance than ordinary girls to pick things up. You have skills yes, but I cannot afford to have someone on the squad that might undermine and jeopardize the team spirit.’

He looked at me with thick eyebrows raised, a slight smile played on his lips.

‘I see; I am not good enough for Melchester, is that what you are saying?’

‘No, I am not. You can play with the girls. I understand that the standard in the girl’s league is getting better all the time. It will never reach the level of men’s football, of course, but still it’s nice to watch.’

He had superior look on his face that I would have loved to have wiped off. I still didn't quite see where all this was going.

‘So, you don’t think that I am good enough. Will you sell me?’

‘I never said that. I think that a spell in the girls team would be the best thing all round.’

‘Have you ever actually seen the girl’s team play?’

‘They don’t have that on cable,’ he smirked.

‘Our girl’s team are great. They have skill, aggression when needed and can play to a very high level,’

‘Well, you would fit in there nicely then, won’t you?’

‘No, not if, as you say, I am only lucky and score fluke goals. Surely, I would be a hindrance rather than a help.’

The fog in the room caused by his cigar smoke was turning the air blue and my chest was beginning to feel tight. I got up and went over to a window and opened it. Then I turned back to face him.

‘I was brought into the club by Sandy McPherson and others because I was considered to be good enough. Do you know better than them?’

‘I have had the benefit of seeing things almost from the outside. Sometimes people are too close to the action and can’t see the wood from the trees. I think that they were blinded by someone with some charm and charisma, but in the end, all that doesn’t matter. I have offered you a position in the women’s team, take it all leave it.’

In a flash, I realized what he was trying to do. He wanted me to put in a transfer request. He would sell me to the highest bidder, save some money and the club wouldn’t be blamed for my moving. It would be my fault and I would be seen as deserting the club.

I got up and walked over to the open window, breathing in the relatively clean Melchester air. Down below in the distance I saw the loyal supporters who came to see the team play in all weathers. They say that once Melchester gets into your blood, you can’t let it go. I thought that I had the measure of this little tin impression of Napoleon. He wanted power and loved to wield it. Wheeler dealing was his stock in trade and that was how he had got rich.

‘Well?’ he said, ‘There’s a paper on the desk there. I have taken the trouble to write up something that you might want to sign.’

‘What would I want to sign?’

‘Your transfer request. It’s obvious to me that you are pretty unhappy with staying here under the reasonable terms that I have to offer.’

I walked back to the table, sat down and glanced at the letter in front of me. It was brief, to the point and said effectively that I wanted to be transferred.

I looked up.

‘How much am I to be sold for?’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Yes you are. You have put feelers out; how much?’

‘Well, a few clubs have expressed interest and I would think that we might get a couple of dollars for you.’

Thank goodness for Google and the internet. I had looked at Hiram’s business practices the night before when I couldn’t sleep and I had found out that one of his main concerns was the acquisition of businesses and stripping them of their assets. I had a feeling that he was doing the same here. He wasn’t a football supporter. He got his jollies from stripping the assets and hearts out of businesses and then selling off the remains for whatever he could get.

I picked up the single sheet of paper and tore it up.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, the cigar falling from his mouth and landing on the table.

I smiled prettily at him.

‘I don’t want to leave. I would love to stay and be part of the club that I have loved for most of my life; if that means playing with the girls’ team, great. I’ve always wanted to play with them and I get on well with all the girls. If that’s all, I’ll go now, my father is waiting downstairs and I want to breathe in some fresh air.’

I walked out and closed the door quietly behind me. My heels clicked on the marble floor as I crossed the passage and went over to the lift. The lift door opened smoothly and quietly and I stepped in. As the lift went down, I looked at my reflection in the mirrored walls and smiled slightly. He would never get it. It wasn’t in his blood. He could never understand what it was like to be a true lover of a club like Melchester. The club was always bigger than one person. I had been so lucky to not only be a supporter, but also a player at this great club with all the history, wonderful players and managers that we had had in over one hundred years of top flight football.

I thought that Hiram B had bitten off more than he could chew when he decided that the club was ripe for picking and that he would have a rude awakening in the not too far distant future.

As for myself –there was no way that this asset was going to be stripped.

To be continued...

Please leave comments and kudo thingies...thanks! ~Sue

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