Previously...

I put my cup down and licked my finger as they were a bit sticky and then I opened the letter, wondering what it was about.

It was from Human Resources,

Dear Ms Hurst,

It has come to our attention that your private interview with Mr Atwater was recorded by you and subsequently the said recording has appeared on a number of sites including YouTube.

This shows a flagrant disregard to the rules of the club and the terms and conditions of your employment.

You are hereby suspended until further notice and you are required to appear before a disciplinary board, one week from today to answer questions and explain yourself. You can of course have representation if you so wish. The exact time and place of the meeting will be forwarded to you in due course.

In addition, we have been asked to inform you that Mr Atwater will be contacting you via his solicitor regarding the publication and broadcast of the interview which may be considered a civil or criminal offence.

Yours sincerely,

Daniel L Warburton
(Human Resources)

I put the letter down, feeling a bit sick. Picking it up again, I looked at the name at the bottom of the letter. I had never heard of a Daniel L Warburton, but that wasn’t important.

Who had done this? Who would have put the interview on the net?

What was going on here?

And now the story continues…

‘Oh crap,’ I said, or rather, croaked.

What was going on here? How did the club and Hyram B Smellyfart get hold of the recording of our conversation?

I dropped the letter on the bed, sank back on my pillow and closed my eyes. When would it all end?

Sometime later I woke up to the sound of the door being opened.

Looking up, I could see Daddy with a tray. On it was a cup of something and what suspiciously looked like Chocolate Hobnobs.

I smiled and then remembered that letter.

‘Daddy?’

‘Yes love, how do you feel?’

‘Rotten; Daddy...’

‘Get this tea down you then you will feel better,’

‘Daddy! I croaked as loudly as I could, the result wasn’t pretty–a bit like Kermit The Frog on a bad hair day, but at least I got his attention.

He put the tray down on the bedside table and then looked at me.

‘What petal?’

‘Petal, petal, what with the petal, I’m not a flaming petal–what’s going on here. I find that my taped conversation with Hiram is plastered all over YouTube, I get two letters, one saying that I lose all privileges at the club and the last one saying that I am suspended and will be shot at dawn...’

He laughed and then sat down by the bed, picking up the letter and reading it.

‘Hmm,’ he said.

‘Is that all you can say? Here I lie on my sick bed feeling erm, sick and all you can say is hmm?’

‘Sorry love. I know all about these letters. As your parents and the fact that you are a minor, we had copies sent to us too. We are working on a response.’

‘But who blabbed, shopped us, and gave it to the press and YouWhatsit?’

‘Guess?’

‘Don’t know; that’s why I ask.’

‘To be honest, at first I thought that it was Claire. She had been playing around with your phone and was spitting blood when she heard the meeting that you had with Hiram, but she swears that she would never do anything that would harm your chances to play with the club. Her idea of revenge was throwing red paint at him when he was next in the director’s box. Nice idea that, though Monica would have a fit.’

I took a sip of tea and a large chunk out of my biscuit. It seemed that I was getting my appetite back. Once I had swallowed I was able to continue.

‘Daddy, why do you look so smug? You know something.’

‘Are you well enough to talk, you still look pale and sickly. Your mother would brain me if she knew that I was exciting you.’

‘I’m not excited, I’m exasperated and will have a relapse if you don’t tell me.’

‘Okay, you twisted my arm. We believe that Hiram was recording your meeting with him.’

‘Of all the low down, dirty...’

‘Well you did the same.’

I paused, mid rant.

‘True; anyway, why would he publish or whatever it’s called. Let’s face it, it doesn’t exactly show him up in a good light.’

‘Sheila believes that Hiram couldn’t give a fu... I mean fig about bad publicity. He’s only interested in money and trying to be angelic is not one of his obvious traits. No he wanted to use the incriminating evidence that you supposedly sold or gave the recording out to get rid of you. Now he could say that you betrayed the trust of the club and all that nonsense and he could sell you and not be considered the bad guy. also, he would save on fees if you requested a transfer rather than be made to do so. As I say, he’s a bad guy.’

‘Bad guy? He makes the Borgia’s look like wonderful, caring human beings.’

‘How do you know about the Borgias?’

‘History class or was it on the TV...anyway what are we going to do about it? I don’t want to leave Melchester.’

‘You may have to love; you are persona non grata there at the moment.’

‘What’s that, is it a Greek club? Never heard of them.’

‘I thought you said that you were clever?’

‘Me, nah, thick as a brick, me.’

The next several days saw me gradually get better and I really start to believe that I would live and I stopped reading, Which Burial Plot?

I was, with precautions, pronounced fit and well enough to go out. Out of the bedroom, that is. The bug that I had had was a nasty little critter (probably related to Hyram) and it hung about like a spare thingie at a wedding. However, I was allowed walks in the grounds but that was the extent of my exercise. That was okay by me, as just walking up a flight of stairs had me wheezing like an asthmatic sheep.

It was a lovely day, almost summery, only there were no leaves on the trees and not many flowers were about. The grounds were looking lovely as Mr Moon tended them with almost as much loving care as his wife did with her cooking. I often passed the time of day with Mr Moon. He was a nice man and always had time to stop and answer my stupid questions like– was this or that plant a weed? It was a well known fact that the only flower that I was pretty sure wasn’t a weed, was a rose and that’s because they had thorns...well I think that was why.

In one of his more reflective moments, sucking on his smelly old pipe and looking at me he imparted some of his wisdom.

‘Well Miss Susan, it’s like this; a weed is just a plant in the wrong place.’

Heavy stuff!

Andrea was with me on Saturday as I walked around the garden and getting a breath of fresh air. I was holding her hand and that was nice. I wanted to check out her tonsils with my tongue, but for some reason she wasn’t keen. Something about my still being germ infested. She should love all of me including my germs, but she would have none of it–spoil-sport.

We both didn’t talk about much it, but my mind was miles away at Fellingham. Melchester were playing a Premier League match there that day and I had a sort of hollow feeling in my stomach over the fact that I wasn’t there with the team.

My people, (I always wanted to say that!), were looking into things and were going over my contract with the club with a fine tooth comb prior to my disciplinary meeting with them.

Andrea hugged me and then looked at me.

‘It will get better, I’m sure.’

‘I hope so,’ I sighed. ‘I miss playing and being with the lads. I hope that we can do something about it, but I really don’t know what.’

‘Never mind,’ said Andrea, kissing my cheek, ‘I’m here and I may be of thome athithance if there ith a thudden crithith!’

I stepped back and looked at her.

‘What did I tell you about watching The Life Of Brian?’

‘I was just thinking of that Tapwater idiot.’

‘You mean Hyram, what’s he got to do with it?’

‘Stwike him, Centuwion. Stwike him vewy wuffly!’

‘You have a weird brain, young Andrea, but I love it!’

Andrea was still full of her new school. She loved it; everyone was nice and bullying was rarely heard of. Some of the kids were plonkers, and others you wouldn’t want to spend time with on a desert island, but in the main she thought that it was a cool place, apart from the horrendous, unfair and punishing homework schedule which would, she felt, severely cut into snogging time with me.

‘So it’s better than our old school then?’ I said.

‘Yes–that’s what I have been saying haven’t I? Mind you, the uniform is a bit 70’s: below the knees skirts, I ask you, and you have this silly scarf thing, rather than a tie, and I don’t even want to talk about the hat, it would make a nice flower pot...’

‘Better than your old uniform though?’

‘Course!’

We looked at each other and giggled.

It was Sunday. The day of the disciplinary board was going to be the following day.

Things were not looking too bright for the club–already reeling under a 6-0 thrashing at Fellingham on Saturday, several players had put in transfer requests, including Osgood. I had watched the game on the TV and I barely recognised the team as the one that I played with so recently.

The new manager had gone for zonal marking and without being too technical; it means that defensively each player covers an area rather than an individual player. If that player comes into your area, it’s your responsibility to cover him or her. It can work well, if you know what you are doing, but it can also be a disaster and it was against Fellingham, when the manager in his wisdom or lack of it, chose several players from the reserves over more established men. Wholesale changes in a team are not good and it showed.

I had a few texts from team members and it appeared that there had been a bit of a dressing room revolt after the new manager said that they were to radically change the system at the last minute.

I’m not normally keen on player power, mainly because it undermines the manager and the team usually suffered as a result, but in this instance, I was with the lads. Odongo had texted me, he said that Neil Price couldn’t run a boys under 11 team properly let alone a Premier Club and on the face of it, I agreed with his assessment.

The fact that we lost so badly undermined the concern that I and thousands of supporters had that things were going from bad to worse. There had been banners up in the Fellingham ground at the away supporters end and they weren’t nice reading, the mildest comment being–Hyram out–Bring Back Mac!!!

The newspapers were not holding back either, and were vociferous in their attacks on the club and specifically the manager and owner.

I was inundated with requests for interviews and comments on the situation, but everything was channelled though Sheila and she did a very good impression of a stone wall.

So here I was on Sunday, the day before my disciplinary meeting that would be so important for my future, or lack of it, if things went badly. I was scheduled to do a few things with my sponsors and I was officially declared off the sick list by Mummy.

I had lost my Bride Of Frankenstein, consumptive look and I was ready, willing and able to get back to doing something productive. One of the things I had lined up was a photo shoot for some smellies that were evidently going to have my name on them. We had to go down to London for the shoot and I was photographed in front of The London Eye, Albert Hall and Marble Arch. My still slightly sore and red nose was hidden under a foot of makeup, so I didn’t have that less than flattering Rudolf look.

Posing and looking glamorous is hard work and I was quite tired after the shoot. We went to lunch at Clarridge’s–as you do–and I had chicken and chips, well not quite, it was Poulet frites with some sort of rich sauce on it. Very nice, but the portions could have been bigger for a growing girl.

Daddy was with me, as were Danni and Charlotte. After downing gallons of coke, I had to use the loo, so I excused myself and went to the Ladies. Danni got up to follow me, but it was only about 50 yards away and anyway I hated people hearing me tinkle, one of those shy bladder things that had carried over from my boy phase.

I walked in and the place was empty. Mind you the loo was the poshest one I had ever been in with marble everywhere, gold taps and a deep red carpet on the floor. There were several gilt chairs dotted about and along one wall, with the washbasins, was one extremely long and heavy gilt framed mirror.

I went into a cubicle shut the door and did the necessary. I took off my high heels–I bet that they were invented by men; they didn’t have to wear them–and rubbed my stockinged feet. Now that felt nice!

Once I had finished, I put my slightly swollen feet back in my shoes, flushed the toilet and went back out again.

A tall young woman was standing at a wash basin, applying lipstick. I nodded to her and she smiled back. Washing my hands quickly, I went over to the drier and erm, dried my hands.

Just then, I was grabbed by the arms, spun around and then slammed against a marble wall.

I had a necklace around my neck which was a cunningly designed panic button, she ripped it off and then trod on it.

‘WHAT?’ I shouted as I looked into the cold, icy blue eyes of the woman. She had me in a vice like grip and my head hurt from when it banged against the unforgiving wall.

‘Don’t bother shouting. Good sound proofing here. I’ve jammed a chair against the door handle and put an out of order sign outside–don’t say a word. I have a few moments before your paid goons wonder where their precious, precocious brat is.’

She had an American accent, strangely low but full of venom and power. I couldn’t move–under that power dress, she must have had muscles of steel. I had a sick feeling in my stomach and my heart was hammering away.

‘Listen carefully Mark–sorry, Susan. We know all about you–everything. We know your friends and your parents. We are aware of everyone’s movements.’

‘What do you...’

She slapped me hard around the face.

‘Shut up, I won’t be so nice next time. I have been asked to tell you that you are to put in an immediate transfer request, prior to your meeting at the club tomorrow. Buyers are being lined up and you will go to the highest bidder, no matter who it is or where it comes from. Maybe you’ll have to freeze your butt off in some godforsaken hell hole in Siberia, I don’t know or care. If you don’t, well things can happen to those around you.

‘I understand that freak of a boy friend was attacked outside his school; maybe something can be arranged for that to happen again–boys in dresses ain’t natural. Then there are your parents and the twins. The world is full of nasty people and you never know what might occur; do you want that on your conscience? One final thing, accidents happen on the pitch. You could easily break a leg or an arm or even your neck playing soccer–think about it.

‘You have a day to do as we suggest. Failure to do so will seriously harm you and those you love. If you say anything to anyone, things will happen. We are watching you and we will know if you have blabbed.’

She let go of my arms but stood there. I should have bolted there and then, but I was scared witless and my legs felt like jelly.

‘I’m leaving now. Wait a few moments and then you can go. Not a word to anyone. By the time you get to your table, I will be out of here and long gone. You will never see me again, but if you do not do as I say, my colleagues will make sure that you go through a living hell.’

She stepped back and looked me up and down.

‘Nice dress–for an ex boy. Have a nice day.’

She smiled. winked at me and then went over to the door, taking the chair away from the door knob and with a final glance at me, she nodded as if we had just passed a pleasant few moments together and just left.

I sunk down on a chair, my hands on my face. I was shaking almost uncontrollably and I wanted to cry but there were no tears.

A moment later the door opened and someone came over to me.

‘Susan, are you all right,’ asked a concerned sounding Danni.

I looked up at her and burst into tears.

‘Honey, what’s wrong–not feeling well? You shouldn’t have done all this today. You haven’t got over the flu properly yet.’

I looked up at her through streaming eyes. My nose had blocked up and I probably looked a right state, but my thoughts were not on the way I looked. I couldn’t tell her. If I did, ‘they’ would know that I had told and then bad things would happen to those who I loved.

‘Can we go home please?’ I asked.

‘Okay honey; oh your necklace, it’s broken,’

She bent to pick it up.

‘I...the chain snapped. Can we please go home?’

To be continued...

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