The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2501 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Mrs Cameron, this is Mike Butcher,” Danni was practically jumping up and down with excitement, I was trying to stop myself falling over as the complications began to multiply in my head and reverberate in my large intestine.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Butcher.” I took his proffered hand and squeezed his fingers—a real girly handshake. I hope my hand wasn’t too sweaty.

“I’ve just watched Danielle in action and I’d like to have her come to a training camp for a weekend.”

“Where and when?” I wondered if we could still get out of this without Danni feeling too disappointed.

“During the Christmas holidays, probably in Town, not sure of the venue yet, might be Highbury or even Saracen’s stadium. We’ll get some details from the club and drop you a note. She’ll need to bring a few things.”

“Kit to play in for two days and we’ll need her to submit to a medical if we go to stage two.” Danni was still so excited she wasn’t really listening, but I was and I wasn’t sure what to do.

“What happens at this training camp?”

“We check out their basic skills, hand eye coordination, balance, ability to kick with either foot, heading ability. Then we see how fast they can run. Finally, after discussion with the other coaches and the girl herself, we try playing them in the positions we think would suit their game best. We give them a game plan and they play a few short games, possibly in different positions. If we think they have potential, we do the medical and they then go on a training rota. They come to us once a month and if they live up to their potential, they might get to wear an England shirt, on the bench for a few games—just to get the feel of being on the squad—and we might use them as subs, so they’d get a cap for that.”

“So you think little Danni could be good enough to play for England?”

“She could, but I need to assess her more with colleagues.”

I gave him one of my cards. “You’re a doctor?”

“I’m a biologist.”

“She’s a professor, aren’t you, Mummy?”

“I’m impressed, most of the professors I’ve seen were old men with more hair on their chins than their heads. I’ve never met one as lovely as you before, let alone as young. You don’t look old enough to have a teenage daughter.”

“Mr Butcher, thank you for your flattering assessment, I hope you’re better with football talent.”

He blushed and smiled. “I’m good at both, Professor. If she’s inherited your brains as well as your looks, she’s going to be quite an asset to the side.”

“I thought she was being assessed for her footballing skills.”

“She is, but it doesn’t go amiss for us to have some feminine looking girls as well as the less attractive ones. It attracts boys to come and watch us and it encourages girls who might think football is tomboys.”

“My sister Trish is good too, isn’t she, Mummy?”

“You have another daughter?”

“Yes,” I glared at Danni who seemed oblivious to what she was doing. “But she’s only nine, so too young for your squads.”

“At the moment, yes, but in three or four years, who knows?”

“Quite.”

“She might be at Oxford then,” Danni continued offering unnecessary information—no wonder social media is considered paedophile heaven.

“What the football club?” asked our soccer scout.

“No, the university,” chuckled Danni, “She’s got a brain like a planet.”

“She’s precocious?” he checked.

“Just a little,” I admitted wishing Danni would become mute.

“Oh come on, Mummy, she helped me win that game the other week.”

I wondered if anyone would notice if I knocked her out?

“She helped you win the game—a nine year old?”

“Yeah, she calculated wind speeds and resistance of the grass and told us to play long balls but to stay inside the half so we weren’t offside. Once I’d scored a couple o’ times they marked me which let one of the other girls through. We won three nil.”

“She calculated wind speed...?”

“Danielle, don’t exaggerate. She spotted the wind was freshening from the one end.”

“But could see the potential for the long or through ball—maybe I should meet this pocket sized genius.”

“I don’t think so, Mr Butcher, not until she’s a bit older.” I glared at Danni, who this time began to cotton on. It was another ten minutes before she could go and shower and I could take her home, by which time I was feeling quite sick.

“Cor, Mummy, I could become an England player.” She was so excited.

“Don’t count your chickens, young lady.”

“Yeah, I know, I might not be good enough.”

“I suspect that isn’t the only reason.”

“It should be decided on ability, Mummy.”

“There is the little matter of a medical, as well.”

“Oh poo, why does that always get in the way, so that’s it then?” She went quiet and I watched the tears drip off her face. “’Snot fair,” she said and sobbed some more.

“Before we consider this was just a fantasy, we need to get some advice.”

“It’s no good, they won’t want a boy in their team.”

“They won’t have a boy on their team.”

“Yeah, ’cos they’ll drop me like a stone.”

“No, because the law says you’re a girl or as good as.”

“You’re joking.”

“Like I said we need to get some advice. In some sports if you’ve been on hormones for six months or more you’re seen as having no advantage over a biological female because you’d have the same sort of musculature. That you’re post operative, means you’ve not had much testosterone in your body for months. We need to see what the rules say and see if we can bend them a little if necessary.”

“How you gonna do that?”

“I’m not, but I know a man who might. It won’t guarantee anything but a chance to show how good you are.”

“Is it worth it, Mummy?”

“Would you like to wear an England cap?”

“More than anything.”

“Okay, I’m not promising anything, but it might just be possible if you’re good enough.”

“How do I know if I am?”

“You play to the best of your ability and keep your training schedule up to scratch.”

“What about being a boy?”

“You could try to get into a boy’s team but I doubt you’d manage it.”

“No—me being a boy.”

“Danielle, you’re not a boy—unless that’s what you want to be.”

“I’d rather play for England as a girl than just be a boy, Mummy.”

“Okay, let’s get some dinner and I’ll make some phone calls.”

I wasn’t really that hungry and I suspect Danni felt even less like eating than I did. David had done a chicken casserole with rice. I dished us up a couple of platefuls and Simon who was hovering in the background asked if we’d had enough before tipping the remainder of the rice into the casserole and eating from the dish with a spoon despite my disapproving looks. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, just like my two lovely girls,” he chuckled making Danni smirk.

“So what happened to make you charge out of the house like it was on fire?”

“It was Danni’s football training and we forgot.”

“And?”

“That’s it—you were late for football training?”

“Yeah,” we both said but Danni couldn’t keep her face deadpan.

“Okay, what aren’t you telling me?”

I shrugged but Danni added, “They had an England scout there, they want to assess me at a training camp.” Simon nearly choked on his casserole, pity it wasn’t a pudding, I could have said, ‘He’d got his just desserts.’ Oops, I suppose he might just have inhaled a bit of rice—he won’t learn from it, just like Kiki, greed is not a good habit.