The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2624 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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“Oh all right, I’ll come in then—just an upset tummy. Yes I know it’s important—all right, I said I would.” She switched the phone off.

“I take it you’re going?”

“Yeah but only because they were desperate.” I didn’t try to complicate matters further so let the matter drop.

She allowed me to cajole her into eating a bacon sandwich, which was fatal because half of Portsmouth appeared to want one as well. By the time we’d finished pretty well everyone in the house had a bacon sarnie, including me—it was delicious.

Afterwards we went up to change and I asked her what was really going on. “Nuthin’,” she said blushing.

“Sorry, kiddo, but I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Is it?”

She sat on the bed for a moment looking at the pair of shoes across the room from her. “No it isn’t.”

“So what is, the truth, I mean?”

“It was Sara Redfern.”

“What about Miss Redfern?” If she was anything like her father, it would mean that she could be quite persuasive assisted by money or threats. He was a Tory counsellor and business magnate.

“She said that girls who like playing physical sports are like boys and probably lesbians.”

“So just because some stupid and spiteful girls says so, you’re prepared to give up an England career?”

“Well I can’t afford to have them look me over with a tooth comb, can I?

“Why not? You look fine unless they do DNA from a mouth swab or look for periods or a womb.”

“What if the girls in school suspect something—I’d kill myself.”

“Wouldn’t that just confirm things?”

“It wouldn’t matter, I’d be dead.”

“It would to those of us left behind.”

“You’d get over it.”

“How dare you assume anysuch a thing?” I snapped angrily.

“Well you would in time.”

“Why would I?”

“People do.”

“That sounds like you haven’t had much experience of loss.”

“Only Billie, but that was bad enough.”

“I’m sure it was, kiddo, we all suffered but spare a thought for the rest of us. How d’you think I’d feel losing two children, especially to one of a suicide?”

“Wouldn’t be my problem, would it? I’d be dead.”

“If you succeeded, some don’t and you could be paralysed for the rest of what could be a very long life.”

“You don’t hear much about those.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t happen, remember absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.”

“I know, I know, but it could be.”

That was perfectly true but unlikely. “So you’re going to give up the thing which gives you most pleasure or kill yourself because of what a bully-girl says? I can’t believe it.”

“Why? Didn’t you do things to avoid the finger being pointed at you?”

I quickly scanned my data banks, I didn’t have any such memory but that might have been selective amnesia on my part. I suppose denying my femininity while at school could be considered avoidance strategy, though I didn’t deny it to myself where it probably grew almost daily until it became a truth in my eyes. Is this how delusions grow and was my whole being founded on such a delusion?

“Well did you?” demanded Danni disrupting my thoughts.

“Did I what?” I asked forgetting the question.

“Did you do things to avoid having people point a finger at you as being different?”

“I can’t remember, sweetheart. Look I’m not trying to criticise you, I’m trying to point out that you don’t have to give in to these bullies, because that’s all they are.”

“That’s all right for you to say,” she said tears beginning to form.

“Let me ask you a question?”

She nodded her assent.

“What was your finest moment—from the whole of your life so far?”

“Playing for England.”

“Would you rate that above fitting in to the standards set by a group of stupid bully girls?”

She nodded tears running down her face, “Yes,” she said quietly.

“You fought hard for that place, you’ll have to fight even harder to keep it—won’t you?”

She nodded.

“I presume you’d like to wear an England shirt again?”

“Yes. Yes, I would, Mummy.”

“So, are you playing today?”

She delicately wiped her eyes so as not to mess her mascara, like any other teen girl, “Yes, Mummy, I’m playing today and I don’t care if they call me a lezzie or a boy, I’m going to play for England again which is more than they ever will—stupid cows.”

Okay, I know, I manipulated her thinking. I know what her values are and while it’s difficult for teens who are seen as different—been there got the scars to prove it—it’s also important to see the main goals in life. Playing for England was her raison d’être not many weeks ago when she was so unsure if she wanted to be a girl—though the longer she spends in the role the more female she becomes. Wiping her eyes just now—a boy wouldn’t do it like that, he just wouldn’t think of it—a girl would. She’s more of a girl than she realises. I can’t say anything in case it makes her think differently. For all I know she still hankers after eventually becoming a boy again once her football career is over. I hope not because she’s becoming really quite shapely, so her response to oestrogen has been very positive.

She came down wearing a sweat shirt and jogging bottoms for ease of getting changed. I made the girls change into warmer clothing and then we all clambered into my Jaguar and set off for the football match.

The team coach gave her a piece of his mind for messing him about. I took him to one side and explained the pressure she was under from some of the girls at school. He wasn’t impressed declaring that if she didn’t have the ego strength to deal with it she’d lose her place in his team and the England place would fall as well.

I felt very angry and told him that she was his best player and if he didn’t stop talking through his arse, I’d offer her to Southampton or even Reading, who’d both jump at the chance to have her.

He almost dared me to do so, until I qualified, “Because your abuse of her has driven her away, which would almost certainly cause an investigation into his methods.”

“I’ve nothing to hide,” he brazened.

“Certainly not brain cells,” I chided. “You’ve bullied your star player which means they’d only have to question some of your lesser players and one or two will say you bullied them too. As soon as they do, you’re history.”

“You always so nasty?”

“Me, nasty? Not at all unless some arsehole threatens my children, then I don’t get nasty, I simply eliminate the irritant.”

He looked at me with a mixture of contempt and fear. I wasn’t joking and he knew it.

Danni did play and scored both goals—she has enormous talent, my job is to give her the best chance to develop it. The coach’s job is to develop it. We don’t like each other but we both know we have someone special we have to encourage and protect.