The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2633 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

---

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.
@@@@@
Danielle was as fizzy as a shaken bottle of pop, which tended to spark the others off with not a little resentment that they hadn’t been chosen as well—and all because I messed about in the shoe department of a chain store.

Trish mizzed because she was yet again too young, “I’m always too young,” she complained.

“Not for baby clothes,” Danni fired back and I felt a need to get between them as it looked as if name calling was about to become something altogether more physical. Making them shake hands defused the situation especially when Danielle apologised without me asking her to. At times I’m impressed by her maturity, though it tends to be intermittent.

My suggestion that Trish work as hard as she could at school could give her the ultimate rebellion to be considered too young, I would be speaking with Oxford University and possibly Cambridge once I thought she was mature enough to do a degree, which should be earlier than most people manage it—considerably so. She brightened up at that, realising she could be ready to go in a couple of years. I’d arranged a chap from the physics department to coach her in physics and maths from the end of May. She said she was looking forward to it, I hoped so, it was going to cost enough especially on top of school fees.

Sunday morning eventually dawned and I took Danielle to her home ground for the soccer match. I did think to take my iPad and work in the car but the rain had stopped and donning my wellies I wandered out to the stand and took a seat—I know, the stand is full of seats, and this is England not the emerald Isle. Out of the watery sun that tried its best to shine, the wind was cool rather than the cold breezes we’d had of late, but then rain is usually accompanied by a south westerly wind which comes over the Atlantic ocean and up the channel.

About twenty minutes later the two teams arrived on the pitch and after the toss up to determine ends and kick off, the game began. Either this team had seen Danni in action before or had done their homework, because she was shadowed by three of the opposing side anytime it appeared she might get the ball. Several times she was fouled and I suspect collected some bruises. Twice the referee didn’t give the foul which caused a lot of opprobrium to flow his way from the partisan crowd.

The score remained goalless until about thirty minutes into the game when Danielle received a pass and out manoeuvred her markers to run towards the goal. Then she was just chopped down like a piece of timber. The referee showed the offending woman a yellow card who told him what she thought of him and then received a red one. At one point I thought she was going to hit him but she was bundled away by two of her colleagues and left the pitch.

All this time Danielle had been receiving attention from their trainer, ice and so on, plus I sent her some blue light. After several minutes she rose to her feet and limped about to an enormous cheer from the home supporters. She indicated she wanted to take the free kick which was a direct one, meaning it can be kicked at goal without anyone else needing to touch it.

The opposition set up their wall although in actual fact all it served to do was block the goalkeeper’s view not that she’d have stopped it. I know David Beckham was useful with a curving kick, but this one from Danni went round the right hand side of the wall and entered the goal inside the left hand goal post travelling so quickly I nearly lost sight of it. The goalie didn’t move. It was the best form of riposte to foul play there is.

At half time she gave me a thumbs up and I continued to send healing to her leg so when they returned for the second half she was running more freely but not at her usual full speed. As the game progressed she became increasingly confident and started to demonstrate why she was an England cap and her opponents weren’t, to be brief she ran rings around them. Watching the goalie come off her line, she lobbed the ball so it bounced a yard in front of the advancing keeper and bounced over her head and into the net.

Finally with the almost last kick of the match, she took a corner which hit the crossbar, then the back of the goalie’s head and ricocheted into the goal. Portsmouth won by three goals, all attributed to Danielle.

I waited while she showered and changed and we dashed off home for lunch and for Trish and I to work on her leg to get the bruising down, it was black and blue. We’d no sooner got home than her mobile rang, she spoke for a few moments and then she handed it to me.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs Cameron, it’s Bob Crowthorne.”

“Yes, how can I help?”

“You don’t know who I am do you?”

“Should I?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not; I’m the coach for the England Ladies side.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not overawed?”

“Should I be?”

He chuckled, “Obviously not—you know why I’m calling.”

“If it’s to ask me to play you’re in more trouble than I thought.”

He roared with laughter. “Uh not quite, but I’d like your daughter to train with the full ladies side with the possibility she could be the youngest full cap we’ve ever had.”

“Isn’t that asking for trouble putting a girl up against full grown women who’ll be bigger and stronger?”

“Normally I’d agree with you, but she’s already playing against adult women and beating them hands down. I think she’s skilful enough to hold her own and I think she’s ready to play on a bigger stage.”

“Hold on, Mr Crowthorne, I need to ask her if she feels ready.” He was saying something but I didn’t listen as I called Danielle back and asked her if she’d like to train with the England Ladies side. She practically floated up to the ceiling. “If I have your assurance that no one will try to hurt her, then I’ll allow her to come to train with your team.”

I suspect he was a little put out that I wasn’t overjoyed at his approach. Danielle was but I’m that little bit older and more cynical. I know she’s got the talent to hold her own but is she strong enough against the finest women players in the land? That was the question and I suppose until it was answered, we’d be none the wiser.

What a family eh? One playing for England at thirteen and another possibly at Oxbridge by the same sort of age; unusual doesn’t do it justice, does it?