The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2942 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 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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I drove home feeling like a large weight had been lifted off me though carrying it for so long had left me feeling very tired. Once home after speaking with all of the younger girls, I made some tea and after changing into some jeans and a sweat shirt I went and sat in my study. I needed a few moments to process what had happened today.

I was knee deep in reverie when Danni tapped the door and came in, “You okay, Mummy?”

“Yeah, just a bit tired.”

She came and sitting next to me gave me a huge hug.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“That’s okay.” She paused, she obviously wanted to talk about something. “Mum...”

“Yes, darling?”

“I think I want to give up football.”

“Playing it or what?”

“Completely.”

“What about England?”

“I think I’m a bit too far for them—they haven’t even hinted they’re interested in me anymore and I’m fed up with training or getting all bruised and scratched every time I play.”

“Why don’t you think it over for a couple of weeks and if you still want to give up, then I’ll help you write to each of the clubs.”

“Thanks, Mum.” She pecked me on the cheek, “So did you tell Debbie?”

“Tell her about yourself and all the rest of us?”

“Why should I tell her about myself?”

“Because it’s been eating you up for weeks.”

“How d’you know about that?”

“The odd sign here or there, it all led to one thing.” She was getting so intuitive and also very pretty.

“Yes, I told her.”

“An’ she knew already.”

“Yes—how d’you know that?”

“She’s ten years younger than you, Mummy, she uses a computer for everything. She’d probably looked you up before she came to Portsmouth.”

“Long before, she saw me on the telly with your dad doing the first interview when one of the tabloids threatened to expose me. She was doing her A-levels and said it inspired her to change over herself as soon as she could, especially when she saw I was a biologist.”

“That’s what I want to do instead of football.”

“What is?”

“Science, probably biology.”

“Why can’t you do both?”

“Both what?”

“Soccer and science?”

“I don’t want to, trainin’ and stuff takes up too much time.”

“And you really don’t want to play for England again?”

“They don’t want transwomen playing for them, too many questions to answer.”

“Well more fool them, you happen to be one of their best players.”

“Not anymore, they have a game in two weeks, the squad will have been put together weeks ago. If they’d wanted me, they’d have said so.”

“Would you like me to call them tomorrow and tell them to remove your name from their list?”

“I dunno—yeah, please.”

“Which?”

“Phone ’em, please.”

“Leave me the number and I’ll do it tomorrow, but only if you’re sure.”

“They’d have been in contact by now if they wanted me.”

“Okay, I’ll do it but if you change your mind...”

“I won’t,” she sniffed back the tears that had been forming in her eyes.

“You love your soccer, why not just play for the school?”

“That’s like playing with kids. Unless the opposition can stop me, my side will win. If they do stop me—legitimately, we’ll have overlaps and will win. At school level, any team I play in will win.” Having seen her play, I knew she wasn’t exaggerating nor being conceited. She really was in a league above everyone else until you get to international level, which is where she belongs. However, it seems as if they’ve dropped her and it isn’t because her skills are less so it has to be something else—her gender change, is the most obvious despite the FA being signed up to a code of anti-discrimination for gays and transgender players.

Later on I spoke to Julie and told her about my chat with Debbie. “She knew all along.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“How d’you know?”

“She asked me when we did her makeover. She was anxious that they’d think it was you and stir everything up again, so she decided she wanted to draw their fire away from you and thought the easiest way was to just appear and say it was her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She asked me not to say anything, she also asked about how she could tell you she knew an’ I just said you’d tell her when you were ready. She saw you on telly years ago with Dad.”

“I can’t believe all this.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Well to start with, you keeping a secret—that is weird.”

“Ha, hark who’s talking...” we bantered for ten or so minutes. I told her that Danni had decided to give up football.

“Why? It’s the one thing she’s good at.”

“I’ve asked her to reconsider but she seems adamant.”

“I think she’d be making a mistake.”

“Perhaps you need to do the big sister thing—she listens to you.”

“Since when?”

“Will you try?”

“Okay, but I doubt it will work.”

It didn’t and the next morning I was calling the man in charge of the England women’s team—yeah I know—man in charge. I introduced myself and told him I was calling on behalf of my daughter, Danielle Cameron.

“That name is familiar—hold one second please.” I heard papers rustling and a computer peeping. “I thought so, sorry I don’t pick the teams I look after the administration element, As I thought, she’s been invited for squad training on the weekend, haven’t you had the letter yet?”

“No.”

“Is there a problem with her availability?”

“Where is it?”

“Usual place, Reading.”

“She’ll be there.”

“Oh good—so why were you phoning?”

“I wondered if she was going to be included again.”

“Yes she is. We’ve been playing around with different squads and she’s seen as one of the stars of the future, we hadn’t picked her because she is quite young and the last thing we need is to get her crocked before she gets to her full size and strength. So we’ve been saving her but she has huge potential and I’d like to see her achieve that in an England shirt.”

“She’ll be there on Friday evening.”

I sent her a text, ‘Make sure ur kit is clean, ur part of the England squad on fri. Mum xxx’

She’s have been in lessons but I got one back a little later. ‘Eh? D xxx’

I set her another asking her to call me when she could.

“Hi Mummy, what’s this all about?”

“You’ve been summoned for training in Reading for the England squad.”

“I thought you were telling them to stick their team?”

“What we agreed was that if they were putting you out to grass, I’d tell them you weren’t available.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Apparently there’s a letter in the post to you asking you to appear for squad training.”

“Oh—that’s different.”

“I told them you’d be there.”

“Oh.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s the school’s final on Saturday.”

“I’d have thought the national side took precedence.”

“Okay, I’ll go and tell them.”

Some days I do wonder if I should stay in bed.