The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2943 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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“Lady Cameron, I fully appreciate that Danielle has to put her career with the national side before our game with Leigh park, but we have never got to the final before let alone won it and it would mean so much to the whole school including the girls who play in the team. They already think of Danielle as a minor deity when she’s on the field with them and she’s even taught Ms Dunford lots about tactics and training. She is such a complete footballer...” she sighed, “and now we’ve lost her.”

“You’ve still got Trish.”

“Goodness, she’s far too young.”

“She’s probably as good as most of your older girls and the rules say, ‘You can’t play an older player with a young team not a young one with an older team.’ I mean, usually they term it under fifteens or what have you.”

“D’you think Trish would be prepared to try and play for us?”

“If you ask her nicely I’m sure she would. She’s no substitute for Danni but she is as good as most of the players you have.”

“I’ll ask her tomorrow, I hope she’ll agree.”

I went and found Danielle who was polishing her boots. “Tomorrow I want you to fill Trish in on your tactics for the schools’ final.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s going to take your place on the school team.”

The look on her face was initially one of shock then she started to laugh very loudly. I could have hit her.

“What’s so funny?” asked Trish appearing as she’d just materialised by the side of us.

Danielle looked at her and roared with laughter again. “What’s up with her, she forget her medication again?” asked the brain. Danielle laughed even louder and her mascara was running down her face with the tears.

“I’d get your money back,” Trish said to her elder sister.

“What?”

“Your waterproof mascara.”

“What about it?”

“It isn’t.”

“Isn’t what?” asked Danielle.

“Waterproof.”

“Aw hell,” said the older sibling rushing off up the stairs to clean it off and probably reapply it, though she’ll be going to bed in an hour or so’s time.

“I told Danielle that you’d be replacing her in the school cup final on Saturday.”

Trish started to laugh and I began to wonder if this was some form of unconscious code I was giving them.

“That’s really funny, I’ll be there cheering on St Claire’s and watching my sister score a dozen goals.”

“Danni has to go do an England training camp.”

“No, we’ve never won the soccer and with Danielle we should do it.”

“I’m sure you could do it too. Think how that would look on your CV.”

“Hmmm,” she said, “she’d have to tell about the tactics.” With Trish it’s all about motivation and ego comes high in the list of topics in that area.

When Danielle came back with fresh mascara, I left them to it and when Trish went off to bed some hour later they seemed quite amicable. I buttonholed Danni. “How’d it go with Trish?”

“Okay, she understood the principles, whether she can provide the same degree of accuracy remains to be seen.”

“Can you repeat that in English?”

“She knows what I was going to do, whether she can do it, is another matter.”

“Could you give her some lessons?”

“I thought she knew everything?”

“Yes very droll—now can you or not?”

“I s’pose I can try.”

“When?”

“We’ve only got tomorrow night, haven’t we?”

“I suppose we have, where?”

“Wosswrong with the school field?”

“What about the football club practice ground?”

“What? They’ll never let us practice there.”

“They might if I ask them.”

“Just remember I play there, they already call me a bighead ‘cos of my cap.”

“Leave it with me.”

The next day dragged as I waited to be able to take my two to the Portsmouth training ground. Finally, we went with Trish not looking as confident as she had been this morning. However, I parked the Jaguar and we wandered over to the soccer pitch where Danni tried to teach her younger sister to bend it like Beckham. It didn’t seem to be going too well and I wondered if my idea was going to prove useless.

A couple of men were running circuits of the pitch and they stopped to watch my two girls, then one of them wandered over and I felt my hackles rise. If he said anything negative to either of them I’d be all over him like a rash.

Instead I stood and watched as he corrected Trish’s posture showed the area of her foot to hit the ball. She tried again and the ball definitely curved. Half an hour later, with the man’s coaching she was actually quite good and Danielle was even better. I drove them home with both of them chattering in high spirits. “Who was the chap who helped you both?” I asked wondering if he was a player or a teacher.

“The Pompey captain, why?”

“I wondered, he was very patient with both of you.”

“Yeah, I told him I played for the ladies side but was off to an England training weekend, that’s when he asked to see me kick the ball.”

“He showed you a trick or two with bending it, didn’t he?”

“I knew what to do, he just helped me improve it.”

“What about you, Trish, feel any better?”

“Bring it on,” she said nonchalantly.

I wondered if I should warn her of overconfidence.

Danni was really pleased with her free coaching lesson and Trish walked around with this peculiar smile on her face the rest of the evening. I had a feeling she was going to be wearing a certain shirt for the game. While she was busy with Livvie doing some homework, I found the particular item of clothing and surreptitiously washed it. I’d asked Amanda to press it tomorrow while they were in school, I asked her do Danielle’s as well—the England shirt with number seven on the back and a certain name above it.

I finished early on Friday to have the time to run Danni up to Reading FC for her weekend. I made sure the shirt was packed as well as the rest of her kit plus some money, her mobile and a few chocolate bars and other snacks.

The drive up with the rush hour traffic was about as much fun as sticking wet fingers in a live socket, but we got there and Danielle gave me a tremendous hug. “I feel so nervous,” she said.

“Look here, girl,” I said, “you have so much natural talent in this sport, all you have to do is let it shine.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen girls crocked by friends of others.”

“If anyone injures you deliberately to stop you qualifying, get me their name and I’ll sue the knickers off them and everyone they’ve ever met.”

“Wow, my mother the guard dog,” she said smirking.

“The dormouse that roared, eh?”

She laughed and relaxed, “Yeah, why not?”