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Previously...

I turned round; it was the boss.

‘How’s ye’re leg, lassie?’

‘Fine, Boss.’

‘Gude.’

He gazed at me for a few moments and smiled.

‘Ye played well today, lassie.’

‘I didn’t. We lost and I kept falling over.’

‘Everybody fell over. We’re putting in a complaint aboot the pitch. It’ll nae due any gude this year, but they’ll have tae due somethin’ aboot it next year. Ye did play well, lassie. Ye kept goin’ and ye showed heart an’ spirit. Ye canna expect tae win every game. Ye have tae learn tae lose as well as win. If ye’re gifted, ye learn from whatever mistakes ye make an’ ye move on. Will ye due that fer me?’

‘Yes, Boss,’ I said, grinning and feeling a bit better somehow.

‘Well done,’ he patted me on the shoulder and moved on to the next player.

~ §~

As I snuggled up in my brand new naughty nightie, cuddling my white rabbit and listening to some Mozart on my super cool iPhone, I realised that I had learnt a valuable lesson today. You are only as good as your last game and it does you good to eat a bit of humble pie sometimes. Not as good as Mrs M’s steak and kidney, but one that is needed sometimes to bring you back down to Earth.

And now the story continues…

Life continued as normal for a very short while after that disastrous match at Trillingam. For me, “normal” meant a life revolving around football, sponsorship commitments, radio and TV interviews, football, and more football. All that sort of “normality” lasted all of two days.

My personal life was somewhat hectic–when I had the time to have a personal life, that is. As a footballer, I spent an awful lot of time on the road or in aeroplanes and of course those nondescript hotels that look the same all over the world. All that travel soon loses what charm it ever had and one of the main things I had to attend to was the sheer boredom. I did try to get Andrea to come as my personal assistant, the emphasis being on the personal, but for some reason, the old’s didn’t like that idea. I think trust is a two-way street don’t you?

Monica and Mummy had come to an agreement whereby to salve her conscience, Monica would pay for her and her families upkeep at Chateau Madhouse. The fact that we didn’t need paying and that I was so flaming rich, I could have bought another one the same size out of my pocket money, didn’t really make any difference so I said nothing, smiled sweetly and just hugged her, as they were staying!

Andrea kept taking her pills and trying to be the best girl she could outside of school hours where she had to wear the dreaded boys’ school uniform. Claire just kept being Claire, I don’t think she would ever change, and I just wondered, if she had kids, what they would like, be like.

The twins had been farmed out to a nursery, not because they needed to be, but because Jeanie was big on them interacting with other kids. Three mornings a week they went and the place was strangely quiet when they weren’t around.

All of us girls, (except the twins, of course), had regular sessions with Danni and Charlotte in self defence. All very interesting; it is surprising how vulnerable the human body is. The main lesson was, run if you can, holler if you can and if you can’t do either, try not to get into a situation where you can be attacked. If all else fails, hit hard. The vulnerable spots included the shins, genitals and eyes and various points in between. I felt quite yucky at some of the things Danni told me.

Most mornings when not training, I went running with Danni or Charlotte. I was getting fitter by the day, and though not as strong or muscle bound as some of my fellow team-mates, I could outrun most of them.

Ferris and his hate group had been keeping uncharacteristically quiet and I began to wonder when they would make their next move. The newspapers were gagged up so tight that if they even mentioned the size of my knickers without permission they would be litigated against to within an inch of their corporate lives.

So life went on and I began to relax a bit, just worrying about the next game or whether my bum would stop getting so big. My breasts were growing quite nicely, and although not up to Dolly Parton proportions, I was very aware of the fact the little darling’s were growing up a bit.

It was a few weeks later that I got a phone call. I had just been reading an article about little me where the facts were almost fifty percent correct–I was quite impressed at that. Of course I was more interested in the things that I was supposed to have done or were rumoured about. I was enjoying working out when I had actually told someone from the papers that I liked Steve Epton, the Barstone centre forward. By like, read like and was just getting to a juicy bit when Mrs M came in with the ‘phone.

‘Susan, it’s for you.’

‘Who is it?’

‘No idea, some man with a thick foreign accent.’

‘Thanks,’ I said taking the phone from her, ‘Hello?’

‘Susan Hurst?’

‘Yes,’

‘It is I, Stanislav Anatolyev’

‘Stanislav who?’

‘Anatolyev.’

‘Stani…Mr Anatolyev?’

‘Yes. You fit?’

‘Fit, yes.’

‘You play.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You play, eeerrrm in squad, Saturday, against Scotsland.’

‘You want me in the squad to play Scotland?’

‘Yes, said that already.’

‘Is this a wind up, is that you Andrea, I’ll…’

‘”Wind up” what is this? Speak to assistant.’

The phone went quiet and then another voice came on.

‘Hell Susan, Craig Sherriton here.’

Craig Sherriton was the England manager’s assistant, a former player, and I was a bit in awe over speaking to the man who managed to score sixty goals in less than eighty games for his country.

‘Oh h…hello Mister Sherriton, was that who I thought it was?’

‘Yes, he always likes to contact new players personally, but his English is not great yet.’

‘So it’s not a wind up.’

He laughed.’ No it isn’t. We have had a number of players pull out due to injury, and as it’s only a friendly–although how you could call England v. Scotland a friendly, I’ll never know–The boss thought that it might be good to give you a start.’

‘I’m only sixteen, shouldn’t I start with the under 21’s?’

‘You will be playing for them anyway to give you some experience, but the boss couldn’t care less how old you are. If you are a good player, you get picked. You may not even play, but it’s all good experience. Well, you’re in the squad, and Melchester have been told. They will give you all the details about timetables. But we will be playing at Wembley as usual, and all I can say is congratulations on being the youngest ever player to be chosen to be in the squad.’

He said a few more things, but I didn’t really catch them. After a choking goodbye, I sat down again and looked over to the lake where two ducks were doing naughty things to each other. My mind wasn’t on the ducks, but on the bizarre conversation I had just had.

It was hard to take. I was only in the squad– only! Well anyway if I did play, would I be the youngest?

I went up to my bedroom, fired up my trusty lappy and then Googled it.

Yes, I would be the youngest by over a year! No pressure then!

I wondered where everyone was. Should I go and tell them? I felt a bit shy about that, not wanting to bang my own trumpet–no, that was wrong; anyway, you know what I mean.

I lay down on my bed and used the hoofer-doofer to switch on the TV. I did a bit of channel hopping and found Tom and Jerry.

‘Ah,’ I thought, ‘a bit of mindless violence.’

I just lay there watching the ’toons and trying to take my mind off what was one of the most important telephone calls that I had ever received.

It was hard though, not to think about it and what it might mean to me. Like all boys who loved the game, the ultimate dream is to play for your country. Now it looked like I might have that chance, it filled me with a combination of dread and wonder.

If I was under pressure before, would being part of the England setup make things worse? I was already under the spotlight more than I wanted to be, and now this. There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in?’ Mummy entered. ‘Oh, hello Mummy.’

‘It’s on the news.’

‘They don’t waste any time, do they?’

‘No, love.’ She came over and sat on the bed.

‘Are you happy about this?’

‘’f course!’

‘Then why the glum face?’

‘I am happy Mummy, but what if I mess up, and then there’s the publicity. Every Tom, Dick and Harriett is going to want to get an interview. I have no time to myself as it is. I am forever doing things and I haven’t even had time to have a pee lately–sorry.’

‘That’s all right-this once, but remember we have very young children here. The twins have already started saying “Mummy, Daddy” and “bloody hell” or something that sounds suspiciously like that and I don’t want it to get worse. Enough of that; I’m not here to have a go. What do you want, Sue?’

‘Is this you doing your Samaritans bit?’

‘No, just a mum wanting to look after her special girl.’

‘Aaw, Mummy, you say such nice things!’

We had a mega cuddle and then returned to the subject.

‘I want to be good at what I do and I love it that I’ve been chosen so soon. I might not actually play, but it will give me good experience on the international scene. But, it is hard to deal with all the other stuff.’

‘I know it is and I think we are going to have to do something about it. I don’t see you smile nearly as much as you used to and you go all quiet and disappear up to your room more often than you should. You mustn’t withdraw into your shell and I won’t let it happen. I’m going to have a word with your father and he’s going to speak to everyone who needs to know.’

‘Know what?’

‘That you have to have a bit of quality time to yourself. You are getting big enough in the celeb department that you should start dictating terms a bit, and maybe thinking about what you want rather than what the others around you want.’

‘I don’t want to let anyone down, Mummy.’

‘Well, honey, you will let a lot more people down if you go off at the deep end. What have you got on tomorrow?’

‘Training in the morning; seeing some more people in the early afternoon regarding sponsorship. Then I have to do a photo shoot later in the afternoon and a radio interview at about five.’

‘What about Tuesday?’

‘The Daily News wants an interview in the morning and that includes photos; then I have to see the bank manager who wants to advise me on investments–Daddy is doing that one with me. Then I have to see the club's publicity man about–I don’t know what that’s about, then…Oh, I’m not sure; it’s all on the computer.’

Mummy shook her head.

‘It’s not good enough. Will you let me deal with this?’

‘I don’t want to let anyone down, Mummy.’

‘You won’t. I’m just going to have a few words and then we’ll do what we should have done from the beginning, take control. It seems to me that you are just going with the flow and it’s time the tide turned.’

‘Aren’t you mixing metaphors there, Mummy?’

‘Don’t get smart with me, young lady.’

‘Sorry Mother.’

‘Hmm, not sure if I’ve just been insulted there. Look I’ll see you later.’

‘Okay.’ I smiled as she went out with a purposeful manner.

~ §~

I watched a few more T&J’s, but got a bit fed up and went on the net. I wished Andrea and Claire were about, but they had been dragged off to an Aunt’s somewhere in the darker reaches of Melchester. They were going to stay for tea and so I probably wouldn’t see them until tomorrow.

Even the net was boring, but I did notice on the BBC Sports website that I had been called up for England duty–they really don’t waste much time getting the news out.

I was pleased that our ’phones were ex-directory and my cool iPhone number was only known to a very select few. I supposed that soon the paparazzi would start camping outside the gates again. I wondered if we could have the gates electrified and whether that might dissuade them from trying to get too close. Then we could have gun turrets and a moat with big crocodiles in it–the possibilities seemed endless.

In the end, I got my cozzie and changed. Putting on a robe, I padded down to the indoor swimming pool and did several lengths of the pool. It was nice and quiet in the warm water, the pool area had reclining seats and after doing my impression of a fish, I went to lay on a towel. I happened to bring my iPhone and I plugged in the earphones, not those uncomfortable ones with the terrible sound quality supplied, but a pair of Shure SE530PTH Sound Isolating Earphones. These are a touch expensive, but if you like to be able to hear an ant tap dance, and someone scratch their nose at the back of a live Black Sabbath concert, these are the ones for you.

As the room was pleasantly heated and I was wrapped warmly in my terry robe, and very comfortable on the padded recliner, I shut my eyes and imagined myself on a sunny beach somewhere exotic.

I was lost in Swan Lake and by now thoroughly relaxed, almost asleep, when I felt a tap on my shoulder that made me jump slightly.

Looking up, I could see Daddy sitting on the recliner next to me.

I stopped the music and unplugged my ears.

‘Hello, Daddy.’

‘Sorry to disturb you, Susan, but we have to make tracks. Did you forget, we are seeing the Sports Extra people at two?’

‘Oh Lord, I did forget.’

Sports Extra are a charity that helps kids from underprivileged backgrounds to participate in sport. I was going to sponsor them, for free, of course and I was to meet them and sort out what sort of sponsorship was the best.

‘That’s all right. Your mother has spoken to me about things and I agree with her and you. You are doing too much. It’s my fault really; I didn’t stop to think that you are not having enough time for yourself. You have some commitments over the next three days that we can’t get you out of, but after that, we’ll make sure that you aren’t over stretched.’

‘Thanks, Daddy, am I being selfish?’

‘No, of course not. It’s me; I want you to be a success and I have loaded too much on you. It’s all as new to me as much as it is for you. If you want to have someone else do all this, I’ll step aside and just be your good old dad.’

‘Don’t you dare! I don’t know what I would do without you and everyone else around me. No, if we can make it so I can have a bit more time, then I might get to like it a bit more.’

‘So you don’t like having adoring fans then?’

‘It’s nice to be liked, but it can be a bit overwhelming sometimes. You should see some of the stuff on the fan site, it would make you blush.’

‘I hope it’s not rude?’

‘No, Claire keeps an eye on things and she’s arranged a sort of committee of people to keep a twenty-four hour watch on the site. Anyone not being nice or too weird for words gets chucked off and their IP address is blocked.’

‘That’s good. Alright, go and get changed and we’ll be off.’

‘What do I wear?’

‘Clothes.’

‘Ha-ha. Is it smart, flashy, glitzy or jeans and a t-shirt?’

‘Smart and businesslike, I suppose.’

‘Humpph, men!’

I went to the meeting and agreed to do something suitable for the charity and their people would meet my people ya, di, ya, di, ya. What I did agree to do was to be a patron, which made me feel good, as it meant that they wanted me because I was a nice person as well as being high profile–they said that, not me––

By the next day, I was all over the sports pages and the news, again, where there raged an argument about whether I was ready to be an international footballer after only being in the game for five minutes. Seasoned sports writers who had never put on a football boot were telling everyone that it was too soon and the manager must be out of his tiny Russian mind, bad or desperate to use such an untried child in an international.

The Globe went close to saying that I wasn’t fit to wear an England shirt, but the legal eagles said that it was just about passable for publication.

Others said it was a brave decision and weren’t too sure that that was complimentary or not. My family all thought that it was cool and Claire nearly wet herself with excitement over it, as I would have complimentary tickets for my family and she would meet all those hunky footballers. I didn’t think John, her boyfriend would feel the same way about it, but that was none of my business.

Andrea and I spent as much time together as possible, but it was never enough. It worried me that she might get fed up with sharing me with about a million other people, but every time I saw that look in her eye, I knew that I had nothing to worry about. We were so much in love, it hurt. When I saw the doctor for my MOT, I asked her if I could go on the pill. She said no, because my body was still sort of transitional, hormone wise, she thought it best that I should wait until my numbers, whatever they were, stabilised a bit. She did give me a paper bag though and when I looked in it, it was full of condoms; talk about red face and embarrassing!

I know, you are going to say that we promised not to have sex until we married, but, if we do get carried away, the last thing I or Andrea want is a baby. When we get married, and note I said when, not if–we are that sure; then would be the time to have children. At the moment, I didn’t think that it would do me or my career any good. I had a vision of me haring down the wing, eight months pregnant and looking like a beached whale–not a pretty sight.

Eventually Friday afternoon came around and as I travelled up to London for the match Daddy was by my side–the others I would see at the game tomorrow–I reflected on how far I had gone in such a short space of time. It appears that a few other players had knocks so it seemed increasingly likely that I would get a game at some point. Mr Anatolyev was known to use a lot of subs, so it was likely that I would play.

Danni would be coming too; but, as per usual, I would only see her if she was needed. I did know that she would be in the hotel and I had a panic button thing that I could press and she would come running like the US cavalry, minus the horse.

My stomach did flip-flops at the thought of wearing an England shirt and walking down the tunnel and out in front of ninety thousand fans, not forgetting the TV audience. I wondered if I was good enough or would I just make a mess of things. The Scottish team were on the up and up under the new manager, Jock MacWhirter and had a real passion for their football. Being part Scottish myself on my mother’s side, I had a real feeling for the country where my auntie still lived and my natural mother was now buried.

After a fitful night where I was tossing and turning, and trying to get some sleep, it was a bleary eyed Susan that went down to breakfast with Daddy. Being a rather posh hotel, used to seeing so called celebrities, I didn’t get mobbed or even glanced at much as I ate my frugal breakfast of eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, sausages and toast, washed down with a gallon of tea.

After breakfast I stayed in my room and managed to catch forty winks plus VAT while Daddy did things on his phone in the next room. All too soon it was time to go. Daddy had arranged a taxi to get to the ground. How Danni was getting there, I didn’t know. All I did know was that she was close by, shadowing me like Patrick Swayze in Ghost.

The new Wembley was something else. I won’t go on about the construction, but it was big, impressive and had a huge arch that dominated the skyline.

Daddy and I went in via the players’ entrance about two hours before kickoff. There was to be a meeting of the players and manager in one of the conference rooms. I was looking forward to seeing my team mates and hoped that they would accept me as one of them.

As I walked into the room there was a hush. Looking down at myself, I thought that I looked okay. I was wearing a track suit and trainers; I thought that a prom dress and tiara might be a bit over the top. Anyway, Ben Phillips the captain came over.

‘Hi, Sue, nice to see you.’ He shook my hand which I thought was a bit formal, but then the others came over and soon I was talking shop just like the rest of them and I forgot that I was slightly different to the rest of them.

There was no animosity, which surprised me as I expected that there would at least be one scowling nasty character in the room, sitting in the corner and sticking a pin in a wax effigy of me; but no, they all seemed to realise that I was there on merit and accepted me as one of the “boys”.

The manager came in shortly after with his team and we had one of those strategy talks that would bore everyone blind who wasn’t intimately acquainted with the game.

After the team talk, I went into a separate changing area and put on my strip and then track suit. It made me go all goosy to wear the white England shirt with my name and the number 23 on the back.

After changing, I went with the others out on to the pitch. People were being let in now and I could see the vastness of the stadium by how small some of the people looked up in the top tier.

The grass was slightly longer than I expected and the pitch was soft. I thought that it would be hard going on the legs and hoped that if and when I came on, I would not fall flat on my face too much.

I was walking along side Mike Platt, an international of long standing and a forward who had scored many goals for his country.

‘Well, Susan, how do you feel?’

‘Excited and terrified.’

He laughed.

‘Nothing new there. I’m still terrified after all these years. There’s something special about playing for your country. It isn’t like playing for your club–it’s completely different.’

After getting a feel for the pitch, we had some warm-ups as the crowd gradually grew larger and the stadium noisier. Being England v. Scotland, there would always be a bit of needle and looking at the Scottish team warming up at the other end; I could see that they appeared to be pumped up. I went near one of their players as I warmed up. I nodded to him and he just stared at me.

I just shrugged and continued to untie the knots in my legs.

When it was time to go back in, the players who were starting lined up in the tunnel with the respective managers at the head. I joined the other subs on the benches and waited for the game to start; that took a while, as the anthems had to be played and the teams introduced to the various dignitaries.

Eventually the game started and it was one of those tense ones where the ball seemed to get bogged down in the midfield. The ground was a bit heavy–the pitch was noted for it–and time and time again, promising moves just fizzled into nothing. It wasn’t boring, but I could sense that the crowd were getting restless. On the thirty-five minute mark Scotland were awarded a penalty after one of our defenders, Ricky Jones, handled the ball in an effort to stop it going in. He was sent off and the resultant goal meant that we were doubly hindered– a goal down and only ten men on the pitch.

Funnily enough, with just ten men we seemed to play better and the ball started to do what we wanted it to.

In the second minute of extra time, we had a corner and their keeper came out to collect and fluffed it. There was a scramble and then Ben Phillips somehow dug a foot out and it rolled over the line.

‘GOAL!’

We all went up; our manager kissed the physio, Ernie Croft, on the cheek and the crowd went wild.

Shortly after the restart, the whistle blew for half time.

The talk in the dressing room with us all trying to understand Anglo-Russian was to the effect that we should use the wings more and try short passing rather than long ones that always seemed to find the opposition rather than us.

So the second half started and we were immediately on the back foot as Scotland threw everything at us. The pressure told in the end and on the fifty-eighth minute they scored from a free kick that went in off the legs of one of our defenders.

‘GOAL!’ screamed the Scottish supporters, with Jock MacWhirter doing a creditable rendition of the Highland Fling on the touchline with half the Scottish subs.

So we were 2-1 down and looking none too rosy. There was a touch on my arm and Craig Sherriton shouted in my ear.

‘Get warmed up, you’re on next.’

I got up, passed my fellow subs, who high fived me, and then started running up and down the side of the pitch, stretching and doing some heavy duty warm ups.

Soon, I was stripped off and waiting to go on. The official held up the board to say that Shane Roberts, a midfielder was to come off. He had been struggling with a groin injury, so he looked relieved to come off as I went on to roars from the crowd.

I heard the cry Susie, Susie come up from large sections of the ground, while other sections appeared to be more interested in why I wasn’t carrying a handbag, and where was my lipstick?

As usual, all stomach wrenching nerves disappeared as I touched the ball for the first time and managed to send a decent pass to Timmy Frost out on the wing. He sent it straight back in and Mike Pratt dived spectacularly and headed it into the corner of the net.

‘GOAL!’

The crowd went bananas and I rushed up and threw myself and hugged Mike like the rest of the team.

It was now two-all and thirty minutes to go. It was end to end stuff now. Our disadvantage in numbers showed as they managed to get the ball in the net once again, but we all breathed a sigh of relief when one of their players was adjudged to be off side by a gnat’s whisker.

From that free kick, our goalie kicked long and hard, and for once it landed at my feet. Luckily, there wasn’t anyone near me, so I took the ball up-field as fast as my little legs would take me. With the crowd urging me on, I looked left and then right, I was by myself–as usual, my team had gone off to the pub or something–and it was just me and three burly Scots who had obviously had a lot of porridge that morning, coming towards me like the Flying Scotsman–all fast and steamy.

I dodged one, jumped over the trailing leg of another, nutmegged the third one; glanced up and saw the keeper was off his line and heading towards me with an expression that meant that he wanted to do me grievous bodily harm. So without further thought of personal danger, I just thumped the ball hard, with a bit of spin from the side of my foot and it swerved around him and hit the top left hand inside of the net.

‘GO-O-OAL!’

With arms in the air and totally carried away with myself, I ran along the side of the pitch with my team mates chasing me and listening to the roar of the crowd.

This was what I lived for; the game, the applause; the knowledge that I was good at what I do. I hoped with all my heart that my family was watching me now!

I was as high as a kite. I turned around, a big grin on my face as I waited for the lads to come and have a cuddle– when I felt a huge blow to the back of my head and the lights went out––

To Be Continued...

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, making suggestions that I hadn't even thought of and pulling the story into shape.