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Previously...

‘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––

And now the story continues…

‘Susan, Susan, wake up.’

I heard it from far away, but it was muffled and I didn’t want to open my eyes anyway. I was drowsy. Why should I wake up? It just wasn’t fair. Here was I sleepy and quite comfortable in this warm bed and I was being called all the time. People were talking again; no hang on it was one person. I didn’t bother opening my eyes and anyway I was sort of floppy and it would have been one hell of an effort to open my eyes anyway.

‘Susan, will you wake up, you daft cow!’

That was Claire wasn’t it? I wasn’t sure, like, so I took no notice and went back to la-la land again.

Then I heard some music–it was Swan Lake–I think I would have had goose bumps if my skin could be bothered to react to that wonderful music.

I faded out again and had a peculiar dream: It seemed as though I rose from my body and looked down at myself. It was weird as Mummy and Daddy were there and so were Monica, Claire and Andrea who was looking very attractive in a white top and black skirt. I was lying on the bed in one of those non-sexy white hospital gowns and there were more tubes going into me than the London Underground. My head was swathed in bandages and I didn’t look at my best. I tried to speak to them but no sound came out.

Mummy was saying something and I sort of floated closer to her. She was holding my white rabbit close to her chest and glancing at Daddy.

‘It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have let her play.’

‘Don’t be silly. It was I who pushed her.’

Then a funny thing happened, I looked up and saw what appeared to be a tunnel leading through the wall and before I knew it, I drifted into it. I could hear some warning bleeps and a lot of shouting from the room behind me, but I was more interested in where I was going.

The tunnel was dark but at the end was a bright light. I drifted faster and faster towards that light and I could see an indistinct form ahead of me, then the form took the shape of a person. As I came closer, I realised I knew who it was. I drifted ever closer and her arms opened: I fell into the arms of my Mum and I cried.

A few moments later, I stepped back and looked at her. She looked so young and beautiful.

‘Mum, I don’t understand, you’re dead!’

‘Not here love, I am alive and well and with the people I love. But look at you, a pretty girl–you shouldn’t be here yet.’

I looked down at myself. I was wearing a white dress of some sort of soft satiny material. I thought that it was nice, but a bit too Alice in Wonderland for me. Mum was speaking.

‘Look darling, you must go back. It isn’t time yet.’

‘I don’t want to go. I’ve only just found you again. I don’t understand, why are you here, why am I here?’

‘You must go back, Susan. I will be here for you when it’s time. You must lead your full life first.’

I felt a tugging and my Mum receded in the distance. She was smiling and waving. I could see shapes of other people behind her and they seemed to be waving too. Then things got faster and faster and the bright light faded and disappeared.

I coughed and my head throbbed. It was as if I had a jack hammer banging away in my head. Opening my eyes, I blinked and shut them again–too bright.

‘Sue, Sue––’

It was Mummy.

‘Don’t shout, Mummy. I don’t want to get up today and it’s Claire’s turn to do the washing up.’

‘Oh, Susan, you’re back!’

‘I haven’t been anywh––’ I had opened my eyes again and realised I was not in my bedroom.

‘What, why, where am I?’ I asked Mummy, who looked a bit fuzzy around the edges. Mind you, everything looked like it was bit fuzzy–sort of out of tune, if you know what I mean. She was sitting by the side of the bed and was looking at me as if I had risen from the dead or something.

‘Honey, don’t you remember?’

‘No, I went to bed last night and now I wake up here. It is a hospital, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, love–a private clinic. Don’t you remember the game?’

‘No, I’m due to play for England–oh I didn’t miss the game did I, oh the Boss will be angry!’

I lifted my head in panic and the builders in my head decided that hammers weren’t good enough and started using pneumatic drills instead.

‘Ouch!’

‘Are you hurting love? I’ve rung the bell; a nurse will be here soon.’

‘Did–I–miss–the–match–?’

‘Er– no, love. Look, the nurse will be here shortly, I’ll tell you about it after she’s seen to you.’

My head went back on the pillow and I shut my eyes. A few seconds later, I woke up. Well I thought that it was a few seconds, but as it was now evening, I assumed that I must have dropped off. I looked over to a couch where Mummy was asleep. I didn’t want to wake her as she looked quite comfy there. My sight was a bit clearer now and I was seeing one of everything, rather than two or even three.

It was a pleasant room that didn’t look much like a hospital room. It had plush carpets, pastel-shaded walls, cheerful curtains, a plasma TV on the wall–not forgetting plants and pictures. Looking down, I noticed that I was wearing a pink cotton nightie but still had cables and things coming out from under it. Also I had a needle in my arm for a drip. I could feel a scratching sensation every time I moved. Talking about moving, I had another unpleasant sensation from my groin and I didn’t need to be a urologist to realise that my plumbing had been taken care of too.

At least my head didn’t hurt any more, which was a relief, but I wouldn’t be able to do more than one round with a wet paper bag at the moment.

Gazing at Mummy, I wondered how long she had been here and how I managed to get myself in hospital. Had I fallen out of bed?

I coughed which was a mistake as I felt something down below tug and hurt me slightly.

Mummy opened her eyes and looked at me. She smiled and stretched then, stiffly got to her feel and walked over.

‘How are you, honey?’

‘Better thanks.’

‘That’s good, you scared us for a bit, you know.’

‘Sorry.’

‘What are you sorry about?’

‘I don’t know. Did I do something wrong to land up in here?’

‘Not you, darling,’ she replied pulling up a chair, sitting down and holding my hand gently.

‘I’m confused; what happened?’

‘Let me answer your question with a question. When can you last remember?’

‘Erm… going to bed?’

When?’

‘The night before the England match.’

‘So you can’t remember after that?’

‘No, what happened, Mummy?’

‘Hang on.’ she said, pressing a button at the side of the bed. ‘The doctor said that he wanted to see you when you woke up properly. He wants to ask you a few things and then we can explain what happened.’

‘I—I’m not dying, am I?’

‘No, sweetheart; it was close, but you came through it all right.’

A couple a moments later a tall, rather dishy doctor came in.

‘Hello Susan,’ he said, giving me a 2000kw smile, ‘how do you feel?’

‘Confused.’

‘Well that’s only to be expected. I bet you’ve got a lot of questions?’

‘Only about a hundred–at the moment.’

‘Well, I told your mother not to answer any until I was here. I need to find out what’s going on in your mind so we can see if there are any problems. I need to examine you first. Would you like your mum to go outside?’

‘No, I’d like her to stay.’

‘That’s good; I don’t need a nurse then. Okay, let’s get cracking, shall we?’

He shone a light in my eyes, checked if I had any weaknesses in my arms and legs. Tested my reflexes and then asked me a few questions about dates and things like that.

‘Well, you are on the mend. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?’

‘As I told Mummy, I can only remember going to bed last night and waking up here with a humungous headache.’

’Well don’t worry too much, the brain is a strange organ: you’ll probably regain some of the time you lost, but be patient. Have you any questions?’

‘Yes, please can someone tell me what happened to me!’

‘Oh sorry, I thought that your mum told you––’

‘–No I was waiting for you,’ Mummy interrupted.

‘Right, well, you know more about what caused all this Jeanie, perhaps you would like to tell Susan, then I can chip I with the medical bits.’

Mummy came and sat by the bed. ‘Well, Susan, you played in the match against Scotland and played very well. You scored a goal and then ran along the line, arms in the air, to celebrate. Then someone came up from behind you and hit you on the head with a camera tripod. Security was there in seconds and the man was taken away by the police. It took three men to control him. You were on the ground bleeding from your head. Perhaps, doctor, you can tell her what happened next and then I can finish after that?’

‘Thanks, Jeanie. The medical team got you away from there and in an ambulance in a matter of minutes. Then you were taken to A&E, where they saw you needed to be transferred to the head trauma unit. To cut a long story short, you had a crack on the skull and some internal bleeding. You were taken to theatre where Doctor Jefferson and her team managed to stop the bleeding, relieve the pressure on your brain and then sort out your cracked skull. You went into recovery but while there, your heart stopped. You were resuscitated and then had to return to theatre again as you had started to bleed again. You were in surgery for four hours and then after stabilisation, you were put back into recovery. You were comatose for a week and then you gradually came out of it. Then you were transferred here and that’s about it. You have been here at the clinic for two days and have been waking up gradually. Things are going satisfactorily and your skull is mending well. You’ve a fair way to go yet, but with care, you should make a full and complete recovery.’

‘Will I be able to play football again?’

‘Not this year, that’s for sure, but as long as your head heals fully and your scans are satisfactory, you may be able to play again next season. You are still very young and that helps your prognosis considerably. But for now, you need to rest and get well. Look, I have another patient to see, so I’ll leave Jeanie to tell you more, but if you need me, call one of the nurses and if I’m around, I’ll pop in–bye.’

‘Bye.’ I said as he nodded to Mummy and went out.

I looked at Mummy.

‘It was Ferris, wasn’t it?’

She nodded slowly.

‘Are you ready to hear what happened? It’s not nice.’

‘Tell me, I really do need to know.’

‘He managed to get into the ground on his press pass and took his camera and bag down beside the goal with the other cameramen behind the barriers. I think he thought you might score or get close enough for him to get at you at some stage of the game, and your standing there was just too good for him to pass up.

‘When you ran past him, he stood and rushed at you and then just thumped the back of your head with the tripod. I was watching from the other side of the pitch but was so excited about the goal–all of us were jumping up and down like mad things–I didn’t quite realise what was happening.

‘At first I thought it was just a fan rushing up to congratulate you and then I heard some screaming and saw all those yellow jackets running up to the man. The big screens showed it again in slow motion and we all saw it clearly. It was sickening; I just couldn’t believe that it had happened.

‘There were a number of screams and then a strange hush came over the entire stadium. Your father and I–with Danni and Charlotte–dashed across the pitch with a couple of police officers and then when we reached you they were hustling Ferris away. I will never forget his face, contorted and mad. I heard afterwards that as he was taken from the ground, Ferris was nearly lynched by the crowd.’

‘Andrea was in a hell of a state and Monica just slapped her across the face as she was getting hysterical. Claire was crying her eyes out and just fell apart. We all love you, and to see you in that state ...’

‘What did I like, do to him?’ I said, tears falling down my face.

‘He’s insane, sweetheart–totally unhinged. It turns out that his brother had been transgendered and had killed himself a couple of years ago because he was unable to be the woman he wanted to be. He–or rather she–wasn’t very passable it seems. I think she sought after being beautiful, desirable and passable, but not everybody is that lucky. Then after the death of his brother–err, sister–you came along, pretty, vivacious, intelligent, passable and to cap it all, a wonderful footballer–everything his brother could never have been. Every time he saw you or read about you, it was like twisting a knife in his gut. He started his hate group, aided and abetted by The Globe’s desire to make headlines and attack yet another minority group.’

‘But I am a girl now.’

‘Yes, but you relate very strongly with the transgendered community. You were a high profile target and he just wanted to get rid of you. There isn’t any logic in it.’

‘Where is he now?’ I asked.

‘A secure mental institution; he’s being treated, but I don’t think that he’ll be going anywhere for a while even after the case goes to court.’

‘He must really hate me,’ I said softly.

‘He’s completely of his trolley. If it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been somebody else.’

‘Maybe.’ I stayed quiet for a moment, trying to digest what I had just been told. ‘Where’s Daddy?’

‘Looking after the twins. Mr and Mrs Moon have been great, not to mention Monica, but we wanted to ensure that someone was here with you all the time. Even Claire and Andrea have been here when school permitted.’

I noticed that there were more flowers surrounding me than in a florist’s, and on most of the flat surfaces, were get well cards.

‘All those are nice.’ I said waving vaguely around the room.

‘Well, when you are up to it, you can read the cards.’

I yawned, feeling a bit tired all of a sudden.

‘Right, as you are off the danger list and it seems as if you’ll survive, I will go home, have a shower and then come back with everyone a bit later.’

‘What time is it?’

‘About six. We’ll pop in later but won’t stay long. You need plenty of rest. This clinic specialises in this type of injury, so you are in the best place for now’

She bent over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

‘Welcome back, honey.’

‘I love you, Mummy.’

‘Me too, you,’ she said smiling and then after a careful ‘mind the tubes’ hug, she left.

I shut my eyes, thinking about all I had been told. If the truth be told, I was somewhat numb after all I had heard. It was all a bit too much to take in and I was very tired…

~ §~

Three weeks later I was allowed home. I won’t go too much into the boring details of the rest of my sojourn in the clinic. Anyone who has been in one or a hospital for any length of time will confirm that it is boredom highlighted by more boredom and punctuated by treatment that is necessary but not necessarily very nice. Almost everyone from the club had visited me more than once and they all looked forward to seeing me back with them. The Boss told me not to worry, as he wanted me back as soon as I was well. I didn’t realise at the time that the season had gone pear shaped and that was a good thing, as it would have added to the guilt trip I was already experiencing.

As I was driven up the drive by Daddy–it was a low key affair, I didn’t want any fuss–I smiled as I saw the house again. I had grown to love it and all the people that lived with me. It was home now and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

I was walking okay now: I had had the club physio come in after the clinic’s one had finished with me and he had strengthened me up a bit. I was still a bit shaky and had quite a few headaches, but they were not too bad and I was improving daily on that score.

It was quiet as I walked up to the house with Daddy and I wondered if anyone was home, but when the doors opened and I entered the hall, they were all there and shouted, ‘surprise!’ at me.

There was a banner hanging up that simply said, “Welcome Home Susan!”

Talk about a lump in the throat, Kodak moment.

Immediately, I was surrounded by everyone and it all turned into a sort of party, complete with balloons, nibbles and drinks. It was gorgeous, but all too soon I had a headache and had to go to bed. I wasn’t as fit and strong as I thought I was. The nicest thing about my homecoming was I that I was able to hang on to Andrea as if our hands were stuck together with superglue–making it a bit difficult to eat and drink sometimes.

I took my six pills of assorted colours and shapes, got undressed, cleaned my teeth and performed other necessities and got into bed. It had been an eventful day but I was tired.

Then there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’ I called. ‘Oh, hello Mummy.’

‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’

‘Knack–tired,’ I replied.

‘Well you have a good rest. I think you’d better stay here and not get up until tomorrow. I’ll bring up some eats later if you feel like it. Are you ready to talk about things yet?’

‘Not yet. I might tomorrow though.’

She gazed at me, a look of concern on her face. ‘You know where I am. It won’t help to bottle it up.’

‘I know. It’s just that I’m not ready yet.’

‘All right, nag over. I’ll be up later. Andrea asked if she could come and see you.’

‘Later, I need some sleep.’

If I saw Andrea again, I might get a bit excited and that I didn’t want or need at the moment.

‘Okay, honey.’ She kissed my cheek and left.

I lay back and thought about things. I still had a bandage around my head, but not such a turban as before. It made me aware of my injury and how it happened. I had tried not to think about what happened at Wembley as every time I did, I broke out into a sweat and started to shake. Post Traumatic Stress thingy–I was told it was. I didn’t know much about that but thought it was only people who saw and experienced war situations or extreme violence had that. I still couldn’t remember anything so how could I have PMT, erm, PTSD or whatever? I was tired.

I didn’t have the news on when I was in the clinic or even fire up my computer. I was rather sick of me, me and more me, and I did not want to hear about the incident or anything related to it. I suppose I was shutting it all out, putting my head in the sand ostrich-like, and stuff like that. My thinking–such as it was–was that if I didn’t think about it, it couldn’t hurt me. Well, that was the theory. Daddy wanted me to see a shrink, but I wasn’t ready for my head to be cracked open again, so I sort of put him off.

Everyone seemed to be blaming themselves, even Danni and Charlotte. I don’t know what they could have possibly done in a stadium full of people; individually strip search and interrogate ninety thousand fans, officials and media people?

As far as I was concerned, I had made the choice to play at a professional level. I had flaunted my body in front of the cameras on match day and other ‘media events’. It was my face that was plastered across the magazines, papers and on the sides of buses.

So, was it all my own fault? I withdrew into my shell, stuck my head in the sand and did everything I could to avoid that question and forget all about my troubles by plugging in my super kewl iPhone and going off to la-la land to the sound of Mozart.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I could blearily see Daddy, standing by the side of the bed.

‘Hello,’ I yawned, rubbing my eyes.

‘Hello, sleepy-head.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Nine thirty in the morning; how do you feel?’

‘Tired.’

‘Well the doctor said that you would be like that for a while. How’s your head?’

‘Still attached.’

‘Very funny. I mean does it hurt?’

‘No, not really, my scalp itches though.’

‘Mmm, you probably need a hair wash. You have to wait until the stitches come out tomorrow.’

‘Prob’ly.’

‘Look, are you going to get up? You need to start pulling yourself together.’

‘I’m together enough, thank you.’

‘Look, Susan, you must begin to try and get back to normal––’

I sat up in bed and winced as my head started throbbing again.

‘Normal, normal, is not what I do, and when I am ever going to be normal? I am the target for every slime-ball that can have a go at me. Why me? Am I that bad a person? All I do is play football and show my ugly face around in the media and that means I am a target for all the nutters an’ sadoes an’ weirdoes. Normal isn’t what I do–––oh Daddy!’

I fell into his arms and cried my eyes out; I wet his nice clean blue shirt and just couldn’t stop. After a while–it seemed like ages–I came back down off the ceiling and calmed down a bit.

He gave me several tissues and I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. I felt slightly better after that. A good cry can work wonders.

‘Sorry about the shirt.’ I sniffed.

‘That’s all right, love. You need to let go sometimes, and after what you’ve been through, it probably helps.’

Forty-five minutes later I arrived downstairs. It wasn’t much of a fashion statement as I was just wearing some trackie bottoms and a Melchester t-shirt. Mrs Moon was in the kitchen and she glanced up as I entered.

‘Hello, Susan, how are you, love?’

‘I’ve been better. Hospital food sucks–even if you’re paying a fortune for it. I’ve missed your cooking.’

‘Flattery will get you everywhere; well, you just sit at the table and I’ll rustle up something. What do you fancy?’

‘Nothing much; just eggs, bacon, sausages, fried tomatoes, mushrooms and toast please.’

‘Not very hungry then?’

‘No, I’ll waste away if I’m not careful.’

Mrs M had the TV on. It was some sort of strange game show or something. I watched and didn’t have a clue how it worked and then it finished and as I ate my tiny meal, the news came on.

As soon as my face appeared on the screen, I picked up the remote and switched it off. Mrs Moon looked up from the pastry she was rolling and looked at me.

‘You can’t hide away for ever, love.’

‘I–I know, but I’m not ready for it just yet.’

‘Has the doctor given you any pills?’

‘Yes, lots,’

‘Anti-depressants?’

‘No, just things for pain and to stop infections.’

‘Maybe you should see him or her again?’

‘I’m getting my stitches taken out tomorrow. I might say something then. But I don’t want to end up zombiefied.’

‘You won’t, love; they may take the edge away though.’

I looked at her. ‘Have you taken some then?’

‘When I lost my son Mark, yes.’

Mark had been killed in the first Gulf War. He was a sergeant in bomb disposal; he won a posthumous Military Cross.

‘Did it help?’

‘Yes, it didn’t take the pain away, but it made it more manageable for a while.’

‘But I can’t remember being hit?’ I said.

‘You are living with the results though, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose.’ I said.

After thanking Mrs M for the meal and the advice, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and went in search of the others. Mummy was changing the twins, Daddy was in his office on his phone, and Monica was at the hospital for one of her regular checkups. Andrea and Claire had gone to school. I had no idea where Danni and Charlotte were, probably lurking under the floorboards or checking equipment or something.

It was one of those days that promised Spring but was still freezing cold. I fancied some fresh air though, so I put on a woolly jumper, climbed into some boots, then donned my thickish, longish coat and went out into the garden.

Snow drops and daffodils had started sprouting up everywhere and the garden was beginning to shake off the winter blues and get its act together. Mr Moon was doing something with his compost and manure–I could smell it from a hundred yards away–so I just waved and gave him a wide berth. He wasn’t above grabbing a bucket and shovel and following the horses down the road for some prime poo!

I sat on the bench and gazed out on the small lake. More birds were arriving from their winter holidays in the Bahamas or wherever, and it was great to see them messing about on the water.

I just happened to have my super kewl iPhone with me, so I texted Andrea.

‘Missing U.’

She must have been on a break as the reply came instantly.

‘U 2 wasup?’

‘Bored’

‘Give u cuddl l8er’

‘K luv U’

‘Luv U 2 got 2 go bye’

‘Bye’

Sighing, I plugged in my earphones and listened to some Boyzone–I was sad that Stephen Gately had died, and hoped that the band would be able to continue without him.

After a bit, I began to feel cold and went back indoors. Mummy was sitting in the sun room and I brought cups of tea for the two of us. She was reading the paper when I entered and put it down as I walked over.

‘A cup of tea for me? Thank you, Susan.’

‘That’s all right.’ I said putting her cup on the table and sitting opposite her.

She looked at me quizzically. ‘Okay?’ she asked.

‘Mmm; a bit bored. I want to do something?’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Want to see what the papers are saying about you?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Daddy told me of the chat you two had. It’s good that you are getting it all out of your system.’

‘Yes, it did make me feel a bit better but I still have a knot in my stomach.’

‘Give it time love.’

‘Mrs M said that after her Mark died, she had some anti-depressants. She said that they helped.’

‘They can sometimes. D’you think they might help you?’

‘I don’t know, I’ll ask the doctor tomorrow.’

As I sat there the sun moved around slightly and got into my eyes. This sort of triggered something in my mind as I remembered the strange dream that I had when I was out of it.

‘Mummy.’

‘Yes, love?’

‘I remember having a dream while I was unconscious. It was a weird one.’

‘Tell me about it?’

‘It was a strange––’ I told her about my rising out of my body, the fact that I saw myself, and all my family and then the strange journey I had going toward the light and then seeing my mum.

‘I know it was silly, Mummy, but it seemed so real–’ I had been staring out of the widow while I was relating it and then, when I looked at her, Mummy was wearing a strange expression on her face.

‘What did you say Andrea was wearing?’

‘I didn’t but erm, a white top and black skirt.’

‘Was I holding anything?’

‘Only my white rabbit. You were upset and so was Daddy, you were both blaming yourselves for letting me play. Why, it was only a dream?’

She had turned quite pale and her hand shook ever so slightly as she finished her tea. She set her cup down carefully and then looked at me.

‘Andrea was wearing a white top and black skirt just before your heart stopped and I was carrying your white rabbit. I remember distinctly your father and me talking about who was to blame for your being there.’

I looked at her, disbelieving.

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘I must have had my eyes open or something.’

‘No love, they had taped your eyes closed–they do that sometimes for people in a coma.’

‘I wasn’t in a coma, was I?’

‘Yes love. I thought you realised–remember the doctor told you?’

‘And I had my eyes open?’

‘Before they taped them down to protect them, yes.’

‘So I couldn’t have seen anything?’

‘No, love–impossible.’

‘Blimey, talk about an “X Files moment!”’

‘You watch far too much TV.’

I wasn’t listening ’cause I was trying to get my head around things. ‘This can’t be happening,’ I said.

‘All right,’ said Mummy, ‘Can you remember what Monica was wearing?’

I thought back–it was still quite vivid and I closed my eyes to picture the scene.

‘I think that she was wearing some sort of skirt and top, but the only thing that stands out was a purple silk scarf.’

Opening my eyes, I looked at Mummy’s face; she looked so pale–as if she had had a shock.

‘Monica was wearing that scarf and had only bought it the previous day.’

I realised now that something bizarre had happened to me while I was temporarily “dying”. We said nothing for a few moments and then I smiled.

‘If that was true, then I saw my mum again and she’s looking down at me.’

‘Well, Susan, my Gran always believed in life after death and although my mum poo-pooed it, I always thought there was something going on. Maybe the sceptics are wrong and there is some sort of afterlife.’

Following that, my black mood gradually left me. I was still fearful of public places and I wasn’t sure of my future, but at least I was getting to the stage where I could decide whether to carry on the mad merry-go-round of my career or to give up and do something else with my life. I had time to decide as I wouldn’t be allowed to play until next season and then only if I got the medical all clear. Money was no problem because I was being paid by the club and their rather expensive insurance policy that I was included on. Evidently, my sponsorship deals were still okay. I think as far as it goes, sponsors weren’t concerned whether I was playing or not as I was hot news anyway.

Once my stitches were removed (ouch), I was allowed to do some gentle training in the gym; although I couldn’t play football because my head might drop off if I headed the ball, I could at least use a treadmill and other torture devices to build up my fitness levels. At first, I tired very quickly and could be outrun by an unfit, fat gerbil, but eventually the tiredness and headaches got less and I began to feel more or less normal.

My hair–what was left of it–was a mess and as I didn’t want to look like a female version of Lurch, I wore a wig until my hair grew out enough to have a girlie cut again.

Melchester had a so-so season and ended up missing out in Europe. They got knocked out in the quarter finals and were paying the price for having a terrible injury crisis. They were going on a buying spree in the summer, but I was assured of my place if I was medically fit for next season. It wasn’t all bad though, as they did win the FA Cup!

I didn’t go though, as I still had a few issues that needed sorting out before I could start playing again. I was seeing a shrink now and she was going through everything and was hopeful that I would improve once I got over the violent attack.

I never managed to remember anything beyond going to bed the previous night–perhaps it was a good thing.

Andrea and I grew closer and closer and we promised ourselves that, on my eighteenth birthday, we would get engaged. Claire carried on looking after the website and occasionally I took a peek at it to see what was being said about me. In the main, people were very supportive and the one or two that weren’t didn’t last very long. I was still evidently an inspiration, in particular, for girls who wanted to play the game. New clubs for girls were being formed and more girls than ever had started playing the beautiful game. If that was all I was remembered for, I thought that it would be a fine by me.

Eventually I did start going out again. I went shopping sometimes always with others, using my cunning disguise. After a while, I stopped looking over my shoulder and relaxed a bit.

This led on to my return to the media circus, but in a muted, less frenetic way. My first interview on the TV was a bit daunting, but I got through it and actually started enjoying it towards the end.

The case against Ferris was going to court, but not until later in the year, after the season had started. It was complicated by the fact that he had to go through a lot of psychiatric assessments. It still wasn’t clear whether he would plead guilty or not. If it was not guilty, I would have to appear in court and I wasn’t looking forward to that!

But all that was in the future; now the race was on for me to get fit and well so that I would be ready the next season–yes, I had decided that I would carry on if I could–and was looking forward to new challenges and goals in the coming months and hopefully years ahead. If I couldn’t play again, then I would do something to help others play the game and maybe be some sort of ambassador for girls’ football.

Whatever happens, I would try to enjoy my life and move on. For the first time in a long while, I was looking forward to the future and what adventures it might bring to this Football Girl.

The End of Book One

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.