Previously...

Anyway, somehow with super girlie effort, I managed to reach the ball before anyone else.

The goal was about thirty yards away and none of my teammates were in a position to help due to the fact that the linesman–sorry assistant referee–didn’t like us and was obviously in the pay of the Hungarian Mafia. I lost count the amount of times he ruled us offside...anyway, I was the only English player anywhere near the goal. And my legs had almost given up the ghost.

I looked up, saw the goalie off his line and then just thumped the ball as hard as I could and sent it on its way. I was more surprised than anyone when it sailed in on the angle of the crossbar and goalpost.

‘GOAL!’

4-3 and we were leading!

The crowd went bananas, my team went all kissy hugs and the manager looked like he was about to have some sort of seizure.

Shortly after that, the whistle blew for full time and the game was over. We had won and I had managed to get a hat-trick!

I had my bubble bath that night. It was nice and soothing. Andrea wasn’t in with me though, which was a bit of a downer, but I did have the match ball, which was bobbing up and down in there, so it wasn’t all bad!

And now the story continues…

The next morning, I wasn’t a very happy bunny. The euphoria of the previous day's triumph had faded somewhat and I was feeling decidedly below par. My breast ached from where the ball hit it and my legs felt like lead. I had what is technically termed as wobbly knee syndrome.

It was obvious that I was out of shape and needed some serious torture-like training, but to be honest, as I was still on the banned and unwanted list at Melchester, I lacked the incentive to extract my digit and get going.

I sighed, saw that it was nearly ten in the morning and dragged myself out of bed. As per usual on a week day, the place was quiet. Only the smells wafting up from the kitchen gave me the indication that at least Mrs M was around. After a quick toilet break, I realised that I was as hungry as an underfed and undernourished horse, so I went downstairs, still in my nightie and robe and followed my nose to the kitchen.

‘Hello Susan.’

‘Hi Mrs Moon, what’s for breakfast?’

‘Whatever you like dear, but remember, eggs and bacon seem to bring you out in boils, rashes and or spots.’

‘You give a girl a lot of encouragement,’ I mumbled as I sat down and had a totally boring bowl of cornflakes. Mind you, what she said was true, as cholesterol and I just don’t mix.

Daddy came in, phone super glued to his ear, as per usual.

Mrs Moon and I exchanged glances and eyes went heavenward. Those boys and their toys, mind you, I did have a super cool iPhone and I loved it to bits, but who said I was consistent?

He pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at me as if he had just noticed that I was actually there.

‘Oh, hi Susan, just got off the phone.’

‘We noticed,’ I said and then giggled as Mrs M snorted.

‘What? Oh right, yea, I do seem to spend a lot of time on the phone.’

He sat down beside me, grabbed the milk and then drank some straight out of the bottle.

‘Jeffrey Tyler, where did you leave your manners?’

He stopped mid gulp, looked sheepish and mumbled, ‘Sorry Mrs M.’

‘I should think so. What would Josie say?’

‘Don’t know,’

I giggled behind my hand. Daddy looked like a small kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar!

They both looked at me as if I had done something wrong and I wondered why there was one rule for adults and another rule for those that were slightly less than adult. I was sixteen, but sometimes I felt like I was treated like I was ten...

‘Susan.’

‘Yea,’ I said in my best teenage angst tone, sniffing a bit for extra measure.

‘Don’t go all, ‘misunderstood’ on me,’ said Daddy with a totally uncalled for understanding smile on his face.

I admit that he had been young once, but it was back in the Victorian times, so how could he possibly know what it was like to be young and misunderstood?

‘What?’ I replied.

He sighed and Mrs M sighed, and then she went over to the other side of the kitchen to pound some dough into submission, leaving my parental unit and meI to have it out or whatever. I scanned the old memory banks but couldn’t think of anything too bad that I had done since I had last seen him. Mind you, I was a global superstar now–well a Melchester one anyway; so I should be allowed to trash things like hotel bedrooms– if The Who could do it, then why not little me? Not that I would trash a bedroom, I was too nice for that...

‘Susan Hurst, are you listening to me?’

‘What, I mean pardon?’

He looked at me for a moment, shook his head and then continued.

‘Sheila Strong has just contacted me. She has had a request for you to appear on Talk Sport.’

‘Talk Sport?’ I said.

‘Yes.’

Talk Sport was the biggest thing in sport on the TV. They had real superstars on there to talk
About the current issues of the day. If you get invited on there, you have really made it.

‘Wow!’

‘Yes, wow would be a good way to express it.’

‘What do they want to talk to me about?’

‘Well the rule is that anything goes, but Giles Kidd is a good man and he is known for being
fair and not taking too many liberties.’

‘When is the show?’

‘That’s the problem; they were going to have Bill Wright, the leading jockey on the show tonight, but he broke his collar bone in a race today and he’s unavailable. So it’s tonight.’

‘So I’m the substitute?’

‘I suppose so, but Sheila did say that the program had been trying to book you for some time, and we hadn’t felt that the time was right to you.’

‘So it is now?’

‘Yes; we all think that it would be a good idea for you to go on the show.’

‘What if he asks awkward questions?’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, off the top of my head; about the things that are going on at the club, or all my past problems like Ferris, and the fact that some papers still seem to have it in for me, or my love life, or the fact that I was brought up as a boy, or my step dad murdering my mum or...’

‘Sheila has already told them what is off limits, and that includes most of the things that you have mentioned, but it might be a good idea to answer questions about the current situation at the club. After all, they still haven’t reinstated you, and it would be nice to put a bit of pressure on the board to bring you back in.’

I thought about it for a moment. I had, on purpose not said anything to the media about what had happened to me, as I didn’t want to sound too whingey or inflame the situation, but now, what with Hiram B Poopalot out of the country and facing serious crap, I felt that now might be a good time to make my case.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I’ll do it.’

I was going to wear some trackies and trainers and put my hair up in a pony–nah, this goil has got like, style...

So there I was sitting in front of the camera several hours later, worrying and wondering whether I was wearing the wrong dress and if the makeup that I had on wasn’t a bit too much over the top. My dress was a nice S.C.D which is, of course, a short cocktail dress from the US of A. The designer was Jovani. The lovely fitted dress had a diagonal bustline and one-shoulder design and was accented with a bow and cluster of jewels. The textured material was pleated, creating a fitted waistline, and the pencil skirt falls just above the knee. It was gorgeous, a bit over the top and had an amazing metallic bronze colour which shimmered in the light.

The studio makeup artist kept on reassuring me that the makeup was just right for studio conditions, and that my hair–a creative hair-up do, which looked more complicated to arrange than brain surgery–looked ‘simply marvellous, darling’. I had been through the same thing on other occasions when being interviewed on camera, but I honestly thought that I looked a bit like a clown. The only thing missing was the big red nose...

I sat there under the hot lights as things were going on around me. Opposite, sat Giles Kidd, an ex football player who hadn’t been too bad in his day. He had gone over to the dark side and had worked on TV for years, fronting The Big Match for a while, and then they gave him his own show and he hadn’t looked back since. The program was watched by millions, and many a sports star had sat where I was at that moment. To be honest though, I wished that I was back at home. The rest of the family were watching this at home, and they were going to record it for me. Not that I liked seeing my ugly face on TV, but that was another story ...

There was a studio audience, but to be honest, with the lights I couldn’t see too much of them. I preferred it that way as the less I saw the less I worried. Mind you they did clap me when I came in, and that was nice, as at least they didn’t boo me or throw bottles!

Giles looked across at me and smiled. He was ruggedly handsome and he had teeth that were too bright and straight to be natural, but he had a sort of charm and I must admit that I fancied him a bit, although he was a bit ancient. If I hadn’t got Andrea...

‘Quiet please live in 5,4.3,2,1...’

I could hear the audience clap and the music and then it went quiet.

Giles looked at the camera and started reading off the autocue.

‘Good evening everyone, welcome to Sports Talk, the program that addresses the real important issues in sport. Tonight, it is my proud privilege to be talking to teenage football sensation Susan Hurst. Let’s have a look at just a few of the things that this gifted star has done in the last two seasons in the premier league.’

I shifted about on my seat a bit as on the big screen behind me; there was some sort of montage of many of my fluky goals, passes and near misses.

At the end it went quiet for a second and then there was an enthusiastic round of applause. For once I was glad of the thick makeup, as I was sure that I would have gone as red as a beetroot otherwise.

After a few moments it went quiet and I looked at Giles as he glanced at a few papers on his lap.

He looked up and smiled at me.

‘Well Susan, how do you feel about the success that you have had?’

I swallowed, took a deep breath, put the confident face on that bellied how I was feeling inside and started answering his questions.

We spoke for about ten minutes and it was much like most of the other times that I had been interviewed and I started to relax. I don’t think that I said anything silly, and I gained some confidence in my answers, knowing Shelia, Daddy and John Prentiss were out there behind the cameras, giving me moral support. Then there was Danni lurking around somewhere together with an unnamed and unknown team to protect me if things went pear shaped...

‘With that, we’ll pause for a break. When we return, we’ll discuss the current position at Melchester and how it has affected Susan.’

The lights came up and I stood with Giles and he led me off the floor.

‘Well done, you’ve been great,’ he said enthusiastically.

We went into the Green Room and I went to powder my nose as Giles spoke to someone on an internal telephone. I only had a few minutes, so I was quick. When I came out, Daddy and the others were talking to Giles. They turned as I walked in.

Sheila looked at me, smiled and then spoke.

‘There have been developments.’

‘What?’

‘Hiram has been put on satellite link in one of his studios–he owns three TV stations–and wants to talk to you, on air.’

‘What!’

Sheila shrugged.

‘He found out that the show was going on and that you were on it. He wants to put his side of things. The ad break has been extended for a few minutes and then they will show a few more clips of you playing. It’s your decision. You don’t have to speak to him. This wasn’t part of the deal.’

‘We won’t pressure you into this, though it would make great TV,’ said Giles. ‘If we pulled this sort of stunt, no one would want to come on the show. It’s up to you; if you don’t want to do it, we’ll do something off air and show it on the next program.’

I thought for a moment. Although I didn’t want to see or hear the little toe rag any more than I had to, this was at least an opportunity to show him that this girl wasn’t some sort of wimp. I still had nightmares about that woman who accosted me in the ladies loo, and I relished the opportunity of saying a few choice words to him before, hopefully, he was put in prison for the rest of his natural life. I still couldn’t believe that they let him out on bail, but money talks, and big money talks big.

I took a deep breath.

‘Go for it,’

In moments, after a hug from Daddy, I was back in front of the cameras as the lights came up. Immediately I could see Hiram on a monitor in front of me. He was sitting in a huge armchair and the set had a white background behind him. He wasn’t a pleasant sight and I wished that he would just go away.

He was wearing a loud suit in some sort of garish check. His shirt was also in check but of a different design and it clashed rather violently with his suit, and to be honest, his whole appearance was a bit bizarre. Add to this nightmare his tie, which was striped, and it was obvious that taste in any way shape or form was not his strong point. The tie was so tightly knotted that looked as if he was in danger of being strangled with it–wishful thinking on my part, I think. The dead squirrel or ferret on his head that was supposed to be a wig looked a little unruly, and maybe the subject of roadkill. I wondered why, as a man with more money than a few of the oil sheiks, he didn’t get a proper job done on his balding head.

My musings ceased as Giles started speaking.

‘Welcome back. I was going to ask Susan about the things that have been happening at Melchester. The resignation of Sandy McPherson, the suspension of Susan’s contract, and the transfers of some of the players, and how it had impacted on the club. However, the owner designate of Melchester has asked if he could participate in the discussion, and Susan has agreed to this. So I will first ask Mr Atwater to say a few things and then I’ll turn to Susan for a response.’

He turned to the monitor.

‘Mr Atwater, I understand that your proposed ownership of the club is under review?’

Hiram looked as big and florid as before. Perhaps he looked a bit redder. I wondered whether he had heart problems...

‘Thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk on your little show. There have been a few problems–legal problems and my team are, as we speak, sorting these out and I expect to be in a position to continue the purchase of the club sooner, rather than later.’

‘It has been said that you are bleeding the club dry, asset stripping and just want to destroy it, is that true?’

His smile made me want to vomit.

‘Well James...’

‘It’s Giles.’

‘Sorry Giles. Well it’s like this. I am a hard man in business, and sometimes being hard is the only way. If I see a tree that has rotten branches, I prune them...’

I couldn’t listen to this crap...

‘Hiram,’ I said.

‘Eh, what? Mr Atwater to you, little missy.’

I ground my teeth but continued. ‘Was I a branch that needed to be pruned?’

‘Well, not so much a branch, but a twig.’ He laughed at his own joke and then continued, ‘Girls shouldn’t be playing with the big boys, it ain’t natural. You should play with girls. Heck, some of the girls aren’t all that bad, but soccer is a man’s game, pure and simple. Girls should be in the kitchen helping their mothers, not out there getting all dirty and breaking their nails. McPherson couldn’t see my way of thinking, and some of the players protested about it. They had to go. There is only one boss, and that is the man with the money. I will not accept dissension.’

If he had been there, I would have probably gone for him. I could hear the anger at him from the audience. At least he was being shown in his true light. I continued on, almost forgetting Giles or anyone else for that matter.

‘Well, I’m a twig, am I? Fair enough, but this twig has done a hell of a lot more for the club than you have ever done. Also, Sandy McPherson has more knowledge about football than almost any other manager alive, and you think that you know better? You seem to love playing at being the big ‘I am’ but as far as I am concerned, you are not worth a penny or a dime compared to the worth of any of the players and staff that you have gotten rid of.’

‘Now look here, girlie ...or are you really a boy in drag? A good publicity stunt that. No one speaks to me like that and gets away with it.’

‘Is that why you sent over a woman to do your dirty work?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Didn’t you send someone over to threaten me and my family?’

‘That’s slander, you little bitch...’

I was looking at the monitor, seething and just about to say something. I could vaguely hear the audience shouting and some sort of commotion going on behind me but I was totally focused on Hiram and his florid face. And then it happened. To the side of him, someone came up, armed with a gun. He was pointing it at Hiram who went pale, put his hands up and screamed ‘NO!’

I flinched violently as two shots at point blank range hit Hiram in the chest and he was thrown backwards and out of sight. I briefly saw a hooded face, and then the screen went blank.

It all seemed like a dream. I was taken away and found myself shaking in the green room. Daddy was holding me and I started to cry as shock set in. I was given some tea after I had calmed down a bit, and had great difficulty in holding the cup steady. I was somehow made aware that the show had been stopped and Hiram had been confirmed as dead. Danni was talking on the phone, and Sheila and John were huddled in the corner with the show’s producer and Giles.

After a bit, I took more in. Daddy motioned to Danni, who came over and sat next to me.

‘I won’t be long, love,’ said Daddy. ‘I need to tell your mother what’s going on and tell her that you are safe.’

‘Don’t be long,’ I said in a quavery voice.

Danni held my hand.

‘It’s all over,’ she said.’

‘Over?

‘Yes; Hiram was evidently going to plea bargain and name names. He was a stupid man. The drug lords do not let people do that, and he paid with his life.’

‘Drugs?’

‘Yes, it appears that the police were right. He had some sort of involvement with the drugs trade and engaged in money laundering for some of the cartels.’

So what we had suspected was true.

‘So they had him killed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did they catch the man?’

‘It was in fact, a woman.’

‘Woman?’

‘Yes; security managed to grab her somehow. She shot a man, wounded another and then was shot herself.’

‘Do they know who she was?’

Danni looked at me and nodded slowly.

‘From the description, it tallies with the one you gave me for the woman who threatened you at Clarridge’s.’

The next few days were a bit of a haze as the shock lingered for some time. Outside the safety of my home, the papers and news were full of it on both side of the Atlantic. YouTube had millions of hits when the footage of Sports Talk was loaded onto it. I just wanted to forget it all and get on with my life, but couldn’t get the image of the gunning down of Hiram out of my mind. Perversely I wondered if it was my fault that he had died, but with the help of my shrink–yes I had one–she pulled me through and made me realise that I wasn’t in any way to blame for anything that had happened.

Hiram had signed his own death warrant when he decided to defy the drugs cartels. All his money and connections couldn’t stop him being targeted, and it was ironic that the one sent to kill him was the person who threatened me on his behalf.

Life gradually got back to normal. I was kept away from the media, and for once they respected my privacy. I received hundreds if not thousands of letters and messages of support, and my fan site membership grew to ridiculous proportions. Claire was up half the night keeping things going, and it was a good job that it was half term now, otherwise, Auntie Monica world have short circuited.

Andrea and I had some time on our own together and we spent a lot of that precious time ******************** well never mind that; anyway it was nice, and was erm, almost innocent. She was loving her new school and had made lots of friends. When it was found out that she lived with me–you know, Melchester Superstar and all round good egg to my fans and that two left footed, clumsy poor excuse of a footballer to my detractors–her standing rose even higher for some reason.

Two weeks later I hadn’t played much football, but kept in training. My club was still in negotiation with the consortium as to the terms of the takeover. Other bids had come in from around the world, and the board had to evidently weigh the pros and the cons as to which offer was in the best interests of the club. I wished that they had done that when the Hiram steamroller started, but it seemed that Sandy’s consortium were the odds on favourites.

John Battersby wanted out and quickly. It appeared that the funds given to him by Hiram were a bit smelly, if you can say that about laundered money, and he was under investigation as to whether those funds were part of Hiram’s overall naughtiness. A result of this was that his bank accounts had been frozen. I felt little pity for him. He had made his bed of nails and could now lie on it as far as I was concerned.

Mike Newell had taken over the reins on a temporary basis as Chief Executive. Mike was an excellent member of the board and had been a good friend of Alf Battersby.

It was Tuesday morning and I was being tossed about in the gym by Danni as she tried to teach me how to kill people with my little finger–she wasn’t, really, but that sounded a bit more exciting than defending yourself from some groper with a long rather grubby mac and little else on. Yes it had happened to me once when I was smaller, in the local park, but I just took one look at the odious man and ran home screaming–not that I had much sympathy from my dear departed step-father who told me to man up. How a kid of ten could man up I would never know ...

Anyway, there I was with Danni, learning a few nifty moves to confound any would be attackers, when Daddy came in.

He stood there watching us for a few moments and as I landed on the floor for the umpteenth time, he came over and I looked up at him from my horizontal position, noticing distractedly that he needed one of those nose hair thingies that men stick up their noses to prune their erm, nose hairs, when he spoke.

‘You are wanted.’ He said.

‘Me?’

‘Yes you.’

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘What?’

‘Whatever it was that I was supposed to have done. I have an alibi. I have been here with Danni for at least erm, three hours.’

‘You haven’t. We have been here for twenty minutes,’ piped up Danni, a slight smile playing on her disgustingly pretty lips.

‘Traitor,’ I said, ‘whose side are you on?’

‘Mine.’

‘Hrumph,’ I said with dignity, getting up with some difficulty. That last landing had been more of a belly flop than a graceful landing.

‘If you have quite finished, you had better go and have a shower and get dressed in something smart.’

‘Why Daddy?’

‘The club wants a meeting with you. I think fatted calf and the return of the prodigal daughter were mentioned...’

‘They want me back,’ I squealed.

Daddy winced, he didn’t like me squealing, as it gave him a headache.

‘It looks like it, so go and get ready.’

I kissed him and then kissed Danni and walked daintily off–well I screamed a bit and ran around the gym twice, did a couple of high fives, the occasional whooping noise and then clattered out of the door and was up in my room in a couple of nanoseconds, my aches and pains from my torture training forgotten in the excitement of it all.

They wanted me back!

To be continued...

Please leave comments and kudo thingies...thanks! ~Sue