The final whistle blew and there was a silence in the stadium...     Football Girl Season 2 ~ Chapter 22 By Susan Brown Copyright © 2012 Susan Brown

Previously...

‘Have you had a nice time?’ asked Daddy in the lull between the courses. He went for the 24 courses, the piggy, and was starting to look uncomfortable.

‘It’s been great. I don’t know where to start. The people are so friendly, and the place is ace. The food is great and the hotel, wow, it’s awesome.’

‘Would you come back?’

‘Oh yes, and I would like more time. It’s been a bit Izzy Wizzy let’s get busy. I said to Claire and Andrea that we should come back in the summer.’

‘Yes, it would be nice to do it at a more leisurely pace.’

After we finished the meal, we went for a walk along the front and then Grant Park. It was lovely after dark with its winding paths and floral gardens. Then we went on to Millennium Park to view the colourful Crown Fountain and the Cloud Gate, fondly known as "The Bean".

All too soon it was over and we went back to the hotel for the last time. The following morning we would be leaving Chicago and heading home.

My leg was a lot better now, helped by some excellent massage at the hotel. I would be returning to training and that was something I didn’t fancy. After a layoff, I found it hard to get back into the swing of things, but that was my job and someone had to do it!

As the plane went up, I looked down at Chicago and smiled. I would be back sometime, hopefully soon.

And now the story continues...

The final whistle blew and there was a silence in the stadium that was only relieved, if that was the word, by the cheers of the few supporters from Hangaland FC who had ventured over from Holland to see their team get through to the quarter finals of the Champions League on the single away goal.

We had managed to contain them when we had visited them a few weeks previously, but it was a 0-0 draw. Here at Melchester, in the rain, wind and chilly atmosphere, it had been 1-1; enough for them to go through to the next round and for us, put the final nail in the coffin of what was a sad, disappointing season.
It was all together too depressing. I hadn’t played that badly and neither had the rest of the team, but we lacked that spark and understanding that comes when you are playing well and despite some spirited words from Sandy and others in the management team, we just didn’t manage to overcome Hangaland enough for us to win the match. It didn’t help that the penalty that they were given would, on the replay, show that Olafsen dived and, in fact, wasn’t touched by our full back, Phillips. I did wonder if their team had taken acting lessons...

And so it went on...

The remainder of the season was the least successful at the club for eight years. We had lost a lot of our best players in the Hiram B Crapalot fiasco and the clear cold fact was that we were just not good enough.

The remaining squad did the best that we could, but we were at too much of a disadvantage. There had been a possibility that the transfers out of the club might be made null and void as the takeover of the club had not, in fact, taken place and there were a number of illegalities carried out at the time, but, it would have meant going to court and that was a long drawn out process, so it was decided that we would do the best that we could with the current squad and start buying at the end of the season when the transfer window was open again. We were hoping that a few of the players that had left, might return to us, if we paid enough for them.

It was cruel for us. We were not able to go to the transfer market as no signings were allowed, so we made do and played as well as we could.

The fans could have turned against us. They had been put through a lot this season and I for one wouldn’t have blamed them for having a go at us; but Melchester fans are the most loyal in the country in my opinion and they stuck by us and gave as much vocal encouragement as they could, both home and away.

The end of the season came and we considered ourselves lucky to be in the Europa League for the following season. It wasn’t the Champions League, but beggars can’t be choosers. The club would be spending big in the transfer market in the closed season and we all had hopes that next season, things would get better.

The problem was that many players in the market–good players that is, would only consider moving to a club that was in the Champions League and that hadn’t happened for us this season. The one good thing about us though, was that we had the reputation of being one of the major clubs in Europe and we had a great manager.

Of course the press excelled themselves and headlines like:

kept cropping up all over the tabloids.

Many pundits wondered and speculated about our future and on TV, ex-players, who thought they knew everything, but didn’t, were saying that Sandy couldn’t do it again and get another winning side following the disasters that had happened to us this season.

I had little doubt that the Scottish Maestro would pull the rabbit out of the hat next season and defy the odds and the ever present sceptics.

Despite all our problems, the atmosphere at the club was good and a far cry from the bad, dark days of Hiram’s short but damaging reign. Many of the backroom staff who had been sacked as part of Hiram’s pruning had been able to return and it was getting to be more like the club we knew and loved so much. If only we could get the results ...

On a personal note, things were going well. The problems at the club had not really affected me too much financially. I was still big news and that, of course, was a double edged sword. I was still popular and my fan base numbers seemed to go up on a daily basis. Claire, being the manager of the site, had her hands full in trying to keep everything going smoothly without the almost inevitable flame wars. Being sort of global, with fans from at least 26 countries at the last count, she couldn’t be on line all the time and do her going out with her current boyfriend thing, so she had a gang of assistants, who help keep control over the teeming hoards. Once a week, normally on a Sunday, I went on line and did a sort of impromptu talkathon, where people asked me questions and I answered them as best I could. Anyone crossing the line and asking more personal, intimate or downright rude questions were dealt with quickly by my team of on-line minders, so it wasn’t too bad, but I did get a bit fed up with the ‘what are you wearing and what's the colour of your panties and bra?’ type questions from some of my boy fans!

I had an increasing number of advertising deals going for me and my income from those kept the wolves from the door. In fact after just a short time, I was in the position that if, God forbid, I was injured, I would never need to work again.

Daddy was earning big money now as an agent. He and John Prentiss had a large number of sports people on their books. Their business was now well and truly established and they were now considered to be one of the best agencies in the business. Mummy was helping out a lot at the playgroup where the twins went and was also looking into teacher training for when she has a bit more free time. The twins were being erm, twins, sometimes adorable and other times intolerable but always loveable.

Monica, although not fully over her illness, was getting better and stronger all the time, so we had hopes that she would be free of her problems sooner rather than later.

Andrea was on blockers to stop any of the wrong sort of boy type growth and she blossomed into a lovely girl, even without the hormones that she so desperately wanted. Our love for each other grew even stronger over the year and although we wanted to take our relationship to the next level, we promised ourselves that we would hold back until the time that we were married. Some people might think that at our age, talk of marriage was silly, but we knew what we wanted and nothing and no one was going to change our minds on this.

Mind you, she had been a bit quiet of late as if she had something on her mind, but she wouldn’t talk about it. I considered it my duty to plug away at her and wrestle this secret or whatever it was out of her.

Claire and I were as close as sisters and we talked endlessly about all things girlie. She had had a series of boyfriends and no one seemed to stand out. Mind you, her nights out were strictly monitored and she always had one of the security girls nearby. Monica was very heavy with Claire sometimes as teenage angst bit her on the bum and she had what her mother called ‘an attitude’ sometimes that meant that she wasn’t always allowed to do what she wanted to do and she had been grounded on a number of occasions.

All these angst type things seemed to pass me by. I was, after all a nice, angelic girl, who always did as she was told and was a model of perfectness–see my halo?

I loved the clothes that I was now in a position to afford. I didn’t have to scrimp and save for a nice dress; I was able to just get it. All the money did make me feel guilty about my good fortune, but I did give a lot of doubloons to charity anonymously and so I at least help others using my good fortune.

The days of being Mark Hurst had long gone now and I was one hundred percent girl. I tried not to think about my sad past and what happened to my Mum, but sometimes I got sad when I thought about what if? I had been seeing a shrink for some time, but I was very frustrated with her as she always asked lots of questions without giving me any answers.

As it was the end of the season, the next thing on the horizon was the World Cup, being held in France this year. I had hopes of being picked as I had played several times for my country now and hadn’t played too badly. However, nothing was certain and I was awaiting the call, or not, as the case may be.

We had a month to go before the finals and I was able to relax a bit and let my somewhat battered body recover from the bruising season that we had just had.

Andrea and I had a trip up to London to see the sights. Danni was hovering somewhere doing her, ‘now you see me, now you don’t’ thing, but generally staying inconspicuous.

I was wearing a pink sparkly t-shirt and denim skirt. My hair was scrunchiefied and I was wearing sun glasses so the paparazzi and others wouldn’t recognise me. Some hope. Walking down Oxford Street I was clocked by several different people and I had to do the autograph thing. I wondered if I should dye my hair, have a nose job and wear a hoodie, but that was the way of things now. I would get recognised wherever I went and I would just have to accept the fact that I didn’t really have any sort of private life.

I wanted to hold Andrea’s hand as lovers do, but society frowns on same sex signs of affection and we had to make do linking arms. Then there was always the chance of a snap happy photographer trying to get one of those ‘unguarded and less than flattering shots’. You know the ones; a pic of someone not smiling and the headlines that say ‘xxxx not happy and contemplating suicide’.

C'est la vie

In spite of everything and using, for anonymity, black taxis to get around rather than the bus or tube, we still managed to have a good time. We actually had quite a laugh and wondered how many times Danni had to ask a flagged down cabbie to, ‘follow that taxi.’

We wouldn’t have minded if she had come with us, but evidently, that is a big no-no in the security game and anyway, she said that she didn’t want to be some sort of gooseberry, whatever that means.

We had lunch at the Savoy Grill, which I had always wanted to do after reading that Winston Churchill, Oscar Wilde, Frank Sinatra and Marilyn Monroe had dined there many moons ago.

There was a bit of a sticky moment when we thought that we were not dressed poshly enough, but things have relaxed a bit nowadays as there are so many tourists with, shall we say, a strange choice of clothing, and no restaurant wants to turn away such money spinning guests.

I won’t bore you with the details as to what we noshed on–sorry, what excellent and delightful delicacies that we were presented with, but let me tell you that I was well and truly stuffed when we rolled out of there 97 minutes later and Andrea said that she felt and looked like a beached whale. I thought that she looked just as pretty, but there again, I am biased!

Continuing on our London-fest, we went to see the Houses of Parliament, but didn’t want to queue to get in, so we carried on. We went to see the Queen at Buck Palace, but she wasn’t in. Horse Guards Parade–there were no horses. We flitted here, there and everywhere and paid enough in taxi fares to fund a small nation–like the USA. Then we went up on The London Eye and did our touristy bit by going ‘ooh and aah, at the sights and weren’t all those ant like beings really people?

My cool iPhone ran hot with the amount of piccies that I was taking and Andrea wasn’t far behind me, but she had an Android phone, so, of course her pics weren’t as good as mine, (meooow).

We went for a coffee at Starbucks. The smell of the coffee was lovely and we both had a frothy cappuccino coffee with sprinkles of cinnamon together with couple of Danish pastries. It was very busy but we managed to grab some seats as others got up.

After a few minutes, my phone chirped I noticed that I had a text from Daddy.

You are in the squad!

'Oooh, well bad!' I shouted, drawing attention to myself slightly by standing up and waving my arms about.

'Sit down,' hissed Andrea looking a bit embarrassed for some reason.

'Sorry' I said slightly shamefacedly as I returned to my seat and pretended that I had done nothing out of the ordinary.

Then the enormity of what had occurred took me over. Let's face it, there aren't many times that you are picked to play for your country in a major tournament. Although there were other people about, I seemed to forget myself and I had lost it a bit, not thinking about who I was doing, I held Andrea's hand and then leaned over and gave her a full frontal, tonsil tickling kiss on the lips.

There was a click sound and a bright flash. We both realised that we had been photographed kissing.

It didn't matter that we were in Starbucks; somehow a member of the paparazzi had managed to take a candid pic and no doubt it would be splashed over all the papers outside of the UK.

It even didn't matter that he was chucked out on his ear and someone with a great presence of mind threw their drink over him. The damage had been done and once again I was in the spotlight and more importantly and horribly, Andrea had been dragged in.

I dreaded to think what would happen when the pic got into the papers. Being under age meant that at least in the UK we would be protected from the papers publishing anything, but overseas was another ball game. In addition to this, the photo would, no doubt, appear on the internet for anyone, including people from the UK to have a look at it and judge us, rightly or wrongly.

'I want to go home,' said Andrea in a strangled voice that sounded as if she was upset.

Danni was there and talking into her sleeve and looking none too pleased. I remembered when she told me quite soberly that if an assassin or hit man wanted to get at you, it was almost impossible to prevent it other than if she or one of her team had put their bodies in front of the one being attacked. I didn’t want anyone to die for me and I told her that in no uncertain terms. She just looked at me and grinned. I think that you would have to be slightly insane to do what she and Charlotte did.

Andrea’s face was as white as a sheet and she looked as if she might be sick at any moment.

'Sorry.' I said rather inadequately.

'I know,' she said, sounding a bit funny.

We made our way out of the restaurant and I could sense that all eyes were on us. I wanted to hold Andrea’s hand, but even I could see in the circs, that that wasn’t really an option.

Why couldn’t we show our love openly? What was wrong with it? We weren’t harming anyone and I just felt terrible and guilty. Why did I feel like that?

We had another night booked in at the hotel but decided that we really wanted to go home, so, with Danni's help, we packed our bags, booked out quickly and then made our way back to Melchester.

The return journey in the car was very quiet as we were both upset at what had happened. I just wished that for once we would have a nice time without any problems. Some hope!

We arrived home very late and we just kissed briefly and then went to our separate, lonely beds.

As I lay on my bed I was so upset about what happened in the end. What had been a lovely break in London had turned into something of a nightmare.

The next morning, when I had finally managed to drag myself out of my pit, I saw that apart from Danni and Mrs Moon, I was the only one left in the house. Claire had gone to school and Andrea, although she didn't need to, had evidently gone as well.

I had really wanted to speak to Andrea, I wanted to say how sorry I was for putting her in the spotlight like that, but I didn't have the opportunity.

After moping around the house for a while, Danni dragged me out and we went for a run along the canal towpath. I needed to keep as fit as possible for the upcoming Europeans and the last thing I wanted was to get flabby and out of condition. I would be going to do some training with the England squad on Friday at the state of the art training complex at Waltham, but for now, I had to exercise my legs and my lungs so that I wouldn’t look too bad come the training day.

As usual, Danni wasn't breathing heavily and I sounded like an asthmatic sheep after running for five miles. At least the run cleared my head and I was feeling a bit better about things. All the excitement about being picked for England had sort of tarnished a bit in the light of that damned photographer and I needed some serious exercise to make me feel a bit happier about things.

All that changed when I got home. Daddy was in the lounge with Mummy and Auntie Monica–no one looked very happy.

'What's up?' I asked as I looked at their solemn faces.

'Andrea is missing. She didn't go to school, even though Charlotte dropped her off at the gates. The head mistress rang and asked about where she was and if she was sick or something.'

'Where is she?' I asked.

'That’s what I am trying to tell you. We can't find her and she isn't answering her phone. A photo has appeared on the internet and has gone viral. What possessed you to kiss like that in public?'

‘I love her.’

‘I know, but you know what the press are like. They jump on things like that and love to make trouble.’

I looked at my phone and saw that there was a message from her; why I hadn't looked before, I didn't know. Normally, I looked every few minutes but I had somehow turned off the speaker and not bothered to look for any messages. I had been too wrapped up in myself, as usual.

I pressed the button and listened to her lovely voice.

‘Sorry Sue, I can't take any more of this at the moment. Tell Mum that I will ring her tomorrow when I get my head around what has happened. I love you, but I don't think that I am as strong as you. I never wanted to be in the limelight, but now it looks like my face is going to appear in some sleazy paper and get plastered all over the Internet. I need to think. Don't try to find me. Just give me a bit of space, sorry.’

She had been crying as she left her voicemail and my heart bled for her and for me too. I had found the love of my life and now it looked like I was going to lose her.

So I had to chose which was more important to me; my love life or my career.

To be continued...

My thanks go to the lovely and talented Holly Hart for editing, and pulling the story into shape.

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

If you are enjoying this story, The original Penmarris story - Changes Book 1 is now available on Kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006NZFWG8 (US)
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Changes-ebook/dp/B006NZFWG8/ref=sr_1... (UK)