The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2491 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Jacquie was coming into the kitchen when I cornered her. “Could you look after the little ones while I go to watch Danielle play football?”

“I can’t, Mummy, I’m sorry. I’ve a friend coming to collect me in half an hour.”

This wasn’t going to be my day. Simon arrived in the kitchen. “She was expecting me to go,” he said, “But if you really want to, I’ll stay here and stop these two misfits from eating us out of house and home. Right girls?”

“I wanna come, Mummy,” declared Trish.

“If you do, I don’t want any tantrums because you can’t unzip your coat.”

“I won’t do that again, Mummy.”

“You’d better not.”

“Where ya goin’?” asked Livvie of her sister.

“Watch Danni playin’ footie.”

“’S gonna rain.”

“So?”

“Don’t do rain,” said Livvie pouring herself a bowl of cereal.

“Wimp.”

“Pig.”

“Girls, please stop this silliness.”

“Soz, Mummy.”

“Yeah, sorry—she started it.”

“No I didn’t, you did.”

“You did so.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Girls—if I have to tell you again...”

“I’ll go an’ dress, Mummy.” Trish went back upstairs.

Part of me was beginning to wish I’d stayed in bed. I ate a quick breakfast and downed a cuppa before returning to my bedroom to wash and dress. It was already raining, so it would be waterproofs, jacket and trousers, plus wellies inside which I’d wear my thick socks. I dressed in jeans and top, then a sweatshirt over the top—a polo shirt. Some moisturiser on my face and hands, then I brushed my hair back into a ponytail and wearing some easy to remove shoes, went downstairs again.

Trish arrived moments later dressed similarly. We all had a set of waterproofs, Gortex jackets and nylon over-trousers. I had Gortex trousers as well but reserved their use for my field work. If you’re out all day in the wet, it really pays to stay dry and warm. I got my waterproofs from the cupboard in the hall and pulled them on, then taking my handbag and a bag containing my wellingtons waited for Trish to finish dressing and she also brought her little handbag and wellingtons. As we loaded the car, Danni ran out with her sports bag in one hand and her soccer boots in the other. Her handbag was over her shoulder. She wore her raincoat, which like our waterproofs, had a hood.

“Can you watch my bag, Mummy?”

“Course, put it in the glove box.” She did as I asked.

“Hope your mascara is waterproof,” quipped Trish from the backseat.

“It is,” said her big sister as I started the car and drove us out towards the football club.

“Where are you playing?”

“It’s a home game.” I drove towards Fratton, not the most salubrious part of Portsmouth. Then Trish and I sat in the car while Danni went off to change and presumably listen to the tactics for the game. We pulled our wellies on while we waited, pulling the over-trousers over the boots to stop water going down inside them. After the effort of that, I certainly didn’t feel cold.

The match was due to start at ten but we discovered was postponed until half past to allow a pitch inspection. It was quarter to ten. I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw that Trish was fast asleep. Ten minutes later, so was I.

The knocking on the window made me jump and I wondered where I was for a moment. The car was all steamed up. I lowered my window. Danni was standing beside the car. “Kick off is two minutes away.”

“Okay, we’ll be there now.”

“Trish wasn’t too happy about waking up but I eventually roused her and grabbing my large golf umbrella took it with us as we strode towards the football ground. It was still teeming down. Talking of teams, two teams of young women came out of the changing rooms and took up opposite ends of the field. They were going to get soaked.

It wasn’t the best game of football I’d seen, given the conditions, it was surprising anyone was able to do anything beyond booting the ball up towards the opposite goal. The goalkeepers must have been frozen because for most of the first half the ball seemed to be in the middle of the field, where it frequently slowed or stopped in the deepening puddles.

Danni hadn’t been able to work her magic and she came over to us at half time just say how horrible it was when Trish said, “Why aren’t you waiting on the halfway line for through balls?”

“Through balls, they can’t seem to kick it that far.”

“You’ll have the wind behind you in the second half, lob them up field.”

“Might work, thanks, Sis.” She ran off to join her team mates.

“What was all that about?” I wished I hadn’t bothered, I got a lecture about air resistance, friction coefficients and so on. It was like watching it with Brian Cox without the toothy smile. The whistle went and the second half got underway.

Five minutes later, one of Danni’s team lobbed the ball high up in the air and the wind carried it half way down the opposition’s half. Danni who was waiting just inside her half, dashed off—you can’t be offside in your own half—and with two defenders and a goalie to beat, opened the scoring. She made it look so easy, but then she showed levels of skill above the rest of them.

As the wind strengthened, they did the same again with an identical outcome. Two nil. The opposition, a team from Fareham, tried to do the same but the stiff breeze blowing against them meant it was futile. Danni having scored twice was now being marked by half the Fareham team, which meant one of her colleagues was able to sneak up the other side of the pitch and score number three. In the last ten minutes the rain hammered down and the referee abandoned the match giving Pompey the win and the three points.

Trish and I scampered back to the warmth of the car, where we divested ourselves of the waterproofs. It felt so much better. The rain with occasional hail spattered on the car and I felt sorry for any animals or people who were out in it without adequate protection. Then after a rumble of thunder the rain stopped and the sun broke through. The car began to act like a conservatory and the temperature rocketed. I even opened a window to clear the windscreen which had steamed up.

It was about a quarter of an hour after that that Danni came trotting back to the car. “That was a good idea, Sis, thanks.”

“’S okay,” said Trish.

“Maybe you should come to all my games?”

“As a tactical consultant?”

Danni took a moment to reply, “Yeah.”

“I’d have to fit it in with my work for the MOD and British Aerospace.”

“What?” gasped Danni.

I had to try and avoid laughing. I needed a wee quite badly and just hoped I’d get home in time.