Playing the field, p.1
Playing the Field, page 1
For the Lionesses, who inspired the nation.
And for all the future Lionesses out there, who refuse to give up.
You got this!
CHAPTER ONE
I’m packing up the last of my things when Mum knocks on the door.
‘How’s it all going?’ she asks, strolling into my room and standing next to me to examine the neatly folded contents of my bag. ‘Expertly packed, as usual.’
‘I learnt from the best,’ I say, putting my hands on my hips.
She reaches out to lift the football shirt at the top to check what’s packed beneath. Finding more sports kit, she arches a brow.
‘A long weekend at home and all you brought with you was football kit,’ she remarks.
‘What else would I need?’ I tease.
She sighs. ‘Sadie, I hope you’re going to enjoy the rest of this term. It’s important to have a bit of fun at university. You are in first year, after all.’
‘What are you talking about? I’ve had a great time this term,’ I say, puzzled.
‘It sounds like all you’ve done these first few weeks is spend half your time at lectures and the other half training,’ she says, before hesitating. ‘Actually, let me correct that to one-third of your time studying and two-thirds training.’
‘More like one-eighth studying,’ I correct, grinning at her.
She gives me a look.
‘I’m joking, Mum,’ I insist, rolling my eyes. ‘But, anyway, you’re forgetting that football training isn’t work to me. It’s what I love. It’s… everything.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ she admits. ‘I don’t want you missing out on life because you’re so busy kicking a ball around a field.’
I frown at her turn of phrase diminishing the sport.
‘You know what I mean,’ she says gently. ‘I know how important it is to you – it is to me, too; it has been since I met your father – but university is about the experience and the people. You’re allowed to have fun. Some of the best years of my life were when I was at uni in Manchester, and that’s down to the friends I made there.’
‘The team are my friends,’ I point out defensively. ‘I don’t need anyone else.’
She gives me a wry smile. ‘You sound just like your dad.’
My eyes flicker up to the framed newspaper cutting mounted on the wall above my desk. It’s from 1989 and beneath the headline MCGRATH: THE TARTAN ARMY’S HERO is a picture of my dad on the football pitch with one arm punching the air, his head back and eyes closed in elation, as two of his teammates hug him round the waist, lifting him up off the ground. It captures the moment after he scored the last of his three goals for Scotland, winning the match and securing their place at the World Cup.
‘I want to make him proud of me,’ I admit quietly.
‘He is proud of you – we both are!’ Mum exclaims, her warm hazel eyes widening in horror that I might think otherwise. ‘Sadie, you have been at Durham for just a few weeks and you’ve already made captain of the university women’s team – the youngest in their history, thank you very much.’ She prods my arm with her finger. ‘What was it that your coach called you? Oh yes, their star striker. And to think you only started playing seriously two years ago!’
‘Yeah, don’t think I didn’t hear you telling that to the guy who lives at number twenty-two when he passed you on the street the other day,’ I remark, unable to stop a smile. ‘I appreciate it, but I’m not sure our random neighbours care about stuff like that.’
‘Excuse me, everyone should care about how talented my daughter is,’ she insists, lifting her chin defiantly. ‘And, if anything, that proves just how proud we are! But, Sadie, we’re equally as proud of your achievements off the field as on it.’
‘I know,’ I murmur, nodding. ‘But Durham has been champion of the National League twice in a row, and if we win for a record third time –’ I take a deep breath in, irrationally worried that if I say this out loud, I might somehow jinx it – ‘I might be scouted to play professionally. And for Dad to be there for that, for him to know that I can do it…’ I swallow the lump in my throat, managing to add quietly, ‘That’s all I want.’
Her eyes glistening, Mum reaches out to gently push my hair behind my ear. For as long as I can remember, she’s been encouraging me to stop hiding my face with my long auburn hair. I have the same colour hair as her, but while she has a shoulder-length glossy bob, I hate cutting mine, keeping it long and wavy. A shy, insecure child, I became adept at using it like a shield, keeping my head bowed and allowing my hair to fall forward over my face. The only time I ever have it tied back is when I’m out on the pitch.
That’s the one place I’m not afraid.
‘Dad knows you can do it,’ Mum says, smiling warmly at me. ‘Even if sometimes that slips his mind. In his heart, he knows.’
Feeling dangerously close to crying, I blink back the hot tears pricking at my eyes and step back from her. I clear my throat and turn my attention to my bag, zipping it closed.
‘Right, I should get going, otherwise I’ll miss the bus and then might miss my train,’ I announce, lifting the bag off the bed and pulling its strap over my shoulder. I pause. ‘Thanks, though, Mum. For the chat.’
She sighs. ‘The house feels so empty when you’re away. I have to keep the door to your bedroom firmly closed otherwise I find myself peering in, hoping you’re secretly lurking in here somewhere.’
I chuckle, glancing round my box room, wondering where on earth I’d be able to hide in here. It may be small, but I love my room. It helps that I’m freakishly neat and tidy, and hate clutter, so it has a minimalist vibe to it and feels bigger than it is.
‘You’ll be home soon, though,’ Mum adds, forcing a smile.
‘Yeah, course. Just a couple of months until Christmas.’
‘Maybe next time you might bring someone with you,’ she says hopefully, leading the way out of my room onto the landing.
I groan. ‘Oh god, Mum, don’t start.’
‘What?’ she asks innocently, gliding down ahead of me. ‘Are you going to tell me that football and dating don’t mix – is that it?’
‘Something like that,’ I mutter.
‘Here she comes!’ Dad announces cheerfully, appearing at the bottom of the stairs and beaming up at me. ‘That bag looks heavy. What have you got in there, Sadie – the kitchen sink?’
‘More like a hundred pairs of football boots,’ Mum quips.
‘Slight exaggeration,’ I counter, setting my bag down in the hallway and finding my coat on one of the hooks by the door before pulling it on. ‘Although I wouldn’t say no to a hundred pairs.’
‘Me neither,’ Dad says, sharing a conspiratorial smile.
‘I was only just telling Sadie that as wonderful as it is to be football obsessed – Lord knows, I married an obsessive – it’s also important for her to enjoy herself,’ Mum emphasises, giving me a stern look. ‘She can’t train with the team every night.’
‘Ah, she’s always been determined,’ Dad says proudly. ‘Once my Sadie puts her mind to something, that’s it. No doubt about it. She was always a natural on the pitch.’ He waggles his finger in my direction. ‘I said you should have started sooner, but you were stubborn. I remember taking you for a kick-around when you were a wee lass and you wouldn’t even try.’
‘Because you took me for a kick-around with your former professional teammates,’ I remind him. ‘It was only slightly intimidating. I was scared of looking like an idiot in front of them! I knew all of them would expect me to be brilliant because I was your daughter. I didn’t want to embarrass you.’
‘Well, no matter, you got there in the end. I’m thrilled you’re taking after your old man. Big shoes to fill, mind you,’ he adds mischievously.
I smile at him. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘You need to go, Sadie,’ Mum warns, checking the time. ‘We’ll say our goodbyes. We don’t want you to be late.’
‘Late?’ Dad asks, his brow furrowed. ‘She won’t be late!’
‘She will if we stand here huddled in the doorway chatting away for much longer. I want to make sure she gives herself plenty of time and, if she misses this bus, then waiting for the next one will give her very little time before her train.’
‘She doesn’t need to get the bus!’ Dad declares stubbornly, turning to me. ‘I’ll drive you, Sadie. I appreciate you don’t want to walk all that way with your heavy bag, so we can drive. It’s no bother.’
Mum shoots me a concerned look.
‘Harry—’ she begins.
‘The school is just round the corner,’ he continues. ‘It’ll only take five minutes or so. Let me just find my keys.’
‘Dad…’ I say, but he’s not listening, busily patting the pockets of his trousers.
‘Now, where did I leave them?’ he mutters.
‘Harry,’ Mum says gently, reaching out to grasp his arm, ‘Sadie isn’t going to school. She’s at university now. She’s going back to Durham.’
He frowns, the creases on his forehead deepening.
‘She left school in the summer, after her A-levels,’ Mum continues. ‘And now she’s at Durham University, where she’s captain of the women’s football team. She’s just come home to see us for the weekend, and now she’s got to catch her train to go back.’
‘Durham, yes, the football team,’ he mumbles so quietly I can barely hear him. ‘Of course. Of course.’
My stomach twists into a knot as I watch him struggle to find his bearings, his i nitial bewilderment replaced with frustration. After a while, he lifts his head to look at me, repeating the phrase, ‘Of course,’ through a weak smile, his brow still furrowed.
Mum rubs her hand on his shoulder and he reaches up to pat it gratefully with his.
One of the cruelties of dementia is how it comes in waves –one moment, everything is fine and your dad is teasing you affectionately like he always has, and the next moment, he’s struggling to remember that you left for university a few weeks ago. It lulls you into a calm normality that it then shatters mercilessly.
Sometimes, when he’s himself, I almost convince myself that it’s not there; that the diagnosis was wrong and everything is okay. But then it comes back: the memory lapse, the disorientation, the panic and frustration.
As ever, Mum is the one to take charge of the situation while Dad collects himself, and I stand there numbly, plastering on a smile and feeling helpless. Reminding everyone that I’m on a tight schedule in her admirably chirpy tone, Mum encourages the goodbyes and, despite not saying anything out of the ordinary, I hug them a bit longer and a bit tighter than I normally would.
Mum understands.
‘We’ll be okay,’ she whispers in my ear as I hold her.
After bustling me out, I hear her announce to Dad that it’s time for a cup of tea as the door shuts, while I head over to the bus stop.
Marching down the road, I make a promise to myself to train harder than ever before, especially as our first fixtures of the season are looming. I am determined to make my dad proud of me on the football pitch before it’s too late. Ever since he was diagnosed, it’s been my dream to be scouted and signed for a career in pro football. I need him to see me achieve that, and nothing is going to distract me from that dream.
Sorry, Mum, but other life experiences will just have to wait.
CHAPTER TWO
Weaving my way through the crowd at Edinburgh Waverley Station, I feel my phone vibrate several times in my back pocket, but it’s not until I’ve boarded my train and plonked myself down in my seat that I have the chance to check it.
DWFC
Amy
Someone please kill me now
I’ve never been so hungover in my life
Ella
I also feel like death
Who ordered those tequilas?
Alisha
Hayley
It was Hayley
I’m never drinking again
Maya
Hahahaha just remembered Amy dancing on the stripper pole
Amy
OH MY GOD
I’d forgotten about that
I was wondering why my thighs had carpet burn
Maya
Suffering for your art
Amy
They are red raw
Please tell me I at least looked good up there
Maya
You looked GREAT
Amy
Are you lying to me?
Maya
No
Amy
I can tell you’re lying
Alisha
I liked it when you hid your face behind the pole and played peek-a-boo with the people watching you from the dance floor
Amy
What.
What do you mean.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN I PLAYED PEEK-A-BOO?????
Quinn
Morning, bitches
Wait
How is that the time?!
I’m meant to be meeting James for lunch!!
I’m SO LATE!!!
Maya
Quinn is late, everyone
Alisha
That is so new and surprising
Jade
Quinn
Fuck you all
Jade
Sounds like you had a good night! Sad to have missed it
Will be out tonight tho if anyone’s keen
Maya
Sounds good, hair of the dog
Amy
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I PLAYED PEEK-A-BOO?!?!
Hayley
The tequila was a TERRIBLE IDEA
My bad
But if it makes you all feel any better, I promise I’m paying for it now
I’ll be out tonight too…
Will try to meet up with you lot after xxx
I arrive at my dorms after a pretty smooth trip and go straight to my room to get myself sorted. I’m mid unpacking when suddenly the door to my halls bedroom swings open.
‘Is she fucking kidding?!’
I look up from putting my clothes away in a drawer to see Jade standing in the doorway with a thunderous expression, holding her phone in her hand.
‘Who?’ I ask, sliding the drawer closed.
She strides across my room and slumps onto my bed.
‘Oh please, Sadie,’ she says in her clipped London tone. ‘It’s me you’re talking to here. You don’t need to act as though you’re cool with it. I’ve been pissed off about this message for ages and desperate to talk to you, but I was at lunch with my parents and didn’t have anyone to rant to about it. I’m glad you’re back – I really missed you this weekend.’
‘Same,’ I say, smiling warmly at her. ‘How was your parents’ visit? Nice of them to come all this way.’
‘Yeah, it was fine. They’re big fans of the city. Dad kept lecturing me about the history of the place. You two would really get on, actually. He was disappointed that you weren’t around to join us for lunch – he loves that I’m friends with a fellow history nerd.’
‘I am not a history nerd. I’m just doing a history degree.’ I laugh, shaking my head.
‘And that’s only because they don’t offer a degree in football here,’ Jade mutters, shooting me a knowing smile. ‘Anyway, we had lunch at that tasting-menu restaurant and now they’re on their way back to London.’
‘The Michelin-star one?’
‘Yeah. It was good,’ she says, distracted by her phone.
I smile to myself. For someone like Jade, eating at a Michelin-star restaurant for lunch isn’t that big a deal. An only child to hugely wealthy parents, she grew up in a beautiful townhouse in Knightsbridge, London, with holiday homes in Cornwall and France. With her glossy blonde hair, designer clothes, perfectly manicured nails and plummy accent, she is always impeccably turned out and genuinely intimidating on first impression.
She happened to be the first person I met when I arrived here at Collingwood College last term and I had a minor panic that I was stuck next door to a pompous, entitled posh girl, but I was wrong to judge her so quickly. By the end of our first night, I realised that she was so fun and warm and friendly that there was no way we weren’t going to be best friends. The fact that she plays football too and qualified for the first team with me is an added bonus, and although personalities don’t necessarily reflect position, it didn’t come as a surprise to me that Jade is a talented defender. She’s the most protective person I know.
‘How was your weekend at home?’ she asks. ‘Did you have a wonderful time eating haggis and reciting Burns?’
I snort with laughter. Another reason I like Jade – she shows her affection by teasing. I’ve learnt that sharing emotion isn’t exactly the done thing in her family, just as with mine. Taking the piss out of each other is how we work.
‘Resorting to stereotypes is a very lazy form of humour,’ I remind her.
‘Whatever,’ she sighs, before adding gently, ‘Can we talk about Hayley now?’
Feeling a sharp pang in my chest at just the sound of her name, I lower myself into the chair at my desk.
‘What about her?’ I say glumly.
‘Let’s start with that fucking rogue comment on the WhatsApp group about tonight!’ she exclaims, looking at me wide-eyed.
I shrug. ‘She said she was going out tonight.’
‘Yeah, with some very leading emojis that imply she’s going on a date. Don’t tell me you didn’t think that, too.’
‘Of course I did. I’m sure everyone understood that implication.’
‘No one replied to her because they’re all thinking the same thing: it’s a dick move,’ Jade seethes. ‘She knows you’re in this group. She knew it was going to hurt you. She did it anyway. Which brings me to my first question: Is she fucking kidding?’
Fiddling with the hem of my top, I look down at my hands.
It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have got involved with someone else on the team. I was asking to get hurt. I noticed Hayley Ashton straight away. It would be impossible not to notice Hayley. She’s tall and strikingly beautiful with her thick, dark curly hair, bright brown eyes and impossibly full lips. A second-year student who played on the team last year, she’s confident and friendly, and she shot me a huge smile when the coach first introduced us. During that first training session, I scored a couple of goals and at the end she came running over to say to Coach, ‘This girl is something special,’ before winking at me. My heart somersaulted and my face flushed with heat. I couldn’t think of anything clever to say.
