All Saints: Love and Intrigue in the Stunning New Zealand Wilderness (The New Zealand Soccer Referee Series Book 1) (16 page)

It took
less than a second to click Pete’s profile to show him offline, but the threat
remained and haunted my dreams all night. I woke up countless times sweating,
imagining a faceless spectre hovering over me waiting to smother the life from
my body. The laptop sat next to my bed and it remained silent, logged off and
charging. I wasn’t sure I’d have the courage to open the lid again and
contemplated dumping it in the estuary during the early hours of the morning as
I cowered under the sheets afraid.

Up and dressed by six, I sat at
the kitchen counter in my soccer kit, dark smudges of sleep deprivation beneath
my eyes and my unruly hair knotted into a high ponytail. Shaking fingers hugged
the mug of tea in front of me. In the calm light of a new day I regretted my
reaction to Jack’s wrong assumption, but didn’t know how to put it right.

My landline rang and I picked it
up, the product of a gut reaction. Jordan Saint’s guttural tones spewed from
the handset. “What the eff’s going on with you, lazy bloody woman! I nearly
ended up in hospital with my heart yesterday and you...”

The click of the handset docking
killed the irritating voice and I felt an overwhelming satisfaction. I waited
for guilt to catch me up but nothing came. “Get your wife to look after you
now,” I said to the empty room and dumped my mug in the dishwasher.

Driving my gorgeous car caused a
smile to touch my lips. I loved it more each time I climbed into the driver’s
seat, relishing independence and freedom. I reached the All Saints’ ground in
twenty minutes without the usual traffic volume present on every other day of
the week. Parking outside the locked gates I waited, finding myself early.

“Yey! Ursula, oh wow! So glad
you’re here!” Two of my team mates arrived, hugging me and gushing their
gratitude. “Amanda fell last week and twisted her knee after a bad tackle.
She’s having physio but might need an operation.” Leonie glanced at me
sideways. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Just filling in,” I said,
holding up my hands. “I haven’t trained and I don’t want to be a regular team
member.”

“But we miss you.” Alice moved
closer and lowered her voice. “We hoped you’d take up the Captaincy this year.”

“Leave her.” Leonie nudged her
team mate’s arm and widened her eyes in warning.

I fixed a smile on my face and
knew their minds had gone straight to my husband’s death. “I didn’t quit
because of Pete,” I said, keeping the smile in place. “It was for lots of
reasons. I felt I needed a break and until this week, I didn’t own a car. I
caught the bus everywhere.”

“Someone said that,” Alice
gasped. “But what happened to your car?”

“Alice!” Leonie shoved her hard
and gave me a look of apology. “We haven’t been talking about you, Ursula.
Promise.”

“It’s fine.” I leaned back
against my car and made a decision to scotch the rumours. “Pete didn’t have
life insurance and left a lot of debts. I guess he didn’t expected to die right
then. I sold the house and my car and it’s been quite hard.” I jerked my head
towards the BMW and fixed the smile back on my face. “I’m all square now
though. I’ve worked my way out of it and things will be better.”

The girls mirrored my enthusiasm
and admired the car until Brian arrived, grinning at my presence. “I’m glad you
showed up,” he said, unlocking the gates and embracing me. He pressed his lips
to my forehead like a benevolent father and I detected a sense of relief in the
action. Once on the training ground, he morphed into slave driver mixed with
Roman centurion and flogged us to death in a warm up which left my knees
trembling.

“I’m done!” I groaned, laying
flat on my back on the grass. “I’ve got nothing left for the game.”

“Get up, girl!” Brian snapped and
nudged my boot with his foot. “Should’ve come to training last week.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but
he walked away, still bemoaning my lack of commitment. “And the week before and
the week before that.”

“Ignore him,” Leonie said,
helping me up. “He’s thrilled you’re back. Anyone can see that.”

I nodded and looked around me at
the other ten players, all younger than me by at least five years. Alice wore
the captain’s band around her upper arm and I felt pleased for her, knowing my
decision to decline the honour last year was the right one. Pete’s death and
the subsequent revelations which unfolded around my head left me numb inside
and I wasn’t in a good place when Brian made the announcement at the
end-of-year party.

The opposition gathered on the
pitch in a huddle and I switched to player mode, joining the tight-knit circle
of women and healing in their solidarity. The customary pre-game chant filled
me with a sense of wellbeing and the aches and pains faded into background
noise.

“Let’s go!” Brian yelled, ramping
up the excitement. He tapped me on the shoulder. “Right back, number nine,” he
said, patting me on the back as I ran out onto the pitch. “Don’t get hurt;
we’ve no reserves. Good to have you here,” he added, his lips quirking as he
issued orders to the other girls.

The turf felt good under my boots
and I closed my eyes and savoured the scent of earth and severed grass roots.
The female referee seemed to glow in her yellow shirt, the sun reflecting off
the fabric like a blinding display of glory. My red and black stripes hugged
every curve of my torso like a glove and as the whistle blew to start the game,
I felt more alive than I had for ages.

My opponent drove hard for the
ball, out running me on every challenge until I grew frustrated with my poor
fitness. A bitter spirit took root and I legged her up in a nasty tackle,
intended to break her run. She crushed me beneath her as she fell, winding me
and scraping her studs down the inside of my thigh. “Serves you right!” she
snapped, standing and smirking as the referee arrived, a yellow card raised
above her head.

“Do that again and it’s an early
shower,” she said, her tone clipped. Red hair tumbled either side of her face
and I saw she meant business. My ears rang from the powerful whistle blow which
communicated her disapproval and I apologised and stood up.

“Calm down, number nine!” Brian
yelled from the sideline. “You just cost your club fifty bucks!”

I stood back from the free kick
and gave myself a stiff talking to, settling into my game and pushing myself to
keep up with my opponent. We battled hard, but I kept it fair on my part,
recognising how easily the nasty spirit stepped in to compensate for my
inadequacy. I matched her along the sideline as she took the ball up towards
our goal, closing her down until she lost the ball over the white line.

Alice indicated I should take it
and I chased it, flicking it up into my hands with my foot. I noticed the
assessor then, using his ballpoint pen to mark a sheet resting on his
clipboard. He stood on the other side of the pitch from the spectators and club
members, keeping his distance to observe the performance of the referee with a
calm eye.

I hesitated and swallowed, a
metre away from him with the ball pinned between my fingers. Teina Fox smirked
and offered a lazy wink. “I think they want the ball back,” he said, jerking
his head towards a frantic Brian yelling from the other side of the ground.

Swallowing, I threw the ball,
messing up the movement and not pulling the ball far enough behind my head
before I let it go. The whistle blew and Alice looked at me in confusion.
“Sorry,” I mouthed, not daring to glance back towards Teina. My heart pounded
in my chest and I couldn’t work out whether embarrassment or lust induced it.

The referee let the game run on,
not heavy on her whistle but decisive and clear when she needed to be. I
experienced flares of jealousy at the thought of her sitting next to Teina in
the cramped referees’ changing room, pouring over her scores and chatting over
his detailed observations. I felt an idiot for my behaviour and worked hard to
control the varying emotions, deciding somewhere between half time and the
final ten minutes that soccer was no longer my game.

Then everything turned to
custard. Alice went down in a terrible clatter with the goalie and didn’t get
up. The goalkeeper wobbled around for a minute and promised she was ok but
Alice stayed on the ground. Brian ran over with ice and a spectator from the
opposition declared himself a doctor. Alice woke with a headache and the men
helped her, limping from the pitch.

“Ten men!” Leonie yelled,
rallying the troops. “We can do this. Let’s keep it a nil all draw, girls.”

We seemed to go down like
skittles and the referee called advantage more times than she blew the whistle.
Flattened, we got up and ran, hogging the ball and desperate for the taste of
victory. I sent Leonie a freakily accurate cross and she drove the ball into
the back of the opposition’s net, two minutes before the final whistle. It felt
a hollow victory as her opponent studded the back of her leg from knee to ankle
and she fell in the penalty box.

I could hear Brian swearing from
the other side of the pitch and even the referee’s whistle and awarding of a
penalty did little to assuage his temper. “Take it number nine!” he screamed at
me and I shook my head and backed away. Last year I might have but not anymore.
Someone else commanded the Ursula Saint confidence because it sure as hell
wasn’t me. I turned my back so I couldn’t hear his bellowing and Leonie stepped
up and took the shot. I knew the ball hit its mark by the cheer which went up
along the sidelines. A glance towards Teina saw him writing something on his
clipboard but he paused long enough to catch my eye. I’d never wanted to be
somewhere else quite so badly as that moment and I hung out for the final
whistle, resenting the referee for the extra three minutes she tacked on for
injury time.

I shook hands with the referee
and the other players and apologised to the girl I’d fouled. “Sorry. You were
the better player and it irked me. I deserved the card.”

“Hey, no worries,” she said,
shaking my hand. “It’s nice to see you back. We heard you weren’t playing.”

I shrugged, a familiar sick
feeling rising into my stomach. “Just standing in. I won’t be playing again.”

She nodded, not really caring as
her team mates trooped off and she ran to catch them up. I followed my team
towards the changing rooms, dreading Brian’s dissection of the game in the
after-match drink in the club house. The girls celebrated their victory and
tried to include me, but every minute felt like an age of torture. I snagged
the first shower and dressed quickly, listening to their loud chatter and
evading their voiced assumption that I would join them in the club house.

“You might get the man of the
match award,” one of the defenders commented, towel drying her hair as I tied
my shoelaces and stuffed my kit into a bag. “You played well. We’ve missed
you.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Nah, I don’t
think so. I played like an idiot.” I kept my head down, sensing the unease
inside the room heighten to painful levels. Collecting my gear together, I
waved my arm to encompass the team without getting eye contact with anyone.
“See ya girls, have a great rest of the season.”

Before they could release the
giant exhale they collectively held, I left the room and bolted. The yellow
shirt of the referee trotted off in the distance, still cladding her sweaty
body. I shuddered and felt glad I wouldn’t have to car pool with her. I strode
away from the home team’s lair and skirted the muted commiserations from the
away team which I heard through the open windows. Steam gushed through the
vents as the women showered more thoroughly than the men seemed capable of.
Passing the officials’ changing rooms I remembered Teina’s presence on the
pitch and my heart gave an involuntary skip. I glanced towards the tree he’d
stood next to at the other side of the second best pitch and squinted against
the bright sunlight. Blinded for a second, I put my hand up to shield my face
and let out a squeak as a strong pair of arms seized me around the waist and
yanked me sideways.

I spun into the room, dropping my
kit bag and readying my confidence to take an angry pounding from Brian for my
poor game. The door gave a sharp click and Teina grinned at me, darting forward
and wrapping his arms around me. “Well, Ms Saint, fancy meeting you here,” he
whispered, pushing his face into my neck and inhaling shower gel and shampoo.
My soaked hair hung limp along my shoulders, creating a damp patch on my dress
and sending drips down my back. A line of water soaked into the spaghetti
straps and slithered into my bra. Teina traced it with a lazy finger and then
lifted my chin so he could look into my eyes.

“Bad game, Ms Saint?” he asked,
covering my rude answer with a kiss. When I turned my face to the side he
dragged his lips along the tendon in my neck and nibbled the skin with gentle
caresses. I felt my resolve weaken and tried to dig in and find my sense of
dignity.

“Sod off!” I scowled and Teina
grinned, that smug, self-righteous expression which infuriated me at the same
time as felling me on the spot. I bent to retrieve my kit bag and his eyes
flicked to the stud marks on my inner thigh as my dress rode up. I saw a
momentary flash of sympathy and then it drifted away, replaced by the hard
veneer.