Signs of Love - Love Match (8 page)

‘OK.’ I smile and scribble it down then go back to my bouquet and add a fringe of roses before starting work on Treacle’s veil. As I lengthen the soft lace with a swirl of my pen, pooling it around her feet, the crowd roars. I look up like a startled squirrel. The Green Park players are whooping.
Goal
? I look for Treacle. She’s bouncing with delight at the edge of the whoopers. Someone
must
have scored.

Then I realise Jeff’s not beside me any more. Has he gone home and left me in charge of stat-logging?
Please, no!
Fear-sparks snap in my brain; I’ve only made three match-related notes and one of those is so entwined with roses it’s hardly legible any more. I need him to fill me in on the game.

With a whoosh of relief I spot Jeff keeping pace with the linesman. He’s watching the players as they fan out and restart play. Treacle punts the ball downfield. Anila heads it down and starts dribbling towards the goal. As she prepares to fire, the ref blows his whistle for halftime.

Treacle jogs over to their football coach, Miss Bayliss, who’s handing out oranges to the players on the far side of the pitch. Sucking on a slice, Treacle scoops up a rain-soaked towel and wipes her blotchy, wet face.

I hurry over to Jeff. He’s chatting to the linesman – Mr Chapman, my geography teacher. Glasses. Beard. Totally hopeless, but sweet. Twice a week he tries to convince me that maps hold the key to all knowledge. He hasn’t won me over yet, but it’s nice of him to try so hard.

‘Good job Green Park equalised before half-time,’ Jeff observes.

‘It gives them a chance to come back.’ Mr Chapman takes off his rain-spattered glasses and rubs them with the hem of his jersey.

So it
was
a goal after all. ‘Who scored?’ I ask innocently.

‘Number seven,’ Jeff answers.

Anila
. I jot it down under the sketch of Wedding Treacle then duck between Jeff and Mr C and interrupt. ‘So what do you think of the game so far?’ I ask Jeff.

‘Not bad.’

‘Treacle’s pretty fast, isn’t she?’

‘For a girl.’

I punch him in the arm. ‘What do you mean
for a girl
?’

Jeff looks nonplussed. ‘I mean she’s fast for a girl. She’s a top team player. Good striker too.’ I make a mental note to warn Treacle that Jeff’s a WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get) kind of guy. He may lack tact, but she’s not going to have the hassle of second-guessing anything he says.

The ref blows his whistle and Mr Chapman starts bobbing along the sideline doing whatever it is linesmen do.

As play begins, I start doodling love hearts round the edge of the page and, keeping one eye on the game, link them with a pretty chain of daisies. Sometimes, when I spot Treacle with the ball, I point her out to Jeff. Not too much. I don’t want to make him suspicious. But I don’t want him to forget she’s on the field either.

As I draw a garland of buttercups round a freshly sketched heart, I wonder if Treacle will let me choose my own bridesmaid’s dress. Pale green would totally highlight my eyes and I’d wear my hair up, princess-style.

‘Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?’

Tears prick my eyes as Treacle passes me her bouquet and lets Jeff take her hand.

‘YESSS!’

Jeff’s roar makes me jump. I look up from the notepad.

‘Go, Treacle!’ Jeff’s punching the air.

‘She scored?’ I stare. ‘She
scored
!’
Go, Treacle!

‘The winning goal!’ Jeff’s clapping as the ref blows the final whistle. ‘They’ve made it through to the next round.’

I grab his arm. ‘Let’s go and interview Treacle!’ This is even better than I’d planned.

I don’t give Jeff chance to answer, but head straight across the pitch.

Treacle’s swamped by teammates, jumping round her, screaming. I wait for them to calm down, keeping one eye on Jeff in case he bolts. The rain’s cleared, but the wind’s still icy. I’m shivering in my duffle. This matchmaking requires commitment.

‘Treacle!’ I leap forward as the rest of the team head for the changing rooms. ‘Great match.’ I jerk my head towards Jeff, grinning. ‘We’ve come to interview you, as you scored the winning goal and everything.’ I flip over a fresh page on my notepad and wait to take notes. ‘Go on,’ I coax Jeff. ‘Ask her what it’s like to win a Cup match for your school.’

Treacle’s staring at me. Is that gratitude I can see in her eyes? The wind has whipped her ponytail across her face. She looks kind of flushed and her football strip is soaked. She scrapes dripping hair away from her mouth. ‘Thanks, Gem.’ Her teeth are gritted against the cold.

‘Nice goal,’ Jeff says. ‘I was beginning to think it’d go to penalties.’

‘The first half was a bit scrappy.’ Treacle stares at his boots.

‘But you broke the deadlock.’

‘It was Jing-Wei’s cross that did it.’

Jeff’s nodding. ‘That Tiptonville defender nearly deflected it though.’

Who cares about Jing-Wei and the Tiptonville defender? He’s here to interview
Treacle
. I decide to interrupt. ‘Did you know Treacle’s been playing football since she was three years old?’

Jeff ignores me. ‘I thought you were going to score in the first five minutes,’ he says. ‘When you made that break.’

‘Treacle’s got two brothers and she can beat them both,’ I interject.

Treacle’s eyes are still fixed on Jeff’s boots. ‘I guess I didn’t allow for the crosswind.’

‘Crosswinds can be unpredictable,’ Jeff agrees.

Weather
?
What is wrong with them
? I try and steer them back on topic. ‘What are your plans for tonight now you’ve got through to the next round?’ I ask Treacle.

Treacle blinks at me. ‘Homework?’

‘I mean are you planning to celebrate?’
Come on, Treacle, take the hint!
‘Maybe go out somewhere? With friends? Anyone you’d like to invite?’ My eyes swivel towards Jeff.

Jeff looks at me. ‘Are we interviewing her about the game or planning her social diary?’ He turns back to Treacle. ‘Did you think the ref’s decision on Erin Slater’s foul was fair?’

‘I don’t think she meant to foul that Tiptonville winger,’ Treacle answers. ‘Her boot just clipped her heel as she went down.’

‘Have
you
had many football injuries?’ I ask Treacle. Her eyebrows shoot up.

‘What about that scar on your knee you got when you were ten,’ I go on. ‘Why don’t you show Jeff?’

Treacle backs away. ‘Look, my teammates will be waiting for me.’ She grabs my wrist and drags me close. ‘What are you trying to do?’ she hisses. ‘Could you
be
more obvious?’ She glances at Jeff, her face getting redder by the second. ‘And why would I want to speak to him
now
? I look like I’ve been coughed up by a dog.’

‘Sorry!’ I look at Treacle’s bright-red face and rain-soaked hair. Oh, no! Why didn’t I think about that? ‘Don’t worry,’ I whisper, ‘I’ll get rid of him.’

I pull away from Treacle and start to steer Jeff towards the sideline.

But he’s already launched into another question. ‘I thought Green Park had lost it at the beginning of the second half,’ he says. ‘When Morley latched on to that back pass from Petersen.’

‘Me too,’ Treacle calls over her shoulder, heading for the school. ‘Good job Morley took too many touches. Anila intercepted and cleared . . .’ The wind whips away the rest of her words.

I turn to Jeff. ‘Great match, huh?’

‘Yeah. Can I have your notes?’ He holds out his hand.

‘Notes?’ I swallow. The doodled notepad is suddenly burning my hand. ‘They’re a bit scrappy. Why don’t I type them up for you?’

‘Don’t worry.’ He grabs the notepad and flicks back a page. I quietly die as he gazes at it. Hearts and flowers cover every line.

‘You didn’t even make a note of Slater’s
foul
!’ He’s staring at me like I just ran over his phone.

‘Sorry.’ I smile sheepishly. ‘The wind kept whipping my hair into my eyes and the . . .’ I’m fumbling for excuses. ‘. . . the rain was really . . . distracting. It was kind of hard to concentrate and the doodling sort of helped me to focus I guess . . .’ My voice trails away. ‘I’m not good with sports,’ I concede.

He waves the notepad at me angrily. ‘But luckily, you’re great with
hearts
!’

As he turns and marches away, I huddle deeper into my duffle.

Great with hearts
? If only that were true. He still sees Treacle as a footballer and Treacle’s probably looking for another best friend right now. I get out a tissue and wipe my frozen nose. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried playing Cupid after all.

‘You’re not working?’ I dance round Dad. It’s the first Saturday morning he’s not worked since Christmas. Mum can’t work because she needs to be at home for Ben so Dad takes all the extra shifts he can. Reality is: we need the cash, especially now Mum’s thinking Ben should have a maths tutor because he’s missed out on so much school.

‘He’s not working!’ Excited, I leap across the sofa, bowling Ben into the soft cushions. ‘Did you hear that, Ben? We’ve got Dad all Saturday!’

Ben whoops with delight and struggles out from under me. ‘Can we go swimming?’ He rushes over to Dad. Ben loves swimming, which is great because the fitter he gets, the fitter he stays.

‘Who wants a fried egg sandwich?’ Mum pops her head round the kitchen door.

‘Me!’ Ben and Dad chorus at once.

‘Me too!’ I chime in.

‘Can we go swimming once we’ve eaten?’ Ben looks eagerly at Dad.

‘We could go later while Gemma’s in town with Treacle,’ Dad suggests.

Treacle’s forgiven me for embarrassing her in front of Jeff. It didn’t take much. ‘I guess your heart was in the right place,’ she conceded after I’d waited for her outside the changing room and gushed a few hundred apologies.

Dad looks at me. ‘Is that OK with you, Gem?’

‘Yes!’ We get the whole morning together; then Ben gets some precious one-on-one time with Dad while I go for lunch and then check out the sale at Mizz-tique with Treacle. Win-win.

We eat the sandwiches, then I play football in the back garden with Ben and Dad. They teach me about fouls and free kicks and attempts on goal and corners. I want to prove to Jeff I’m not just a moony dweeb.

I frown at Dad as I grapple with the concept of ‘offside’. ‘So if the player gets the ball and there’s no defenders between him and the goal, it’s offside?’ I’m determined to understand. Jeff
has
to take me seriously if I’m ever going to sell him on Treacle. ‘Doesn’t that make it harder?’

‘That’s the point,’ Dad explains.

Frustration flickers through me. Selling Treacle shouldn’t be this much work; Treacle rocks! Why’s Jeff so blind? It must be his Year Ten goggles. They screen out Year Nines like sunglasses screen out UV.

Ben’s out of breath, but we keep on playing till Mum calls us in.

‘It’s too cold,’ she worries, wrapping Ben in a jumper as soon as he gets through the door.

‘I’m boiling!’ he says, fighting it off.

‘Let’s give him a couple of minutes to cool down and then he can put it on,’ I suggest.

‘Yeah!’ Ben heads for the TV. ‘Do you want to watch cartoons, Gem?’

‘You bet.’ I grab the jumper off Mum and dive for the sofa, bagging the best corner while Ben flicks through the channels.

It’s gone quiet in the kitchen. I bet Mum and Dad are smooching. ‘Turn the sound up a bit,’ I tell Ben. ‘Unless you want to hear the old folk snogging.’

‘Ew!’ he snorts and ratchets up the volume.