35
Alarm Bells Ringing
Pulling on the number three shirt he wore so proudly, he gazed in the full length mirror to check out how he looked. Shorts with lycra underneath and double socks on each foot to hold his shin pads in place, set off his white and lime green Asic Astroturf trainers. Trailing down to his shoulders, part of him wondered if it was time to have his dark hair cut into a different style of some sort. He did love it, but very few males carried their hair that way now, and given that he was growing up and held more responsibility at Cropptech, perhaps it was time to bite the bullet. As well, he never really knew what to do with it on the hockey pitch. Quite often it got in his way, and he'd thought on numerous occasions about tying it up, but that seemed far too... girly. Another option he'd considered was a bandana, but whenever he played against anyone wearing one, that particular player always seemed to be a fully fledged, prize muppet, and he certainly didn't want to be cast in that mould. Anyhow, he was ready for battle... well, on his chosen battle ground anyway, that of the hockey pitch. Satisfied that he at least looked the part, he continued packing his dark green kit bag, making sure to include his towel, shower gel and a full change of clothes. You could almost guarantee one or other of his teammates would forget either their towel and/or part of their clothing, normally one of the younger ones, and for that they would either get fined, or win the dreaded award... the one that involved wearing the pink cowboy hat and matching pink skirt. So far, he'd always done just enough to avoid that dubious honour, and desperately wanted to keep it that way, doing everything he could, on and off the pitch, not to become complacent.
* * *
Across the other side of town at the exact same moment, a very different kind of packing was going on. Inspecting each stud on the bottom of his immaculately clean boots, Tank concluded that they were all fine and proceeded to wrap them in a plastic bag, before placing them gently in the bottom of his wardrobe sized kit bag. Next, his team strip... shirt, shorts, socks... all ironed to within an inch of their lives. Checking that he had all the usual strapping for his head and hands, a full water bottle and his very own first aid kit, last of all, he placed a neatly folded towel, some shampoo, shower gel, deodorant and a small bottle of aftershave into the top zipped pocket.
'Rugby players do things right,' he thought, whizzing the zip around the kit bag to seal it up. 'Not like those ungainly hockey and lacrosse jocks who just turn up all scruffy, some already in their kit, some not.' Twisting his dark blue club tie into place, finally he pulled his blazer from the clothes hanger over which it had been draped, slipped it on, checked that he looked perfect, and after picking up his bag, headed downstairs.
* * *
In a not too distant flat, it was a whole different story. Somewhere there was a large double bed, but it was impossible to see where at this precise moment, as it looked as though some kind of clothing bomb had gone off, tossing items everywhere. Socks, knickers, a crumpled towel, as well as half a dozen different tops and three or four rain jackets littered the room. Trousers and shoes lay scattered across the fluffy beige carpet; well, the glimpses that could be seen looked beige. Richie Rump's match day preparation differed a great deal from that of her friends. Continuing to root about in one of her drawers, she finally found the tightly fitting red top that she'd been looking for. Grabbing the light coloured jeans that she'd only moments ago flung across the bed, she rolled them up with the top and tossed them casually into her pink and white emblazoned kit bag, adding a scrawny looking towel for good measure. Fleetingly, she checked the large zipped end pocket, making sure she had shampoo and deodorant, and that the prized alea that she wore almost all the time was wrapped tightly in a small leather wallet, so that she could put it on after showering. Playing lacrosse was the only time she didn't wear it, as it would stand out and lead to too many awkward questions. But she loved it, because it made her feel powerful, secretive and safe, all at the same time. Picking up a couple of spare balls from behind the door, she lobbed those into the bag from a distance, pleased to see that her aim was its usual... spot on. Grasping the handles of her still open bag, she swept up her two favourite lacrosse sticks from the side of the wardrobe as she passed by and gazed lovingly at the gorgeous linen dress Tim had bought her in Florence. Intricately embroidered with flowers, it looked stunning clinging to a clothes hanger, dangling from the top of her wardrobe door. Clumsily, she headed downstairs, her sports skirt flapping behind her as she did so, the tiniest jolt of excitement running through her, knowing that he'd be at the club at some point today, looking forward to their next sneaky rendezvous. After tying back her hair, she too was ready for the weekly battle. But not just ready to play... ready to WIN! For her, nothing else was imaginable. Failure was not an option.
* * *
The clubhouse was relatively empty. One or two people were about... grounds people making sure the rugby and lacrosse pitches were suitably marked out and in the best condition possible, the occasional contingent of players wanting to buy a drink to take with them to their away matches or use the loo before their journeys, and the odd member of staff. Janice usually treasured this particular time on a Saturday, thinking of it as the calm before the storm, as the afternoon and evening were easily the busiest times of the week. But this morning, she felt uncomfortable. The manager had let her in nice and early and to her credit, as always, she'd simply got on with her work: stacking the shelves, checking the pumps and the barrels in the cellar, making the place look clean and respectable, emptying the dishwasher... all those things and more. But about halfway through her long list of jobs, the bar door had swung open, and in had stormed the chairman of the sports club. 'Stormed' was the only way possible to describe it. Taking one long look at him, she knew it would be unwise to make even the friendliest of comments, and so didn't even bother to try. Instead she watched from the other side of the bar as he stomped across the as yet unvacuumed carpet, banged open the door at the bottom of the stairs and trampled all the way up to the first floor, all of which she could hear. Judging from the look on his face, he was in the kind of foul mood that would make Sir Alan Sugar look like a sugar plum fairy on a day out at Disney World. Choosing to ignore what had just happened, she got on with everything else on her list, focusing intently on the thought of seeing her beloved Peter later on in the day. That thought had just the right effect, and not five minutes later she was singing one of her favourite songs as she swerved in and out of all the tables and chairs with the vacuum cleaner.
* * *
An hour or so later, with the bar and seating area looking immaculate, though now starting to fill up with customers, one of the female hockey players came running through, covered in sweat and out of breath.
"Please can we have the key to unlock the double side gate to the Astroturf?" she puffed. "One of the opposition has fallen and damaged her ankle rather badly and we've had to call for an ambulance."
Janice knew the only way to get an ambulance anywhere near the pitch was through the double gate, of which there were only three keys to the lock: one each for the hockey men's and ladies' first team captains, both of whom were elsewhere, and one always kept on site, located on a little silver hook on the wall of the chairman of the sports club's office.