wearing an old West Ham shirt that she’d owned since 1988 and a pair of black shorts that she’d bought in town earlier that afternoon. She felt vaguely ridiculous but sensed an undeniable rush of excitement.
Kelsi was waiting in the Sports Hall, tying her laces at the side of the football pitch. She smiled at Dexter’s outfit.
‘I thought you were the ghost of Bobby Moore for a minute!’
‘More like Bobby Blunder,’ Dexter replied. ‘I just hope I don’t make a complete fool of myself.’
‘You’ll be all right,’ Kelsi assured her. ‘Come and meet the others.’
Eight other players were kicking a ball between them on the five-a-side pitch. Some saw Dexter’s arrival and turned away from the warm up.
‘I’m Bev,’ said one.
‘Alison,’ Dexter replied.
‘Not another Hammer?’ Bev exclaimed in mock exasperation.
‘You leave her alone,’ Kelsi remonstrated. ‘Remember who scored a hat trick in the World Cup final in 1966. West Ham is the home of football.’
Bev shook her head. ‘If I hear another bloody Geoff Hurst story, I swear I’ll whack you.’
Kelsi quickly introduced the other players, first names only. Dexter, her mind flying, could only remember a couple of them. Once the match had started, Dexter realised that this was a serious drawback.
The game was fast and of a standard that surprised Alison Dexter. She hadn’t played for years, a fact that was very quickly exposed. Her mind wandered between extremes. She found it impossible to control the ball, her first touch was embarrassingly clumsy. Although there were nocomplaints from her team, Dexter sensed their frustration as she repeatedly squandered possession and misplaced passes. At half time, her heart pounding against her ribcage and sweat streaming down her back, she collapsed onto a wooden bench next to Kelsi.
‘God, I’m fucking useless,’ Dexter gasped.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Kelsi replied, ‘you’re just out of practice.’
‘I couldn’t trap a bag of cement.’
‘You’re not concentrating on the ball,’ Kelsi advised. ‘Watch the ball right onto your foot. Keep your eye on it as you kick it away again. You are looking up all the time, trying to see the pass before you’ve made it.’
Dexter nodded, realising the comments were valid. ‘Eye on the ball,’ she said.
‘Eye on the ball,’ Kelsi confirmed.
In the second half, Dexter played much more effectively, following Kelsi’s advice to the letter. She started to receive congratulations and encouragement from her team. Now thoroughly warmed up, she found it easier to move about the pitch and even scored with a neat six-yard shot. Her team won 3–2. Kelsi put an arm around her shoulder at the end.
‘There you go, Ali. You did great.’
Dexter enjoyed the touch and the compliment.Her second half performance had at least been respectable; a vast improvement on the previous catastrophic effort.
Ten minutes later, Alison Dexter stood next to Kelsi Hensy in the women’s changing room. She had already showered in her usual quick and efficient manner: perhaps even more quickly and efficiently than usual. Now as she clambered into her grey tracksuit trousers and police sweatshirt she found her eyes drawn inexorably across Kelsi Hensy’s naked body, lingering with the thrill of the voyeur. Was that all she was? Was she just a thrill seeker without the courage to act on her instincts? She found the idea pathetic. However, the alternative frightened her even more.
Dexter suddenly looked up, her hungry eyes locking onto Kelsi’s. Dexter tore her gaze away, dying of embarrassment inside. How long had Kelsi been watching her?
‘Are you coming upstairs for a drink then?’ Kelsi asked, standing naked directly in front of her and vigorously towelling herself dry.
‘I don’t know.’ Dexter found it hard to look her in the eye. ‘Busy at work.’
‘I saw your interview on TV the other day.’ Kelsi reached into her bag and pulled on a pair of white
Kelsi was waiting in the Sports Hall, tying her laces at the side of the football pitch. She smiled at Dexter’s outfit.
‘I thought you were the ghost of Bobby Moore for a minute!’
‘More like Bobby Blunder,’ Dexter replied. ‘I just hope I don’t make a complete fool of myself.’
‘You’ll be all right,’ Kelsi assured her. ‘Come and meet the others.’
Eight other players were kicking a ball between them on the five-a-side pitch. Some saw Dexter’s arrival and turned away from the warm up.
‘I’m Bev,’ said one.
‘Alison,’ Dexter replied.
‘Not another Hammer?’ Bev exclaimed in mock exasperation.
‘You leave her alone,’ Kelsi remonstrated. ‘Remember who scored a hat trick in the World Cup final in 1966. West Ham is the home of football.’
Bev shook her head. ‘If I hear another bloody Geoff Hurst story, I swear I’ll whack you.’
Kelsi quickly introduced the other players, first names only. Dexter, her mind flying, could only remember a couple of them. Once the match had started, Dexter realised that this was a serious drawback.
The game was fast and of a standard that surprised Alison Dexter. She hadn’t played for years, a fact that was very quickly exposed. Her mind wandered between extremes. She found it impossible to control the ball, her first touch was embarrassingly clumsy. Although there were nocomplaints from her team, Dexter sensed their frustration as she repeatedly squandered possession and misplaced passes. At half time, her heart pounding against her ribcage and sweat streaming down her back, she collapsed onto a wooden bench next to Kelsi.
‘God, I’m fucking useless,’ Dexter gasped.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Kelsi replied, ‘you’re just out of practice.’
‘I couldn’t trap a bag of cement.’
‘You’re not concentrating on the ball,’ Kelsi advised. ‘Watch the ball right onto your foot. Keep your eye on it as you kick it away again. You are looking up all the time, trying to see the pass before you’ve made it.’
Dexter nodded, realising the comments were valid. ‘Eye on the ball,’ she said.
‘Eye on the ball,’ Kelsi confirmed.
In the second half, Dexter played much more effectively, following Kelsi’s advice to the letter. She started to receive congratulations and encouragement from her team. Now thoroughly warmed up, she found it easier to move about the pitch and even scored with a neat six-yard shot. Her team won 3–2. Kelsi put an arm around her shoulder at the end.
‘There you go, Ali. You did great.’
Dexter enjoyed the touch and the compliment.Her second half performance had at least been respectable; a vast improvement on the previous catastrophic effort.
Ten minutes later, Alison Dexter stood next to Kelsi Hensy in the women’s changing room. She had already showered in her usual quick and efficient manner: perhaps even more quickly and efficiently than usual. Now as she clambered into her grey tracksuit trousers and police sweatshirt she found her eyes drawn inexorably across Kelsi Hensy’s naked body, lingering with the thrill of the voyeur. Was that all she was? Was she just a thrill seeker without the courage to act on her instincts? She found the idea pathetic. However, the alternative frightened her even more.
Dexter suddenly looked up, her hungry eyes locking onto Kelsi’s. Dexter tore her gaze away, dying of embarrassment inside. How long had Kelsi been watching her?
‘Are you coming upstairs for a drink then?’ Kelsi asked, standing naked directly in front of her and vigorously towelling herself dry.
‘I don’t know.’ Dexter found it hard to look her in the eye. ‘Busy at work.’
‘I saw your interview on TV the other day.’ Kelsi reached into her bag and pulled on a pair of white
Similar Books
