The Bottom Line (26 page)

I screamed at her through my tears without knowing what I was saying, but Frankie simply turned me back as Macy took the slipper in her right hand again. It was even worse this time, firstly because she struck me right across my nipple, which produced a sensation twice as painful as the first blow, and secondly because I knew she was going to repeat the stroke on my other breast.

She did, and then passed the slipper back to Johnnie with total unconcern. ‘Next time,' she warned me, ‘it might go up to twelve - or something worse. So you keep a civil tongue in your head and just concentrate on playing hockey.' Then she nodded to Frankie. ‘Okay, you can let her go.'

I clutched my breasts as Frankie released my arms. Then Macy and her two assistants turned to go. ‘By the way,' she said, turning back to me, ‘you're not a bad player.' And then the three of them disappeared.

I was still in considerable pain, but I found that the sense of outrage was what bothered me even more and it was the second pair of blows that had caused that. I couldn't rationalise what I was feeling. Having my breasts beaten at all was bad enough, but painful though the first two strokes were, they were somehow not part of me. But the next two strokes, across my nipples, seemed a direct assault upon my personality - upon my femininity, even.

I dried myself very slowly, dabbing gingerly at my breasts with the towel. It took a long time and I realised I couldn't hear anybody else in the changing room. When I finally emerged from the cubicle I thought at first that the room was empty, then I realised Bev was sitting on a bench, silently waiting.

‘What are you doing here?' I asked her, ‘and why has everybody else gone?'

‘I'm here to look after you,' she replied, ‘and others don't generally hang around when Macy's on the warpath. Anyway, how are you? Did she do you much damage?'

I digested this information before replying. Clearly my ordeal was nothing new and the other members of the hockey team had known what to expect and simply got out of the way, except for Bev whose motives I didn't yet understand. I finished dressing and allowed her to lead me out of the changing room. She was all for getting a taxi but I insisted that I had recovered sufficiently not to need mothering, and we walked back to my college, where Bev insisted on coming up with me.

I hung up my coat, threw my bag into a corner and was about to thank her for looking after me, when I realised she wanted to say something else.

‘Are you really sure you're all right?' she asked me, to which I nodded. ‘Perhaps you ought to go to student health and get yourself checked over.'

‘No,' I said, ‘there's absolutely no need for that.'

‘May I at least have a look,' she pressed, ‘just to make sure?'

I was going to say no, but it seemed to me that the privacy of my body had already been violated, and at least Bev seemed sympathetic, so I pulled off my jumper, unhooked my bra and stood there. My breasts looked red, but apart from that there seemed to be no further damage. Bev moved in front of me and scrutinised me closely. Then she held out a hand.

‘May I?' she asked. I nodded and she took one breast in her hand, feeling it gently but carefully avoiding the nipple, then moving to the other one. ‘No discomfort?' she asked.

‘No more than I'd expect,' I told her. I didn't add that my nipples had suffered the most but that, otherwise, the outside slopes seemed more sensitive than the inside slopes, but I was very conscious of this.

‘Good,' she said. ‘You'd better cover them up again.'

It seemed an odd choice of expression but I didn't question it immediately. Instead, I pulled my jumper over my head and smoothed it unthinkingly down, not bothering with my bra. I realised that Bev was watching me very closely.

‘Why did you tell me I'd better cover them up?' I asked her.

‘I thought you'd have guessed,' she replied. ‘I'd like to stroke them and kiss them better, but it would seem the wrong thing to do on this occasion, and I'm not sure you'd want me to do it on any other occasion.'

‘Bev,' I said, firmly but not crossly, ‘I don't think I want you to do it on any occasion, but I'm really grateful that you stayed behind to look after me.'

‘No,' she said, ‘I didn't think you would. As long as you're not cross with me for saying what I said.'

I assured her that I wasn't cross and was about to tell her that nobody, male or female, had stroked or kissed them so far in my life, but I didn't see that it was any of her business. We chatted innocently for a few minutes more and then she went, promising to find me the next day just to make sure I had full recovered.

There were no further references to what had happened. Bev did have another chat the next day, but I was able to assure that I was fine. I didn't see Macy again for the rest of the week, not until the Saturday afternoon when the next hockey match took place. Nothing was said in the changing room by Macy, Bev or anybody else, but Macy took me to one side as we walked out onto the pitch.

‘I have a suggestion to make,' she began, and I wondered what on earth was coming. It turned out to be no more than a tactical ploy about penalty corners and a new move she thought was worth trying, quite a smart move, too, but one that could be tried only once during a game, since it could easily be countered once the opposition were wise to it.

It was the second half before an opportunity came along. Macy looked at me, I nodded, we gave a signal to Frankie who was to take the corner, and prepared ourselves.

It nearly worked, too, my final shot thumping against a post and bouncing harmlessly out of play. But we won the game comfortably enough, and as we were walking off Macy came up to me again.

‘Nearly worked, didn't it?' she crowed, to which I nodded. ‘It was a good effort,' she continued. ‘We'll try it again against a different team.'

And so the season continued. I kept my place in the team, scored from a penalty corner a few weeks later, avoided falling foul of Macy again and remained on friendly terms with Bev, although since she was at a different college, unlike Macy, I didn't see a great deal of her. There were no more startling developments for several weeks, but then a very excited Bev turned up unexpectedly one morning.

‘Congratulations,' she blurted out. ‘I'm really excited for you.'

‘It's very kind of you,' I replied, ‘but I have no idea what you're talking about.' When she told me I still didn't react, partly because I had little idea at that stage of what it might mean.

‘You've been picked for the BUSF trial match,' she told me, ‘you and Macy. Well, she would expect to be because she's had a full international trial, but it's very good for a fresher to get a BUSF trial.'

I was pleased, but no more than that. I certainly wasn't going to let myself get carried away by dreams of playing in the next Olympics, although Bev was sure that a place in the BUSF team was only one step away from full international honours. The match was to be played in the Midlands in ten days' time and I had no idea, at the time, of just what an opportunity it would offer me.

Since two girls from the same college were playing in the trial the college sports fund was raided to hire a minibus for the occasion, enabling most of the team to watch the match. It was too tense to be a good game and I didn't play well, but Macy scored twice and was happy enough with her performance, especially with her running battle with an opposition defender, until the crucial incident of the whole game took place.

Oddly enough it was from a penalty corner for us. As the ball came across towards us there was quite a scramble. Macy's shot was blocked, there was a mêlée of players, I slipped but landed on one knee, the blade of my stick pointing upwards, and one of the opposition defenders went down, catching my stick awkwardly as she fell. She screamed and lay there, prone. The umpire quickly blew, the scrum cleared and the players formed a circle round the injured player. Meantime Macy's rival was saying something to the umpire, who ran off to the touchline to confer with her colleague.

A stretcher was urgently summoned and, as it was on its way, the umpire returned to the field, a grim expression on her face as she headed for Macy. I couldn't hear what she said, but the raised arm left nobody in any doubt. Macy had been sent off, presumably for violent or dangerous conduct. The stretcher party carried away the injured player, who was still lying there, ominously quiet, and the umpire told us that the match was abandoned.

We had a very quiet return journey, Macy insisting that she had done nothing wrong and that the opposition were simply out to get her. For several days we heard nothing more, until Bev called a team meeting at which she told us that the injured player had needed emergency surgery and that Macy was to appear before a disciplinary tribunal, the customary one match ban being deemed insufficient punishment after a sending off.

‘But why?' demanded Macy. ‘I mean, what am I supposed to have done?'

‘Well apparently,' said Bev, ‘the opposition are saying that you deliberately clouted that girl with your stick - you know, the one who was carried off on a stretcher.'

‘I didn't even touch her!' screamed Macy. ‘It must have been an accident. Anyhow, it was so crowded in that goalmouth I'm surprised anybody has any idea of what happened.'

I said nothing at the moment. Like the rest of the team, I had not connected Macy's dismissal with the injured player, but I was fairly certain not only that there was no connection between them, but also that, from my vantage point, I had probably been the only person to have seen what had really happened.

After Bev closed the meeting I walked out with her and asked what the evidence against Macy was and what was likely to happen to her.

‘I'm not sure about the evidence,' she replied, ‘except that there was bad blood between Macy and Elspeth, and Elspeth said she'd seen Macy hit the other girl with her stick. I don't think anyone else saw it, but the umpires consulted and then Macy was sent off and reported to the governing body. If she's found guilty of deliberately hitting an opponent she'll probably get a year's ban.'

‘But that's terrible!' I exclaimed. ‘She can't be disciplined so severely on the unsupported word of a player who had it in for her.'

‘I agree it's terrible,' Bev said, ‘but it's not much fun for the injured player, either. Apparently they had to operate because she was bleeding internally.'

I said nothing further then, but decided that I'd have to speak to Macy. I hadn't forgiven her for the pain and humiliation she'd inflicted on me earlier in the year, but this was on a different scale altogether, so I made a point of looking for her in college that evening and asked her to let me know when the tribunal was.

‘Why?' she snapped. ‘Are you going to join that other liar?'

‘On the contrary,' I said, ‘I might just be able to help you.'

She sniffed. ‘I don't see what you can do to help, and anyhow, why should you?'

‘Perhaps I can help because I actually saw what happened,' I said.

‘Oh yes,' she retorted, ‘I really believe you'd want to help me.'

‘I didn't say I wanted to help,' I corrected her, ‘but I don't think an international career should be ruined just because some bitch has it in for you.'

‘And what do you get out of it?' she asked me. ‘An apology?'

I hadn't even thought of getting anything out of it, but at the moment Macy asked me the question the perfect answer flashed into my mind. I explained to her how I'd seen the injured girl fall hard onto the blade of my stick and that I knew that nobody had deliberately hit her. And then I played my trump card.

‘As for what I get out of it,' I said, ‘I want a lot more than an apology. I want revenge and you'll agree to do exactly what I tell you.'

She thought hard for a few minutes. Then she turned to me.

‘Right,' she said, breathing heavily. ‘You testify on my behalf and, in return, I let you get your own back for that bit of fun in the changing room. Is that the deal?'

‘That's the deal,' I said, ‘except that it wasn't a bit of fun for me and it certainly won't be a bit of fun for you.'

‘I'll go along with it,' she replied, ‘on one condition.'

‘You're in no position to be laying down conditions,' I told her. ‘If I don't help you're going to get a year's ban and you'll probably never play international hockey. You do as I tell you and your career might just survive.'

‘You have a hell of a lot of cheek for a fresher,' she said, ‘but the only condition is that you don't do anything to me that would cause me to miss any matches.'

I had no problem in accepting this condition; since I hadn't the faintest idea of the shape my revenge would take. All I knew was that it would contain large doses of pain and humiliation.

The tribunal was held two weeks later and, with my evidence on Macy's side, the outcome was a formality. She was told that the one match ban would stand because of the violence of her play earlier and that her rival would also face a one -match ban, but that she had been cleared of the main allegation against her.