CHAPTER 8
The bus had broken down an hour outside of Manchester. At first, everyone thought a tire had popped, since the bus driver had decided to take a roundabout way back to the city and gone down a fairly narrow country road. But now it appeared to be engine trouble.
Scarlett and Marrero were outside, walking up and down along the side of the bus as they talked on their phones. One of the players, Maud Basman, had loaned Scarlett an extra pair of shoes, which she had gratefully put on after walking on the road several times in her heels.
“This is ridiculous,” Marrero said into her phone. “How long do you want us to wait around here?”
“You think the fix will only take twenty minutes? Well, that’s not terrible. When can you get here?” Scarlett asked someone called Hawkins, who was supposedly in charge of the team’s transportation. “Two hours? You cannot be serious.”
“That’s it. I’m calling Chard,” Marrero said.
“I don’t care if he’s in London. If this was the men’s team, they’d never be asked to wait indefinitely while the bus was fixed—after a win I might remind you.
They’d charter a whole other bus, which…
Yes, I’m aware that there isn’t a budget for that.
Ugh, fine, but can you try to hurry, please? ”
Janet DeBois and Maud Basman, the strikers, stepped off the bus, followed by Dawson and the goalie, Akins.
“How long is this going to take?” Janet asked as Scarlett hung up. “We’ve been waiting here forever.”
“Sorry, ladies,” Scarlett said, wincing as she faced them, “but it’s looking like it might be another two hours.”
Everyone groaned.
“Two hours? That’s ridiculous.”
“Bloody stupid.”
“Yeah, I could call me mum to come pick me up,” DeBois said. “If she wasn’t working, that is.”
“I know, I know, but some guy named Hawkins says that the mechanic is out of town, and it’s going to take him at least two hours to get here from where he is—so in the meantime, I suggest we all get comfortable.”
The women climbed back into the bus and shared the news. Another wave of groans and moans filtered out through the dozen open windows. Scarlett headed toward Marrero as she finished her call.
“Right. Well, thanks anyway,” she said before hanging up. “Well, there’s no chance of chartering a new bus. Head office says we can’t afford it.”
“Ugh,” Scarlett said. “What a miserable way to start the season, especially after your first win.”
“At least I’m not in danger of getting a big head,” Marrero said, kicking the ground.
That was one way to look at it. Evidently, it didn’t matter if your team was the only winning one in the organization—the women’s team was going to be treated like second-class citizens next to the men’s team, and there was no helping it.
Scarlett folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the bus, staring at the road they were headed down.
A sign that read, Village of Astbury, one mile, with an arrow, was barely visible in the thicket of bramble that grew around it.
Glancing up at the overcast sky, Scarlett wondered if they should maybe make their way to town, if only to distract themselves for a bit.
“Marrero,” she said, nodding toward the sign, “do you know anything about Astbury?”
“No,” the manager said, turning around. “Why? You thinking we should make our way there?”
“I don’t see why not. Maybe they have a pub or something. We can get the ladies a round of pints for a job well done on their first match. What do you think?”
The corners of Marrero’s eyes crinkled. “That’s a brilliant idea,” she said as she made her way to the front of the bus. “Hey-o, ladies! Line up outside.”
The manager stepped back as a line of confused-looking footballers trudged off the bus. When all twenty-two women were off, she signaled to the driver to close the door.
“What’s all this?” Akins asked.
“Miss Simmons and I figured that it would be a shame to waste away on the side of the road like this when there’s a very good possibility that there’s a pub only a mile away. I know you all already played a full game, but—”
“This way?” Maud asked, already moving. “Last one there buys for the whole team.”
DuBois broke out into a run as Akins rolled her eyes but then charged ahead with the rest of the team. Only Dawson held back to walk with Marrero and Scarlett.
“This was not how I pictured us celebrating our first win,” Dawson said. “But I suppose it’s better than nothing.”
“You deserve a lot more,” Scarlett said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe they refused to send another bus.”
“It’s to be expected, I suppose,” Marrero said. “The Bees aren’t a massive powerhouse with tons of disposable income. Hell, they’re not even the second-best franchise in the city of Manchester.”
“Still. They could have at least rented another vehicle for a few hours. They should be ashamed.”
Both women nodded in agreement as they all continued to walk quietly down the country road. After a few minutes, Scarlett’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Taking it out, she read,
Morning person or night owl?
Mr. Wrong Number coming in with the hard-hitting questions. At least he was proving to be a distraction.
Night owl by nature, morning person by circumstance. You?
Opposite, I’m afraid. I’m up before the sun and have no trouble being in bed by eight p.m.
Well then, this can’t work out.
My thoughts exactly.
“Why are smiling like that?” Dawson asked, causing Scarlett to look up.
“I’m not smiling.”
“Yes, you are. You look far too entertained for a country stroll.” She leaned over. “Ah, talking to your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“But you do text him a lot.”
Scarlett shrugged. “We’re friends, that’s all.”
“Oh. So, you’ve introduced yourselves?” Dawson asked, earning Scarlett a confused glance from Marrero.
She lifted her chin. “No. Not yet.”
“You haven’t met him?” Marrero asked, bewildered. “But you’re talking to him over text message?” She paused. “That’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Listen, it just sort of happened. We were going back and forth and never stopped.” Neither Dawson nor Marrero appeared convinced. “It’s not that big a deal. And look.” Scarlett pointed to an old building that was becoming more visible with each step. “We’re here.”
The team was standing outside a large brick building with a wooden sign nailed to a post that read, Hare and Habit Pub. Cute. But as she came closer, Scarlett could see several banner flags stuck into the ground in the front garden. They were pink and white.
“What’s this?” Scarlett asked, coming up to read the banners—5K for breast cancer research. “Ah. I guess they’re having a fundraiser or something?”
“I guess,” Marrero said.
At that moment, Akins came out of the pub, closing the door behind her. “So, it looks as though the whole village is participating,” she said. “The only person inside is an older woman who has one of those oxygen tank things to help her breathe.”
“Oh,” Dawson said with a grimace.
“She said we’re welcome to wait, but it could be another half-hour before the owner pops back up.”
“More waiting,” Scarlett mumbled as she looked around.
There were five streets that met in front of the pub in a sort of star pattern.
They had come up from the south road, and it looked like the starting line was on the north road and the finish line was on the far left, on the east side of town.
The cogs in Scarlett’s mind began to turn.
Five kilometers was a little over three miles, and little more than a warm-up—or in this case, a warm—down—for a team like them.
“What if you all go run this race, since we’re here and can’t get anything to eat or drink until the owner gets back?”
“What?” DuBois asked loudly. “We already played an entire game today.”
“That’s true,” Marrero said. “They could do with a bit of a rest.”
“Rest afterward,” Scarlett tried. “A 5K race is small potatoes to these players—isn’t it, ladies?”
A few players agreed, but most of them simply seemed confused. Scarlett decided to explain.
“Look, we’re stuck in the village for at least two hours until the mechanic can get here and fix the bus.
In the meantime, we can entertain ourselves by running in a local charity event, or we can sit in the garden and do exactly what we were doing on the bus.
If we do decide to run, however, it might be a good bit of publicity for us. ”
“How so?” Dawson asked.
“Well, it’s not every day a Championship League team lands in a small town during a fundraiser. It might spark a little goodwill, don’t you think?”
The women looked around, trying to get a read on the situation. Scarlett knew it was a bit of a stretch, but it would be a great story if she could get it picked up by the media.
“So? What do you all say?” she asked, hopeful.
Maud took a step forward. “Might as well. There isn’t anything else to be done.”
“Aye. Me aunt had breast cancer. She’s been in remission for a few years now, but it can come back, can’t it?” Akins paused. “I know she’d be proud if I did something like this.”
“That’s the spirit,” Scarlett said. “Let’s march on over to that starting line, and you all can get going.”
“Oh, you have to do it too, Simmons,” Dawson said.
Scarlett gazed down at her footwear. She didn’t have any excuses, thanks to borrowing Maud’s sneakers.
“Okay, but I’m warning you, I’m out of practice,” she said as she headed across the roadway. “I haven’t run in a while.”
“I’m going to smoke all of you youngbloods,” Marrero said, causing a number of laughs and challenges to be issued as they made their way down the street.