Chapter 7 #2
Georgia bumped her gently again, catching her eye.
“I’ve been playing a long time. It’s basically muscle memory now.
But my first season at Westcliffe?” She sucked her teeth, shaking her head.
Fleur had made her run the drills for hours, over and over until she had them inch perfect.
She smiled at the memory. It felt like a very long time ago.
It probably wasn’t the story Sam wanted to hear. Fleur had ripped into her towards the end of last season, and blamed her for losses that weren’t Sam’s fault. Georgia could see the results in Sam’s averted eyes and the tight set of her shoulders.
She paused, giving Sam a meaningful look.
“You’ve got great instincts, you’re super strong. The rest is just repetition. Trust me.” She clapped Sam on the back. “We won the championship that year. Be the same this year, eh?”
Sam’s shoulders lifted a little at the praise. She was about to say something, but a shout from Kiera had them both turning around. “Hotch – one minute.”
Georgia hung back, waiting for Kiera to catch up with her.
“Hotch,” Kiera repeated, cocking her head to the other side of the training ground. Away from the cafeteria, towards the side that held the doctors’ suite, the physio rooms. The coaches’ offices. “Maggie wants a word.”
Whispers broke out behind her, the other girls already speculating. Rachel sent her a sideways look, winked in what was supposed to be encouragement, and turned back to the clubhouse, pulling Sam along behind her.
Georgia followed Kiera through the white-washed corridors, past posters of current and former players, the men’s trophy cabinet. Kiera prattled on about her weekend with her husband and their daughters, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Georgia had only replied with one-word answers.
“Come in.”
Maggie, the Westcliffe head coach, sat behind her desk, laptop open in front of her but angled away.
She was in her fifties now, but she still had the build and sharp jawline of an ex-player.
Her hair was greying at the temples, pulled back into a low bun just above the collar of her blue Westcliffe quarter-zip.
On the wall behind her was the whiteboard with formations scribbled in red and black marker.
The player names were arranged into different shapes than those they’d run last week.
“Sit down, Georgia,” Maggie said, gesturing to the chairs facing her. “And see you at one, Kiera.” Kiera nodded, closing the door behind as she left.
Maggie’s voice was calm, neutral. Not angry, not encouraging. A middle ground that gave away absolutely nothing. Georgia sat down, dropping her kit bag next to her, unable to shake the fear that she was in trouble. Or, worse, that she was wasn’t.
Georgia chanced a look at the whiteboard, hoping to still find herself in a starting shirt. She was there, in her usual position in the scrum, and so was Rach, Kamsi, Riley.
Fleur’s name was off to the side, on the list of substitutes.
Georgia swallowed, and looked back at Maggie, who was watching her steadily, arms crossed.
“We’re making a change,” she said. “And I wanted to speak to you before we do.”
Georgia shifted in her seat, sitting straighter.
“We want you to captain on Sunday. You’ve done it before, against….”
“Against the Wyverns, last year. When Fleur had that knock.”
Maggie smiled. “Yeah, exactly. We won, if I remember right.”
They had. It had been a whitewash, 48-0. Almost worth the long coach journey up to Edinburgh and back. But they’d beaten the Wyverns under Fleur too. Less convincingly, but that was sport.
“Is Fleur injured again?” Georgia knew she wasn’t. She’d seen her social media stories at the weekend, hiking and wild swimming.
Maggie cocked her head, seeing right through Georgia's feigned innocence. “No. She’s taking a step back.”
There was a beat of silence as they both considered that statement.
Georgia nodded. “Okay.”
“She’s not been herself recently,” Maggie explained gently. “You know that. Everyone does.” She leant back in her chair, drumming her fingers against the arms. “We spoke last week. She can’t keep leading like this. She’s lost the room.”
Georgia’s chest twisted at that. Whatever Fleur’s flaws, however badly she’d been playing, it couldn’t have been nice to hear.
Georgia thought about the incident with Sam last season, when Fleur had lost her shit in the changing room. They’d all sat through it, heads down, not wanting to draw attention onto themselves. Georgia had understood, but the younger girls had never quite looked at Fleur the same again.
“We talked about options,” Maggie said. “But for me there’s only one sensible choice. You.”
She said it so simply. As though she wasn’t changing everything.
Georgia blinked. “Me.”
“You’ve already been leading,” Maggie said. “I see it every day. On the pitch. In the gym. The girls look at you to be their example, every time.”
Georgia’s throat tightened. She hadn’t meant to lead, or to undermine Fleur.
It had just happened. One minute she was looking to her captain for the move, the play, and the next…
Suddenly she was the one seeing the play before it happened, pulling them together, shouting instructions to the ruck, the maul, translating the chaos into something that made sense.
“I don’t want it if it’s just to punish Fleur,” she said, voice low.
“It’s not.” Maggie’s answer was immediate and firm. “This isn’t punishment. Fleur has her own things going on, which need her focus more than rugby does.”
Georgia swallowed. Being captain was something she’d never let herself dream about.
She hadn’t even been captain at Redford.
After Erin left, a girl called Claire had taken the role for their final year, while Georgia focused on England and a top tier call-up.
Then, at Westcliffe, there was always someone ahead of her.
Someone a more obvious pick for the team’s figurehead. That someone primarily being Fleur.
Fleur was more charismatic, both on the pitch and in front of the cameras. She was all French charm and bonhomie. Less serious, less stilted than Georgia. But with Fleur out of the picture, who else was there?
No doubt there were several in the team with their eyes and hearts on her job. Riley would have her own ambitions, certainly. Maybe Jess, her sister, too. Maybe Kamsi, Aoife, Lucy.
Did wanting to be captain mean you’d be a good one?
Probably not. Certainly not in Riley’s case. Ego and effectiveness were not the same thing.
“And you need room to grow into who you already are,” Maggie finished, as though maybe Georgia had missed something in the middle.
Georgia stared at the edge of Maggie’s desk. There was a fizz in her blood now, not quite fear, not quite excitement. Responsibility?
“I’m not Fleur, though,” Georgia said. “I’m not big speeches and press conferences. I’m not good at emotion.”
“There’ll have to be some of that,” Maggie warned. “But we know you’re not her. You’ll lead differently. And the team needs that.”
Georgia looked up. “Are you su-”
Maggie reared back as though offended Georgia would question her. “I wouldn’t bring you in if I wasn’t.”
Georgia swallowed again. If she was really honest with herself, perhaps once upon a time she had dreamed of being the captain. Dreamed of being the one to lift a trophy, to charge into battle first, bringing her team behind her.
It was the one thing she hadn’t done in her career. The one achievement – other than winning a World Cup – that still eluded her. She had five or so years left to play, and every year she’d get older, slower, more prone to injury. If it wasn’t now, it would be never.
For the last ten years, she’d been happy being the lieutenant, the number two.
A solid player, a steady dressing room presence.
Perhaps that was what the team needed in their next captain.
She didn’t need the awards or the recognition that came with captaincy, but perhaps that was fine.
She could steady the ship. Get the girls pulling together again, playing solidly.
“Fleur will tell the squad about her decision this afternoon, at briefing. Your announcement should come from you. That’s how it sticks.”
Georgia nodded slowly. “Alright.”
Maggie finally unfolded her arms. “Good. Now go and get your boots on, Captain.”
The word landed like a stone in Georgia’s chest. Like a weight, a burning star. Like something she hadn’t earned yet.
She’d just have to make sure she did.