CHAPTER 39 #3
The player was still in possession on the edge of our box, with only McKay covering the path to the 'keeper. He passed it to an overlapping attacker, who struck the ball first time and sent the ball careering past McQuillan. It squeezed past the outside of the post and wide.
McQuillan took the resultant goal kick.
The referee blew his full-time whistle.
We were going to a penalty shoot-out for a place in League One next season.
“You're shivering, sweetie,” David said, holding me tight in the stands.
“I'm shaking, David... Shaking like a dog taking a shit.”
He gave me a look which suggested he'd never heard the phrase in all his 19 years.
I looked down to the pitch where Lee Browne and Sean Kirk were in conversation with the Broxburgh players, deciding who'd be taking our penalties. “I can't take this, David. Let's move down towards the dug-out.”
“For a better view?”
For more information on DeShaun. “Yeah.”
The Broxburgh fans were belting out songs, as I led David down the steps of the stand to the rear of the coaching section.
Leo Martin was lying on the pitch, as Ricky McQuillan helped him with cramp.
“Penalties,” I said, clutching my abdomen. “I can't believe our whole season's come down to this... I think I'm gonna be sick.”
David pointed ahead. “We won the coin toss. The pens are gonna be taken in front of our supporters.”
I cast my eyes down the touchline to the tunnel, hoping to catch a glimpse of DeShaun back on his feet.
There was no sign of him.
“I know you're worried about him,” David said. “But it's his own fault, Sasha. He should never have stayed out there so long.”
I said nothing. I was a coward.
The managers left the pitch as the teams headed to one end of the pitch for the shoot-out.
Sean sat only a couple of rows in front of us.
“Sean,” I called.
He turned his head.
“Any news on De- Wilkesboro?”
Sean shrugged.
I crossed my denim-clad legs and pressed my palms into the sides of my thighs.
David kept his hands to himself. “Here we go,” he said, as one of Town's substitutes stepped up to take the first penalty.
McQuillan stood on his line.
The sub took one step and slotted it into the bottom left corner.
My chest heaved at the instant deficit.
Leo Martin was our first taker. He looked confident as he placed the ball on the spot.
The home support was raucous.
Lee took several steps back then smashed the ball down the middle.
Town's 'keeper stopped it with his feet.
I felt my face drop and age as many years as the gap between David and I.
“It's not over,” he said.
The home crowd booed as Town's next player stepped up to take their second penalty.
We were two goals behind seconds later.
I threw my eyes from the pitch and saw Hilary Duncan exit the tunnel. My every concern switched from the shoot-out to the health of my ex. And the burden I carried that it was my fault.
“Blair's up,” David said.
I was already on my feet and leaving the area, hearing only the roar of the crowd as McKay slotted home.
Hilary visibly scowled as they saw me.
Town's third taker stared at McQuillan in goal.
McQuillan stared back, his palms already outstretched.
I deliberately fixed my eyes on the goal, for the sakes of the crowd and Eddie Mayne's camera following me, as the player started his run-up.
McQuillan burst off his spot and saved it with one hand, turning the ball around the post.
I looked down the touchline and couldn't see Hilary anymore. Where the fuck were they? Back in the tunnel? The crowd? I looked around, lost, wondering.
Lennox Milne was readying the ball on the spot, with a chance to draw the shoot-out level.
I was frozen in front of the crowd, my head spinning and my mobile ringing in my purse.
Milne fixed his hair before he took a short run-up and rifled the ball against the underside of the crossbar.
The crowd behind the goal threw their hands in the air as the ball crashed down into the back of the net.
All square, with 3 penalties taken each.
I still couldn't see Hilary. My mobile stopped ringing. I turned back and saw David, his arms folded and his face stern. I'd probably fucked this one up as well.
McQuillan was back in nets, pounding his palms over his head to raise the support another couple of decibels.
Town's striker waited for the ref to give him the go ahead to take the penalty, then took several steps back to the edge of the area. He raced suddenly forward and blasted his shot.
McQuillan watched it sail over the bar and into the rapturous Broxburgh crowd.
The heels of my stilettos were planted firmly in the turf of the touchline, but my eyes couldn't keep off the tunnel. I wanted to know how DeShaun was. I needed to.
The Broxburgh players huddled and high-fived McQuillan as he joined them. While Rory Adams marched forward to take his penalty, and an invaluable opportunity to give us the lead.
Town's goalkeeper walked off his line to a chorus of boos as he pointed at the spot and argued over some detail with the ref.
Adams ignored him, then waited for the official to give him the word to take his penalty.
The word came.
Adams struck the ball.
The 'keeper dived left.
The ball fizzed right, and into the corner of the net.
The noise at Lady Macbeth Park reached fever pitch, the fans literally rocking the stand as they jumped up and down and cheered. Our team was leading by 3 penalties to 2. We were on the brink of promotion.
And I still couldn't see any sign of Hilary or DeShaun.
Town's centre-half took hold of the ball.
I clutched my hurting heart through my chest.
He placed the ball on the spot and tried to stare through the imposing figure young McQuillan cut in goal.
Why wasn't I with the man who held my heart?
Town had to score to stay in it.
I should've been by his side, helping him, nursing him, praising him for the sacrifices he'd made today.
The away support was drowned out by the Broxburgh faithful.
I put my eyes on the penalty spot. This was where my focus belonged. Anything else could be resolved after.
The centre-back took just two steps back from the ball.
McQuillan crouched.
Town's defender sprinted forward.
McQuillan leapt as the ball was struck.
The centre-back watched as his shot flew off the spot and on target.
McQuillan was at full stretch. He saved it.
I fell to my knees in shock as the celebrations erupted all around me, almost unable to process the reality of what was happening. We'd done it. We'd actually won it. 3-2 on penalties was the final score.
“We're off to League One, baby!” yelled Douglas Barton, pumping his fist at the crowd.
The rest of the team were racing off in pursuit of McQuillan on a victory lap of the pitch.
Lee and Sean were ecstatic, hugging each other.
Eddie was trying to cram in everybody's reactions, and caught mine on camera for a few embarrassing seconds.
I looked back to the tunnel, then dug my precious fingernails into the turf and pushed myself up from my knees.
“DeShaun is our King!” chanted a fan to my left.
I had to see him.
“Ms Liu!” called a player from the pitch.
I was walking at pace towards the tunnel.
“Ms Liu!”
I wasn't going to be distracted further.
My mobile rang again.
I reluctantly reached into my purse and looked at the name. “Hello?” I said.
The reply was hard to make out.
“Jill, I can hardly hear you.” I stuck a finger in my free ear. “It's deafening here. We won! We did it! We're going up to League One!”
“Sasha, can you hear me now?” she asked, more clearly.
“Yes, Jill.”
“Sasha, you need to listen to me really carefully.”
I was almost at the tunnel.
“They've identified the body.”
I felt my pace suddenly slow.
“It's-” Jill's voice crackled out. “They're coming for you, Sasha.”
“I don't understand,” I said frantically. “Who's coming for me? Whose body-”
Detective Constable Richard Moore and Detective Constable Sammy McIvor appeared from the tunnel.
I dropped my phone.
“Sasha Liu,” DC Moore said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Sasha, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Aroon Liu.”
I felt my body go limp.
“You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Hilary Duncan was stood behind them in the tunnel, arms folded, watching.