Chapter Eight: Train ride

Chapter Eight 

For want of anything better to do, Eve began turning up early to training every day and stayed later with anyone who wanted to, either on the gym or the pitch. She worked harder in the rondos, tried to get on the end of every crossing move they practiced, and sprinted after the young attackers till her calves burned. She punished her body and it ached, but she kept pushing. The hurt felt good. It matched all the anger and confusion she felt inside. Lucia was also busting a gut; but was also shouting at everyone, pissing them off, demanding and correcting them constantly. Fortunately for her, the Real Martinez players respected her enough not to turn on her. If a Hanmore player had behaved the same way, Eve was sure there would have been some kind of dressing room bust up. Instead, the dressing room remained lively and full of banter and cheer. On the Monday after their day at the beach, Eve had found a child’s English/Spanish dictionary waiting for her in her cubby hole. Large cartoon-like pictures depicted common everyday objects with both the English and Spanish words for the item next to it. There was a lot of laughter when she picked it up. ‘Right, si, gracias,’ she said as she turned back to face the room. 

‘Oh, you find the book,’ Lucia said as she looked up from lacing her boots. ‘Matteo does not need it anymore. I look after him. He says I can give to you. He knows already these English words. Now you learn Spanish ones.’ 

Eve gave her a wry smile and put the dictionary in her rucksack. On the way out to the training pitches, she cornered Greta. ‘Did Lucia babysat for you?’ 

‘Si, last Saturday, so kind. We do not get much time to ourselves.’ 

‘That was nice of her.’ 

Greta nodded. ‘She is a good person.’ 

‘Grumpy sometimes though,’ Eve replied. 

Greta only laughed. 

 

At the end of the week, they boarded a train to Barcelona. Eve had never taken a train to a play a match before. It felt far less stuffy than a coach. She liked it. She went to the back of the carriage and found herself a couple of free seats where she could spread her stuff out. Other players were sitting next to each other, dealing out playing cards, or sharing music playlists, but she didn’t feel she knew anyone on the team well enough to spend three to four hours in that close company with them. 

Real Martinez’s media person had been following the team all day, filming them for their social media content. Eve had been avoiding them wherever possible, trying to stay out of shot, but the super energetic guy with his camera was now making a beeline for her and Mikel was hot on his heels. ‘We take photo, yes, you and the boss?’ 

Mikel leaned into where she was sitting, put one hand on her shoulder, and opened his mouth as if he were about to say something to her. Nothing came out. A flash went off and the picture was taken, then Mikel moved quickly onto the next carriage, which had been reserved for the staff and coaches. 

‘What was all that about?’ she said under breath more to herself than anyone else, but the social media guy heard her and gave her a wink. 

‘We will put it out to show we all friends again. Now I switch to video, and you give me big ‘vamos’ for the fans.’ 

‘Do I have to?’ 

‘Si, you do this and promise I leave you alone all rest of day.’ 

Feeling like an idiot, she put on her best fake smile and punched the air. ‘Vamos.’ 

‘Ah this is perfect. Gracias. Enjoy the train, it is one-way only, they save some money with thelong drive back on coach.’

'Fantastic,' Eve replied.

He left, going back up the carriage and getting in the faces of the other girls, some of whom played up to it and others who groaned and grumbled much as Eve had.  

After a few minutes wait the train pulled out of the station, and she watched through the window as they left the town behind and plowed into the Spanish countryside. Eve had expected it would be flat and dusty, when instead it was mostly green. She saw olive trees and vineyards and neat white houses. After admiring the prettiness of the scenery for a while she dug her laptop out of the bag, turned it on, then spent some time messing around with servers, the train wifi, and different apps, until she found a stream of the Hanmore game that was going on 1500 miles away. It was the start of the second half and Hanmore were 1-0 up. She put her headphones on and watched as they cruised to a 3-0 victory. Poppy had a good game and won the player of the match award.  

The broadcast cut away from Poppy’s smiling face as she was given a little trophy, to the pundits in the studio, who were gushing about Hanmore’s excellent start to the season. ‘We did think,’ said the guest presenter, ‘that they might suffer in midfield without their stalwart Eve Middleton, but they’ve shifted Sam O’Brien into that position, and she’s done a fantastic job.’ 

Eve slammed the laptop down so hard that it made Lucia, who was three rows in front her, turn around in her seat. She winked at Eve, and Eve felt her face grow hot. She stood up quickly, unable to sit still, and the only place to go was the toilet. She made her way up the carriage and was shocked when she passed Lucia’s row to see that she also had a laptop open and had been watching the same stream that Eve had. Was she listening to Spanish or English commentary? Had Lucia heard the commentators opinion that Eve was so crap she that she could be replaced in midfield by a defender? Why had she winked at her? Eve shot past her quickly to avoid any conversation or eye contact and locked herself in the train toilet for a good ten minutes, even though she didn’t need the toilet at all. She put her head against the wall and tried to breathe evenly, and only when she a little bit in control of her emotions, did she go back into the train carriage.  

They disembarked at Barcelona-Sants train station, which was large and functional rather than beautiful, and she suddenly felt nervous. Hanmore were a far more successful team than Real Martinez and every time had played the mighty Barca they had lost. Greta, who was walking beside her must have guessed her thoughts because she tugged on her sleeve ‘Half of it is up here,’ she said, putting a finger to her temple, ‘you have played long enough to know.’  

Eve nodded. Greta was right. Mentality played a huge part in football. Suddenly determined, she jogged away, leaving Greta behind, leaving all the players behind, to catch up with Mikel who was striding, chest out, tie flapping, shades on, in front of all his coaches and technical staff.  

‘I want to play,’ she hissed at him. ‘Start me.’ 

‘No now,’ he hissed back, ‘maybe cameras.’ 

‘They’re aren’t any bloody cameras. Listen, I’ve been doing all I can,’ Eve said. ‘Maybe I wasn't in the best physical shape when I got here, but I've been putting in the work, every training session. Play me. I will fight to the very end, I promise.’ 

Without skipping a step or a beat Mikel pointed at the one lone photographer who had come to the station to record Real Martinez’s arrival in Barcelona. ‘See, camera,’ he snapped before striding away from her.   

 

The hotel was basic, but clean and modern. They only had time to dump their personal belongings off before they were issued with a packed lunch in a paper bag which they ate on the bus that took them to the stadium. Barcelona women used a smaller stadium when they were not playing a big match in the massive Camp Neu. A league match against Real Martinez was apparently not worth opening Camp Neu for. After a short training session to get used to the playing surface, they were bussed back for a buffet dinner in a charmless conference room. Eve sat on a table with three Maria’s; to keep them all separate in her mind she had named them 'Goalkeeper Maria', 'Young Happy Maria', and 'Maria the goakeeper snogger'. Eve picked at the food. She had eaten some lovely meals since she had been in Spain, this however, wasn’t one of them. The girls talked around her and over her in fast Spanish. Even though she faintly recognised a word here or there, she couldn’t keep or understand what they were either complaining about or laughing at.  

A team meeting followed dinner where the starting eleven was put up on a slide presentation. She was not at all surprised to see her name not included. 

The evening was spent socialising and chilling. Some of the girls went for ice cream but Eve was tired; her brain hurt from trying to understand the girls, and she was sure they were tired of translating for her. She waved them off and found a sofa in a quiet corner of the foyer with the same book that she had been attempting and failing to read on the beach a few days earlier. Lucia was also in the foyer, by the doors, and Eve watched out of the corner of her eye as she was constantly busy with visitors; friends, and maybe family, who were all popping by to wish her well. She sat and had coffee with them and laughed. But there were serious conversations too. People grabbed her by the arm or stroked her face until she laughed their concerns off. Then, much to Eve’s surprise, Lucia was cajoled and directed in the direction of a piano that stood in the tiny bar area. Eve had presumed it was only there for decoration – to break up all the blandness - but it was seemingly playable. Lucia sat, with reddening cheeks, and played for a small group of people who clearly loved her. It was a tune that Eve vaguely recognised and though not a perfect performance, it was roundly applauded by those surrounding the piano, by the hotel staff behind the reception desk, and by a few other guests who lounged nearby with their coffees or wine. 

Once she had finished, Lucia got up and hurried away from the piano stool while laughing off calls for an encore. As she walked back to her seat, Lucia looked Eve’s way and noticed her for the first time. They nodded at one another before Eve buried her head in her book, and this time, she forced herself to read - for perhaps thirty minutes straight - and she found herself becoming vaguely interested in the plot. It was probably the first time in a year that she had managed more than a paragraph at a time.  

Progress.  

She only stopped reading when the younger girls on the team came back from their walk full of sugar-induced giddiness and a tub of plain vanilla ice cream that they pressed on Eve. She was touched that they had thought of her and walked to the lifts with them, tucking her book under her arm, and intending to eat her ice-cream in the comfort of her room while she watched something shallow and pointless on her laptop. 

They all piled in the to elevator and the doors had almost closed before there was a binging noise and they opened again to admit Lucia, who had obviously now said goodbye to her well-wishers. She mumbled an ‘ola’ at them, and the lift, which had previously been full and noise and joviality, became quiet.  

She and Lucia were both on first floor and they got out while the rest of the girls were bound for the next floor up. They walked a few steps in awkward silence before Eve cleared her throat and spoke. ‘Guess you had a whole life here before, all the visitors’ downstairs and that?’ 

‘Si,’ Lucia agreed. ‘I am in Barcelona ten years.’ 

‘Are they coming to watch you play tomorrow?’ 

‘Si. They come to the game, but I no play.’ 

Eve blinked. ‘What?’ She was a bit ashamed that she hadn’t studied the slides thoroughly enough. She had looked for her own name and lost interest when it hadn’t appeared. She had assumed that someone of Lucia’s experience would automatically start.  

‘I am loan from Barcelona,’ she shrugged. ‘I don’t play. Is rules.’ 

‘Right, right. Of course, same in England for loan players.’  

‘And you, you have people coming?’ Lucia asked. ‘Is big game.’ 

‘No,’ Eve replied, feeling deflated. Lucia was right, it was a big game. They were playing last year’s league champions, cup champions, the champions league winners. Greta’s husband and son had traveled to Barcelona to attend. Her new teammates had been constantly pestering the admin girls at Real Martinez for tickets for their friends and family and had been grumbling about not having enough to give away. ‘Most of my mates are footballers,’ Eve said at last. ‘They’ve got games themselves.    

‘No family?’ 

‘No.’ Eve hadn’t thought to ask them. She supposed she could have bought her mother a ticket to Barcelona, put her up in a bed and breakfast and found her a ticket to the game. But then her mother grumbled if she was forced to go to a different supermarket than the one she’d been buying her bread at for the last fifteen years. She couldn’t imagine Carole in Barcelona, wandering about in the heat and the crowds, trying and failing to find the stadium. Even in her teens, Eve had felt more like the parent and her mother the child. All the decisions made about Eve’s football career had been made by Eve herself. When she’d been underage, the contract papers had been put in front of her mother, but Eve had been the one telling her where to sign.  

‘I know about your dad, but who is family?’ Lucia asked. They had stopped outside their respective rooms, which turned out to be directly opposite one another.   

‘Oh, it’s just my mum, and my brother, and his girlfriend, Saskia. They’re getting married.’ she added, just by way of conversation.  

‘Oh,’ Lucia smiled. 'Is nice. Big wedding?’ 

‘Yes, big wedding, gigantic.’ Eve pointed in the direction of the door to her room. 'Anyway.' 

‘It about defence,’ Lucia said suddenly, ‘do not listen to Mikel.’ She grabbed the hand that Eve didn’t have ice-cream in and shook it briefly to get her attention. ‘He say ‘we are Real Martinez, we take the ball to them, show who we are'. It is rubbish. If you get on, defend. Wait for mistake before you go forward, you hear, you direct the others?’ 

Eve smiled at her intensity. ‘I can’t do anything if he won’t let me play.’ 

Lucia gave her a wry, resigned smile. ‘Goodnight. I cheer from the stands.’ 

‘Will you though?’ Eve asked. ‘Barcelona is the club of your heart, right? Your Dad’s club?’ 

‘I am for Real Martinez now,’ Lucia replied, with a furrowed brow.  

‘Maybe you should tell the other girls that.' Eve turned to tap her keycard against the hotel room door lock. 'Because I’m not sure they know.’ She went through the door and shut it against Lucia's frown.