Chapter Nine: Barca 

 

The away changing room in the old-fashioned stadium was small and a bit shabby. Eve guessed the home changing room was far more luxurious. It seemed like a ploy by Barcelona to assert dominance before the match had even begun The Real Martinez players all stumbled over each to get into their kit as loud reggaeton played over Young Happy Maria’s portable speaker. The hairs on the back of Eve’s neck stood up when she ran out onto the pitch for a warm-up. It was a hot, close day, and the stands were packed with jovial fans who were expecting nothing more than a thumping victory for their team. The Barcelona players, when she glanced their way, looked drilled and organised as they ran their warm-up lines, unbothered and confident. They then broke off into small groups for rondos, just as Lucia appeared from the tunnel in the same Real Martinez tracksuit she had worn since breakfast; not having to get changed since she wouldn’t be playing. She then wandered over to the Barcelona end where she shook hands and received hugs from her former club mates.  

Eve heard whispers and grumbles from the Real Martinez squad and sly glances were sent Lucia’s way as, having finished saying her hellos, she walked back past them to take her place in the stands. The Captain, Valentina Gomez clapped her hands together and drew the team into a semi-circle and spoke in quick Spanish hurtling Spanish. 

Greta who was next to her, translated for Eve. 'She said that we lost 8-0 to them in the same fixture last year. If we manage to lose by less than that, it'll be a win.' 

'Wow, well, that's...achievable... listen up,' she shouted into the circle of players. 'Do you know the phrase 'park the bus?'

They all looked at each other and there was a lot of clarifying chatter between them before a loud ‘si’ came from Valentina.

'Everyone behind the ball, let them come onto you and only attack if you get in behind them. You all have someone to mark, don't let them out of your sight.' And no playing out from the back, too risky.' There was some nodding and more chatter until Valentina clapped her hands again.

'This is not what Mikel instruct us to do,' Valentina said sternly. 'He wants us to...' 

Greta interrupted her. 'He wants us to play like them, Spanish way, only we are not them. I say we try Eve's plan.'

There were some many nods of agreement that Valentina had to back down. 'Okay. We try Eve's plan We parking the car.'

'The bus, it's park the bus, not the car,' Eve said quietly, suddenly terrified that it had been labelled as her plan, and wondering what had made her say anything in the first place since she wasn't even in the starting eleven.

Valentina clapped her hands once more and they all came in closer still, arms were slung around each other, and just as Valentina was about to say something else the pre-match DJ blasted a catchy pop song into the stadium that made Happy Young Maria squeal. 'I loves this song.' She began to jump and the rest of the team began to jump with her. Eve smiled as she got caught up in the bounces in time to the music. It lightened the mood, at least until their usual midfielder threw up. Maybe there had been too much jumping. They gathered around even tighter again to shield her until a groundsperson arrived to begin clearing up. Mikel also hurried over but then quickly walked away again when he saw the mess. He called Eve over to walk with him as he retreated towards the bench. 

‘You will take her place,’ he snapped before striding away. And a short while later, after changing from a warm-up top to a match shirt, she found herself walking out for her first start as a Real Martinez player against the mighty Barcelona.

From kick-off to the twenty-minute mark, Mikel shouted at them for not getting forward. Luckily, she didn't understand his curses, but the rest of the team did well to ignore him as he got redder and redder in the face. They were staving off repeated waves of attack but it was still goalless. From her place in midfield, Eve shouted encouragement after every intercepted ball and hard tackle. They were doing okay, so okay that when Eve saw Happy Young Maria getting the jump on their centre-back with a run into space, she launched a ball over the top. It fell beautifully into her teammates path who ran into the into the box with it before the player she had beaten caught up with up and rashly, stupidly took her down. The ref’s whistle blew and the Barcelona defender put her head in her hands.  

A penalty! A gift!  

Mikel had typically given them no instructions about who was to take a penalty if they were awarded one - Eve glanced up to the stands to where Lucia sat. She was now leaning forwards, her hands clasped together and her fingers pointed up into a temple as if she were praying. Suddenly, the ball was thrust into Eve’s hands. ‘You. You take at Hanmore, yes?’ 

‘Sometimes, yes.’ Lucia's penalty record was excellent but unfortunately, she wasn't playing. Eve's record was also pretty good. There was fear on young player’s face; the terror of responsibility. Eve should have taken the burden off her, instead she pointed at the striker’s chest.  ‘Sé Valiente,’ she said, wondering where the sudden burst of Spanish had come from. Did she know and understand more than she thought? Her accent was probably terrible.  

‘Pero...’ 

‘It really doesn’t matter if you fuck it up. Okay?’  

The young girl nodded and walked to the spot with the ball under her arm. The penalty was taken, the keeper was sent the wrong way, and they scored. 

It would have been nice if the stadium had erupted with joy, but it was an away game against a far bigger club. It fell mostly silent, though there was a quiet cry of ‘bravo’ from one of the Real Martinez coaches and some feint cheers from their tiny band of supporters who were in an upper corer of the stands. And the team embraced and high-fived. It felt good.

Unfortunately, going one-nil down had the effect of waking Barcelona up. It was like Real Martinez had poked the bear. They made a substitute, taking off a squad player for one of their superstars, and equalised ten minutes later, and then they took the lead just before half-time. Two-one down against what was probably the greatest women’s team ever assembled wasn't bad however. Steam rose up from their now sweaty bodies as they sat down in the dressing room, deodorant was sprayed and Mikel came in to give a team talk that seemed completely different to his usual tone. She couldn't be sure but she sought Greta out as they they trotted back out onto the pitch fifteen minutes later.

'He said,' Greta told her without having to be asked, 'to park the bus,'.

They lost in the end, of course, but only by 4-1; a brilliant forward sharp-footed move in the final third outdid them and left their defenders on the floor. Then Eve had gave away a free kick, from which a previous ballon d’or winner produced a wondrous curling strike that gave the Real Martinez keeper no chance. It fizzed beautifully into the top corner. 

Despite the result, Eve left the field, having played her first ninety minutes in a long time, in the sort of satisfied state that playing in a properly competitive match always left her. Her joints ached, her calves and thighs and lungs were screaming at her, but she hadn’t been subbed off, and they had played...well, not that badly. The result could have been a lot worse.  

Mikel had patted backs and shook hands as they’d come off the field but thankfully didn’t come into the dressing room for another speech. Instead, pizzas arrived and the music started up again. Eve showered and changed back into the team tracksuit quickly, refused the pizza and strolled out into the corridors of the stadium, looking. Looking for what? She wasn’t even sure herself until she saw another person in Real Martinez colours among a sea of Barcelona purple and blue. Lucia, though she was in the middle of what looked like some jokey banter saw Eve immediately, said goodbye to her friends, and came over to where she was standing.   

‘So, did we embarrass you?’ Eve asked.  

Lucia's dark eyes twinkled. ‘You played well.’ 

‘Apart from giving away that free kick at the end.’ 

‘If you did not take her down, she would score anyway,’ Lucia said with a shrug.  

‘We’re bottom of the league though. Are you walking out to the coach?’ 

‘No. I stay here for two days. No training till Tuesday.’    

‘Oh right. That makes sense. See your friends, and...’ Eve stopped speaking when another Barcelona player rushed along the corridor and swept Lucia up into a hug so hard it might have stopped internal organs from working. Numerous kisses were exchanged, two on each cheek, and there was some intense fast Spanish before the girl linked her arm through Lucia’s and led her away. 

Eve stood stupidly for a while, not knowing whether to go back into the dressing room, or onto the coach that would take them over a hundred miles back to Martinez. She chose the coach, but when she got there some of the other players were dragging their cases off. Like Lucia, they had chosen to either spend the rest of the weekend in Barcelona, or were going somewhere else. She had a few minutes to decide.  

She had two options. She could endure the long road journey back to her small apartment near the beach, where she knew hardly anybody and try to waste away a whole two days, or she could go to the to the airport and get on the first available flight to London. And as she approached the baggage compartment on the underside of the big coach, she had decided on London. But something stopped her in her thoughts. There were things in Barcelona that she had always wanted to see. Or more specifically, one thing that was a little outside Barcelona. Small wheelie case by her side and rucksack on her back, she stood and waved goodbye as the half-full coach pulled away without her. 

There was a third option; Monserrat.