Games People Play by Voss Louise

Author:Voss, Louise [Voss, Louise]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Louise Voss
Published: 2011-11-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

Rachel

I can’t believe it. Dad wouldn’t do anything like that! He’s worked with kids for years, ever since he became a coach. He knows the implications; how careful you have to be – for God’s sake, he won’t even be alone in the clubhouse with an underage kid, male or female. If one of his Juniors gets stranded without a lift home, he’ll take them himself, but only if another adult accompanies him in the car. I’ve heard him saying a million times that you have to cover yourself at all costs, he’s seen what even the most spurious of allegations can do to a coach’s career. There was that guy in Essex, a colleague of Dad’s, who got taken to court for fiddling with little boys. Even though he was cleared of all charges, he still lost his business, because his reputation was in tatters. It just takes one peeved teenager with a grudge, Dad says – perhaps someone who wasn’t picked for a squad, or who got shouted at for being lazy; anything really – to complain that their coach ‘touched’ them inappropriately, just to cause trouble, then before you know it, it’s tribunals, maybe court proceedings, and bingo! Instant career death and shame, even if only by implication.

Surely nobody will believe that Dad, who is so conscientious, has been downloading filth off the Internet?

They might. Oh, what will they be saying down at the club? Poor Gordana. How are we going to show our faces? A hot piece of gossip in the Intermediate and Midweek sections would be somebody wearing a top on court with a zip and hood, instead of the regulation sweatshirt; or bringing a soggy quiche to the Committee Meeting lunch. This will blow their minds. For the first time, I’m glad I’m injured and off the circuit. At least I don’t have to face anybody.

But the club is practically our second home...

Pops just called me from the kitchen door, asking me to phone Kerry, and I will, but I need a minute first. I needed to get out in the fresh air.

It’s cold out here. I can see my breath, in small anxious clouds, as I breathe fast. I’ve been sitting on a bench on the patio, but I’ve only got a thin cotton top and jeans on, so I get up and walk around and around the garden on my crutches, leaving little dents in the grass, muttering furiously to myself and stopping every now and again to get the tears off my face by hunching up my shoulder and wiping them on the top of my sleeve. My knee is absolutely killing me, a deep, throbbing pain radiating through the rest of my body, into the already sore place on my hip, down to my swollen ankle, but I don’t care. Somehow, I want to feel this physical agony, because I can’t bear the pain of how I feel about Dad and what he’s been accused of doing.

What will Mark think? He’ll probably believe the worst: that Dad did it.

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