Redemption (2 page)

I hated humidity and it hated me. I hadn’t moved a muscle the entire game, and yet sweat still dripped down my back at a ferocious pace. It didn’t help that I had to wear a sweater to keep the scar on my upper arm covered up. 

“Do you want me to explain the rules of rugby?” the man asked. “It’s a complicated sport, but it’s a lot of fun when you know what’s going on.”

I’d been watching my sister play rugby for the last five years—I knew the rules better than most people at this point. The referee blew his whistle and awarded a scrum to my sister’s team. 

“That was for a knock-on,” he said, oblivious to my silence and disinterest. “You’re not allowed to play the ball forward in rugby.”

“Actually, the referee awarded a penalty for an offside and the Chasers chose to take a scrum. The player came in from the side on the maul.” 

“Oh,” he said, an embarrassed look appearing on his face. He now knew this might not be quite as easy as he first thought. 

The scrum-half received the ball from the scrum and sent it out wide to the hooker, who then passed the ball sideways again to my sister. No matter how many times I’d watched her play, the hairs on the back of my neck still stood on end when she received the ball in these positions.

Maisie had a blistering pace, and she soon set off on one of her runs. Unfortunately, by this point in the game the opposition team knew how fast she could run, and that meant their one goal became taking her down. 

My sister insisted on playing with the boys and didn’t want anyone to take it easy on her; the opposing team was only too happy to oblige. 

I forced my eyes to stay open as one fourteen-year-old boy ran in from the side. He headed straight for her, but Maisie checked her run and easily sailed past him. She wasn’t so lucky with the second tackle. 

A boy grabbed her around the waist and brought her down with him as they both went crashing to the floor. Maisie quickly turned on the ground and released the ball so as not to give away a foul.

“I don’t know why they let her play,” my admirer said. “She should play on a girl’s team.”

“There aren’t any girls’ teams,” I replied. “Besides, if she’s good enough then I don’t see why she shouldn’t play.”

“Just doesn’t seem right. I know if I was out there on the pitch, I wouldn’t be able to tackle a girl. It just doesn’t seem right.” 

“How noble of you.” 

My reluctance to get up and move was fast being overcome by this asshole’s mind-numbing conversation. Had I been this stupid and immature at nineteen? The five years between us felt like a lifetime right now. 

“You want anything to drink?” he asked. “They don’t serve alcohol here unfortunately, but if you want a soft drink or something let me know.”

He wouldn’t be able to buy alcohol even if they did serve it. “Actually, I’m going to leave now.” I stood up and looked for another spot in the shade. 

“Listen, how about we…” The second his hand touched my upper arm, I spun around, grabbed his wrist, and twisted him round by the arm. He let out a cry and everyone turned to stare at us. 

“Don’t touch me,” I said calmly. 

“Okay, okay.” 

I let go and the man returned to his friends. I didn’t want to deal with all the parents talking about me, so I moved over to the opposite side of the field. The guy’s friends teased him for striking out, and I heard him mutter something about me being a lesbian. 

Maisie didn’t appear to have noticed the little display I put on, although no doubt she’d hear about it at the end of the game. She always accused me of being too tense and uptight, so I was bound to get another lecture on “loosening up.” Just what I wanted from my little sister. 

Maisie’s team won—as they usually did—and she had a great game by anyone’s standards, let alone “for a girl.” She scored two tries and played a major part in two more with her pace down the flanks. 

By this point, word had gotten around about the Chasers having a girl on the team, so her opponents didn’t go through that awkward fifteen-minute period where they debated whether or not they could tackle her. Or rather,
try
to tackle her, because for the most part she might have been covered in grease judging by her opponents’ attempts to drag her to the ground.

The main problem with Maisie playing so well was that it brought out the worst in the parents. They did not like seeing their little princes get schooled by a girl. 

I heard one parent comment on how he “would be afraid to tackle a girl with a face like that” and it took all my strength not to go over and punch him. I’d done that before, but Maisie hated it. She insisted that she didn’t care about the burns covering her face, and so neither should I. Easier said than done though, especially when those burns were my fault.

Despite her protests, Maisie wasn’t allowed to go into the changing rooms after the games until all the boys had left. She couldn’t have cared less about getting changed in front of guys, but the organizers insisted the changing rooms not be mixed. 

Maisie usually came over to talk to me at the end of games while we waited for the changing room to empty, but on her way over to me she was approached by a man who had been watching the game from the front row. I slowly walked down to see what was going on and saw the man hand Maisie a business card. 

The overprotective big sister in me didn’t like the look of this, but Maisie seemed delighted. I tried to relax; the man didn’t touch her and he was talking to her in full view of over a hundred people. Maisie caught me standing there and subtly shooed me away with her hand while she kept talking to the man. 

Maisie might only be fourteen, but she’d been through a lot in those fourteen years. She wasn’t naive in the slightest. I backed off and sat down in the stand to wait.

By the time Maisie finished speaking to the man, the changing rooms were free, so she got changed and came back out ten minutes later having put on some new clothes. She hadn’t bothered showering though. 

“Are you going to tell me what all that was about?” I asked, as she came bouncing up to me. She had a remarkable amount of energy for someone who had just finished eighty minutes of rugby.

“Once we get in the car,” she replied. “I don’t want anyone to overhear.”

I cringed as Maisie threw her dirty cleats on the floor of my car and proceeded to drop bits of mud all over the place. It’s not like my car was clean at the best of times, but Maisie certainly didn’t help matters.

“He’s a scout,” Maisie said, the second we pulled out onto the road. “He watched the game today and I must have impressed him because he wants me to join a rugby summer camp.” 

“You’ve done them before,” I said. Maisie always chose summer camps based on whether or not they offered the chance to play rugby. Given that rugby was basically insignificant in the US, she often had to go halfway across the country to find one that she liked.

“But this one is special. It’s specifically for girls.”

“You’d hate that. You love playing with the guys.”

“I know, but it’s specifically to boost the popularity of the girls’ game. He’s recruiting the best female players and getting them together for the summer. There’s going to be tournaments and everything.”

The man wasn’t a scout; he was a salesman. No doubt there would be a substantial fee for the camp, and even though Maisie was a great player, he was probably inviting ever female rugby player in the country to maximize the money. 

“And how much is this going to cost?” I asked. “We aren’t exactly flush with cash at the moment.” 

Mom didn’t work these days—or do much of anything—and my money only just stretched to paying for Maisie to be a part of the rugby team. Summer camps often required us to take out a short term loan, and this one sounded expensive.

“He said it was completely free,” Maisie said. “They even cover expenses.” I turned quickly to look at her and saw a huge grin stretching from ear to ear. I didn’t care about the burn marks on her face; that girl was truly beautiful when she smiled. 

“This doesn’t sound right, sis. Why would some organization pay all that money to promote girls’ rugby when boys’ rugby needs promotion as well? The entire game is largely ignored in the US.”

“It’s not in the US,” Maisie replied casually. “The summer camp is in England.”

“England?”

“Yes. You remember, that country on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean where our dad lives.” 

“Thank you for the reminder. I meant, why is someone from England over here to scout for you?”

“He’s from the England Rugby set up, and they’re looking for players from all over the world to play the game. I don’t know how he found me, but I’m not about to complain. You’re not going to go all ‘big sister’ on me, are you?” 

Maisie knew my response to things like this was to be sensible—which in her eyes meant boring—but I couldn’t help it. Maisie tended to operate at a mile a minute, so if I didn’t hold her back once in a while there would be chaos.

“It sounds like an exciting opportunity,” I said softly.

“But…”

“But you’ll have to get Mom’s approval and that won’t be easy. Not after what happened last time we were in England.”

“That was eight years ago.” 

“And we haven’t gone back since. I’m just saying, don’t get your hopes up just yet, okay?” 

“Will you tell her it’s a good idea? You know she listens to you.”

I paused while concentrating on merging onto the highway, but I could sense Maisie getting desperate for a response. 

“I want to check out this scout who gave you his card,” I replied. “If he is who he says he is then maybe I will recommend you go.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Maisie said, practically jumping up and down in her seat. Not for the first time, I wished I had half of her energy and general enthusiasm for life. 

“I said maybe.”

“Maybe always means yes,” Maisie replied. “I’m going to England. Yay.” She started trying to sing God Save the Queen, but quickly gave up when she realized she only knew the first line. 

Mom wasn’t in when we got home, so I had enough time to verify that the scout was actually from England Rugby. Everything checked out based on an online search. I’d look into it more later, but for now it passed the smell test. 

Things would be weird without Maisie around for the summer, but it did mean I would have weekends to myself again. I’d had to drop the Saturday self-defense class I taught to drive Maisie to her rugby games; maybe I could start that back up again. 

Maisie pounced on Mom the second she walked through the door, taking the shopping bags from her hands and talking quickly, without stopping for breath, about the amazing opportunity she’d been offered for the summer which wouldn’t cost a penny. 

“No,” Mom said flatly, when Maisie had finally stopped for breath. “Absolutely not.” 

Maisie looked like she’d been slapped. “But Michelle thinks it’s a good idea, don’t you Michelle?”

I took a deep breath. Mom would go with whatever I said and Maisie knew it. If I said no, she’d blame me not Mom. I spent every day of my life trying to make up for my mistake with Maisie eight years ago. The mistake that left her disfigured, with a horrible burn mark on her face. If I denied her this opportunity, then it would set our relationship back years. 

“It’s a great opportunity,” I told Mom. “And it would only be for the summer, so it won’t affect her schoolwork.” I turned to look at Maisie who was about to celebrate. “And I’m sure she’ll work hard to improve her grades next year, won’t you, Maisie?”

“Of course,” she said sweetly, before sticking her tongue out at me when Mom wasn’t looking. 

“I don’t like the idea of you going back to England,” Mom said. “After what happened there last time…”

“That was just bad luck,” Maisie said. “England is a much safer place than the US. If I’d been attacked here we would have been shot. At least the acid only burned my skin.”

Only burned my skin
. I had no idea how Maisie could act so chill about the entire thing. That attack had scarred her for life, and yet she barely gave a second thought about going back to the country where it happened.

“Okay,” Mom said predictably. “But Michelle has to go with you.”

“That’s fine,” Maisie replied instantly. 

“Wait, what? I can’t just drop everything and go to England.” 

“Then Maisie can’t go,” Mom insisted. 

Maisie looked up at me with sad puppy dog eyes and fluttered her eyelashes. “When was the last time you took a vacation?” she asked me. “You need a break.”

“Traveling with you will be anything but a break,” I said, before letting out a long sigh. There was only one way this was going to end, and I suspected Maisie had had the entire thing planned out from the beginning. “Okay, fine, I’ll go.” 

I did need some time away and my schedule for the summer didn’t look all that busy. The student bar I worked at was always dead over the summer and they’d already cut my hours. The self-defense courses I taught also had lower numbers, so—while I hated leaving people in the lurch—this was as good a time as any to take a break.

“This is going to be such an awesome summer,” Maisie said, as she pulled out her phone, no doubt texting all her friends. “We can pop in and see Dad if you want.”

“That would be nice,” I replied, with absolutely no enthusiasm. 

Neither Maisie nor I wanted to see Dad, but Mom didn’t like us badmouthing him in front of her. Ever since our last visit eight years ago, we’d only ever seen Dad when he’d visited the US, and that was becoming less and less frequent. He wasn’t completely to blame, but I did get the impression that spending time with his children wasn’t high on his list of priorities. 

“OMG, maybe we can see Olly as well,” Maisie screamed excitedly. “I still chat to him all the time online. I reckon he’d meet up with us.”

“No,” I replied, far too quickly. “We’re not meeting Oliver. Absolutely not.” Way to play it cool, Michelle. 

Maisie still worshipped our stepbrother, but I knew better. She had no idea what a jerk he’d been to me when we’d last spoken eight years ago. As far as Maisie was concerned, Oliver was the hotshot rugby player who’d introduced her to the game when she’d been six years old.