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It
was always the last pint that gets you, and it had got Mica retching into the toilet bowl at three in the morning. Lucy was
being lots of help, in between pointing and laughing.
"I said you shouldn't have had that dirty pint."
"But it was a dare." Mica couldn't
remember who had started it, but by the end of the night all of the starting eleven had drunk one.
"Do you even want me to set
the alarm for tomorrow?" Mica tried to get her scrambled brains back into thinking mode. Why would she need an alarm for tomorrow?
Tomorrow was the weekend; they always held the sports awards on a Friday for just that reason. There weren't any lectures
at the weekend, and their season had finished on Wednesday. Yeah, the coach was making them carry on training but...
That was when the penny
dropped.
There
was going to be a training session tomorrow, and their coach would make them run around and she'd be sick and it was all going
to end horribly.
"Ugh." Mica's head slumped down, cradled by her forearms.
"I'll take that as a yes, then." Lucy left her a flannel and a two
litre bottle of water, and went back to bed. Mica'd join her in a bit, once she was sure she wasn't going to be sick anymore,
which she thought would involve the world stopping swooping around like a rollercoaster, and once she'd brushed her teeth,
'cause otherwise she'd feel even rougher in the morning, plus it wouldn't be fair to get into bed with vomit breath.
Mica really didn't want
to wake up the next morning, but Lucy dragged her out, promising untold delights starting with fried breakfast with all the
trimmings. When you're that hung over, there was only one place to go, and that was Gino's.
It was Gino himself who was serving.
"And how are my two favourite ladies today?"
"Couldn't be better," said Lucy, who looked remarkably refreshed for it being this early
on a Saturday, and it wasn't like she'd got much sleep last night either. "Well, I couldn't. I think Mica could be better."
"So you've come for
one of Gino's famous breakfasts?"
"Oh yes."
Gino set down two of his finest, along with a Bloody Mary for Mica, which he swore would sort out
even the worst hangover. "How did you know?"
"I have already served three of your teammates and your captain."
"How was she?"
"Raring to go once she'd finished
eating," Gino chuckled. Mica's cry of 'I'm doomed' only made him laugh more.
The thing was that Mica liked this, she liked living here, because
yes, she was stuck in Cardiff because she couldn't afford to go anywhere else, but she was far enough away from home, and
far enough away from anyone that might know her family that she could sit there holding hands with Lucy and it wasn't going
to be a problem.
Of course, that in itself was a problem, even if it wasn't one that Mica had the first clue how to deal with. She tried
to put it on one side while they ate. She spent a lot of time trying to avoid the topic.
"What are you going to do this afternoon?"
"I was thinking of grabbing
the book," Archaeology: Theory, Methods and Materials for bloody AH2004, methods in archaeology, which, going off the past
papers, was going to be the worst exam ever, "and coming watching."
"You just want to watch us suffer."
"Well, yeah, but it's a lovely day,
I might as well get the most out of it."
They paid the bill and set off towards the park. Lucy stopped. "Oh hell, the damn book's
still at the flat. You go on ahead and I'll go get it and follow on." Lucy kissed her goodbye, which Mica still wasn't comfortable
with. She knew it was ridiculous, and she knew she couldn't pass it off as just being uncomfortable kissing in public because;
ignoring the fact that she never would because yuck, she'd probably feel a lot less uncomfortable about it if Lucy were a
bloke. Which was stupid.
Mica felt it was all her fault. It definitely wasn't Lucy's, and she doesn't think her Mum or her Dad
ever deliberately said that she should be straight, but there was always the legend of Uncle bloody Ianto to live up to. And
now she knew she wasn't being fair, because if there was anyone's fault it really wasn't it was Uncle Ianto, who'd been dead
most of her life.
He'd been a hero, a proper stand your ground and fight hero, who'd died to save them all from aliens. The closest she'd
ever come to aliens was when she'd had to give directions to a blue one with lots of tentacles who'd got lost on the way to
the Plas. Goodness alone knew why they always headed for that. Maybe Roald Dahl translated well for everyone.
All that aside, he'd been Mum's
baby brother, and seemed to be, heroics not included, the only person in the family who'd ever got anywhere. When Mica got
an unconditional offer for Cardiff, her Mum had been so proud, she'd smothered Mica in kiss and said how much like her Uncle
she was.
That was
the thing; heroic, beer-drinking, rugby-playing uncles didn't have lesbian nieces, not that they spoke to, anyway. She didn't
even play the right sport.
She'd do anything to keep her Mum happy, to not disappoint her, and if that involved being the kind of
niece a hero would have, well then she'd just have to do a lot of lying.
Mica was glad she was a Davies, not a Jones, because it was embarrassing
how little she remembered about her Uncle. It wasn't like Grandma Davies, where she died before Mica was one, and no one could
expect her to remember anything about her. No, she'd been six when Uncle Ianto died, and she still could barely remember anything
about him. With some of the stuff she remembered, she couldn't tell if she remembered it or if someone told her about it.
The things she was sure of were that he was tall, even if she wasn't sure if that was because he was tall or if it was just
in comparison to her height when she was little. And he was always neatly dressed, her Dad never was and her Mum would sometimes
say 'Oh, Johnny, look at the state of you. Couldn't you dress smart like our Ianto, just once'. Ianto gave her money for sweets
sometimes, and one birthday he bought her the most wonderful ballet-dancing Barbie. She had long dark brown hair like Mica
and moving joints and Mica'd thought it was the best thing ever. She'd gone to thank him, next time he came round, and he'd
said that his girlfriend had said how much she'd liked her dancing Barbie when she was little. Then he gave Mica a great big
hug, which was unusual because he wasn't a hug sort of person most of the time.
It wasn't a lot of memories to remember a hero by.
Mica was pleased that
they went straight into warm ups almost the moment she arrived at training, she wasn't late, as such, but their coach believed
in making them work hard for the duration of any given session, but whatever, it means she has to do something and can stop
thinking. She preferred doing that to thinking so very much.
By the time Lucy arrived, they'd finished warming up and they'd split
into teams. Mica was glad of this, because it meant Lucy missed her frankly embarrassing performance in the outdoor bleep
test the coach had knocked up.
She would have given Lucy a wave except those half-witted fuckers in front of her that were supposed
to be a defence seemed to be determined that she'd be very busy during the match.
The last thing Mica remembered was her absolute determination
to stop the ball going into the top right corner of the net. Jenny Toller might have been a couple of inches taller than her,
but Mica had one heck of standing jump, and she wasn't going to let bloody Jenny Toller get the better of her.
After that it all got a bit
fuzzy, possibly there was a man in blurry paramedic green flashing bright lights in her eyes. By the time everything was back
in focus, her head was throbbing and she was in a hospital bed. The nurse who wandered passed checked her vitals again and
called over a doctor. The doctor explained how she'd taken a knock, which she knew, but she'd learnt to humour doctors, and
he also said that she was being kept in overnight for observation, and that they'd move her out of A and E as soon as possible.
She said thanks, and
he left. This was not as bad as the time they had Southampton in a BUCS match and Sarah broke her leg. That had been an away
match, at least she was in hospital in Cardiff and not stuck in Southampton.
The nurse came back, to wheel her away, and said that, once Mica
was settled in D ward, she'd send up the girl who'd come in with her. The girl, who was Lucy by the description of her, had
asked the nurse to pass on a message, if she didn't mind, that the Coach was having to deal with the health and safety and
the athletics union and, and this was the most important thing, not to worry, Mica had stopped the ball going over the line.
Which was a comfort. If she was going to land herself in hospital, she'd rather do it while in the middle of successfully
keeping a clean sheet.
Mica got moved to D ward. From her position in the ward she could see Lucy arriving at the nurses's station
and the nurse pointing out her bed and telling Lucy what the visiting hours were.
Lucy sent everyone's best wishes, and then stayed
to talk to Mica and hold her hand. Eventually, she ended up reading out bits from Theory, Materials and Methods, being kind
enough to skip the bits about funerary monuments given their location.
In her defence Mica wanted it understood that she wasn't paying
much attention to her surroundings beyond Lucy, and she had a head injury. Certainly, she didn't notice her Mum and Dad until
it was much too late. She never imagined that could be possible, given her Dad and his big mouth, but she did.
Lucy was the one who withdrew
her hand. Mica went bright red.
"See, I told you she'd be alright. Us Davieses are born with thick heads." That was her Dad; her Mum was
standing next to him, looking pale. "'You going to introduce us?"
"Lucy, this is my Dad, Johnny Davies. Dad, this is Lucy ..." Lucy
looked downcast, expecting to be described as a friend, without even invisible inverted commas. Mica felt something in her
throat tighten and she just did the first thing that came into her head, although she was afraid she ought to have asked Lucy
first. She spoke quickly; fear coursing through her, "Lucy's my girlfriend."
"Pleased to meet you Lucy." Her Dad looked at her. "Why you looking
so sad, Mica, so long as you're alright, it's not we mind that you're a rug muncher." Of course, her Dad never said anything
quietly, so Mica went even redder, and her Mum, startled, squawked a reactive "Johnny." Mica didn't even both add a shout
of "Dad" to the complaints; it wasn't like he'd listen. He never did.
"What, you called her every day during your Easter holidays.
She was going to be your girlfriend or your drug dealer, and we'd hoped you'd have more sense than that."
Mica was stuck somewhere between
the extremes of embarrassment and relief. They might be impossible but she loved her Mum and Dad and they didn't want rid
of her. At least her Dad didn't, her Mum was sitting there, quiet, with her eyes all wet like she was about to cry. Mica turned
to look at her.
"I wish you would have told us, without having to be knocked on the head."
And now, despite Lucy giving her elbow a quick reassuring
squeeze, she felt terrible again. "I would have done, just, you, and Uncle Ianto and, and, and." Mica knows she's not making
much sense.
"Oh, Mica." Her Mum enveloped her in a hug. "There's so much we should tell you about your Uncle Ianto." She let Mica
go. "But it'll do when you're better." Her Mum turned to Lucy, "come down next time Mica's coming for Sunday dinner. If you
want to. Don't feel obliged or anything, but you're definitely welcome." Her Mum turned her attention back to Mica. "We've
brought you a nightie, just in case. Is there anything else you need?"
"No. Thanks, Mum."
Mica's Mum gave the situation a look over. "Right you," she elbowed
Mica's Dad, "we'll leave them to it."
"Alright." Her Dad put the box of grapes down, it was minus a few but that was about what Mica expected.
"See you Sunday."
Once they'd left, Mica wanted to talk to Lucy. Lucy looked happy-ish, which Mica took as a good sign. "Sorry about
that."
"It's
alright. A bit of warning would have been nice."
"Yeah. Sorry." She knew she was repeating herself, and that she sounded stupid
but she'd not meant to just blurt that out and she'd forgotten that her Dad would use the rudest word for lesbian that he
could think of and at the top of his voice too.
Lucy laughed. "I did say I wanted to meet your family."
"Now you have. They don't get any
better." They really didn't. Her Dad always just said exactly what was on his mind, and it was normally rude. Her brother
was no better. Her Mum was probably the only sensible person in the family.
"Didn't you say you had a brother?"
"Yeah. But he's seventeen and obnoxious.
You're not missing out."
"But I was looking forward to meeting him next Sunday."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. But I'd rather get an invite without you being in hospital."
"I can agree with that."
Given how badly it could have gone, given that her parents could have disowned her, or Lucy could have walked out on her,
Mica was happy that a bump on the head was the worst that had happened to her.
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