Everyone was talking about it. The very air buzzed. Even at home, it pressed in on all sides. Every TV channel, every social media platform...
Local games were one thing, but this was big. Nadia stayed busy with chores, butterflies swarming in her stomach.
By kick-off, the floors were all cleaned, dishes done, groceries ordered.
She could hardly bear to watch, peeking through trembling fingers, then flicking through the channels. Pacing, doom-scrolling, channel-hopping some more... freezing, cheers thundering in her ears.
One-nil.
To the wrong team. Her heart sank. Glued to the screen, she bit her nails.
At half time, she went to fold the laundry. The groceries arrived. She put them away, feeling reassured by the well-stocked fridge.
She messaged Charlotte.
>Got a bottle in, come over?😀
No reply.
>Jay's watching the game at the pub, so I'm watching on my own! More fun with a friend😀
>sorry babe, can't! Leo prob gonna come bk hammered, I gotta be here for kidsx
Nadia frowned, wondering who else to ask.
Everyone's got young kids. They can't just drop everything.
Realising with a start they must be playing again, she hurried back to her post. Minutes ticked by. Nails bleeding, she inched closer to the edge of her seat. When the ball sailed into the net, on the right end of the pitch, she mirrored fans up and down country. Launched to her feet, grinning, intense relief coursing through her body, like euphoria. They might win!
Score another, she begged, sinking back onto the couch. Make it certain. Bring it home. Please.
Respite was short-lived. The other team managed another goal. She eyed the timer in the corner of the screen, despair needling. The odds of scoring again now? Unlikely.
Fuck.
What shall I do?
Be asleep? Be welcoming, supportive? Cheerful, sympathetic, seductive? Stay quiet, avoid him? Last time she'd been holding the baby. It hadn't stopped him.
She rubbed the marks on her arms, hand-shaped echoes of his temper. Her nerves had long-since dissolved into fear.
Win or lose, someone always gets hammered.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Word count excluding note: 366 Submitted on Sunday 14th July
*Quick Author's Note* First, and most importantly: thank you so much for reading my story! The ha'penny that Vocal will toss in my hat for your eyeballs landing on this humble piece will be well-spent.
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A Year of Stories
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The story behind the story: Sadly, incidents of domestic abuse do increase when the England team loses. Weak behaviour, I'm sure you'll agree.
Thank you! Thank you again, most sincerely. Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed! + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
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L.C. Schäfer
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