The Eleventh Hour

Chapter 9

*Four months later*

“That’s great, if you raise your chin a bit more ... perfect. And ... hold it there.”

          The camera snapped my held position for the final time.

“And that’s a wrap!”

I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. I enjoyed photo shoots at first, but now they’re getting the better of me. At least now it was over. The one for Nike was the big one. It’s just taken about three hours to do one hundred and seventy-five frames, this photographer is something else, I’ve never met such a perfectionist... He’s lovely though, I think his name’s Carlos Serraro. Serrario? Something.

I put my hands on my hips as a whole crew approached me, handing me things like water, a jacket. Fussing over me. I frowned. I didn’t need any of this. It was as if I was some big shot celebrity. I sighed and shook my head as I thought about it. That’s exactly as how some people saw me.

I looked back on how it all started.

When the first of July came, I was delighted to find I’d passed the trial and made it onto the England team. A week later, my spot on the Great Britain team for the London 2012 Olympics was confirmed. I still remember the feeling when I got the phone call – I only had a few weeks to prepare but I was so ready. Things just seemed to kick off from there.

I remember each and every game blurring together in a haze, but I’ll never ever forget the experience. I thought it was going to end badly for me when in the final seconds in the semi-final against New Zealand, I was taken down harshly, purposely and my foot was stamped on in a spiteful, vain attempt to see me out of the final as we were winning 2-1. I remember the uproar it caused – the world seemed to go by in slow motion.

I still remember the agonising pain. I’d been knocked over throughout the games like everyone else but I never got injured, this was something different. It was on purpose. I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t even move – I stayed on the ground as I tried to absorb all the pain, numbly praying for it to go away.

My teammates’ reaction was instantaneous. Before I knew it, everyone was crowding round, pushing and shoving. I just sat there in shock – no, looking completely gormless as I watched the chaos erupting rapidly in front of me, my ankle still stabbing wildly in pain. It was like a war zone. The whole crowd roared furiously, the sound so loud it cut into my eardrums.

Despite all this, I remember looking down and staring at my mangled ankle as agonising terror swept through me more violently than before – the thought of missing the final felt a thousand times worse than snapping every bone in my body.

And that evening, sat on the bed in the hospital after my x-ray, I remember getting told my leg wasn’t broken. I remember the joy and elation I felt. I hadn’t felt a feeling so strong since ... him.

I remembered things were different when Sky Sports News made a world announcement that I’d be fit for the final. Britain’s – even the world’s reaction was astounding. It made me feel like the best thing since sliced bread.

We played Germany in the final two weeks later. We were down 2-0 at half time, but the mentality and spirit of everyone remained surprisingly sky high. Everyone was used to playing with each other as a team now, we knew we could pull this back.

And we did. The second minute into the second half we made a break. I received the ball in our defensive area and selfishly decided to hold on to the ball and run up with it, but surprisingly not one of my teammates asked for the ball. In fact, they encouraged me to bring it up the field.