FIFA: The Ultimate Football Gaming Experience

The Court of Old Biddies hummed, half-hidden in the foggy shadow at the foot of an ancient brick block somewhere off a side street in Leeds. They perched, those guardians of the neighbourhood, over sacks of potatoes and teabags, exchanging their daily verdicts with the steady thrum of boredom and rain.

Look at her! Dressed up like the Queens cousin for a garden party. Everybody elses trudging to work, rain and all, and she struts about in white trousers! In this weather!

She never walks anywhere, mind. Always swans about in that massive coach of hers. Double-decker, half the size of the road.

You should be grateful she even bothers wearing clothes! Did you see what shes got on her neck?

No Whats there?

A tattoo! Thats what! Who does that, honestly? Might as well be out of prison! Shes barely out of school and already scribbled all over. If her mother saw! But theres no keeping an eye out these days, is there? Poor lost spirit

The whole row murmured and watched after Emily.

Why not gossip a bit if the grocery bags now lay at their muddy feet and theres no pressing urge to trudge home to the empty comfort of outgrown ritualschildren flying the nest, more washing, more hoovering, joy rationed to birthdays and Christmas? Where does ordinary happiness even grow, anyway? No more than the usual worry how to feed the kids, and, if theres hardship, how to help. Perhaps buy the grandchildren a Chocolate Orange and steal a kiss on their fluffy crowns. Thats all some get. Some get even less. See, Mrs Craven was told by her children, Dont wait for grandchildren. No one has them these days. Not fashionable. Best fly to Majorca and think of yourself. How do people manage that? Must be like Emily, Alices girl.

Used to be a proper girl she did. Good grades, polite Good mornings, ran to lessons. The moment her mother was gone, though, she gave up on everything. Wandering. Never working. Not even at college! Alices daughter reckons Emilys at something wicked. Tattoos for a living! Opened her own studio, apparently. Who on earth!

A few years ago, her dad popped up out of nowhere. Everyone assumed hed sort her out, steer her right. Instead, got her that monstrosity of a van that blocks half the street, then vanished again, leaving his young girl behind. Shes barely twenty! How can you just leave a kid like that? Suppose she brings home all sorts and loses the flather mothersand that wretched van.

Oh Shes off again! Where is she headed? Who knows with that one. Didnt so much as glance back! Looking all high and mighty. In white trousers

But Emily had neither time nor need for neighbourly mutteringsshe had plenty of her own problems. Her day was packed, every hour sewn neatly to the next with chores. If only there were a spare couple of hours in each day, she thought. Her mother, Mary, used to say, Emily, times all you really get to spend. Learn how, love, or youll be forever chasing your tail.

It matters, Emily! Some people, they flounder and get nowhere. But if youre wise, you measure your days proper. Friend of time, youll do plenty.

How do I be its friend, Mum?

Dont treat it mean. Dont waste it. Work out what matters, give it the hours it deserves. Leave a bit for rest and daftnessvital things, those. If you never rest or play, youll end up sick at heart.

Why?

Youre not made of cogs and rivets! Youll run out of yourself. Then what? Wholl that serve? Not younot anyone. People need time to dawdle, and to be fools now and then. And if you only work, work, work, youll end up soured and lost. So choose, make room for a little joy. You’ll see. Itll all stack up nice as tins in the cupboard. Ill sleep easier for it, too.

Emily kept her mothers advice close, but struggled to follow. Shed bought a diary but it didnt always help. How do you squeeze everything into a day? She had three lectures and could only catch one since two customers insisted on today and she had to call in at Kates. And where Kate was, Sam wasnt far behind, and thatd take more than five minutes. Then there was Arthurneeded help with moving house. And then the newcomers, who she didnt even know by name and who were bursting onto the timetable next week If only she could manage it all

The jam of traffic inched forward; Emily pressed the clutch, coaxed the van into rolling. The machine thrummed back, gentle and reassuring, as if to whisper: dont fret, well make it. The very reason your dad let me become yoursso you wouldnt lose too much precious time.

She laid a hand on the steering wheels battered blue leather. Thank you, Dad.

Had someone said to her two years ago shed ever thank her father, Emily wouldve laughed straight in their face. Shed hated him for as long as shed remembered herself.

Mum never said a bad word. Always, Hes clever, you know, and you take after him, Em.

But Emily couldnt see how someone so clever could leave a baby behind and never look back at all.

Those unspoken questions seeped through her childhood. Shed sit by herself at the Christmas party at nursery, seething as the other girls danced with their dads; she had no one to partner, and that stung so badly she couldnt even cry. At school, shed clench her jaw and fight her own battles, sick of girls with ready shouts of: Ill tell my dad! Hell sort you out!

Shed ended her oldest friendship on the spot the year before university, when Ruth, absentminded in a break room, said, Dad says I can pick any uni I want. Hell pay if I dont get the grades. And if I do, hell get me a car with the money hes saved.

Emily and Ruth had been friends since they were three, but all the years suddenly folded away. It wasnt envy. It was a sharp, wild hurt. Ruth, who knew everything about Emily, never stopped prodding it.

And truth be told, Emily never envied others. No point. Life with Mum had been good enough. Theyd even swanned off to Europe now and again, not to mention the fashionable bits and that mobile phone Mum got her for her sixteenth.

But the best gift, that birthday, wasnt in a box. She was twirling the phones box in her hands when he appearedthe one shed daydreamed about, just once, standing in her doorway.

Shed screamed the house down then Rows, shouts, tears Paid no mind to Mums comforts. Shoved her away, spat words she regretted within seconds: You traitor! Why is he here? I dont want to see him!

Who could know Mum had already got the test results in her handbag, and their life teetered right on the edge, high on a cliff, the kind darkness sweeps away, and soon everything that felt solid would melt like black treacle and suck the future away, faster and faster, until no hope was left? And Mum would take Emilys hand and demand she listen.

Its my fault, Emily. The split with your father. The way I kept you apart. Blame me.

Why? Her mothers fingers were icy, firm. Emily wanted to yank her hand free but stayed, bracing for answers.

I was bitter

What for? Mum, please! Why would you take my father?

Ill tell you everything. Just listen. I find this hard

So Emily learned the truth: parents too young, too obvious, too scoldedneither family wanted her. Dad quit his degree to put food on the table; Mum never made it back to university. The old quarrels never ran dry. The wrongs and regrets and, finally, disappointmentEmily wasnt even the right sort of baby; theyd both hoped for a boy. Mum took off to her aunt with the child; Dad, unaware, would never see his infant daughter again.

He searched for you. Wrote letters. Rang the house, but I told him I said you werent his.

God, Mum, why?

Everyone drummed it in. I thought: fine, then. Lets have it that way

Who drummed? Who wanted that?

Everyone Im so sorry Its silly now, but then, it made sense. I wanted a life where you grew up without all the spite Id swallowed. You didnt need to feel hated, so I tried to keep you safe the only way I knew I see now I was wrong, but then I just thought

At last, Emily freed her hand and punched the windowsill with her knuckles. Her cactus, Ruths old present, wobbled. She stared at the dark scatter of soil and each speck felt like one of Mums words, making a fine mess to clean up. That dirt wouldnt wipe up easilythered be streaks, and shed have to scrub harder.

So she fetched a cloth; wiped it clean. Then, like a child, she sat by her mothers bed, dry-eyed, and commanded: Tell me. All of it. Dont lie. Promise?

I promise

So Emily learned. There were more questions than answers, but clarity came. Lifes a strange, warped thing. You think you know it, then a new shard of truth shatters your neat little snow globe, and you face all the cracks yourself. No one can say what to do. Its up to you.

She never truly knew if shed forgiven her mothermaybe, maybe not.

But she was grateful for honesty. Whether shed learned everything was impossible to tell. Some truths stayed locked behind Mums bedroom door, or in Dads tight grip on her mothers bony wrists in the small hours when painkillers wore off, or in those rare tears Emily glimpsed but never mentioned.

She never pressed her father for the words exchanged without her. Better not to pick at old scars.

Besides, they had to learn new ways to live together. Dad wouldnt leave her with Aunt Pennyno way.

Ill go. As soon as you turn eighteen. Until then, I promise to stay out of the way.

No, Dad! Youve been out of the way long enough. Stick around, wont you? Please? I want you here.

Mary lasted nearly two years longer than doctors predicted. Hurting as those years were, Emily could saythose were the worst and most precious shed ever had. It stung to the bone, how little time, strict and unfeeling, had doled out to all three of them

It was then she began to draw.

Why not earlier? Shed doodled plenty, on her revision notes, in the corners of notebooks, but never with purpose.

Oi, not half bad! Dad caught her scribbling and whistled.

Look here!

He tugged off his teeon his back a sprawling tattoo, so fine Emilys own work looked like a kids crayon scrawls.

My mate did that. Want to meet him? Im sure hell look at your work. Might even take you as an apprentice.

Yes, please!

No one in the neighbourhood noticed Emilys absence. She lived the better part of a year with her father in London, learning tattooing, then felt the old city calling her back.

I want to go home, Dad

Oddly, he understood. Didnt try to sway her. Just asked her to wait a fortnight, vanished somewhere, then returned to help her pack. Together, they filled her flat with boxes, then he dropped car keys on her threadbare kitchen table.

For you. Oh, and this” He set a folder beside them.

Whats this?

Thats your shop. Sold my flat, bought you a place in the centre. Small, but more than enough, right? Lesyour mentorsorted the kit, itll all be here soon. Work, Em. Study too. Youve got the job, but you need school on top. A-levels arent everything, you know?

She listened, hardly believing. Even when shed settled in, people praised her first work in her own placeher bearded neighbour Colin, now a biker to his wifes endless annoyanceshe struggled to believe her luck.

Dad helped set up, oversaw builders, got the word out. Then he began to pack up.

Going where?

To see Gran and Granddad. Things are tricky there. Im needed. You understand, yeah?

I do But, Dad! Stayjust this once

Wish I could, love, but I have to.

When her dad left, Emily buried herself in studies and work. The clients came thick and fast; soon shed hired two assistants just to keep pace.

Thats when she met Kate.

A young, well-dressed woman entered the studio late one evening as Emily was checking her watch, irritatedanother slow client.

Excuse me, could I speak to the artist?

Emily, prising herself from her laptop and notes, nodded. Thats me.

Very funny, dear. Call someone grown up?

Emily looked harder. Kates jacket was posh, hair professionally trimmed, but the restno makeup, dark bags, bitten nails, and an old sadness in her gaze. That was a look Emily recognised. She rose, picked out her best album, and handed it over.

Here. My work. If thatll do, tell me what you want.

The name Here Kate rolled up her sleeve, showing her wrist. So I see it all the time

Her bravery ended there. Emilyseeing her tilting back her head to blink back tearscrossed the shop, locking the door just as the late clients car pulled in.

Sit down, Emily commanded, lowering the blinds. Ill do it.

Will it hurt? I know it will.

Kate settled in, then, voice stripped raw: Sasha

Emily asked nothing more. She found out about Sasha purely by chance two days later, bumping into Kate at the hospital where she visited Aunt Penny.

You?

Me. Thank you

No need. It came out beautifully.

Yes Sasha liked it

Is he?

She. My daughter.

Kate glanced oddly at Emily, reached out, and introduced herself formally.

Kate.

Emily.

Perhaps youd like to meet Sasha?

Emily didnt hesitate, not knowing this meeting would turn her future on its head.

Id love to.

A small girl in wonky glasses, one lens patched with plasters, enchanted Emily instantly. She tugged Emily by the hand:

Got any nuts? Sunflower seeds? No? Then how dyou feed the squirrels?

What squirrels?

Those! With tails! Loads here! I feed them most days with Mum. She says if I give them too many, theyll fall out of the trees, theyll be so plump!

They wont. Squirrels leap and leap, never put on weight.

Really?the girl eyed Emily, then laughed. Youre smart!

Not really.

Why?

Im still learning.

Aaah. Okay. Oh! I forgot

She held out her hand, very properly. Alexandra Kate Linton.

Lovely Emily gently shook the little hand, careful of the sticky patch. Emily Mary Watson.

Now were friends!

Childrens laughter pealed beneath the dripping pines of the hospital gardens, and Emily watched a rare smile light up Kates face.

Next time she visited, Emilys coat pockets rattled with an arsenal of hazelnuts.

Kate only spoke of Sashas treatment after some time. Their friendship was a cautious dance over thin icecareful not to break the new trust.

Is there hope?

Yes. Its not the end. It was close when I first came to you. The doctor said there was barely a chance.

I see

But then came a new surgeon. Doctor James Arthur. He thinks differently

I dont get it, though. Why are you still upset? Kate, isnt that good news?

They operated on Sasha yesterday. Shes in Intensive Care I was shooed away. They said, come back tomorrow. Im terrified, Emilymore than ever. And theres no one to share it with.

Youre on your own? Sashas dad?

Left before she was born. It wasnt love I picked someone decent to be her dad, thats all. I didnt love him. He knew. When I was pregnant, he walked. Thats why hes not in our life. Understand?

Not really, but it doesnt matter. Theres Sasha now.

Yes, there is.

Dont you dare! You have Sasha! Thats enough! You cant

Cant what?

Give up! Listen, look at your wrist! See those colours? That name. I made it bright so youd always see. You need to No, you must make sure your daughters name lives, not just as ink on skin, you get me?

Dont shout Please. I hear you

If you hear, then quit whimpering! You need to do something!

Kate wept full out and Emily, somehow sensing this was the turning point, let her, scaring off the barista with an icy gaze.

Bring us water, will you?

The night, the morning, they shared the studiotalking, sighing, crying, even laughing. At dawn, Emily bundled her new friend into the van and drove her to the hospital.

Im coming with you.

Do you have the time?

Kate, you are truly peculiar Emily dug in her bag, found a hairbrush. Here. Tidy up. Youll frighten your child otherwise!

All went well for Sasha. Jamess hands worked a small miracle.

So when can I go see the squirrels? Sasha sulked on the hospital bed.

Soon! Once youre released, well go to London with Emily. Dream how many squirrels there are!

Why?

Why what?

Why London?

Its for you, honey. The op fixed things, but you need your eyes trained up. Doctor Lesley, Emilys friend, arranged it.

For re-wha? Dont tell me. Ill ask Emily later.

Sasha was boredher mums explanations paled beside the adventure of a long journey with Emily at the helm of her big van. Anything outshone the hospitals gloom, autumn drizzle, and trees empty of even one squirrel.

Mum!

Yes?

Is James coming with us?

No. Work keeps him. And, Sasha, you cant call grown-ups by their first name!

But I can!

Why so?

Because he loves MY Emily! Sasha cackled as Kates mouth fell open.

Little chatterbox! What makes you think so?

Isnt it obvious, Mum? You and Emily are both daft. I tell her, she wont believe me! Sasha wagged her head like a wise owl, and Kate marvelled at a childs perception.

How could anyone miss the way James watched Emily, the way she called in at the ward? Yet both circled each other stiffly, talking weather and wildlife and health, drifting away after each visit without a word more.

They kept in touch after Kate and Sasha left for London. Emily saw, after sending them off, she could do this not just for Sasha but for other children too. Lesley cheered her idea; soon James was seeing his young patients off with Emily in the drivers seat of her big black van, tattoo winding like a charm at her throat.

You comfy? Mum too? Alright! Off we go!

Most never chose the trainEmilys van was a roving home: wet wipes, juice boxes, satnav stories, a great tablet loaded with cartoons for the little ones.

James never asked outright why she did it; he simply admired her, in silence. Emily kept her own council. No one made a move.

Perhaps they never would have, but for Sasha, returning after her therapy, nagging her mum to visit the hospital.

Why, Sasha?

Need to say something to James.

What?

Mum, dont you see? Honestly, I just want to say it!

To me?

To you? Later.

James met Sashas request solemnly.

Of course, lets talk.

Kate watched her daughters gestures, wondering. The answer was simple.

Why dont you just tell her?

Tell who what, Sasha?

Emily. That you like her.

Its complicated

Whats so hard? You like her, she likes you!

I know.

Then why wait?

Its not as simple. Ive got nothingrenting a box room near the hospital. Could be years before I have anything to offer. Emilys all sortedhave you seen her van?

So? Cant love be enough? Sasha raised a brow. Is it not enough?

Sometimes it isnt

Sasha didnt listen furthershe tugged James down by his sleeve, whispered something so bold he broke into laughter.

Behave yourself!

What else can I call you? Right, Im off!

Dragging Kate by the hand, Sasha hurried her.

Lets go!

Where to, then?

To Emilys!

Sasha! Shes at work!

So? Shell be glad to see me!

Kate gave in and called a taxi.

Emily got a talking-to from Sasha too. The result was swift.

Closing the studio that evening, Emily was full of resolve. If a little girl could see what she couldnt admit, perhaps it was time not to waste another minute.

She almost didnt spot James waiting by the corner, his dark, lanky shape stepping out of the dusk. Hi.

Some months later, the Court of Old Biddies hummed with fresh excitement.

Got herself a bloke! Who is he? None of us know a thing! Rolls up with crates, but we know nothing! Girls on her ownthey could cheat her!

He looked decent enough!

Oh, Mrs Craven, you say that about everyone. Yours look decentuntil they dont! You said yourself!

Best ring Emilys dad! Have him sort it out!

Hes here, though.

What! Since when?

Saw him the other day. Somethings happening, youll see!

And see they did.

They saw Emily in white, a surreal veil of dress showing the tattoo on her backgasped at even by modern Mrs Craven.

James, utterly lost and grinning, led his brideflicking a stern finger at giggling Sasha, whod just sold Emily to him and was terribly proud.

Kate, dabbing her tears into confetti, waved off questions.

Let me cry for joy a bit, wont you? These are the good tears

Even strangers appeared, with bunches of daffodils, hugging Emily as if she were their own lost sister.

No one ever learned who they were.

Or why, just before getting in the van, Emily hiked her dress and kicked off her heels, insisting she needed trainersyou cant drive in fairy shoes, shed said.

Why James, deadpan, lifted his new wife and tied her laces with skill, trainers delivered by unflappable Kate from the boot.

Everythings arse-backwards! muttered the Court, watching the departing van.

Well, she always was flighty.

Aye. Flighty as ever.But it was the last thing they saidthe biddies conclusion, soft as breadcrumbs in afternoon teathat lingered on the breeze as the van rumbled into the citys golden dusk:

Well, she always finds her way, does our Emily. Right through the drizzle and the noise, she goes and makes something fine out of the lot.

And for once, no one argued.

As the celebrations and chatter faded, Emily turned to James. A streak of sunset flashed on the windscreen, washing the city in molten honey. He squeezed her hand, and they grinned at Sashasinging wild and off-key in the back, cheeks smudged with confetti, Kate beaming beside her. The old van, stubborn and alive, carried them past the old block and down the winding lane, new cheer echoing off ancient bricks.

Emily saw the neighbours at their windowscurious eyes blinking behind lace, fingers parting curtains. But the gossip felt light now, almost loving. She waved, and surprisingly, the hands waved back. The world, for all its muddle and hurt, had offered her a strange, splendid course, and she had taken itthis patchwork family, this odd little world on wheels.

Ahead, the road opened. Above, the clouds parted for their evening. The rain had stopped. For the first time in years, Emily felt time loosen its gripa day uncurling into pure possibility, stretching out, generous and sunlit.

Because she had measured what mattered, as her mother taught; shared laughter, and sorrow, and dared to dawdle and be foolish. And in that, she’d found enough joy for a whole lifetimedriving onward, homeward, into whatever came next.

And the Court of Old Biddies, given a good ending at last, settled with content into the nightteacups clinking, hearts a little softer.

Because, as every old soul knows: theres always more story on the next street, and happiness, if you let it, finds its way home.