I Lost My Heart To The Belles [antikvár]

Cooling towers shut down and steamless, dead on the flathorizons under sodden grey clouds. The clubhouse a brickbox with boarded windows, barbed wire round the roof. Oldmen in cloth caps and spectacles, faces sallow and craggyunder silver hair, fingers nicotine yellow, murmuring appre-ciation in the drizzle; younger men in nylon leisure suitswhooping, cheering; dumpy women with lined faces anddetermined, don't-put-me-down make-up smiling, mindingprams among kids in soaked trainers and thin jackets. Paulseething along the touchline before them, stern-faced, neversatisfied, yelling for quality, options, get it in the box.Gill in the tackle, a low centre of gravity like Maradona,sliding in with her foot to the ball immaculate every time, uplike a shot to come away with it again and again, opponentsin the Molyneux old gold clumsy and baffled on the turf inher wake. Joanne's bob rising in an arc of curls against theleaden sky, back straight, two foot higher to the header thanthe challengers around her, dropping the knock-down tofeet, yellow shirts tearing forward once more. Tina like awraith dancing, twisting, thin and lithe and gone. Joanneputting Kaz through to open the scoring and Kaz with herarms up, grinning, that'll teach you to kick my mates.Nicky taking a purely beautiful second, looking up fromthe melée twenty-five yards out to chip the keeper, the keeperfalling backwards, one hand flailing high in empty air. Kazcharging down the sideline, the woman in her wake hanging