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Emma pointed the way around the back of their own house, down smaller roads that became white, dusty tracks, pot-holed and uneven where the surface had been washed away.Chickens occasionally pecked at the roadside and thin cattle meandered on the open ground beside the road. Habitation sprang up gradually, the small, poorly roofed houses nestling together as if cowering from the car. Paint peeled and Lauren felt increasingly uncomfortable, embarrassed and guilty with her own lifestyle and the sudden chasm that existed between themselves and the villagers only yards from their house."Here, take a right here!" said Emma."Have you been here before?" Once, Daddy took her home once when it was really late" Lauren stopped the car and got out, feeling the blistering heat of the late morning beating down on her shoulders. Emma raised her hand to knock but the old grey door opened, revealing the cleaning lady, an expression of gratitude and humility on her old face. She welcomed them inside. It was a dead rubber, both teams had failed to qualify for the next stage and they were merely playing for pride. Casting off the shackles they played with abandoned attacking verve. My dad watched, eyes dancing at the audacity of the play, dissecting every move, analyzing formations and off the ball runs like a pro. Such a contrast to Dennis and Mike. I enjoyed it too, loving the purity of the game, 22 men in a defined area with a defined purpose, and a myriad of ways to achieve it. I left in the early evening, dad accompanying me to the door as he always did, the lord of his house regardless of the wheelchair. I was halfway through the door when he stopped me. ‘You’re really not going to go anywhere?’ he said, disbelieving. ‘Nope, you need me so you’ve got me. All summer. We’ll watch the football and you can tell me what they’re doing wrong.’ I could see dad was torn, he wanted me to do something or go somewhere, but equally he loved having me around. ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘you.
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