Match of the Day

Rose G

Disclaimer – All characters are the property of Thames TV, and I'm making no money from their use

Dedication - To everyone at my football club who hasn't laughed at me breaking my leg ice-skating (about 2 people) Cheers, and up the Aggies!

'Mickey?' The voice was shot through with alarm. 'What happened to your arm?'

The young DC heaved a sign that told Boultan he'd already answered this one a few times. 'I broke the bone. Don't worry; doc's plastered it pretty well. I'm alright.'

'How'd you do it?'

'Playing football. Don't lau-'

Boultan cracked up, laughing so hard that Beech moseyed over to see what the fuss was about. The older DS pushed his long greying hair back from his eyes and peered at Mickey's cast, then smiled warmly at him.

'Leave the kid alone, John. Didn't you ever do something like that?'

Boultan stopped laughing long enough to answer. 'Nope. I was the cause of it in other people. Rugby people.'

'You know, Jonathan that explains so much about you. Leave Mickey alone.' Beech led Boultan away, the pair chatting about dog odds at Wimbledon that evening and whether they'd have time to get up there.

Mickey hung his jacket over the back over the chair then started flicking through one of the files on his desk. The unwieldy cast on his right arm knocked a coffee cup over, drenching his paperwork. 'Bugger!' He grabbed at some of the files but only succeeded in knocking them onto the floor.

'Mickey, out of the way. Please.' Kerry Holmes touched his shoulder to make him move over, then began to sort his desk out. He blushed, embarrassed at needing help and grateful at the same time; feelings compounded when she'd finished mopping up and patted him on the cheek.

'Thanks.' He offered her a grin, then sat down to enjoy the peace of knowing that Meadows and Deakin were in a meeting with Brownlow. It lasted until Rod breezed in.

'Mickey! What happened-'

'To my arm?' He finished Rod's question and answered him. 'Maybe I should just get it typed out and hold it up at the next person who asks. Would that suit?' They all laughed at his idea, but warmly, with more sympathy than jeering.

'What happened in the match, anyway?' That was Rod, his voice kind as he made himself a coffee and brought another one over to Mickey.

'The match? We were three-nil up – I scored the second from a free kick on the edge of the area. Great curling shot, round the keeper you know. About 15 minutes from time, I got tackled; sort of half got back up and kept going forward but faster than my legs were going. I overbalanced, and I heard the arm crack. They subbed me of course, but we still won.'

'They subbed you for a broken arm?' Boultan's voice was scornful. 'I played a rugby match once with concussion; can't remember any of it, but I did.'

'Yeah, well, John, what ain't there don't get hurt.'

'What about that time, then, when that fellow kicked you in the nuts and you didn't realise until after you'd nicked him?'

Beech glowered at Boultan. 'Never mind that. I though I told you to stop baiting him, John?'

'And when'd they make you DI, Donald?'

'Didn't. But I'm older than you.'

'Good job it is age before beauty, eh? Else you'd never boss anyone.'

'It could be worse. I could be ugly and ginger, like you.'

They all fell silent and began to edge away from Mickey's desk as Meadows and Deakin came in. 'Alright, you lot, why does the rest of the office look like a ghost town? Mickey – '

'What happened to my arm?' He groaned so heartfeltly that Kerry answered the DCI for him.

'Oh.' The normally harsh voice softened. 'Are you okay to work, to be here?'

'Course. Can't drive, can't nick anyone but I can still think and do the paperwork.' He tried to lift the files up and knocked the coffee cup over again.

The canteen at lunchtime was just as bad, all the uniform lads mocking him even though Don Beech and Kerry heeled him like over protective sheepdogs, with Kerry carrying his tray for him.

'So, Mickey, your team going to survive without you?'

'Gonna win the bleeding league, Smithy.' He grinned at the sergeant, glad of their friendship that meant that the rank differences could be ignored.

'Yeah, well, we went through to the League cup semis on Saturday, me and my mob. And some-one come up to me, asked me to sign for Rovers; you know, that lot in the next league up to us. Said no cos of the travelling, but he did offer.'

'In exchange for what? A donkey?'

'Have you ever seen me play, Mickey?'

'No, actually. I always play on a Saturday, it's not like I'm some sort of bit part player who can skive off to watch his mates play. And I can't make the evening games. Still, I'm younger than you, so I must be a bit better.'

Don chipped in then. 'Actually, Smithy, I've seen him play and he is pretty useful. Give him a break – he's had John on at him already.'

'Nah. Mickey, when you're fit, I'll get Skipper to call your lot and fix a friendly up; it'll be the end of the season by then. Tenner says we win.' He slapped the note down on the table and Mickey covered it with one of his own.

'Ten says we do. Deal?'

'Why go to all that hassle, Dale? He's CID, you're uniform.' That's two teams already sorted, no hassle about getting permission from the clubs. We can play five-a-side. Easier to arrange the players as well.'

The pair of them stared at Beech, then at each other. They shook hands to seal the deal, grinning as Don added one final proviso. 'Not until Mickey's fit. Fully fit, not fit to be brave and play with it in plaster.'

Don and Mickey walked slowly back to CID, talking almost under their breath. Almost, because Mickey's irritation both at the cast, and the way that Smithy and Don had manoeuvred him into this, was mounting. 'So, Sarge, are you going to organise it all?'

'What, me? You were the one shooting your mouth off, so you can organise it. Shouldn't be that difficult.'

'Sarge, I hope you know.'

'Know what?'

'That my manager wouldn't let me take my level one coaching badge because he didn't think I could do it. You still want me in charge?'

'Oh, sod off. Go chat Kerry up or something.'

Exasperated, Mickey chucked his hands in the air, almost catching Don with the cast and stormed off to the relative peace of the general office.