own. I had been so independent before I met Stewart that I think I kind of lost myself when I was with him. Now, I have no choice but to find myself again, on my own, and I’m starting to be less anxious about the whole thing and more excited for whatever happens next.
Okay, well today I’m completely anxious. I’m a nervous wreck. The coffee does wonders for my headache but makes my anxiety surge through the roof.
I need this job.
More than that, I want this job.
Badly.
Real Madrid is arguably the best club in Europe, if not the most famous. Being the main sports therapist for the team would mean a cushy salary, a long career, a change of pace, and best of all, living a new life in sunny Spain. It would mean a second chance for me to keep doing what I love and to let this chapter of my life in Manchester finally come to a close.
The worst part is that it’s kind of my last resort. Any available positions for teams around the world have been rare, and the ones I applied for, I didn’t get very far along in the interview process. I hate to bring up the woman card, but a lot of the time it’s definitely because I’m a woman. Sometimes the teams and this sport can be mighty archaic.
That’s why getting the job at Manchester United to begin with was such a big win for me. It gave me purpose and brought me joy and made me feel like I’d finally made it. In this highly competitive industry, once you find a good job with a club, you need to hang on to that job for as long as you can. Turnover is very, very low.
Which is why it still hurts that I ended up quitting my position with Man United. Lord knows Stewart wasn’t going to leave the team and I couldn’t stand to work alongside him anymore, let alone look at him. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and I don’t know when I’ll stop feeling bitter over it. I’d spent so much of my life working up to that job and to have it gone because of a man, because I personally couldn’t handle working with him, because of something he did, sits deep within me like a festering wound.
Don’t get carried away. Stay positive, I tell myself, and mindfully push the cup of coffee away from me. It isn’t helping.
My interview is at a café around the corner from my place. It’s low-key and people seem to mind their own business there which is why I suggested it. It doesn’t take me long to get ready and head out. I’m a bit early, but since it’s such a gorgeous summer day, I’m hoping to get a good table outside before he gets there.
The “he” in question is Mateo Casalles, head coach of Real Madrid. Once upon a time he was the centre back for Atlético, the other Madrid team, before becoming their coach and taking the team to new heights. He was then poached by Real Madrid about two years ago. I’d already talked to him during the phone interview, and he seems pretty easygoing in that charming, ex-player way — far easier to talk to than Jose, the general manager, who was very curt and gave me nothing. In fact, I thought I bombed that first interview with Jose since he didn’t seem to warm up to me at all, but I still managed to get that second interview with Mateo.
And maybe, if luck is on my side, this will be the last one.
Steps away from the café, my hands begin to sweat. I need to uncover some of that confidence that’s been buried lately, find that badass, assured, skilled woman that I used to be, that I know I am deep down.
You got this, I tell myself as I quickly look around to see if he’s here. Being involved in the sport for so many years, I know what all the coaches and players look like, but luckily I don’t spot him yet.
I order myself a decaf latte and a scone and then score a table in the back patio beside flowering wisteria that tumbles over the brick wall. I close my eyes and take a moment to breathe, to try and find my center and stay there.
“Miss Blackwood?”
A familiar voice breaks through my mini-meditation and I open my eyes to see