The other guy, Kev, had thought about this a lot, it was clear. Everything was so well prepared. In one corner of the large bedroom was a double-bed which the other couple had been sitting on when we first entered. In the three other corners were polystyrene-filled bean-bags, large plastic water-bottles next to the two opposite each other. The entire floor had been covered with duvets. Perhaps he had read the same page on the web that I had about precautions against carpet burns. They must have used every duvet in that house because this was no small room – perhaps 5 metres by 4 metres, plenty of room for what was about to unfold even if the bed made the room feel a bit smaller.
Rachel changed into her leotard – electric blue with a pink gradient-fill – and I asked how she felt. Without saying a word, she took my hand and held it up to her chest. Her heart beat wildly. ‘Nervous?’ I said, looking into her eyes. ‘Yeah. Excited too, though’. I reminded her what we had covered in our training sessions and there was a knock on the door. ‘Best to go now if you need the toilet. I’ll show you where it is’. I and Kev had agreed on the phone that once the match was underway, no-one would leave the room until we had a winner, so he showed us along the corridor to a small bathroom and I waited outside while Rachel slipped in. He entered an adjoining bedroom and for the first time, I heard Laura’s muffled voice: ‘What’s she like?’ . Until that moment, our only communication had been via text (plus one phonecall between me and Kev). The voice was young, excited, middle-class. I couldn’t help thinking how perfectly matched these two were.
‘Yeah, they seem nice. Nothing to worry about though. I think it’s going to be a good night’. I thought she replied ‘Goodnight Vienna’, but maybe I was imagining it. They moved away from the door and I couldn’t make out the rest of the conversation, so when Rachel emerged, we moved back to the matchroom.
She looked magnificent; her skin bloomed as she stood before me, and she smiled back when I told her she was going to win this. ‘I don’t want you to lose your money’, she said. Her shoulder length-hair, once pure blonde, had darkened into adulthood and now was brunette with highlights, though they were all natural. It hung below her shoulders as had been agreed. Me and Kev wanted a girl-next-door kind of fight, and we were going to get one.
Another knock. ‘Ready?’, asked Kev. We nodded. The spectator-couple came in, introduced themselves by name, shook hands with us, and sat on the bed expectantly. Kev said that when Laura entered, both girls could face-off in the middle and make sure the rules were crystal clear. We guys would both be responsible for refereeing, and the guy on the bed, suitably equipped with a whistle, agreed to be the timekeeper. Kev had primed me that during the face-off he would ask each girl if they had anything to say to the other before the fight (I don’t know if he got the idea from ECNWC!) so we had worked out Rachel’s line in advance.
The door-handle turned down and the door swung slowly open. Never was there a more expectant moment in my whole life. In she walked, barefoot in all-black leotard, smiling nervously as she glanced towards Kev. Like Rachel, Laura’s arms and legs were toned but not especially muscular. Her hair, in ringlets, fell to about the same length as Rachel’s, but whereas my girlfriend’s was brunette, Laura’s was jet black. Rachel wore no make-up, but Laura had applied crimson lipstick and her pale, puppy-fat complexion was flawless. She glanced at her boyfriend before looking over to us, and I noticed that as soon as he raised his eyebrows to her in response, her demeanour changed. She was tall, clearly fit, and I saw a steeliness in her eyes that I hoped Rachel had not noticed. The smile vanished and her face became sombre. ‘Hi. I’m Laura’, she said, lips closed, half-smiling, half-smirking. Something in the way she carried herself, maybe the way she faced us full-on, conveyed calm self-assurance. You couldn’t notice the six-year age difference. Laura looked a little older than her years; Rachel a little younger. If you had not known, you would have said there was no more than a year between them. They could both have passed for 23.
Both women stared at each other from separate corners of the room for no more than a few seconds, sizing each other up, and we watched on, doing the same, but it felt like a whole minute of uncomfortable silence.
‘Come together, girls’, said Kev, and I stood next to Rachel as he stood next to Laura when they approached each other in the centre of the room. The handshake was cursory. It was cute that they didn’t know where to look, obviously uncomfortable in each other’s company, so they glanced at Kev as he went through the rules, stealing occasional quick glimpses towards me and to each other. Not quite the staredown Kev and I had hoped for. The rules read, Kev asked if they were clear, reminding them about the £200 prize for the winner. They nodded, staring intently at each other for the first time. ‘Is there anything you want to say, Rachel?’ Kev asked. Rachel delivered her line: ‘May the best girl win'. Man, that line encapsulated the ‘fun competition’ vibe we wanted to have, but we really should have thought about it more carefully. Laura snorted mockingly, and Rachel was visibly deflated. ‘What do you want to say to Rachel, Laura?’, asked Kev, knowing that his girl had prepared a zinger. Laura moved her face closer towards Rachel, locked eyes on hers for several seconds and said ‘Don’t look so scared. I’m not going to hurt you… much’.
Damn, that was good. It was a shock to the couple on the bed too, both of whom gave an audible gasp. If Rachel looked uncomfortably surprised, it's because she was. Laura inched slowly backwards to her corner, without breaking the stare; we turned and went back to ours.
‘It was just a line’, I reassured Rachel. ‘Let’s do this’.
That weight of excited expectation one senses in the few seconds before the cup final kicks off, or in the instant before the stalls open in the Derby, was in the room, but a thousand times heavier. Rachel's face reddened at the realisation of the immensity of what was to come, and the geeky-looking guy and girl on the bed could contain themselves no longer. I had paid them no attention up to this point but their apparent neutrality shattered as both now roared their support, ‘Come on Laura! Come on!’.
Rachel and Laura locked eyes again. Kev and I took our places next to the couple on the bed, and the geek blew his whistle. It was on.
