I had no idea Maisie was so bad at football; her attempts to pass the ball were calamitous, her solitary shot on goal endangered passing birds more than the net, and her tackles were so mistimed even Paul Scholes would have winced. But everyone seemed to be enjoying watching the 22 young ladies run around the muddy pitch in the most passionate of spirits, especially as their shorts were short and most of the ladies were fit, attractive and fairly well endowed.Maisie smiled at me as she ran past me at half-time and as full-time blew I steadied my zapper in my pocket, pointing at the group of ladies shaking hands and congratulating themselves. I wasn't aiming for any particular member, just the group.My invention was powerful and I had to show that; show how good it could be. Show her how it sated every thirst and urge the women had. Maisie had to understand.The nearest girl to me clenched her fists and her body shook; her friend panted and grabbed hold of her, leaning towards the muddy. She should get married more often. Her parents and grandmother had come out from Chicago. So had Rachel and her fiancé, Peter -- a guy Jen had barely met. David’s mother and his sister and her family had come from the east.All the rest were locals, many of them nominal members of the church. It was just that almost nobody was missing. Most of the missing were probably hospitalized. Even Cathy Mitchell was there. Her husband Gary hadn’t attended service since a woman was assigned as pastor. This was Cathy’s second time -- she had come on Easter. Gary wasn’t hospitalized, though not in the best of health. Jen got that sort of news.The wedding was scheduled for later in the day, but Independence didn’t hold with coming to church in the afternoon and claiming that you had been too busy in the morning.Probably they wouldn’t hold with getting divorced on a Friday and marrying the same guy on the following Sunday either. The only thing she could do to generate this big a crowd again would.
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