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Michael G Kimber
Michael G Kimber
The Nightwriter
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Double One
Janet stood perfectly still as she lined up the dart in her right hand, the feathery flight just touching her cheek. Subconsciously, two more darts in her left hand were slowly being twirled as she concentrated. A slight twitch of her head caused a ripple in her long blonde hair which ended where her curls rested on her shoulders.
Not a sound could be heard as she took aim, for this was the last game in the last leg of this ladies semi-final for the Brewery Cup, and even the men at the bar were silent.
Three ladies in each team played each other in a ‘Round Robin’ and so far honours were even, with four victories for each side. Now, in this final encounter it was one game each, and Janet knew that the game and the set and the match was in her grasp. Two out of three would win it and all she needed was double top. And she had three darts to play with.
Her opponent was not going to give in without a fight and to prove she was in good form, had won both her previous matches. Indeed in her previous set of three darts she had been so near to winning herself, her last arrow missing the double sixteen bed by a whisper.
So now Janet was poised, waiting to snatch a victory for her team, a victory that moments ago looked like being denied them, and all she needed was the double top.
The look of concentration on her face distorted her usual prettiness, and her eyes, which were usually full of laughter were now hard as steel.
Her arm moved forward pivoted at the elbow, and with a quiet, almost unnoticed grace, her fingers opened to release the dart as it started on its epic flight. For everyone in the room at this moment, it was a flight as heart stopping as Apollo Thirteen.
It was done. There was nothing she could do but watch as the arrow left her face and arched, as if in slow motion, toward the board, only to hear the snick as its point hit the wire. The groans from her own supporters, and the sighs of relief from the visitors, confirmed what she knew anyway. Instead of the double top bed, her dart had been deflected by the wire into its next door neighbour - double one.
So now it had all to be done again. Janet laughed nervously as her friends shouted encouragement, and she took a drink from her half pint of larger to steady her nerves. She had never been a shy girl, and was usually happy to be the centre of attention, but this was a little different, for she knew that the hopes of friends and supporters alike were riding on her.
Janet was keen and quite skilful, and knew now that it was down to numbers. Thirty eight needed, but the rules said she must finish with a double, and she calculated could best get the required score by getting not one, but two doubles, and she had just two darts left.
Two doubles with two darts. It was a big task and many a better players would have found the prospect daunting. But she knew that the two doubles she found easiest to hit were the double thirteen, and the double six, sitting side by side on the right hand edge of the board..
Once more she composed herself on the podium; settled her nerves and raised her hand to her face. This time it was the double thirteen in her sights, a much easier prospect than her previous shot, the difficult double twenty; the ‘double top’. Slowly as before she took aim, her usual little mannerisms were observed, and when all was done, with the same graceful flourish she launched her second dart.
No doubt it was the tension; or the unexpected situation of finding herself in such a decisive position, or maybe the pure adrenalin was giving her too much of a boost, but this arrow flew as thought it had a mind of its own, and landed in the heart - dead centre - of double eighteen, next but one above.
Janet fell back a step, disappointed at her bad throw, and conscious of two things.
First, that she had left herself needing the get the hardest double of all, double one - the dart players graveyard, and ironically the one she had found two throws ago when she didn’t want it.
More important however, was that she had only one dart left. With this one dart, she, and her team, would win or loose. On this one throw would hinge the outcome of three hours of contest between six people over twenty seven games. All of that now counted for nothing. She knew full well that if she missed with this last throw her opponent would surly not make the same mistake.
Once more, and, she felt sure, for the last time, she composed herself before the dart board. Only six feet away on the wall, but in this nail biting situation it seemed like six yards. Just as before she went through her little routine, even the fingers of her left hand moving, though this time, there were no darts in it to be twirled.
The flight feathers of the dart stroked her face as she aimed for that dreaded double one near the top of the board. She had it in her sight, and then she threw, aiming just above to allow for the rise and fall of the missile’s trajectory.
A kind of fog overcame her and she lost sight of the dart, but then she heard the shrieks and shouts of her friends.
“Double one” the caller shouted.
“You’ve done it Janet, well done” she heard one of them say.
“House - Over hear” another shouted.
Gradually she came to her senses, and back to reality to hear the caller shouting out to the Bingo players. “Double one; Legs eleven.” he repeated in the direction of the shrieks “yes I think we have a winner over there.”
“You’ve won - you’ve won the national jackpot.” her friend was excitedly shouting, as thousands of disappointed players all over the country laid down their pencils.
For a moment Janet was perplexed, but quickly she recovered from her day-dream, to see the caller smiling at her, waiting to check her winning card.
By his side on the stage of the Town hall was the podium and dart board, ready and waiting for the week-ends big competition.
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