The Kick Off Page 3

  “What do you think would have happened if you hadn’t had your injury, Mike? How good were you going to be?” Jamie heard himself ask.

  Mike’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been expecting that question. He took a deep breath and blew the air out of his mouth before he answered.

  “Who knows, Jamie? It wasn’t meant to be for me. That’s what I’ve always told myself. And, anyway, I’m happy with what I’ve got.”

  “Yeah, but you could have been a millionaire instead of a. . .”

  Jamie stopped himself. There was nothing wrong with being an electrician and Mike was still working part-time, doing odd jobs around the neighbourhood. He knew it had come out wrong though.

  “Anyway,” said Mike. “Where was I?”

  “You were upset after you played rubbish in the trial – just like me!” said Jamie, relieved to get back to the story.

  “Badly, yes, I played badly. And when I got home I went straight to my room. I just lay on my bed, beating myself up about how I’d blown my chance. Then my mum, your great nan, came into my bedroom.

  “‘Do you know a man called Kenny Wilcox?’ she asked me. I remember she had a strange smile on her face.

  “‘Of course I know who Kenny Wilcox is,’ I said.

  “‘Well, he’d like to see you, Mike. He’s downstairs.’

  “I came down to find Kenny sitting on our couch with a glass of brandy in one hand and a slice of cake in the other. Apparently, he’d knocked on every door in the street to find out where I lived.

  “He got up and shook my hand and, when we sat down, he asked me where I’d got to after the trial. Before I could answer, he told me that he thought I had the potential to be a professional footballer.”

  “For real?” said Jamie. “Even after you’d had a bad game in the trial! He must have seriously rated you.”

  Mike nodded.

  “He said I still had work to do on my game before they could take things further, though. He told me that I had to improve my pace on the turn and that my touch and distribution needed to be better too. He said that he could help me to do that.

  “He told me that to help the Youth Team players at Hawkstone, he’d devised a set of exercises to improve every aspect of a footballer’s game. He told me to practise the ones specifically designed to develop pace and passing and then come back and see him in a few months. He gave me his book of drills and then he left.”

  “How long before you went back, then? And what did your mates say when you told them that you were going to sign for Hawkstone?” asked Jamie. “They must have been well jealous!”

  “I didn’t tell anyone about it. I didn’t want to put any more pressure on myself. I just practised and practised – every day. I hardly saw my mates, to be honest. I just kept working on those exercises and thinking about what Kenny had said. Even when I’d had enough, I’d just carry on and carry on. That was how much I wanted it.

  “After two months I was so much more quick and nimble on my feet and my first touch had come on a bundle too. I went back to see Kenny and he got me to join in with a Youth Team session straight away. After twenty minutes, he hauled me into his office and I signed schoolboy terms there and then.

  “A couple of weeks later, I brought Kenny’s book back to him and thanked him for lending it to me. He took it off me, scribbled something in it and then handed it back to me. He told me that at the end of the season the club was restructuring its youth system and that he would be leaving. . . It turned out I was one of the last players that he ever signed.

  “So he told me to hold on to it and pass it on to someone else who needed it.

  “Football’s changed in lots of ways since my day,” said Mike. “But pace and skill will always win you matches.”

  He tapped the old book with his knuckles and put it on Jamie’s lap.

  “I think Kenny would have approved,” he said.

  The book smelled precious. Through the smell, Jamie felt he was somehow connecting with all the other boys that had read it in the past.

  He wondered if any of Hawkstone’s great players had used the book when they were trying to break through.

  Every page was crammed with diagrams and drills. They were all immaculately handwritten. All of Kenny’s knowledge of the game was here before Jamie, written on these pages. It was as if he had Kenny as his personal coach.

  On the inside of the cover there was an inscription. It read:

  To Mike,

  Success is about desire.

  The only limits are the ones you place on yourself.

  Kenny Wilcox

  Jamie smiled. He thumbed through the pages, looking at all the different drills. He shook his head as he thought about all the work that must have gone into it. It was too much for him though. He couldn’t just lie there in bed and read about the drills; he had to get out on the pitch and do them.

  Jamie’s feet started to tingle. His body was beginning to rev itself up.

  He bounced to the floor and did thirty-three press-ups in three sets of eleven. He liked doing sets of eleven because he could think of the Number Eleven shirt while he did each set. He wanted that Kingfield School Number Eleven shirt so badly.

  He pushed the air hard out of his mouth each time he lifted himself off the carpet. He made himself angry by thinking about how Dillon Simmonds had wound him up during the trials and how much he wanted to teach him a lesson next term.

  He let his chest and arms have all of the angry strength that was meant for Dillon.

  After he’d done the last press-up, Jamie stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. He raised his arms up into the air like he’d just won a boxing match. His chest was heaving. He flexed his pecs. They looked good.

  So what if some people saw him as a skinny ginger kid? So what if he still didn’t have any hair under his arms?

  This morning Jamie felt strong. He flexed his biceps and felt his golf ball muscles. Anyone that doubted him didn’t know how much strength he had inside him.

  Jamie carefully packed the book into his bag and flew down the stairs. He couldn’t wait to get down to Sunningdale. Couldn’t wait to get started on Kenny’s drills.

  As he put his hand on the door knob to leave, the post dropped through the letter box. Jamie bent down to pick it up. It wasn’t like anyone ever wrote to him, but for some reason he always found the post arriving exciting.

  Among the pizza fliers, minicab cards and bills, Jamie immediately noticed a brown envelope poking out menacingly from the middle of the pile. Kingfield School – Rise to the Challenge said the red lettering on the postmark.

  His school report. This was not good news. He’d promised his mum that changing schools wouldn’t affect his marks, but after the term he’d had, he knew that this report wasn’t going to be a cracker.

  He had to think quickly.

  He decided to take it up to his room and keep it there until he’d worked out how to play things. Maybe he could take the worst pages out. It was his first report from Kingfield so his mum wouldn’t know how long it should be. . .

  “What have you got there, Jamie?” his mum called as he started up the stairs. “That wouldn’t happen to be your report, would it? It’s due around now.”

  Sprung.

  “Err . . . I’m not sure . . . yeah . . . I think it might be actually,” said Jamie, trying to sound surprised. He wasn’t a great actor.

  “I was just . . . erm . . . going to sort of have a look in my room . . . see what it said and everything.”

  “Oh, were you? Well, how about I make a cup of tea and we have a look at it together?”

  They sat down on either side of the kitchen table and Jamie’s mum flicked her finger under the flap of the envelope, opening it without a tear. She pulled out the red booklet.

  Jamie flinched. It looked evil.

  �
�Jamie Johnson – 8R,” she read out loud.

  FRENCH – GRADE D

  Overall, this was a disappointing couple of terms for Jamie. After a good start, Jamie’s progress tailed off rapidly.

  Poor concentration in the classroom has led to poor marks in his homework. I note that Jamie is one of the youngest members of the class and I am therefore hoping that his negative attitude is a case of immaturity rather than anything more serious.

  G GILLES

  Jamie’s mum looked cross.

  “I thought you enjoyed French, Jamie?”

  “It’s boring,” replied Jamie. “He just talks in French the whole time.”

  “I think that’s the point.”

  Jamie’s mum shook her head.

  MATHS – GRADE D

  Jamie has good natural ability with numbers. However, if he thinks this alone will be enough to carry him through the course, he is wrong. As the syllabus becomes increasingly complex, Jamie will find himself in serious danger of being left behind.

  In isolation, Jamie can be an engaging and talented pupil but he needs to choose the company he keeps more wisely and start applying himself far better.

  J BARNWELL

  “What does he mean, Jamie? Who’s he talking about?”

  “How should I know? I sit next to Tesh – you know him. There’s nothing wrong with Tesh,” said Jamie stubbornly.

  He didn’t mention the fact that he also sat next to Ollie in maths. He knew Barnwell hated Ollie and, although his mum hadn’t even met Ollie, she’d already decided he was a bad influence.

  “Mr Barnwell’s just sad, Mum. He can’t control the class, that’s all it is.”

  HISTORY – GRADE E

  As a new pupil and one starting in the middle of the school year, one might have expected that Jamie would want to create a good impression. Suffice to say this has not been the case where I am concerned.

  Having become disillusioned with Jamie’s attitude, I recently asked him what he hoped to achieve with his life. His response – that he wanted to be a professional footballer – said everything about where this young man’s head is. The fact of the matter is, Jamie is in the bottom three pupils in his year and seems to have no interest in improving his situation.

  B CLAUNT

  Jamie’s mum looked at him with angry eyes.

  “What was the agreement about you joining Kingfield?” she said, waving the report around as she spoke so that pages fluttered, making a sound like a kite on a windy day.

  “Mum, I know. I’ll try harder next year. I promise!”

  ENGLISH – GRADE C

  Regrettably, Jamie seems to think that disrupting his classmates and playing the joker is more important than positive participation in my lessons.

  This is all the more frustrating because – in the rarest of flashes – he has shown his true capabilities.

  I have set Jamie’s class a small project to complete over the summer. I strongly suggest that he hands this in on time and produces a quality of work that more accurately reflects his abilities.

  D C GARRICK

  PHYSICAL EDUCATION – GRADE B

  Although not a particularly experienced rugby or basketball player, Jamie used his speed and hand/eye co-ordination to make an impressive start to his sporting pursuits at Kingfield.

  The football trials were clearly a mixed day for Jamie. He needs to work on some elements of his game – not least controlling his temper – but in terms of natural ability there is plainly some potential.

  P MARSDEN

  “See, Mum, I’ve got potential! Sport’s what matters to me. That’s what I’m good at!” said Jamie. He knew he was lucky that Marsden hadn’t written anything about the sending-off.

  “Football is not the be all and end all of everything, Jamie. It’s maths and English that are going to get you a job, when this football phase of yours is finished. When are you going to learn that?”

  It’s not a phase, Jamie thought to himself, but he knew his mum would really blow her top if he started arguing with her now. There were more pages to come but she flicked through to the head teacher’s report at the end, shaking her head.

  THE HEAD TEACHER

  Some early warning signs here.

  Jamie will be aware that we made allowances in order for him to join the school in the middle of the academic year and he therefore bears a certain amount of responsibility for making this work.

  Jamie should worry less about what others think of him and more about what he thinks of himself.

  All of us, but mostly Jamie, must ensure that this is a temporary blip rather than the start of a slippery slope.

  T PATTEN

  Jamie’s mum closed the report and shut her eyes. Her body seemed to be shaking.

  “You’ve let me down big time, Jamie. I spent ages getting you into this school and what do you do? You throw it back in my face. I work every day and you give me no help around the house whatsoever. You can’t even be bothered to do the shopping for me when I ask you. I’ve had it with you.

  “All you’re interested in is football. Meanwhile, your education is going down the pan and you couldn’t care less. Are you planning to actually achieve anything with your life, Jamie?”

  “Yes I am. I’m going to be a professional f—”

  “Don’t! Don’t you dare say that! Until you do that English project and start pulling your weight around the house, you’re not going to kick another ball. Do you understand me?”

  Panic and rage rushed through Jamie. It was the summer holidays! How could she?

  “What? No way! You can’t do that! You’ve got no right to tell me what I can and can’t do. That’s illegal.”

  Jamie stood up violently, pushing away the table. His mum’s mug of tea tipped over, spilling its contents across the report. But she didn’t make a move to clear it up.

  “You don’t understand,” said Jamie, desperately trying to keep his calm. “I’m just getting somewhere with my football. Mike’s given me this amazing book . . . please. . .”

  “This is not a discussion, Jamie. No football until you pull your finger out,” Jamie’s mum responded. All the emotion had gone from her voice. “And you can clean up this mess for a start.”

  Then she walked out of the room. Jamie had never seen his mum like that before.

  But she wasn’t the only one who was angry.

  For the next week, Jamie did not say a word to his mum. Breakfasts came and went in silence. He ate dinners in his room.

  She’d organized all her shifts at the hospital to be late-night ones so that she could keep an eye on him during the day. He couldn’t believe she was behaving like this. What had he ever done to her?

  The only good thing was that Jamie had an escape route. He’d worked out what time his mum had her break during the night shift. That meant that, if he wanted, he could wait and make sure he was there when she made her call home to check up on him and then get his bike out and go down and meet Ollie, Tesh and the others at the bus shelter.

  The rest of the time he was in his room playing football games on his computer, listening to music or looking through Kenny Wilcox’s book. All he thought about was the day he could get out there and play again.

  He didn’t want to be anywhere near his mum. How could she do this to him? How could she pretend she cared about him and then stop him from doing the most important thing in his life?

  Anyway, she couldn’t force him to do his English project or anything else.

  If she wanted a battle, she could have one. He’d make her pay.

  One afternoon, locked away in his room, Jamie thought about how he could punish his mum for the way she was treating him.

  He could never talk to her again. Then she would be sorry.

  He could run away. Live with Mike. Or try to find his
dad. He had to be out there somewhere. That would make her sorry for what she’d done. Jamie imagined his mum going into his room and finding the window open and Jamie gone. She’d look in the wardrobe and find all his best clothes gone. And his boots.

  He wouldn’t be there any more and it would all be her fault. She would collapse on to the bed crying, beating her fists into the mattress just like she had when Jamie’s dad had left. That was six years ago but Jamie could still remember it like it had just happened. He could remember how seeing his mum cry had made him feel more upset than anything else in the world.

  Even thinking about it now made him feel sad again.

  Jamie thought about how much his mum would miss him if he ran away. How she would always miss him, every second of every day.

  And the more he thought about it, the less angry he became with his mum and the more he began to feel sorry for her.

  She hadn’t talked about Jamie’s dad for years. Did she still love him, even though he left her? Did she want to find a new husband? Did she even have time for a boyfriend? The only man she ever seemed to talk to these days was that guy from the hospital who gave her lifts to work. What was his name? Geoffrey? Jeremy?

  He knew the reason his mum had to work the whole time was to pay the bills and that when she came home she had to start on the housework and the cooking. All this for Jamie.

  The only things she asked for in return were for Jamie to be nice to her and to try to do well at school.

  And what had Jamie done? He’d let her down on both counts.