Golden Goal Page 4

  “You’ll get yours,” Jamie heard Rick say in a cold, threatening tone behind him. “Trust me, you’ll get yours.”

  Out on the touchline, Tommy Taylor took the whistle out of his mouth and nodded to Brian Robertson.

  “The kid’s got guts, hasn’t he, gaffer?” he said.

  “Oh, he can stand up for himself, all right, Tommy.”

  Then an idea seemed to pop into Brian Robertson’s head.

  “How old did you say he was again, Tommy?”

  Jamie was just leaving the First Team dressing room when he heard his name being called out.

  “Jamie!” yelled Dave Lewington. “It’s my birthday tonight. Alfredo’s. Eight-thirty. See you there.”

  Jamie almost swallowed his tongue. This was just getting better and better. First training, now they wanted him to go out with them!

  “Cool,” nodded Jamie. “And happy birthday!”

  The Butcher and Bolt spent the whole journey to school asking Jamie how training with the First Team had been. It was something they were all desperate to do and now Jamie had done it.

  The only word he’d been able to find to describe it was “amazing”. He didn’t even have time to tell them about his run-in with Rick Morgan, or the fact that he’d been invited to Dave Lewington’s birthday, before they arrived at the school gates.

  As Xabi and Bolt got out at the entrance to Compton High School, they turned around to see where Jamie was. He was still sitting in Hassan’s car.

  “Come on, Jamie, you’re going to be late for maths!” yelled Bolt.

  “Nah, I’m not coming to school today, guys,” said Jamie, closing the door. “Got to talk business with my dad. Don’t tell the teachers that, though!”

  As Hassan sped away, Jamie looked back at his housemates walking into school. They had always seen it differently to Jamie.

  If he was honest, Jamie didn’t see the point of school much these days. He’d hardly done any work since he’d joined Compton last year. He was going to be a footballer anyway, so what was the point in maths and all those other lessons? Wouldn’t he be better off working on his skills?

  And today of all days, it would have seemed extra strange; going from sharing a dressing room with a team of football superstars to sitting in a classroom, listening to some boring teacher.

  But Xabi and Bolt were completely the opposite. They’d never missed a day of school since they’d started at Foxborough. Bolt, in particular, seemed to actually enjoy school. Jamie had never seen that done before!

  One evening, back at Mrs L’s, when Jamie was playing on the computer and Bolt was reading a book, Jamie had actually asked, “Oi, Bolt. So how come you’re so into school and reading and all that stuff?”

  Bolt had taken off his glasses and looked at Jamie, half as though he thought Jamie was stupid for asking the question and half as though he felt sorry for Jamie for not knowing the answer.

  “Power,” he’d replied, prodding his glasses back up his nose to carry on reading. “Knowledge is power.”

  “Oh, right, yeah,” said Jamie, nodding vigorously. He didn’t have a clue what Bolt was talking about.

  Jamie was in one of the best moods of his life as he walked back into the Travelodge for the business meeting with his dad. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

  He loved the fact that he was sharing all this with his dad, too. It was bringing them so much closer together. They were partners now. Partners in Jamie’s football future.

  “Ah, it’s the star of the newspapers, eh?” said Ian Reacher as Jamie sat down opposite him in the hotel restaurant. Jamie noticed his dad was already halfway through his lunch.

  “I know,” said Jamie, squirming with embarrassment. “Sorry about that, Dad. I had no idea they were going to do that whole WAG story. And how did they find out about me changing my name?”

  Jamie thought for a second. This had been on his mind for the last few weeks. And he hoped it would make his dad happy…

  “You know, Dad,” he mumbled. “I could change my name back … now that we’re—”

  “Oh, forget all that stuff, Jamie! This publicity is great for us. If we can get you into the front pages as well as the back ones, it opens up whole new markets for fans and sponsorship deals. Takes us into a completely different league. Just make sure you hang on to that bird, eh!”

  “Her name’s Jack.”

  “It’s great for the brand, Jamie. The papers are lapping it up. And if you’re going to dump her, make sure you only do it if you’ve got another cracker lined up!”

  “Dad, I’m not going to—”

  “Trust me, Jamie, these lifestyle mags will kill for a Jamie Johnson at home with his childhood sweetheart set of pics. In fact, I’ll make a few calls, see if I can get a bidding war going.”

  “But I’m not getting my media training until next year, shouldn’t I—”

  “Too late. The media are interested in you now. And it’s not just the tabloids, either – have you seen what Charles Summers has written?”

  Jamie’s dad passed him the paper. It was one of the posh ones. It seemed to spread over the whole table.

  Jamie turned to the sports section. In the bottom right-hand corner of the page was Charles Summers’ report from the Youth Cup Final.

  Even though Jamie never read the posh papers, he still knew who Charles Summers was. He was the most respected journalist in football. Even some of the Premier League managers listened to what he said.

  Jamie started to read the match report and almost immediately his mind flashed back to his old school reports. This felt almost the same. Except football was his best subject.

  Jamie handed the paper back to his dad. He still didn’t like reading the big papers.

  “Looks all right,” he said. In truth, he hadn’t understood half of it, and he certainly didn’t like being compared to a dog. But overall, it seemed pretty positive.

  “All right?!” his dad said. He was looking at Jamie as though he were mad.

  “Have you got any idea what this article is worth to us? What with all this publicity and the little favour that Esther did me last night by mentioning that we hadn’t agreed a deal yet… I reckon the last twenty-four hours have just put another ten-thousand pounds on your contract, just like that,” he said, clicking his fingers. “And I’m talking a week, by the way!”

  Jamie had never been great with numbers. The only thing he did know was that his stomach needed some food. He picked up the menu.

  “I’m starving,” he said. “By the way, I trained with the First Team today.”

  “The First Team? Are you serious?” his dad said, ripping the menu from Jamie’s hands. His eyes were wild.

  “A fifteen-year-old training with Foxborough’s First Team? Well, this is it, then! This is when we strike. Tomorrow, I’ll tell the chairman that we’ve had interest from clubs abroad and unless they match those offers, we’ll be off!”

  “Abroad? But I’ve only just joined Foxborough!”

  “First rule of business, Jamie – never accept the opening offer. I’m just flushing them out… Them knowing there’s other interest means they’ll have to up their offer. They’ll have to… There’s no way they could have you leaving to join another club.”

  Jamie’s dad wiped his mouth with his serviette. Then he scrunched it up into a little ball and chucked it on to his empty plate. Jamie could see he was getting more and more excited as he talked.

  “Then, once we get your deal signed, I’ll be able to set up an office … get other clients. This is just the start – you’ll see,” he beamed.

  Jamie’s dad’s eyes glazed over for a second. Then his concentration was back on Jamie.

  “Anyway, enough about me. Do you know what you want?”

  Jamie had a think. Different images presented themselves in hi
s mind. A house. Maybe one with a home cinema … or a swimming pool… New clothes… A car!

  “How much is a Bentley?” he asked. “I think I’d quite like one of them when I’m old enough to drive.”

  “What?!” his dad said, looking at Jamie with an incredulous expression on his face.

  “You asked me what I wanted. I think I’d like a Bentley or maybe a 4 x 4.”

  “I meant for lunch, you idiot!”

  Jamie’s chicken and rice had only just arrived when his dad started drumming his fingers on the table and looking at his watch.

  Then he drained his cup of coffee and stood up.

  “How much cash have you got on you, Jamie?” he asked, putting on his jacket.

  Jamie rummaged through his wallet. He still had a couple of notes and some coins left from the money Mike had sent up to him.

  “Erm, I’ve got a few—”

  “Great. You settle this one,” he said, handing Jamie the bill. “I’ve got to go and meet some kit sponsors. Let’s see what offers they’re going to put on the table to be associated with a fifteen-year-old prodigy! I’ll call you later.”

  As he left, he scrunched Jamie’s shoulder with the palm of his hand.

  “Well done today,” he said. “We’re really close now. Really close.”

  “Yuck! You stink, and you’re Eggyboff now!” shouted Bolt, chucking a mini-football at Xabi, who caught it and threw it back twice as hard.

  Eggyboff was a game the Foxborough boys played all the time. It was a bit like It or Dare. One person would set the challenge, such as: “Next one to speak is Eggyboff!” and that would be it – silence for hours on end! Because being Eggyboff was worse than anything else. It was like having the worst lurgy in the world!

  It had actually got really serious once when, at the beginning of an academy game, one of the Foxborough players had shouted: “Next one to touch the ball is Eggyboff!” All the Foxborough players were so desperate to avoid being Eggyboff that they allowed the opposition striker to dribble past the whole team and roll the ball into the net! Steve Brooker was so angry he almost had a fit!

  “Oi, guys, can you keep it down for a sec? I’m trying to read an email!” said Jamie, a little more rudely than he had meant to.

  “Ooooh,” Xabi said, “sorr-eee!! Is this to do with your big ‘business meeting’, then?”

  “No!” said Jamie. “Anyway – I’m not talking to you! You’re Eggyboff!”

  Xabi kicked the mini sponge football straight at Jamie. It hit him smack in the face. No wonder Xabi was the free-kick taker.

  Jamie shook his head and put on his headphones. At least that way he wouldn’t be able to hear them while he read the email. It was from Mike.

  Mike was Jamie’s main man. Although he was actually Jamie’s granddad, he’d been more like Jamie’s dad when he was growing up.

  Football was their common bond. Mike had actually played for Hawkstone United, their local team, and had been set for a brilliant career only for an injury – torn cruciate ligaments – to end his playing days. That was why it meant so much to him to see Jamie following in his footsteps.

  Jamie smiled as he logged out. It was amazing how a father and daughter could be so different. Mike was a legend and had taught Jamie everything he knew about football. And his daughter (Jamie’s mum) still hadn’t worked out that you scored a goal, not won a goal!

  Jamie’s phone was ringing. It was Jack. He decided to take the call out in the landing so he could get a bit more privacy.

  “Oooh! Private conversation for Jamie boy,” Xabi teased. “Is that your new mate, Dave Lewington?”

  Jamie had told them about his dinner invite when they’d got back from school. Bolt was genuinely excited for him but Xabi seemed to be a bit envious of all the attention Jamie was suddenly getting.

  “What’s the Spanish for ‘jealousy will get you nowhere’?” Jamie joked and closed the door behind him.

  “Is that my WAG?” Jamie teased, answering the phone.

  “Oh God, that was so embarrassing,” laughed Jack. “They wouldn’t stop going on about it at school today!”

  “I know – same here at training!” smiled Jamie. “It’s mad, innit?”

  “Yeah. I don’t care about all that stuff, though. I’m just looking forward to seeing you. When are you back, JJ?”

  “Well, I kind of need to talk to you about—“

  “Do you want to watch a DVD tonight? Or go out somewhere?”

  “Listen, Jack, I’m really sorry but I’m not going to be able to come back tonight.”

  Jack’s silence made Jamie feel uncomfortable. He hated giving her bad news.

  “But you said if you won—”

  “I know, but then everything changed today. I’ve just trained with the First Team! And they’ve invited me out to Dave Lewington’s birthday tonight and, well, you know…”

  “‘You know’ what? What are you trying to say, Jamie?”

  The beeps on Jamie’s phone indicated he had a call waiting.

  “One second, Jack,” said Jamie. “I’ve got another call coming through – I better take it.”

  “Fine!” said Jack. She wasn’t happy.

  The other call was Jamie’s dad.

  “It’s all starting to happen, Jamie,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting with the Foxborough chairman tomorrow – they’re going to increase their offer!”

  “Wicked,” said Jamie. “Erm, Dad, can I call you b—”

  But his dad had already gone.

  Jamie reconnected to Jack.

  “Sorry about that, Jack, just contract business I had to discuss with Dad... Listen … tonight … it’s just, well, it’s the whole Foxborough squad. And they’ve asked me to go.”

  “When are you coming back, anyway? On Saturday?”

  “I could do, but by the time I’ve got home it’ll be late and then I’ll have to leave again on Sunday so there’s not really much point—”

  “Not much point? Thanks very much, Jamie!”

  “All right, well, you can always come up here, can’t you? I’ll take you shopping. Once I sign this contract, Dad says we’ll be loaded. Then we can buy loads of—”

  “Jamie! I’ve got my exams!”

  “Yeah – and I’ve got my football!”

  There was a long pause.

  “Look, babe—”

  “Don’t call me ‘babe’!” Jack snapped.

  “OK, look, I’m sorry … but I’ll make it up to you. When I turn pro I’ll get invited to all the premieres and that stuff and you can come with me!”

  “HEL-LO! Jamie, can we get back to the real world, please? You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t care about that rubbish! I’m not interested in being your WAG! I’m a person, you know?”

  “But Dad says it’s good for me to have a WAG, for the magazines and ev—”

  “Well, he can go and find you one then, can’t he?!”

  Then the phone went dead. Jamie looked at his handset. Jack’s name went a paler colour on his screen. Then it disappeared.

  Jack had hung up. She’d just broken up with him.

  Jamie stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. Then he looked at himself in the mirror.

  The three boys had drawn a target zone in the corner of the glass where they pussed all their spots. The aim was to get the pus to go right in the centre of the target zone. They knew it was disgusting but they found it funny. They’d even asked Mrs Luscombe not to clean that area!

  Jamie inspected his chin but, for once, he had no spots at all! He smiled as he spiked up his hair with gel.

  As he got into the cab to head to Alfredo’s, Jamie checked his phone to see if there was a text or missed call from Jack. But there was nothing.

  Jamie was actually a bit surprised that he didn’t fe
el more upset about breaking up with her. Maybe he should have been crying or something. But the truth was, right now, Jamie felt more excited than depressed. Tonight he was going out with some of the most famous footballers in the country.

  Sure he would miss Jack, of course he would. But he also knew that if he wanted to find a girl to replace her, it shouldn’t be too hard. He was a footballer now, after all.

  When they arrived, Jamie got out of the cab and gave the driver some money. He checked his reflection one last time in the car window. Then he went inside.

  Walking into the restaurant, Jamie felt a flutter of nerves. He hoped he wouldn’t say the wrong thing and make a fool of himself tonight. He just wanted to be accepted.

  “Jamie!” shouted Dave Lewington. “Over here, mate. Just in time. We’re about to order.”

  Jamie sat down and took off his jacket. For some reason he felt boiling hot. He looked around him. The walls of the restaurant were covered with signed photographs of the Foxborough players. There was even one of the squad in the restaurant with the Premier League trophy! They must have come here when they won the title last season.

  Jamie picked up the menu only to find that the whole thing was in Italian! He didn’t have a clue what to do. He could point to a dish at random, he reckoned, but what if it was something he hated, like an olive salad?

  “Ah, Mr Dave!” said a big, fat man as he embraced Dave Lewington with a super-sized hug. “Anda happy birthday to youa!”

  “Thanks, Alberto. How’s business?” Dave enquired.

  “Oh, very good, sir. Very good indeed. The usual for everybody?”

  “Yes, please, Alberto, that will be great.”

  “No problem, Mr Dave. You know whatever you want, you just ask Alfredo!”

  And, with a hearty laugh, Alberto instructed his team of young waitresses to collect the menus. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. Who knows what he would have ended up ordering if it had been left up to him!

  Almost immediately, a selection of every starter under the sun appeared on the table.