Golden Goal Page 7

  Jamie loved being so close to the action. Although more than anything else he would have wanted to be out there on the pitch himself, standing as an observer on the touchline gave him an opportunity. He could study the game in a way that wasn’t possible when he was in the thick of the action.

  For the first time, Jamie was able to analyse the way that football actually worked.

  The player Jamie most liked to watch was Glenn Richardson. He was the Hawkstone playmaker and he wore the number ten – the shirt of legends.

  Harry Armstrong had said in an interview recently that, if Richardson had been Brazilian, he would have had a hundred caps and been a national hero. And it was certain that, if Hawkstone did end up being relegated, Richardson would be transferred to one of the biggest clubs in the country. He was way too skilful a player not to be playing in the Premier League.

  Jamie marvelled at how Richardson could spray fifty-yard through-balls to the striker, each one of them inch-perfect. He could even put backspin on his passes so that they held up enough to prevent the goalkeeper coming out to intercept them.

  For a second, Jamie allowed himself to imagine what it would be like playing in the same team as Glenn Richardson: Jamie would stay out on the wing, knowing that Richardson could find him with one of his perfect passes…

  But then Jamie stopped himself. He knew that was a painful scab to pick at.

  Friday 26 March

  “All right, I’m off, Archie,” Jamie called into the shed. As the training ground was empty, he’d mowed every single pitch today. He’d probably walked about five miles in total!

  “Did you make sure all the touchlines were completely straight?” asked Archie. He was obsessed with the touchlines. They all had to be exactly perfect.

  “Of course!” chuckled Jamie. “See you next week!”

  “And where do you think you’re going?” said Archie, poking his head out of the shed.

  “Home,” said Jamie. “I’m done.”

  “Not quite,” said Archie, reaching inside to produce two tins of white paint from one of his cupboards. “I reckon our little shed could do with a lick of paint, don’t you?” he smiled. “Especially now that it’s an office for two…”

  “Ah, come on, Archie,” Jamie protested. “It’s the weekend and I’m seriously knackered. Can’t we do it on Monday?”

  “No rest for the wicked, eh?” Archie teased, handing Jamie the brush.

  Jamie had no idea that painting a shed could be so tiring. It was seven forty-five by the time he’d finally finished and his arms felt so heavy he didn’t know how he was going to carry them home.

  “Not bad,” said Archie, inspecting the work as Jamie washed his hands inside the shed. His fingers were almost blue with cold and his pecs ached more than if he’d done two hundred press-ups.

  “There you go,” said Archie, handing Jamie an envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your wages – you’re getting paid this month. But don’t worry, I can keep ‘em if you don’t want ‘em!”

  “No … thanks … I just didn’t realize it was the end of the month already.”

  “Time flies when you’re painting sheds, eh,” said Archie, laughing heartily at his own joke. “Don’t spend it all at once!”

  Jamie already knew how he wanted to spend some of it.

  As soon as Jamie got home, he jumped straight in the shower.

  He was in a hurry, but he knew he could do a shower in under thirty seconds…

  Then, while he was drying himself, Jamie suddenly noticed something: his belly – it had gone!

  Jamie patted his returned six-pack and smiled. Then he tensed his biceps. They were bigger than they had ever been before.

  “Thanks, Archie,” Jamie laughed as he examined his new muscles in the mirror. “At least all your slave-driving is good for something!”

  Jamie put on his best jeans and tucked a wad of money into the pocket. Then he put on some aftershave and went to knock on Jack’s door.

  As Jamie waited for someone to answer the door, he suddenly realized that he was nervous. He missed Jack a lot. Without her, his life wasn’t quite complete…

  When Jack opened the door, Jamie was taken aback for a second. He had never seen her wearing glasses before. They really suited her.

  “All right?” Jamie opened. “Just wondering if you wanted to go to the cinema tonight? It’s on me – I’ve just been paid!”

  “Oh, Jamie, that’s really sweet,” Jack said, her eyes glistening underneath the security light by her front door. “But we’re revising tonight. The exams start next week.”

  We! Jamie thought. Who’s we?!

  And then, in the background, Jamie saw Alex Marcusfield standing behind Jack. He was holding a bunch of books and he looked really pleased with himself. He even seemed to be smirking at Jamie.

  Marcusfield had always been the ugly swot when Jamie was at Kingfield School. But now he didn’t look ugly any more and the lucky gimp was getting to spend the whole evening with Jack!

  Jamie was so jealous that he wanted to storm into the house, wrestle Marcusfield to the floor, and tell him that Jack was taken and that he should keep his hands OFF!

  But he knew that wouldn’t impress Jack.

  So, the only thing Jamie could do was try to hide his disappointment and say, “Cool… Yeah, I’m pretty busy tonight, anyway. Maybe some other time.”

  “Yeah,” said Jack. “I’d like that. Some other time...”

  Jamie couldn’t help staring at the whiteboard in the Hawkstone Academy Team dressing room. As his eyes scanned the diagrams, a flash of recognition lit up Jamie’s mind.

  The whiteboard was covered with drawings and instructions to teach the Hawkstone players a new skill…

  Push the ball diagonally forward …

  … with the outside of your foot …

  … then use the inside of the same foot to tap the ball in the opposite direction and accelerate away…

  REMEMBER THE KEY TO THE SNAKE

  – DO IT ALL IN ONE MOVEMENT!

  It was the snake – Jamie’s move. He’d spent hours perfecting that skill when he was at Foxborough.

  He thought back to the Youth Cup Final when, live on TV, he’d—

  Splat. A stinking pair of wet and sweaty Y-fronts squelched into the side of Jamie’s face before landing in a messy heap on the floor next to him. Jamie touched his cheek; it was wet with the moisture of someone else’s sweat.

  “Make sure they’re nice and clean for me tomorrow, Johnson!”

  Jamie didn’t have to turn around to see who it was.

  He could feel his cheeks going red as the Hawkstone Academy players started sniggering. This was just like being back at school. Dillon’s jibes seemed to follow Jamie wherever he went.

  But they weren’t at school any more. Jamie didn’t have to take this now.

  “I ain’t doing nothing for you!” he shouted back to Dillon, who was just about to get in the shower.

  “Oooh,” responded the Hawkstone players gleefully. They were enjoying the rising aggression in the room.

  “In case you didn’t realize,” Dillon responded, menacingly, “your job is to do whatever I tell you to do.”

  He was now completely naked, striding towards Jamie.

  “We’re footballers,” he said, pointing to his teammates. “And you’re not!”

  The Hawkstone boys clapped in their appreciation of Dillon’s disses.

  “That’s it, Dillon,” they said, goading him on. “Take him down! Give him some proper licks!”

  At that moment, Jamie felt more alone than he had ever done in his life.

  But he knew one thing: he had to stand up for himself.

  “You’re right,” said Jamie, using all the courage he could muster. “I may not be
a footballer… But at least I’m not scum!”

  “Oh no, Dillon!” called one of the Hawkstone players. “He’s just blatantly disrespected you to your face! What you gonna do about it?”

  “I’m gonna do the same thing I’ve always done: teach the idiot a lesson!”

  And with that, Dillon pulled back his fist and sent a pounding punch piling towards Jamie’s face.

  Instinctively, Jamie snapped his head out of the way, feeling the gust of Dillon’s lunge against his cheek.

  “Not this time,” Jamie said, elbowing the back of Dillon’s shoulder blade with such force that he sent Dillon flying to the ground.

  For a second, Jamie couldn’t believe what had happened.

  He looked below him, where Dillon was now lying on the floor, with his face buried in his own dirty underpants!

  Jamie wondered where his strength had come from. He’d never been able to lay a hand on Dillon at school. Let alone floor him!

  Not that Dillon was down for long. Like an angry bear, he drew himself up to his full, frightening height. Jamie took a pace back. He was in trouble.

  There was madness in Dillon’s eyes as he marched towards Jamie, who had nowhere else to go. His back was right up against the wall. Jamie took a deep breath and tensed his stomach muscles to prepare them for the onslaught that was about to come…

  “OK, time for us to get on with washing this kit, Jamie,” said Archie Fairclough, who’d come from nowhere and purposefully placed his body in between Jamie and Dillon. “I’ve only got a few minutes, then I’ve got a meeting with Harry Armstrong.”

  Although Archie was talking to Jamie, he was looking Dillon square in the eye. For a moment, all three of them stood motionless. Then Dillon grimaced and took a step back.

  “Yeah, you’d best get him away, Cloughie,” he snarled. “We wouldn’t want anything nasty to happen to your little assistant…”

  “Don’t worry,” Archie responded while the two boys still glared at each other. “He’s learned his lesson. And if he hasn’t, I’ll teach it to him again. Now go and pick up those pants, Jamie, and we can get on with our job.”

  If it had been anyone else, Jamie would have told them where to go. No one else could have made Jamie pick up Dillon’s stinking pants – or anyone else’s, for that matter.

  But, for Archie – and for the sake of his job – he did it.

  Slowly, he approached the dank, soggy underpants that lay on the moist floor by the showers. With Dillon’s evil cackles pricking like thorns into his ears, Jamie lifted the pants up with the very tips of his fingers and quickly flung them into the kit bag with the rest of the dirty gear.

  Jamie smelled his fingers. They stank.

  “One more incident like that and you’re out. Gone,” threatened Archie at the end of the day. He hadn’t said a word to Jamie since they’d left the Academy Team dressing room. He was furious.

  “You are my responsibility,” he continued. “And I’m not going to have you and your pride ruining my reputation at this club. You got that?”

  “But…” Jamie was desperate to tell Archie everything. That he knew Dillon from school and the things Dillon had done to him down the years. That neither Dillon nor any of those other Hawkstone Academy Team players were good enough to lace Jamie’s boots when he’d been a player…

  “No buts,” countered Archie. “You knew what the job was when you took it. If you don’t like it, you can leave. I mean it. But believe me, you’ll have no idea what you’re throwing away.”

  Jamie thought for a minute. He remembered what his life had been like before this job.

  “Sorry,” he said, softly. “It won’t happen again.”

  He felt ashamed of himself now.

  “Too right it won’t,” said Archie. “And you’ll thank me for this one day.”

  Then he tossed Jamie a pair of flashy boots to polish.

  On the heels of the boots, written very clearly in indelible marker-pen, were the initials DS.

  It was a Friday and, as Jamie watched the Hawkstone players train ahead of their big weekend game, his mind drifted towards Mike. He had loved the Hawks his entire life; he would have been so proud that Jamie was now working at the club.

  “You know,” said Archie, who was standing alongside Jamie, gulping down yet another mug of tea, “I won’t be doing this job for ever. If you play your cards right, one day you could take over from me...”

  Jamie smiled and was just about to respond when Harry Armstrong suddenly blew his whistle on the training pitch and bellowed: “Hey, Cloughie!”

  “Yes, boss! What can I do for you?” asked Archie.

  “Your assistant – I need him in goal for the last five minutes; we’re one man down.”

  It wasn’t until he felt Archie’s eyes resting on him that Jamie realized Harry Armstrong had been talking about him. He was the assistant that they wanted to go in goal…

  Jamie felt panic surge through him. He didn’t know what to do. He was being asked to play football again. And that was unleashing a whole tide of emotions in him.

  Jamie started to breathe in and out rapidly. He turned to look at Archie for guidance.

  “Well, go on, then!” encouraged Archie. “It’s only five minutes!”

  Jamie had no option. Only a complete loser would turn down an opportunity like this.

  Hesitantly, he jumped over the railings that surrounded the training pitch. Then, with his head down, he half jogged, half walked to the empty goals.

  “Come on! Get a move on!” the Hawkstone players were shouting at him.

  They couldn’t see that Jamie’s whole body was shaking with nerves.

  “Here you are, son,” said Bob Hurst, the Hawkstone goalkeeping coach, throwing Jamie a pair of gloves. “You’ll need these.”

  Jamie stood in the middle of the goal and clapped his gloved hands together. He jumped up and touched the underside of the crossbar.

  He didn’t know exactly why he did it – he’d just seen other keepers do it, so he felt as though it was the right thing to do.

  He just hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself – or Archie, who was watching from the sidelines like a nervous father.

  Jamie rubbed his back. For the first time in weeks, it was starting to hurt. Then he thought about the screws that were holding his leg together. He wondered if they were up to this.

  Oh, just shut up and enjoy the game! Jamie shouted to his inner demons. He sounded almost like Mike.

  Jamie only knew one thing. As the training match got restarted, he felt something that he hadn’t felt for months: alive.

  To start with, Jamie didn’t have that much to do. He came to collect a couple of crosses and even made quite a professional-looking throw out to the full-back.

  He was just starting to think this goalkeeping lark was easy, when he was presented with a much sterner test.

  Glenn Richardson, who was playing against Jamie, had struck a sixty-yard through-ball for the striker to chase.

  Jamie was already a few yards off his line and he thought that he could get to the ball first, so he came out of his area to clear it. But when the backspin on Richardson’s pass kicked in, Jamie realized he was in trouble...

  It was too late to run back in goal and he was out of his area now so he couldn’t pick the ball up either.

  The only option he had left was to try and win the race for the ball. But he was clearly second-favourite.

  Jamie put his head down, pumped his arms and sprinted towards the ball.

  And then something amazing happened.

  For those couple of seconds, Jamie felt no pain whatsoever in his body. Every bone, muscle and sinew responded to the situation and Jamie’s speed clicked back into gear as though it had never been away. He shot across the turf with pace and grace.

  He was s
printing at such speed that not only did he win the race to the ball, but now, with the ball at his feet, he didn’t want to stop! He just kept going!

  Jamie powered forward at an unbelievable speed.

  If he had looked up at that moment, he would have seen Archie Fairclough punching the air with joy. He was so excited that he’d chucked his mug of tea high into the air. As it dropped, it splashed its contents all over the paint on the touchline.

  But Jamie’s mind was closed to everything that was going on around him. In fact, he wasn’t thinking at all. He was simply doing the one thing he truly knew he could do in this world: run with a football.

  As he raced down the pitch, Jamie just seemed to be getting faster and faster. He got all the way to the other touchline and whipped in a beautiful, curling cross to the far post…

  It was a sensational centre. But no one was there to meet it. Because they had all stopped playing.

  Instead, every single Hawkstone player was simply standing, staring at Jamie. They were in awe of what they had just seen.

  It was as though, for those few seconds, Jamie had been in some kind of trance.

  But now he had returned to his senses. He looked back towards the empty goal that he had vacated and suddenly realized that he had sprinted the entire length of the pitch at his very top speed.

  He’d had no idea his body could still do that.

  But it just had.

  “Jamie Johnson! I knew you still had it!” Harry Armstrong suddenly yelled, breaking the silence.

  Jamie looked up.

  “What? How did you know my—”

  “Of course I know who you are,” said Harry, laughing. “Archie told me the first day you walked in here. I’ve just been waiting for him to tell me that you were ready.”

  Jamie immediately looked across at Archie. The wink he received in return told Jamie everything. Archie had known all along…

  “The MRI scans show that all the injuries have entirely healed,” said Alistair Ramsey, Hawkstone’s chief doctor. “And the agility levels are … well … hugely impressive. Are you sure you haven’t played any football since the accident, Jamie?”