Shoot to Win (6 page)

 

 

Ian Reacher was in an empty cafe. He had just got back into town. He had been away for a long time, but now there was a reason to come back. He put down his coffee and stared hard at his newspaper. He couldn't take his eyes off that boy's face in the team photo at the end of the line; the one that was so familiar to him.

He read the story again:

 

 

He looked at the boy's fair, reddish hair. His face was older now than the last time he had seen it. The boy was beginning to turn into a man.

But when he stared into the boy's eyes, he recognized the same brooding ambition that had always been there.

Yes, he was sure he was looking at his son's eyes.

They were Jamie Johnson's eyes.

 

 

It was 4.30 by the time Jamie eventually got out of school. Mr Patten, the head teacher, had given Jamie the worst punishment for being sent out; he'd had to clean the floor of the boys' toilets.

It was disgusting: none of the boys lifted up the toilet lid when they did a wee. They seemed to spray all over the floor. It was sticky and smelly with yellow stains everywhere.

What had made it even worse was that Hansard had walked past just as Jamie was scrubbing the floor. “You've missed a bit, Johnson,” he said, almost gleefully.

Jamie felt like chucking the stinking cleaning rag right at Hansard's face but, for the sake of his Cup Final place, he didn't.

When Jamie had told Jack about his punishment and that he'd be late out of school, she'd laughed. “Don't worry,” she'd said. “I'll wait for you – as long as you promise not to touch me until you've had a shower!”

Now as he walked to meet Jack at the top gate, Jamie's mind turned to the weekend. He was looking forward to relaxing outside with her. It was going to be hot – they could go to the park and have a kickaround . . . or whatever.

But as Jamie got closer to their meeting point, he was met by a sight that made him feel physically sick. Jack was there as she'd said she would be – that wasn't the problem. The problem was she that wasn't alone – Dillon Simmonds was with her.

He was leaning with his hands on the wall above Jack's head. He was standing so close to her that Jamie couldn't see her face.

Jamie's insides were twisting around themselves. Dillon had found Jamie's weakness: Jack.

“Come on, no one's looking,” Dillon was saying as he grabbed Jack's left hand.

Jamie's stomach lurched further into a sea of sick.

“I know you want to,” Dillon said. He was whispering his poison into her ear. “You can say you got off with a professional footballer.”

Jamie didn't have to watch any more of this. He couldn't. If they wanted each other, they could have each other. Jamie would get his revenge on Dillon one day and when he dumped Jack she'd regret it all right.

He turned around and crossed the road to walk on the other side. He didn't want either of them to see him.

But why was
he
the one that felt embarrassed?

 

 

As he walked home, Jamie thought back over everything that he and Jack had shared since that first day they had played together when she moved into his road.

Maybe he would never have a friend like her again in his whole life.

A small tear pricked the corner of his eye but he wiped it away angrily. If she was prepared to throw it all away for some stupid bully, he'd obviously never really known her in the first place. Maybe Jamie was the
real
idiot.

“Hey! What happened to you?” said Jack, sprinting up behind him. “I waited for you for ages!”

Jamie ignored her and upped his pace. He was trying to think of something to say that would hurt her as much as she'd hurt him.

“Oi, grumpy!” she said. “How were the toilets?” She was laughing now.

Jamie blanked her again. He was nearly home now.

“Jamie!” she said, sounding worried. “What's happened?”

“Have a nice time with Dillon, did you?” Jamie's voice faltered as he said Dillon's name. It went higher, and he sounded like he used to before his voice had broken.

“What?” said Jack, tucking one of her dreadlocks behind her ear.

“You heard me. If you wanted to get off with him, you should have just said. It's fine. . . Just don't expect me to. . .”

“Ah, you're jealous! That's so cute.”

“I'm not jealous and I'm not cute. You can't get out of it by—”

“Jamie! Will you shut up for a second! Look, he came up after school and started chatting his usual load of rubbish. That was it. I wanted to push him away but I didn't want my hands to go anywhere near him so I let him say his piece and then go on to the next girl. I'm not interested in him, all right?”

Jamie just shrugged his shoulders. He hoped she was telling the truth.

“Why would I want him when I've got someone a hundred times better?” she said, softly straightening out the collar of Jamie's dirty white shirt.

Jamie was desperate not to smile. He didn't want Jack to know how relieved he was.

“Fine . . . I just thought. . .”

“Well, you thought wrong, Jamie Johnson! Now, are we cool?”

“Yeah, Jack Marshall. . . Yeah, we're cool.”

 

 

“Jamie!” his mum screeched up the stairs again.

“I said, in a minute!”

The more she shouted, the harder it was for him to concentrate. He was looking at his step-over drawings. “Step, shave and knock,” he said to himself as his feet flashed around an imaginary ball. He'd stuck them to his bedroom wall so they would be the last thing he saw at night and the first thing he saw in the morning. He packed his boots and a towel into his bag and opened his bedroom door.

“This is what happens if you're too soft on him,” he could hear Jeremy saying. “It's time for you to try tough love.”

“But he's my baby, I can't help it.”

Jamie banged his door shut and stomped down the stairs. He wanted them to know he'd heard them talking about him. “Tough love,” he repeated with contempt.

 

“I'm going out in a minute,” said Jamie as he came into the kitchen, putting his bag down on the floor. His mum and Jeremy were sitting at the table waiting for him. They were on the same side and they had put a chair opposite them for Jamie to sit in.

“Take a seat,” Jeremy said, pointing to the chair.

“I'm all right,” said Jamie. He stayed standing up.

“We'd like to know what all this is about.” Jamie's mum said, handing him a letter. It was from the school, telling her that Jamie had been sent out of class for the second time this term.

“It's nothing,” said Jamie, handing the letter back. “Just Claunt overreacting again. She probably had her period or something – I dunno.”

“Jamie!” his mum shouted. “Don't talk like that. Overreacting to what?”

Jamie sighed. Why did he have to go through all this rubbish? He answered as if he were a robot; with as little feeling as possible.

“She asked me what job I was going to do when I was older and I told her the truth: that I'm going to be a professional footballer. Then she decided to send me out. That's it. End of story. Can I go out now, please?”

Jamie's mum looked at Jeremy as though she was giving him some kind of signal that they had talked about.

“How long is this going to go on for, Jamie,?” Jeremy asked. He was trying to put on his calm voice.

“How long is
what
going to go on for?”

“This stupid business about being a professional footballer. I'm sorry to have to say this, Jamie, but it's for your own good: IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN, And the sooner you realize that, the better.”

“Who the hell are you anyway?” Jamie shouted, lashing out at the chair with a violent kick. His face had gone purple with rage. “You don't know anything about football! And you don't know anything about me. You're not my dad and you never will be!”

“You've got to get in the real world, Jamie. I'm only saying this because I care.”

“Well, I don't care about you!” Jamie raged, picking his bag up and slamming the front door shut behind him.

 

 

“He's probably just doing what he thinks is right,” said Jack as they walked to Sunningdale Park together.

“Yeah, but why do they have to have a go at me the whole time?” said Jamie, still fuming. “Why can't they just support me? I mean, I've got the biggest game of my life next week. This is the last thing I need.”

“They probably think they
are
supporting you – just in their own way,” said Jack. “And don't forget, they don't play football with you like I do. Anyone that's seen you play knows that you can make it.”

Jamie smiled. How did Jack manage to make him feel so much better with just a few words?

“Thanks,” Jamie said, almost shyly. “And, by the way, I've got a new trick up my sleeve to show you. . .”

*

“Marshall v Johnson,” said Jack. She put on her goalkeeper's gloves and then smacked them together. “World Series. Loser buys milkshakes.”

“Bring it on!” said Jamie, sprinting over to collect the ball.

They were going to play “One v One”. Jack would start on her goal-line and Jamie would start on the halfway line with the ball. Once he kicked off, Jamie had ten seconds to get the ball into the net however he could, as long as it didn't go out of play or Jack didn't have two hands on it.

The scoring was simple. If Jamie got a goal in those ten seconds, it was a point to him; if he didn't, it was a point to Jack.

They both loved the game because it had all the pace and excitement of a full match but they could play this game on their own. Just the two of them.

 

By the time they got to the tenth point (it was 6 – 3 to Jamie), Jamie was already panting as if he'd just done the school cross-country. He'd been sprinting for the whole game; if he jogged, it just gave Jack the advantage.

Jamie inhaled the warm summer air and put the ball down on the halfway line. He needed one more point to win the “World Series”. For a couple of seconds he focused his eyes on the goal and imagined himself scoring. Then he knocked the ball forward and hared off after it. One more touch and he was already level with Jack, who had come to the edge of the area to close down the angles.

At that moment, Jamie's body did something completely by itself. Jamie hadn't even told it what to do.

In a lightning flash, his right foot had circled the ball without touching it and his left foot had knocked it away from Jack. It was his step-over. He must have practised it so many times that his feet now knew how to do it automatically.

Jamie hurdled over Jack's outstretched arm. He was past her. She was a goner. Never coming back from that one.

“Woah!” said Jack, sprawled on the ground. She had surprise painted across her face. “I thought I knew all your moves . . . what was that?”

“Oh, that,” said Jamie, rolling the ball into the empty net. “That was my new step-over.”