Shoot to Win (7 page)

 

 

Jamie and Jack rolled their towels out along the raised slope on the side of the pitch and lay down.

“Ah, that feels better,” said Jack, taking off her boots and socks.

Jamie watched as she stretched out her long brown legs into the sun. She'd lost a bit of weight over the last few months, which had made her more confident. Jamie liked that.

“Do you think I could be a foot model?” she asked, letting her leg rest across Jamie's lap. “I mean, look at my feet, they're still so pretty even though I play football the whole time. Go on, feel them,” she said, poking them towards Jamie's face. “Go on – you know you want to!”

“Get off!” said Jamie, tickling the soles of her feet.

“Fine, have it your way,” said Jack, standing up.

Now she was strutting down the touchline as if she were a model on the catwalk. When she got to the goalpost, she looked back at Jamie over her shoulder and pouted her lips at him.

Jamie suddenly felt a burst of energy re-enter his body.

“Nice moves,” he said, starting to juggle the ball while still sitting on the ground. “But how are your reflexes?”

He leant on his hand and did a bicycle kick, volleying the ball towards Jack. She tried to save it but it hit her knee and bounced away.

For a second they let it roll away, keeping their eyes firmly fixed on one another. They both knew what was going to happen next; it was just a question of who was going to make the first move.

It was Jack.

She sprinted away.

“My ball!” she shouted.

Jamie caught up with her, pulling her back by her waist. “It's mine!” he said.

Jack wriggled free and lunged forward to claw the ball into her clasp.

“Got it!” she said triumphantly. “Keeper wins again!”

“Not quite!” said Jamie, pulling her closer to him to grab the ball out of her hands.

But even now he had the ball, he still didn't want to let her go.

 

 

Jamie didn't know why he felt this compulsive urge to find out more about Mr Hansard; he certainly didn't have it with any of his other teachers.

There was just something about the way that Hansard had treated him, been so harsh on him right from the beginning, that didn't seem to make sense.

Jamie turned on the computer and checked his inbox.

It was completely full of emails from Dillon. It was the same every weekend.

As he scanned the inbox, Jamie couldn't help but laugh. Dillon literally couldn't spell.

 

 

Jamie closed down his account. Then he opened a search engine. He typed in the letters HANSARD. For a second, for some odd reason, he wondered if he was doing something wrong. What would Hansard do if he found out that Jamie had been snooping around, trying to find out stuff about him?

Jamie cleared his mind; even Hansard couldn't tell him what to do on his own computer. He pressed the search button.

Hundreds of links came back, practically all to do with politics. Jamie was in the wrong area.

He would have refined the search by entering Hansard's first name but he didn't know what it was. Mr Hansard's first name was as big a secret as the code for the Queen's safe.

Instead, Jamie typed in “Hansard”, but this time he linked it with the word “teacher”. It was, he realized, the only thing that he actually knew about Mr Hansard – that he was a teacher.

This time far fewer links came back and, as soon as he saw the top one, Jamie knew he was in.

It was a newspaper story with the headline “Hansard Lifts the Lid on Cup Win”.

Jamie clicked the link. It took him to an old article from the
Advertiser
from six years ago.

Jamie read the story. . .

 

 

“Huh!” said Jamie to himself. He was amazed. Not only had Mr Hansard won the Cup before, but he'd done it playing with wing backs!

Why hadn't he told Jamie and the rest of the team? Maybe Jamie would have shown him a bit more respect. One thing was for sure: if he asked Jamie to play wing back in their Cup Final, there would be no more arguments.

Jamie chucked his sponge ball against the wall. He couldn't wait for the Cup Final. Especially now he knew that Hansard had won it before.

He looked at the picture of Hansard in the article. He'd hardly changed in the six years since it was taken. That was the good thing about going bald, Jamie realized – your hair didn't go grey.

Jamie was just about to close down the article when his eyes settled on the caption underneath the photo of Hansard. He had to read it twice to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The caption read:

 

The first coach to lead Kingfield to an Interschool Cup win, Hilary Hansard.

 

Jamie almost fell off his chair. He was laughing so much! Hilary Hansard! No wonder he never told anyone his first name. Hilary was a girl's name!

*

Jamie couldn't wait to call Ollie to tell him about
Hilary
Hansard. He knew he'd love it too.

He was just on his way downstairs to get his phone when the doorbell went.

“Hello,” Jamie heard Jeremy say, opening the door.

“Hi,” said a voice that sent distant bells ringing in Jamie's subconscious. “Is Jamie in?”

“He's upstairs,” said Jeremy. “Can I ask who you are?”

“Of course you can. I'm Ian . . . his dad.”

 

 

Jamie's world had been turned upside down. He was so glad that it was the end of the day and he could walk home with Jack. He really needed someone to talk to.

His mind had been whirring in circles all day. Hearing his dad's voice last night had detonated an explosion in Jamie's head. The fire was still burning.

He'd listened from the stairs to the conversation between Jeremy and his mum when she'd got back from her shift at the hospital.

“. . .No matter which way you look at it, Karen, the man has a right to see his son,” Jeremy had said.

“He gave up that right the day he walked out on us – with no explanation!” his mum had whispered back angrily. “And what gives him the right to breeze back into Jamie's life just because he feels like it? Jamie doesn't need to know about this now . . . not yet, anyway.”

They had no idea that Jamie already knew.

 

Jamie had lain awake for hours last night. There was so much to think about. He was excited that his dad wanted to see him again, but he felt anxious too.

Where had his dad been? Why had he come back now? And why had he left in the first place?

When Jamie had finally fallen asleep, he'd had a dream – or nightmare – which was so vivid that he could still remember it when he woke up.

In his dream, Jamie was a young boy again. He was five years old. He was walking down the old street that he used to live in and he was holding hands with his mum and dad. He was in the middle of them. He was smiling. He was happy. And so were they.

But as they got to the end of the street, his dad started to turn to the left and his mum started to turn to the right. Neither of them stopped to see which direction the other was going; they both just kept walking and they both kept a hard grip on Jamie's hand as they went.

Jamie was in the middle. His arms were really hurting as both his mum and his dad pulled him in different directions. He was crying out to tell them he was in pain. But neither of them heard him. Or perhaps they just weren't listening.

 

“Woah! So he's actually back,” said Jack, trying to take in everything Jamie had just told her. “Are you OK about it?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Jamie. “I mean, it's what I wanted, isn't it? I guess I'd just never thought about what it would actually be like if he did come back, though. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” said Jack, twisting her finger in her hair as she thought. “Why do you reckon he's come back?”

But Jamie didn't answer the question. He couldn't. All he was able to concentrate on was the man walking down the street towards him.

“Hello, Jamie,” said the man as he came closer. He had dark, reddish-brown hair and his face was covered in a huge smile. “Long time no see.”