It was boiling hot as Hansard pulled his team around him for the half-time team-talk. Jamie could taste the salty sweat seeping into his mouth. He could feel the heat radiating from his forehead without even touching it.

Maybe he felt the heat more than the others because his skin was so fair.

“OK. Apart from one or two certain individuals who seem to think that they are too good to stick to the tactics, things are going to plan,” said Hansard, staring right at Jamie as he spoke. He had that same look on his face – as if he’d just tasted some milk that had gone sour – that he got whenever he looked at Jamie.

“Semi-finals are about seeing who cracks first. If we stick to my tactics, we’ll keep a clean sheet and we’ll win this game. I can promise you that.”

“We protect what we’ve got and hit them on the counter. They’re mentally frail. They will break. I can see it in their eyes.”

With the sun reflecting off the top of Hansard’s head, it looked like a newly polished cue ball on a pool table.

“Is everybody clear on the tactics?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” the boys answered robotically.

“Good. Has anyone got anything they want to say?” he asked, looking at Dillon, who was the captain.

“Sir, I have. . .”

As his teammates looked round at him in surprise, Jamie realized that he was the one who was talking. His friend Ollie Walsh was shaking his head at Jamie, trying to tell him not to carry on. But Jamie had already started.

“If we can get it to my feet . . . I can get past their defenders easily,” he said. “Can we play it on the ground a bit more?”

Hansard stared at Jamie as if he’d suggested that they all get different outfits and play the second half in fancy dress.

“I’m sorry, Johnson – for a second I thought I was the coach of this football team!” Hansard snarled. “You’ve already nearly cost us a goal through your selfishness and now you’re trying to tell me how to do my job. . .”

“But, sir!” Jamie said, feeling Ollie’s elbow dig into his ribs. They knew Hansard hated being interrupted. Still, it was too late now.

“All these long balls . . . we just keep giving it away. How can we score a goal if we haven’t got the ball?”

“Fine,” said Hansard in a much calmer voice than Jamie had expected. “No problem at all . . . if you don’t like my tactics, Johnson, you don’t have to use them. Walker, get warmed up, you’re coming on.”