Jose Luis Armando Godal put the printed copy of the English newspaper story down in front of Jamie.

It was twelve-thirty p.m. Exactly eight and a half hours before El Clasico was due to kick off.

“I am so sorry, Jamie,” he said, resting his hand lightly on Jamie’s shoulder. “This is not a true father.”

Jamie nodded in agreement. He was still furious at that person – he could no longer call him his “dad” – for putting him in this position. And why did he still feel embarrassed when he had nothing to do with this man?

“I can see how deeply this is affecting you,” continued Godal. “So I am going to give you two weeks off to recover your calmness.”

Jamie leapt up from his seat, his head banging with anger.

“No!” he yelled, looking for a door to punch, anything to let out the anger. “No,” he repeated. “Señor Godal! You can’t do this to me. You can’t punish me – I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“I am not punishing you, Jamie. I am protecting you.”

The more worked up Jamie became, the calmer Godal seemed to act.

“You must trust me, Jamie,” he continued in soft, measured terms. “I know football and, if you allow me to say it, I think I know you too. I know that for you, football and life are the same thing, so we cannot pretend that this has not happened. I look at you now and see you have a cauldron inside you. This is the time – when your head is not clear – that problems can happen on the pitch… And we must remember the deal that we made too, Jamie. You are not in the same position as the other players.”

Godal stood up. For him the meeting was finished.

But for Jamie it was not.

“Señor Godal,” he countered – immediately understanding that what he said at this very moment, the words he used right now, could have the most profound effect on his career. “I understand what you are saying, but I have only just got into this team. And now we have El Clasico and the match against Hawkstone. These aren’t just two games. They are the biggest games of my life. I refuse to let you take me out of the team.”

Godal shook his head.

“You are perhaps the most ambitious, passionate player that I have met,” he said. It didn’t sound quite like the compliment that it could have been. “I will play you, but I must tell you that ambition can be a curse as much as a blessing.”