“Easy! Easy!” chanted Ollie, laughing, after guiding another header past Simon. “Good job you were on better form than this yesterday.”
Simon shrugged off the mockery, knowing it was just in fun. Tilly had already fetched the ball and nosed it to him, so he passed it back out to Sadiq.
“C’mon, bet you can’t do it again,” he challenged. “I wasn’t really trying.”
“Oh, yeah!” Ollie laughed. “Pull the other one.”
Sadiq’s next cross was perfect, planting the ball right onto Ollie’s forehead as he loped towards goal.
This time Simon made more of an effort, but his dive was in vain, as the ball deflected in off the tree.
“Goooaaalll!” whooped Ollie.
The trio, plus Tilly, had been in the park for at least an hour on Sunday afternoon, and it was just as well for Simon that no one was keeping count of how many goals he had let in. He was about to suggest that they packed up when a phone went off, playing the theme music to a TV soccer programme.
“Not mine,” he said. “I’ve got the sound of a quacking duck!”
Ollie took his mobile out of a bag. “It’s a text.”
Sadiq practised his ball-juggling skills while they waited for Ollie, and Simon had a drink of water.
“Want a swig?” Simon asked, offering the bottle to Ollie, who shook his head and slumped down against a tree trunk. “Wasn’t him again, was it?”
“’Fraid so. He’s a real pain.”
Ever since Redfield had reached the Cup Final, Ollie had been plagued by abusive calls, emails and texts from Connor, the captain of Princeton Juniors.
“Any water left?” asked Sadiq, trotting towards them. Simon tossed him the bottle. “That was Connor again,” he told him.
Sadiq scowled. “That kid wants locking up,” he muttered. “What did he say this time?”
Ollie attempted a shrug. “Oh, the usual stuff about how the Princes are going to thrash us in the Final, and what he’s planning to do to me.”
“Has he always been like this?” Simon asked.
“Pretty much,” he admitted. “Connor likes to throw his weight about and I guess I make a good punchbag. He knows I won’t hit back.”
“Why not?” said Sadiq.
“He’s bigger than me.”
“Bigger?” Simon gasped. “He must be a giant!”
“Well – harder, then. A real hard case.”
“More like a nutcase, you mean,” said Sadiq.
“Yeah, that as well,” sighed Ollie.
“Do your parents know anything about this?” asked Simon. “I’m sure they’d put a stop to it.”
Ollie shook his head. “I’d rather deal with it myself.”
“Best way is to hit him where it hurts,” Sadiq said, grinning.
“I told you – he’s dead hard.”
“I mean, where it will really hurt – on the soccer pitch – by beating his lot in the final and scoring a hat-trick!”
They all chuckled.
“As if,” said Ollie. “In my dreams, maybe.”
“C’mon,” said Simon, whistling to Tilly, who was rooting around in the undergrowth nearby. “I’m hungry. Time for tea.”
He stressed the last word, and immediately Tilly came running up to him. “That’s her favourite word,” he explained.
Ollie scrambled to his feet and began collecting his gear.
“Oh, yeah, there was one more thing Connor put,” he said, as if he had just remembered it.
“What’s that?” asked Simon.
“That we’ve been relegated. . .”
“Rubbish!” scoffed Nails. “Who is this Connor, anyway?”
“The Princes’ captain,” Simon told him.
“So how would he know something like that?” asked Jake.
Simon shrugged. “I’m just telling you what he told Ollie, that’s all.”
“I suppose, if he plays for a Sunday team, he might’ve heard a few results from kids at other schools,” Jake admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s true, does it?”
“Bet it’s just a wind-up,” said Nails, finishing his tea. “No worries.”
They were worried, however, and they both went straight up to their room afterwards to ring and text their mates. Mum did not allow phones at the table.
Simon went out into the garden to refill the two metal bird-feeders with nuts and seeds. He hung them back up on the branches, out of reach of Tilly, who was far more interested in playing with a ball. Simon tried to dribble it past her, but she easily took the ball off him before dropping it back at his feet for another go. Their game was soon interrupted, however, by Jake, who booted the ball over the fence.
“What did you go and do that for?” Simon demanded.
“Felt like it,” Jake smirked. “Just came to say, we reckon that stupid Connor kid is lying. Nobody else has heard anything yet.”
“Expect we’ll find out soon enough,” Simon said, and spoke to Tilly. “Fetch ball.”
Simon moved a loose section of the fence to let the dog squeeze through the gap into the neighbours’ garden. They didn’t seem to mind, so long as she didn’t dig up any of their plants.
“You don’t sound all that bothered,” Jake said, pulling a face. “I mean, you’re the one it’ll affect most. Y’know, for next season, like.”
Before Simon could respond, Tilly was back with the ball in her mouth, but she kept her distance from Jake.
“Anyway,” he continued, “gotta go. Me and Nails are off to the park. Coming?”
Simon shook his head and sat on the wooden seat, with Tilly at his side, to wait for the arrival of the coal tits, thrushes, magpies, finches and his other feathered friends which were all regular visitors to their garden. News would soon get around that there was a free feed on offer.
“Enough football for one day, eh?” he murmured, tickling Tilly behind the ears, although he wasn’t quite sure that she would agree.