“The way you played the other day, Zero, think yerself lucky even to be one of the subs tomorrow.”
It was almost the first time Nails had spoken to Simon since Wednesday’s defeat and even their parents had noticed the difference. The house had been strangely quiet without the usual arguments and insults.
“Probably nerves before the big match,” said Dad
“It’s only another silly game,” said Mum. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to go and watch.”
“It’s a Cup Final. It’ll mean a lot to the lads, you being there.”
“I doubt it. Only Jake seemed pleased when they heard – and now Simon’s not even playing.”
“He’s a sub. He might well be needed at some point,” he said. “Anyway, Jake thinks I bring the team luck, so we can double that together.”
“I expect I shall be more of a jinx,” said Mum, pulling a face. “And then they’ll blame me for losing.”
“Nonsense – with both of us on the touchline cheering, they’re bound to win.”
“You certainly won’t hear me doing any cheering. In fact, if it starts raining, I shall be back in the car, reading a book.”
Given a choice, Simon might well have preferred to be with her, keeping Tilly company too. At least his plan had worked, and he was relieved not to be chosen in the starting line-up – and, with luck, he might not even have to take his coat off at all.
Ollie and Sadiq were also relieved, but in their case, it was because they had been picked for the team. They had both been a little anxious after their disappointing performances in the midweek friendly.
Ollie would have hated to miss the match against his old school, despite the fact that he knew he would have to put up with insults from Connor and perhaps from some of the other Princeton players too. He had been receiving more messages from Connor, none of which were very complimentary.
The three boys were having an extra session in the park after school on Friday with Tilly acting as ball-girl as usual behind the goal.
“Is Connor still bothering you?” asked Simon, as Sadiq’s wild shot set Tilly off on another chase after the ball.
“’Fraid so, but I’d rather not repeat some of the stuff,” Ollie said, and gave Simon a grin. “You’re too young!”
They all laughed.
“Anyway, never mind Connor. Let’s practise penalties,” suggested Sadiq.
“No point,” said Simon. “Nails says it’s the captain’s job.”
“So how many has he scored?”
“None.”
“None!” repeated Sadiq in disbelief. “So how many has he missed?”
“None – least, as far as I know. I’d have heard Jake going on about it, if he had,” Simon said, then grinned. “We’ve been so bad this season, we hardly ever get into the other team’s penalty area!”
“What if the Final ends in a draw?” asked Ollie. “Does it go to a shoot-out?”
“No idea,” said Simon. “Smithy’s not said anything about that, has he?”
“Bet he doesn’t even know himself,” muttered Sadiq. “C’mon, let’s have a few goes. Y’know, just in case, like.”
Ollie and Sadiq spent the next ten minutes shooting at goal from where they thought a penalty spot might be. Some kicks they blasted as hard as they could, some they side-footed more carefully, trying to send Simon diving the wrong way. Most of their efforts were on target but others flew high or wide. Simon managed to save the odd one – sometimes by not even moving and finding the ball fired straight at him – but, in truth, Tilly touched the ball far more often than he did.
“Well, let’s hope Anil’s better than you are, Si!” laughed Ollie.
“Doubt it,” grunted Sadiq. “He’s pretty useless, if you ask me. Simon should still be in goal.”
“I’m not bothered,” Simon admitted and then slapped his thigh. “C’mon, Tilly, time for a drink.”
Tilly recognised the same words and lapping noises that Simon made with his tongue when he refilled her water bowl at home. She shot off towards the brook, yelping with delight.
“Gotta go, guys,” said Simon. “See you tomorrow.”
“Up for the Cup!”
Jake’s rallying cry was taken up by all the players in the school minibus as Mr Smith drove them to the neutral venue which was being used for the Cup Final. Mrs Gregson was there, too, helping supervise them all – especially the girls in the squad.
“Up for the Cup!” they chanted. “Up for the Cup!”
“Right, give it a rest now, everybody,” Mrs Gregson called out over the noise. “We’re nearly there, so a little decorum, please. We don’t want people to think you’re a bunch of soccer hooligans!”
“What does dec . . . decorum mean?” asked Simon.
Ollie grinned. “I think, in this case, it means ‘Belt up, you lot!’”
The minibus soon entered the parking area of the large playing fields and pulled up near a grassy area to disgorge its eager footballers. Their parents’ cars were right behind, full of family members and schoolmates, but all the same they seemed to be outnumbered by Princeton supporters.
“I used to come and play here when I was a lad,” said Dad, clipping Tilly’s lead onto her collar before she jumped from the back of the car.
“Really,” replied Mum, unimpressed, climbing out rather more slowly and leaving a book on the front seat, just in case. She looked up at the sky, hoping to see some rain clouds, but the weather seemed set fair, despite the strong wind.
“I haven’t said anything to our Simon, but there’s one thing here that I think he’s going to like very much when he sees it.”
“And what’s that?”
“A small lake. Give him a chance to do a spot of bird-watching while he’s waiting to come on.”
Ollie had not even reached the changing-rooms before he heard a familiar sound – the mocking voice of Connor.
“Well, well – look who’s here, guys. The stick insect!”
“Daddy Long-Legs!” chipped in one of the Princes behind him.
“Ignore them,” said Sadiq.
“I always do,” Ollie told him. “I haven’t returned any of their calls.”
Connor was already wearing the Princes’ smart, all-blue strip with its large white letter P on the front of the shirt, and he made a move to try and block their path towards the door.
“Lost yer voice, have yer, Kenning?” he sneered. “Shame – ’cos you’re gonna lose the match too.”
Connor suddenly found himself barged out of the way by another boy, and felt the full weight of Nails’ shoulder-charge.
“What does the P stand for?” Nails demanded, as Connor reeled backwards. “Prats or pillocks?”
Taken by surprise, Connor was speechless, and the rest of the Reds’ squad filed past him without any further comment.
“I’ll get ’em for that,” he muttered, in an effort to recover his damaged dignity in front of his mates.
“Who?” asked their keeper.
“All of ’em!” he growled.
“Yeah, but not in the penalty area again. I’ve lost count of the number of pens you’ve given away this season.”
Connor scowled, and lashed out at a football lying on the ground. It flew towards the building and smashed against a window, shattering the glass, despite its protective covering of wire mesh. By the time a man came out to investigate, there was no one to be seen.
“How did you know that was Connor?” asked Ollie in the changing-room.
Nails grinned. “Had to be. Big kid with an ugly face.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but I was right, eh?” Nails chuckled. “Just wanted to let him know I was around – and pay him back for that relegation taunt.”
“Better watch out for him now,” Ollie warned. “He’ll be after you.”
“Good – I’m ready.”
The two captains exchanged glares and the briefest of handshakes in front of the referee, before Nails won the toss and chose to defend the goal nearer to the lake.
“Got the wind behind us second half,” he told Jake.
“Fair enough, so long as we don’t let in too many by then.”
“Rubbish! No chance of that.”
“Huh!” Jake grunted. “There is, with Anil in goal.”
Anil did not fill anyone with confidence, the way he started the game, twice fumbling the ball and then dropping a cross which caused a goalmouth scramble. He redeemed himself to some extent with a diving save, turning the ball away for a corner, but the Princes’ supporters were soon cheering their first goal.
Nails had headed the corner clear of danger, it seemed, but nobody challenged the boy who collected the ball outside the area. He had time to steady himself, look up and then curl a shot towards goal. The wind increased its power, taking Anil by surprise, and the ball flew into the top corner of the net well out of his reach.
As the Princes’ players celebrated their success, led by the whooping Connor, Simon sighed and took the first chance he’d had to slip away from the pitch. “C’mon, Tilly,” he said, taking the lead from his dad. “Let’s go to the lake.”
“Don’t stay there too long, son. They might need you.”
“Hope not,” he murmured under his breath.
Simon kept Tilly on the lead, not wanting her to go into the water until he had checked how clean it might be. Nor did he want her to disturb the local birdlife. There were a number of ducks and geese on the lake and he also enjoyed the sight of a heron flapping its broad wings to get airborne and then go soaring away over the trees.
. . .rat-a-tat . . . rat-a-tat . . . rat-a-tat. . .
Simon stared up into the branches and spring foliage of the nearest trees, but it took him a few seconds to spot the source of the rapping sound. It was a green woodpecker, with its distinctive red cap catching his eye as its beak kept hammering into the bark to find food.
All of a sudden, the lead was yanked out of his hand and Simon turned to see Tilly racing towards the ball, which had been kicked off the pitch. She beat a couple of young spectators to the ball and dribbled it back to Simon.
“Good girl!” Simon said. “Stay!”
Woof!
Simon picked the ball up and hurled it towards the goal for Anil to collect and restart the game. By the time he had fussed Tilly and looked up into the branches again, the woodpecker had disappeared from view.
“Not seen one of those for ages,” he murmured, with a smile. “Hope it comes back soon.”
He decided that he too had better get back, and strolled behind the line of spectators along the touchline, unable to see any of the action. He had almost reached where his parents were standing, when a loud shout went up from around the pitch.
“Penalty!”