Golden Goal (4 page)

 

 

Back in the changing room, Jamie had a quick shower, did his hair and got changed. When he turned on his phone, he had two missed calls and three texts.

The texts were from his mum, his dad and one from Jack. His girlfriend.

Jamie selected Jack's number and was just about to press
call
when he received a large slap on his back.

“Come on, TV star, let's go,” shouted Bolt. “The night is young.”

As the doors at the back of the Foxborough stadium were unlocked to let the players out, the Three Amigos were greeted by a massive cheer. Jamie heard his name being called as a barrage of camera flashes went off.

From his side, a river of youngsters nudged and elbowed their way in front of him.

“Can I have your autograph, please, Jamie?” they clamoured, jostling for position, while shoving their notepads under his nose.

Jamie's mind flowed back to when he was at school, dreaming of becoming a professional footballer, practising his signature on the back of his exercise books. His teachers had gone mad when they had caught him. None of them believed he would ever make it as a famous footballer.

“Sure,” Jamie said to the autograph hunters. “Have you got a pen?”

“Well done, my friends!” Hassan beamed as the boys got into the car. He was a driver for Foxborough and his job was to take the three boys to and from all training sessions and home matches.

There was no doubt that the boys had got lucky. Not only was Hassan a cool guy – he talked to them about girls all the time – but he also had the best car out of any of the drivers.

“When you are famous, I tell all my friends back home that I know you! That I drive you!” smiled Hassan.

The boys laughed and gave Hassan high fives.

“Now, I take you home?” he asked.

“No home tonight,” said Xabi. “Tonight is fiesta!”

“Are you sure?” said Hassan. “Is OK with the boss?”

“Yeah, it's cool,” Jamie reassured him. “He said we can go out ‘cos we won. Take us into town, please, Hassan!”

“OK,” he said. “Here we go!”

Hassan revved his engine and put his foot down.

Once they got into town, it took only a few minutes for Xabi to be surrounded by a group of girls. There must have been ten of them. They all wanted to feel his six-pack.

Xabi and girls seemed to go together like thunder and lightning – one was never far behind the other.

Jamie shook his head. It was a gift. Xabi had it and Jamie didn't.

“Jamie, come here,” Xabi smiled, beckoning Jamie over.

Jamie was just about to go over, when his phone rang. It was Jack. He'd already had two missed calls from her earlier that evening, which was strange; she normally just left one missed call and then waited for Jamie to call her back…

“Jamie!” Xabi demanded again. “These girls want to meet you!”

Jamie looked at his phone again. Then he turned it to silent.

 

 

The next morning, the Three Amigos woke up in the same way as they did every day – to the sound of the radio in the kitchen, as Mrs Luscombe cooked up their breakfast.

Mrs Luscombe had been doing this job for Foxborough – housing and feeding their young players who did not have family in the local area – for the last twenty years.

The Butcher, Bolt and Jamie were Mrs Luscombe's current “tenants” and today she was cooking them an extra-special breakfast to congratulate them on their big win last night.

“Come on, you two!” Jamie said, banging on the bathroom doors. There were two bathrooms but, no matter what time Jamie got out of bed, he somehow always seemed to lose the morning race.

He listened at the doors. The showers were on in both. At least another ten minutes to wait. By now, Jamie knew Bolt and Xabi's morning routine better than they did.

The boys were so close that it was strange to think that, had it not been for Foxborough, they would never have met at all.

Bolt had been recommended to the club by Foxborough's scout in Africa. He'd broken all scoring records in Ghana and, when the scout had sent back a DVD of Bolt in action, Foxborough had snapped him up immediately.

Meanwhile, Steve Brooker, the Foxborough Academy Director, had himself come across Xabi Negredo during a youth tournament in Spain last summer.

Xabi's Spanish club had been very angry and accused Foxborough of poaching their young player – they had even threatened to take the case to court – but in the end the two clubs had come to an “agreement” which allowed Xabi to join Foxborough.

Jamie Johnson, on the other hand, had perhaps had the most unusual route into Foxborough Academy. It had all started with a phone call that Steve Brooker had received. He'd been at his desk at the academy when a call came through from a man called Ian Reacher. How he'd managed to get through to Steve's direct line was still a mystery.

Reacher had gone on to tell Steve about a talent that he could not afford to miss. A boy called Jamie Johnson. A left-winger who was playing in the Interschool Cup Final that afternoon.

“I'm his agent,” Reacher had said. “This boy is hot – believe me. I'm telling you, if you don't snap him up, someone else will. It's first come, first served…”

Steve Brooker never normally followed up random calls like this. Nine times out of ten it was either someone playing a prank or else someone who hoped to make a quick buck. But he had heard of this Jamie Johnson from a couple of his regional scouts, so off Steve Brooker had gone, pretty much on a flyer.

It turned out to be one of the best decisions Steve Brooker had ever made. Within twenty minutes of seeing Jamie Johnson kick a football, Steve had offered him a trial at Foxborough. He couldn't believe his luck that Johnson hadn't already been snapped up by another club.

There was only one piece of the Jamie Johnson jigsaw that did not quite seem to fit for Steve Brooker. It turned out that Ian Reacher was this lad Jamie Johnson's dad. Why hadn't he mentioned that in the first place?

 

“‘Rayyyy!” The Butcher and Bolt cheered sarcastically as Jamie came into the breakfast room. They were clapping him and laughing. Jamie had no idea what was going on.

“Here he is!” joked Bolt. “One half of the famous couple! Sold the rights to your wedding yet?!”

Jamie scrunched his eyebrows and looked at his teammates convulsing with laughter as they waved a newspaper around in front of him.

“Guys … what are you going on about?” Jamie asked.

“Show him, Xabi, show him!” shouted Bolt, ripping the newspaper out of Xabi's hands, putting it on the table in front of Jamie.

Jamie looked at the front page. He still had no idea what his two mates were laughing about.

“‘Car Crash Kills Four',” Jamie read the headline out loud. “What's so funny about tha—”

“Not there!” said Xabi, flipping the pages of the paper forward. “Here!”

He opened the paper to page four and Jamie got the shock of his life.

There was a huge photo of Jack under the headline:

“Is This Soccer's New Queen Wag?”

Jamie sat down and, trying to ignore Xabi and Bolt's banter, attempted to read the story.

Jamie put down the paper. His face had gone bright red. No wonder Jack had been trying to get hold of him so desperately last night. He immediately got out his phone and called her. But it went straight to voicemail – she was probably already at school.

Hopefully, Jamie would be able to see her tonight, though. Steve Brooker had told them that they might get the weekend off, so Jamie was planning to head back home.

“Well?” said Bolt, thrusting an imaginary microphone under Jamie's chin. “Any comment from the superstar?”

“No,” said Jamie. “All interview requests must go through my agent!”

 

 

As the three young prodigies waited for Hassan to come and pick them up, Jamie could not have been happier.

He was settled in Foxborough and had just played the game of his life.

It was all a far cry from the first few weeks after he'd left home.

Before Jamie had been placed with Mrs Luscombe, he and his dad had had to share a room in a Travelodge on the outskirts of Foxborough.

At first, Jamie had thought it would be fun and would give him and his dad a chance to get to know each other again, but Jamie's dad seemed to have business meetings every night. That left Jamie by himself in the hotel room.

Even though he was really homesick, he didn't even want to call home in case his new stepdad, Jeremy, answered the phone. It made Jamie feel really weird, imagining another person living at
his
house.

In those first few difficult weeks, the only person who Jamie could actually talk to was Jack. Every night, when his dad went out, Jamie would call her. He didn't know how many free minutes he had on his phone deal. He didn't care. He just knew he had to speak to her.

Stupid things, like hearing what she'd done at school, what her mum had made for dinner – they were things that cheered Jamie up the most. In a different place, away from everything he knew, it was Jack that reminded Jamie of home.

At exactly 10 a.m. Hassan hooted his customary three belts on his horn and the Three Amigos all piled in for the drive to training.

As Hassan approached the security barrier outside the training complex, some of the Foxborough fans pointed and shouted at the car: “Hey! There are the youth team lads! Well played last night, lads! Future Foxborough legends, you lot!”

The Three Amigos laughed and waved back. It was the first time any of the fans outside the training ground had recognized them. It showed how big last night's game was.

As ever, the First Team players' cars made the training complex look like the forecourt of a luxury car salesroom. All over the place multi-millionaire footballers were arriving in their 4 x 4s, Lamborghinis and Ferraris.

Jamie was looking at the Foxborough captain, Dave Lewington, as he parked his big black Bentley. Jamie thought that the car reflected Dave himself: top of the range, sleek and most definitely classy.

It was life in the fast lane and Jamie wanted to be a part of it.