Final Whistle
Page 2
Those words alone were enough to fire up Jamie’s starter motor. Jack was already on her way behind the goal to collect the ball, but now Jamie was sprinting in the same direction. His pace was electric as he flew across the grass.
The wind whistled in his ears as he exploded forward. Jack turned to see Jamie coming but it was too late; he was past her in a flash, getting to the ball first and flicking it directly back over her head before running the other side of her to collect it.
Jamie stood there smiling, his foot resting on the ball. It had always been the same: him and the ball – together.
Both he and Jack knew that the pace he had just shown was not something that any normal footballer could replicate. But this boy wasn’t normal. He was special. And he was ready.
“That enough to convince you I can pass the medical?” he said cheekily, even blowing Jack a mischievous kiss – such was the confidence he felt with the ball at his feet.
“Nope,” responded Jack immediately. “Still need to see the overhead kick to know you’re really ready… And actually, if you don’t mind, I think I might film you doing it so I can show it to my team when I’m coaching them this week!”
The overhead kick had always been something unique between Jamie and Jack because, although it was now one of Jamie’s trademark moves and something the Hawkstone crowd insisted he demonstrate in the warm-up before every home game, it had actually been Jack who had learned how to do it first and taught Jamie when they were eleven.
“OK! I’m filming!” announced Jack, holding her phone towards Jamie. “Right, everyone, you may well recognize the boy on the screen now. His name is Jamie Johnson. Yes, THAT Jamie Johnson, and he’s very kindly agreed to show you all how to do the overhead kick. Because he’s been able to do it for eight years now … ever since a brilliant GOALKEEPER showed him how! OK, Jamie, remember to tell us what you’re doing as you’re doing it and … take it away!”
Jamie stood on the edge of the area and watched as Jack looped the ball towards him. Once again, the football computer in his brain took over, plotting the speed and path of the ball and calculating the optimum moment for him to launch himself into the air.
Then it was show time – with Jamie explaining exactly how he did it:
1 “As the ball comes to you, leave your kicking leg on the ground and jump into the air, leading with your other leg.”
2 “Keep your eyes on the ball. . .”
3 “Strike the ball with your laces!“
The kids that Jack coached were lucky because it just so happened that Jamie executed what was probably one of the best overhead kicks he had ever produced. It soared with the power of a rocket right into the roof of the net. He could not have caught it any cleaner.
“Not bad,” smiled Jack, saving the video and putting the phone back in her bag. “Shame Barça weren’t here to see that one. They’d have signed you on the spot, even if you only had one leg… So how does it feel?”
Jamie looked down at his knee. It wasn’t right. It probably never would be. He hadn’t played a game of football without pain for three years. And the problem was getting worse, not better.
But Jamie knew there was enough left in the tank for him to pass this medical and sign for Barcelona.
There had to be.
“Don’t panic!” said Jeremy. “I’ve got it all under control. Karen, where’s the Spanish dictionary? And where’s my comb?!”
“The car will be here in a minute, Jeremy – are you sure you don’t want to sit down and have a cup of tea with me and Jamie? You’re sweating quite a lot.”
“Tea!” squealed Jeremy. “There’s no time for TEA! And I told you not to panic! I’ve got it under control!”
Karen and Jamie sat on the couch and smiled as they watched Jamie’s stepdad desperately wrestling with his tie as he attempted to achieve the perfect knot. Jamie could also see that Jeremy had a small bogey dangling from his left nostril. He’d leave it for a bit and tell him about it in the car. Probably.
It was certainly true that Jamie hadn’t always got on with Jeremy. In fact, when his mum had first started going out with him – this boring guy she’d met working at the hospital – Jamie had thought he was a bit of a clown.
But in the last couple of years, he’d begun to understand why they were together and why they needed each other. And, compared to his dad, who had hurt Jamie more times than he could remember, at least Jamie knew one thing for certain: Jeremy would never let him or his mum down.
Jamie had told them both everything that had happened as soon as he’d got back from the park. When his mum had asked how he felt about living abroad, Jamie had simply replied that he would go to another solar system to play for Barcelona and, anyway, if he had Jack with him, he’d feel comfortable just about anywhere.
As he wasn’t great with contracts and numbers, he’d asked his mum and Jeremy to go down to London with him to meet the Barcelona delegation. He’d asked Jack to come too but she had to go back to the newspaper office to write up the story of the transfer itself. This was big news.
Still, Jeremy loved the fact that Jamie had asked for his help. He seemed to think that Jamie wanted him to personally negotiate the terms of the contract with Barcelona and, as a result, had got himself into such a state that neither Jamie nor his mum had quite been able to calm him down.
“Right! That’ll be them!” Jeremy shouted somewhat manically as the doorbell went. “I knew they’d be early. I told you there was no time for tea. This is no time for TEA! This is it. You two don’t say anything. Leave everything to me! I’ll do all the talking.”
And with that, the three of them made their way towards the sleek black Mercedes Benz that had been sent to their home to whisk them down the motorway to London.
As they left, Jamie took a quick look around the old house that had been his home since he and his mum had needed to quickly find somewhere new to live after his dad had left them both so suddenly that dark morning twelve years before. It was a morning that had changed his life for ever.
It had been tough on his mum, he knew, bringing up a son by herself, but they had been happy enough here. The house was not big, but it had been home, and that was all that mattered.
Now, as Jamie closed the door behind them, he had an uncanny feeling that his life was, once again, about to change for ever.
“My name is Jose Luis Armando Godal,” said the coach of Barcelona Football Club, speaking perfect English as he stretched out his hand to meet Jamie’s.
There had, of course, been no need for Godal to introduce himself. He was one of Jamie’s biggest heroes in football.
Godal was a very short, dark-haired man who, even as a coach, looked as fit and young as any Barcelona player. He had brought a new breed of football to the club when he’d taken the helm three years prior, and the style and panache with which his team played had bewitched the entire football world.
Jamie worshipped the way Godal’s Barcelona team played, and he had memorized, word for word, his post-match interview following their magical Champions League victory at the end of last season.
“I give my players three simple objectives,” Godal had said that day. “Firstly, they must be the more sporting team, committing fewer fouls and being less aggressive. Then they must try to win by playing very well, more creatively than the opposition, with attacking football. And finally they need to win on the scoreboard. But we don’t want to win without the first two aims being fulfilled.”
For Jamie this was a new vision of the beautiful game. It wasn’t just about winning football matches. It was about doing it with style.
Jamie detected the scent of aftershave as they shook hands. Godal oozed style both on and off the pitch.
“I have come to London,” said the Barcelona manager, supporting his handshake with a Hollywood smile, “to sign you for the best club in the world.”
“Er – yes, well, we will see about that, señor,” said Jeremy, suddenly piping up. “We haven’t agreed to anything just yet and as Jamie’s … advisor … I am hardly going to suggest we simply accept the first offer that comes our way. You may be a very good soccer team but you are by no means the only club out ther—”
“Please,” said Godal, completely unruffled by Jeremy’s interjection. “Why don’t you have a look at the offer first and then we can talk more?”
Godal pointed to a collection of papers that lay on the table in front of them.
“Fine,” said Jeremy, taking out his glasses and flattening out the lapels of his suit jacket as he marched across the meeting room of the plush London hotel. “But, like I said, Barcelona are not the only football club in the world and I doubt very much that … whooahhh … hoooo … hoooo!”
Everyone in the room stared at Jeremy as he continued to produce a series of noises that were not only completely incomprehensible but also unlike any other sounds Jamie had ever heard him make.
“He… Ho… Ha… Hooookayyyyyy!” Jeremy finally said, fluttering the papers in front of him, producing a sound like a mad moth caught in the light. “Right, Jamie … I think this is probably acceptable… Yes, I think I’m happy with the negotiations…”
“Jamie,” said Godal, ignoring Jeremy for a second, who was now making squawking noises again as he showed Jamie’s mum the contract that was on offer. “Let me talk to you alone for a second.”
Godal put his reassuring arm around Jamie and walked him to a corner of the room. “We have a saying about Barça. We say: mes que un club. Do you know what this means?”
Jamie shook his head.
“It means more than a club … and this is what Barcelona is. It is a spirit … a movement … a way of life. In our team, we have very many brilliant young players that we have trained in the Barça way of football since the age of four. And every year we search for one player from outside of Barça to come and join us. This player must have grace, glory and guts. He must be skilful, fast and brave. He must have the desire to win and, above everything else, he must share our spirit.”
As Godal paused to allow Jamie to understand his words, Jamie’s mind echoed the Spanish words that he had just heard.
Barcelona: Mes que un club…
Barcelona: More than a club…
“Jamie,” smiled Godal, his voice full of certainty. “This year, we want that player to be you.”
“It’s all done and dusted,” said Jamie, passing the phone from hand to hand as he got undressed for bed, talking at the same time. It was now 3.10 a.m. and he was desperate to go to sleep – but first he wanted to speak to Jack. “The contract’s all signed. Jezza read every single word and he’s happy – seriously happy! I’m pretty much a Barcelona player. Subject to the medical…”
“Oh … right,” said Jack, her enthusiasm suddenly punctured. “So, did they mention anything about your knee in the meeting, then? I mean, it’s not exactly a secret, is it?”
“Godal just mentioned it once … at the end,” said Jamie, unconsciously running his fingers over the scars on his knee that remained from the operations that had reconstructed the joint. “He told me not to get too excited yet. Nothing’s for sure until I pass the medical, but he also said that they had the best doctors in the world so, whatever happens, they’ll know exactly what to do.
“They’ve already set the medical for three p.m. at the stadium tomorrow and told me that they’re picking me up from Barcelona airport at one forty-five. That’s why I’m calling, Jack… They’ve given me two tickets for the plane in the morning.”
Thursday 23 August
As they took their first-class seats on the plane to Barcelona, Jamie could not believe how much had happened in the twenty-four hours since the meeting at the Hawkstone ground. But with just days left until the transfer window closed, everything now needed to happen at super-speed.
“Excuse me,” said Jack to one of the fellow passengers in her soft voice. “Do you think I could borrow that newspaper if you’ve finished with it?”
Jamie knew the man across the aisle from them stood no chance. Jack had special powers when it came to situations such as this.
“Sure!” said the man, grinning stupidly at Jack. He couldn’t get the newspaper to her quickly enough. “Of course you can… Enjoy it! I mean, really, it’s a cracking paper!”
Jamie laughed. The man would have surely given Jack his wallet if she had only asked.
What the man could not have known was that he was handing Jack the very article she had written only a few hours earlier. She had just accepted the job of becoming a football writer for one of the nation’s bestselling newspapers, a role which she now combined with her TV work. Jack’s star was rising just as quickly off the pitch as Jamie’s was on it.
“Here you go,” said Jack, handing Jamie the paper. They had been in such a rush to get to the airport that morning that they had barely had time to pack their passports, let alone read the papers.
“You can tell me if I’ve got anything wrong,” she added with a typically cheeky wink.
“That’s mad – that piece about Boggy!” Jamie grinned. “Always wondered what happened to him! Molecular scientist! What do they do? Study moles?!”
He and Jack laughed for a second before Jamie’s face went pale.
“How come you didn’t put anything in about the Hawkstone fans hating me now?” he asked, handing the paper back. The sight of the kids shouting at him outside the ground yesterday still haunted Jamie. Not to mention the two eggs that someone had smashed against Jamie’s window at half past seven that morning.
“That’s not news,” Jack reassured him. “They were only like that because they love you so much. Deep down, they’ll be proud. Proud that someone who has come from the same streets as them has signed for Barcelona. Well, almost, anyway.”
Neither Jack nor Jamie mentioned the medical but it was hanging there silently between them. The one final hurdle that Jamie had to overcome in order to become a Barcelona player.
“Look,” said Jack, suddenly pointing out of the window. “Some of the mountains have still got snow on them.”
Jamie knew what Jack was doing but he played along just the same.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, poking his nose up against the transparent plastic porthole. “So what mountain is that? Is it Everest?”
“Not unless we’re going via India,” laughed Jack. “You really didn’t take much notice in geography, did you?”
“We’re not all brainboxes like you, are we, Jacqueline?” Jamie retorted, his mind drifting back to when they were at school: Jack the most popular girl, in the top sets for everything, Jamie much more ordinary, except for his one special talent. The football computer in his head.
“Yeah, well, shame my brains aren’t worth as much as your feet,” teased Jack. “So, do you know what you’re going to do with the money, then?”
“Yup!” Jamie announced proudly.
“What?” said Jack.
“Going to buy Mum and Jeremy a house,” explained Jamie. “I told them this morning. They were well chuffed.”
“Wow! I bet they were! What did they say?”
“Jeremy told me not be so stupid and said that I should save it. Typical him. Started banging on again about how unpredictable a footballer’s career is and that I had to be careful, but I just said: ‘Look, when it was just me and Mum, sometimes we had nothing, but she always made sure I had everything I needed, so this is just me saying thank you’ … and then Mum started crying so Jeremy had no chance!”
At that moment, Jack leaned over and gave Jamie a very light kiss on the cheek and softly touched his knee. Jamie had no idea why she’d
done it and it was finished almost as soon as it had begun.
Jamie looked out of the window again, staring along the line of the horizon. A white carpet of cloud led the way towards the bright, golden sun. A new world would be awaiting him when he stepped off this plane.
He imagined himself becoming one of the greatest players in the world. Playing for Barcelona … skinning defenders with his electric pace and wizard-like skills. Could it happen? Could it really happen?
Jamie flexed his knee, twisting it to the side to see how it felt. A twinge of pain but nothing he couldn’t handle. Then he tilted his seat back, looked at Jack typing away on her laptop, and closed his eyes. If he could pass this medical, if his body could get through this final crucial test, his dreams and his reality would suddenly become almost the very same thing.
Had it not been for the army of security guards that Barcelona sent to meet them at the airport, Jamie and Jack might never have got out of the arrivals lounge.
It had been chaos. Hundreds of camera crews, all with presenters pushing a microphone in either Jamie or Jack’s face. It seemed more like an attack than a welcome.
“How are you feeling?” asked Jack as they slipped into the back of the waiting people carrier.
Jamie just shook his head. It was too much for him to take in; too much to contemplate. And, on top of everything, the hardest part was yet to come.
“Thanks for coming with me,” was all he could muster as the car sped ever closer to Barcelona’s Stadium. “Don’t think I could do this without you.”
“First, we will do the beep tests, then I will monitor your heart and after we shall do the scan of your bones,” the Barcelona doctor told Jamie, almost before he had introduced himself.