by Tom Palmer
Roberts stayed standing. ‘Your dad has been looking after us. He told me you and him go to all the home matches.’
‘We do. And a few away. When we can.’
‘And he was telling me you do commentaries for him.’
‘I do. But he knows what’s going on really. He just needs the names. And the odd action replay.’
Danny’s dad laughed. ‘You reckon?’
‘Have you ever been to see England play?’ Roberts said.
‘No,’ Danny said. ‘We tried phoning to get tickets when they played in the group stages. But we couldn’t even get through.’
‘Would you like to come and see England?’
Danny paused and looked at his dad, who was nodding.
‘Sure,’ Danny said. ‘But wasn’t the last friendly yesterday?’
‘Nil–nil. I know. I saw the highlights, once they’d stopped asking me loads of questions. But I was thinking about the finals.’
‘I’d love to, but …’
‘I’ve asked your dad, Danny. He can come too. What I’d like …’ Sam Roberts stopped speaking for a moment. He looked tired suddenly. His voice was quavering. ‘What I’d like to do, Danny, is thank you. I know those two other guys got all the glory. And I know your dad has told me why he thinks you shouldn’t be involved in any of that. But also I know it was you. That I owe everything to you. So I’d like to offer you tickets for all England’s games. For you and your dad. And I’ve sorted a room in the team hotel too. For the whole tournament. If you want it. It’s the very least I can do. And it would be a real pleasure to have you there, Danny.’
‘Including the final?’ Danny said, his jaw dropping.
‘Definitely. You can see us win it.’
Two miles away – in a long-forgotten World War II bomb shelter underneath his house – Sir Richard Gawthorpe was waiting.
He’d heard the police searching his house, taking away computers and paperwork. It had infuriated him that they could just rifle through his belongings: but he knew it didn’t matter. He had his main computer down here anyway. With access to all his secret offshore accounts.
He’d miss his house. And his car. But he had enough money to buy a dozen houses and a dozen cars.
The most important thing of all was that he had enough money to sit tight and wait for the moment that he could take his revenge on a boy called Danny. He didn’t know his second name yet. Or his address. But it wouldn’t take long.
Acknowledgements
I need to thank a lot of people for encouraging and helping me to write this book. But first – and foremost – I want to thank my wife, Rebecca, and my daughter, Iris, who have given me the self-belief and time to do it. If Macmillan Cancer Support hadn’t brought us together, this book would not exist.
Thank you also to Alison Barrow for telling me about a literary agent who supported Leeds United; David Luxton, of the Luxton Harris Literary Agency, for having faith in the book and for calling me one day to say that my fantasy publisher, Puffin, liked it; Ian Daley of Route Publishing for saying that I should write crime fiction; Sophie Hannah, Ray French and James Nash, the Leeds-based writing group who helped develop this novel; Martyn Bedford for being a great mentor; Comma and Route, independent publishers who gave me the support to develop as a writer; Arts Council England, the Society of Authors, CIDA and the Year of the Artist, all funders who gave me impetus, self-belief and money to write; Alison Shakspeare and her daughter VJ, Jackie Rowan, Mark Hodkinson, Ralph Newbrook and Nikki Woodman for reading the book in its early stages; Jim Sells (the Bobby Moore of literacy) at National Literacy Trust and Ralph Newbrook, who, as well as reading the manuscript, involved me in their tireless and inspired work to encourage children to read though their love of football; and – as always – to Leeds Libraries, who since I turned seventeen, have intervened, directly and indirectly, several times to make me both an enthusiastic writer and a reader.
I want to thank everyone at Puffin for the diverse and enthusiastic work they do to publish and promote books. Especially Sarah Hughes, Alison Dougal and Adele Minchin. Thanks also to Anna Billson and Sara Flavell who designed the book’s wonderful cover. It is a great honour to have my name and the Puffin logo on the same book cover.
Finally, to my mum for encouraging a very reluctant reader, age seventeen, to begin to love reading through football.
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First published 2008
Text copyright © Tom Palmer, 2008
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-0-141-92099-3
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