by Tom Palmer
‘You remember my dad, then?’
Jake smiled. ‘Sort of. He was quite excited.’
‘Quite excited?’
‘It looked good to me,’ Yunis said. ‘He must have been proud of you.’
‘He went over the top a bit,’ Will said. ‘It’s his life’s fantasy to get me playing for United. He won’t be happy until I’ve lifted the Champions League trophy. As captain.’
Jake smiled at Yunis, who shrugged.
Yunis turned round and waited for Chi to catch up. ‘Are you new too?’ Yunis said.
‘No, I was here last year. And the year before.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s great,’ Chi said.
‘Who’s the captain?’ Will asked, joining in.
‘Ryan,’ Chi said. ‘He’s the tall one with jet‐black hair beside Ben, who’s the lad with his socks down. Ryan’s been at United since he was eight. They reckon he’s the next John Terry. He’s a great player, but –’ Chi paused – ‘keep on his good side.’
Jake looked ahead at Ryan, who was carrying a huge net bag full of footballs.
As Jake watched him, Ryan stared back. Jake wasn’t sure he liked the way Ryan had looked at him.
‘The other tall lad, just ahead of them,’ Chi went on, ‘is Tomasz. He’s the keeper. He joined last season. He’s Polish and lives with his dad. They moved to the UK last year. He’s really good, but he can have his off‐days.’
Jake tried to remember the names that Chi had told him. Ryan, Ben, Tomasz.
He liked Chi. He was friendly. And – Jake was pleased to see – Chi was about the same height as he was. Not too small for football.
When they reached the first playing field, Steve stopped them. Jake looked at the other pitches. Two other teams were training already. A group of older kids and some eight‐ or nine‐year‐olds. Jake could hear the voices of the coaches above the noise of the players.
‘Right, lads. Each of you take a ball and let’s have five minutes of keepy‐uppies. To warm yourselves up.’
Ryan began to kick balls to each player, taking them out of the bag he’d carried. Jake was last to get a ball and Ryan sent it flying over his head into some trees.
Jake assumed it was an accident and laughed along when he heard Ryan and Ben laughing too – until he saw Chi frowning.
City Shirt
By the time Jake and Chi got back to the dressing rooms after the first training session, half of the players had already gone. Jake had stayed back on the pitch to help Steve put the balls back into the net bag. He thought that would be a good thing to do. Like his dad had said: be helpful. But it meant he missed out on talking to some of the other players.
Pulling his boots off, he was surprised to see Ryan standing over a bag, holding a City shirt. For a minute he thought Ryan was a City fan too. That it could be a good way of making friends with him.
Until Jake realized it was his City shirt. And that Ryan had taken it out of his bag.
‘What’s this?’ Ryan said, looking straight at Jake and Chi, grinning. Ben and two of the other players were standing behind Ryan.
‘A City shirt,’ Jake said, feeling small next to Ryan, who was much taller than him. But he wasn’t going to stand down: it was his City shirt; and, even though he was a United player, he was still a City fan. And proud of it.
‘This is United, Jakey. Not City. I think you’ve come to the wrong club.’
Jake didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to cause trouble on his first day, so he just shrugged. Even though Ryan had called him Jakey. A name he hated to be called.
Ryan stared at Jake for a few seconds, then threw the shirt down on the floor. Ben and the other lads laughed. Jake picked up the shirt and carried on getting changed.
‘Ben. Do you think we should have City players in our dressing rooms?’ Ryan said.
‘No,’ Ben said.
‘Do you think we need to keep an eye on Jakey‐boy?’
‘Yeah.’
‘We’ll have to watch him, won’t we? Make sure he’s really committed to United. Maybe he’s a spy.’
‘Yeah,’ Ben said.
Jake wondered if Ben knew any other words than ‘No’ and ‘Yeah’. But he kept his head down, until Ryan and Ben left the room, still laughing.
‘See you on Wednesday training, Jakeyboy,’ Ryan jeered as he let the dressing‐room door swing shut.
Jake couldn’t work out why Ryan was being so horrible.
‘Don’t worry about Ryan,’ Chi said, after a pause. ‘He’s OK really.’
Jake and Chi were the only ones left in the dressing rooms.
‘What’s up with him, then?’ Jake said. ‘Was it really that he didn’t like my shirt?’
‘A bit,’ Chi said.
‘Is there something else?’ Jake said.
‘Sort of…’
‘What? I don’t understand.’
‘The main thing –’ Chi paused – ‘is that you’re a left winger. And last year’s left winger was Aaron, Ryan’s best mate. Aaron was released at the end of last season and Ryan’s upset that you’ve taken his place. He’ll forget about it soon – just ignore him.’
‘It’ll be hard.’
‘I know. But if you think Ryan’s hard on you, you should see his mum. She’s so hard on Ryan, you wouldn’t believe it. She’s a nutter.’
Tomasz
It was Saturday – and Jake felt weird. Saturday morning meant four Weetabix with a chopped banana, then meeting up with the others at the village hall, either to play at home or travel to an away game in a fleet of cars.
But not today.
Today he was lying on the sofa, watching Soccer AM. But he felt so funny about there being no game, he couldn’t concentrate.
Dad was in the kitchen.
Jake switched the TV off and stared at the wall.
Dad came in immediately. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Are you bored?’
‘I am,’ Jake admitted. ‘That’s going to be the hardest bit: I wish I could play for the village too.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ Dad said. ‘That’s the rule. So why don’t we do something?’
‘Like what?’ Jake said. He was hoping that his dad was thinking the same thing as he was: going to watch City at home.
‘What’s the one thing you never get to do, because you had to play on a Saturday afternoon?’
Jake grinned, hiding his face. ‘Dunno?’
‘City,’ Dad said.
Jake swivelled round. ‘Can we? Please? Can we?’
‘Come on. We’ll get down there early. It’s a midday kick‐off.’
Jake was up the stairs before Dad had finished talking.
The City stadium was busy: long queues for burger vans and at the club shop; TV broadcast units parked up in one of the main car parks – a huge satellite dish facing the sky.
Once Dad had got the tickets they had to walk around the stadium three times. Dad always did this. Clockwise. For luck. They had to fight their way past huge crowds coming the other way.
Halfway round they met Tomasz and his dad.
Tomasz caught Jake’s eye and smiled.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Jake said. ‘Are you a City fan?’
‘I am. My dad is too. That’s why we moved here, rather than London. He wanted to be able to watch City.’
‘Does Ryan know?’
Tomasz screwed his face up. ‘He gave you trouble, didn’t he?’
‘He found my City shirt.’
‘Oh dear,’ Tomasz said. ‘He’s not found mine yet.’
Jake and Tomasz laughed. Jake noticed his dad deep in conversation with Tomasz’s dad.
‘Is Ryan going to be all right?’ Jake asked Tomasz. ‘You’ve been at United for half a season, haven’t you?’
‘Since last year,’ Tomasz said. ‘Ryan’s never happy. Always looking to have a go at someone. He takes after his mum.’
‘Is she rea
lly bad? Chi mentioned her.’
‘Really bad. And the worse she is, the worse he gets.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean if she’s on his back, he’ll be on someone else’s back. Taking it out on them.’
‘Great,’ Jake said.
‘But you get to like him. If someone fouls you from another team he’ll be right there for you.’
Jake smiled. That was good, at least.
He heard the first songs coming from the main City end of the ground.
‘What stand are you in?’ Tomasz said.
‘The other end. We only got tickets today.’
The two dads were shaking hands.
Jake and Tomasz smiled at each other.
‘See you on Monday night,’ Jake said.
‘Yeah, see you,’ Tomasz said. ‘And don’t tell Ryan about me and City. He’s already on my case because I don’t support England!’
Fame
Training with United was going well. And school was going well.
In fact, school was great.
Jake had been told over and over that starting high school could be hard. That the school would be bigger – and so would the other students. And it was bigger. And the students were bigger. But now that word got around that he was a United player, Jake was a minor celebrity.
Half the school seemed to know his name, saying hello to him in the corridors. Older boys would ask him which United first‐team players he knew. Even some of the teachers treated him like he was different.
One morning, four year‐nines approached him. Two girls and two boys.
‘Are you Jake Oldfield?’ one of the girls said.
‘Yeah.’
Jake was wary. Girls – especially older girls – starting a conversation with you was usually trouble. They were taller than him – both with long straight hair. One of them was wearing eye make‐up. The boys had short hair; one was much taller than the other.
‘Are you a United player, then?’ the taller lad asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Can you only say “Yeah”?’ The girl again.
‘No,’ Jake said.
Both the girls laughed. Then one of them said, ‘You’re funny.’
Jake shrugged. He didn’t know what to say, let alone how to be funny.
The one thing he had to admit about the high school was that he found talking to older students hard. It had been easier at his old school, at the end, when he was one of the oldest.
‘So, are you rich?’ the girl without make‐up said.
‘No.’
‘David Luxton in year eight says you got a hundred thousand pounds when you signed for United,’ the taller lad said.
Jake tried not to smile.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this. In the beginning he’d denied it. But, as the rumour wasn’t going to go away, he’d got tired of it and decided to let them wonder.
‘I’m not allowed to say,’ Jake said.
‘So you’re dead rich, then?’ the girl with make‐up said.
Jake shrugged.
It felt weird talking to year‐nines like this.
‘Do you know Alec Hodkinson?’ the shorter boy said.
Alec Hodkinson was a young United player, who also played for England’s under‐twenty‐ones.
Jake wanted to say yes. To make out he and Alec Hodkinson were best mates. But something told him not to.
‘I’ve never even seen him,’ Jake said. ‘And… if you must know, I didn’t get paid by United. They’re not allowed to pay me until I’m sixteen.’
Both girls rolled their eyes and started to walk away.
‘Have you got a sponsorship deal?’ the taller boy asked.
Jake wasn’t even sure what a sponsorship deal was. He shook his head and went off to maths.
United or City?
It was the fourth training session of the season. Jake knew all the other players now and felt like he was one of the team.
He’d been a bit self‐conscious coming into a squad where twelve of the fifteen boys had played together the season before. And he was particularly uneasy around Ryan. But it was OK now – especially as he had made such a good friend in Yunis.
Today, unusually, Jake was the last to get changed. He had been a bit late, his dad’s car getting caught up in traffic coming across town. Everyone else was out on the pitches by the time he arrived. Jake was rushing, stuffing his clothes into his bag and searching for his shin pads.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of studs coming across the concrete outside the dressing rooms. Ryan came in, a little breathless, but grinning.
‘We’re having a proper match today,’ Ryan said.
‘Great,’ Jake said, as happy that Ryan was talking to him as he was that they were playing a game and not just doing drills.
Ryan had his United top on. He pointed at Jake’s top.
‘Half of us are in United tops for the game, half in City. Have you got your City top with you? Steve told me to ask you to wear it.’
Jake grinned. ‘Yes,’ he said.
He pulled his City shirt out of his bag.
Ryan nodded and went back outside. ‘See you out there. Steve says we’re starting in two minutes. I’ll tell him you’ll be there in a second.’
‘Thanks,’ Jake said, lacing up his boots. He felt good about his chat with Ryan. Ryan had actually been nice.
It was strange putting his City shirt on after wearing a United one for the last two weeks. Strange, but good. He was a City fan, after all, whoever he played for.
Once he was changed, Jake sprinted outside, running head down, so he could get on the pitches in time for Steve to start things off.
It was only when he was in the middle of the pitch that he noticed half the players were wearing United tops – and that the other half were wearing orange vests over their United shirts. No one was wearing a City top.
Except Jake.
Ryan had tricked him. And everyone was looking at Jake.
At first he heard a single boo. Just one voice. Then another joined in. And another. And suddenly half of the lads were booing.
Jake didn’t know what to do. If he’d been at school – or playing with mates – he’d have risen to it, shown that he wore his City shirt with pride. But here it was different. He didn’t know if he had to show loyalty to United. Or if he could still show he was proud to be a City fan.
Then he heard Steve’s voice, loud and hard.
‘OLDFIELD!’
Jake turned to face Steve, but said nothing.
‘What is that?’
‘What?’
‘That shirt you’re wearing?’
‘It’s my… er… my… City shirt…’ He was about to say that Ryan had told him to wear it, but thought better of it. If he brought Ryan in as an excuse, it would only cause more trouble.
‘Take it off,’ Steve said.
Jake took off the shirt.
Ryan grabbed it off him before Jake could do anything. ‘Shall I put it in the bin, Steve?’
‘Give it back to Jake,’ Steve said in an even voice, quieter now.
Jake took the shirt back off Ryan, ignoring the sneer from his team captain.
‘Take it to the side of the pitch, then put one of these vests on.’
Steve threw Jake a luminous orange vest. Then he went on as if nothing had happened.
‘Right, lads. Attack against defence. You lot in United tops are defending. The rest of you – Jake too, OK? – attacking. We’ve got our first game on Sunday. Blackburn Rovers away. We’ve worked a lot on technique. But now’s the time to put all that into practice.’
Blackburn Rovers v United
Jake’s first match for United was not going well.
He’d fantasized the night before
about his debut, while trying to get to sleep: beating defenders time and time again, sliding balls in to Yunis and an avalanche of goals that would be remembered when he was a regular first‐teamer in ten ye
ars’ time.
But that was the last thing that was happening. Blackburn Rovers were all over United. Their two strikers were running rings round the United defence. And their defenders were like a brick wall for United’s attackers.
By half‐time it was two–nil to Rovers and Jake had hardly seen the ball.
Ryan – who always brought it out from the back – was only playing it to Ben on the right. He hadn’t even looked at Jake.
Early in the second half United let a third goal in. The two quick Rovers strikers were two‐against‐two on United’s central defenders, James and Ryan. James tried to tackle one of the players, but was too slow. Ryan was tracking the second, but, as he took the ball, the striker shoulder‐charged Ryan off the ball, then slammed the ball past Tomasz.
Three–nil. Disaster.
But it was a fair tackle, Jake thought. Shoulder‐charges are legal. He knew that after he’d been shoulder‐charged during the trials. And he could tell Steve agreed with the referee not to give a foul. Steve was nodding.
But Ryan’s mum didn’t agree.
Jake had heard about Ryan’s mum. But he was still surprised by what she did next.
‘That was a foul. A foul!’ she screamed, running on to the side of the pitch. ‘Don’t you know the rules, referee?’
The referee stared at her for a moment and glanced at Steve.
Then things got worse. Ushered away from the pitch by another parent, Ryan’s mum suddenly escaped and ran back to the sidelines. ‘No goal! No goal! Our Ryan was fouled!’
The referee was shocked now. He’d probably never seen anything like this before. He looked over at Steve again and spoke. Jake was standing near the referee so he heard what was said.
‘Get that woman off the pitch now – or I’ll abandon this game and report you to the authorities.’
Jake watched as Steve went over to Ryan’s mum, took her firmly by the arm and led her off the pitch, all the time talking to her in a quiet, but firm, voice.
Then Jake looked at Ryan. He was staring at the ground, his face red. Somehow he looked smaller and less of the bully that Jake had taken him for. He looked younger too.