Rugby Flyer

by Gerard Siggins

  ‘I’m going to go back a few metres at this scrum,’ Eoin whispered to his scrum-half. ‘Can you give me the ball on the run heading out to the right. A couple of their backs look wrecked and I have a plan I want to test before their coach replaces them.’

  Páidí nodded and fired the ball out to Eoin as he charged through the midfield. Ulster were taken aback by the move, and their centres were left waving as Eoin dashed between them. He veered out to the right, and charged down the wing. As the Ulster winger came out to intercept him, Eoin stepped inside and put his foot on the accelerator. His turn of pace shocked the opposition and he sprinted in to score, going to ground feet first and touching down as he slid across the grass.

  Eoin was swamped by his team-mates as he tried to stand up.

  ‘What a try!’ roared Seán. ‘That was unbelievable.’

  ‘Nice score, son,’ smiled the referee.

  Eoin stood up and trotted back to kick the afters.

  ‘Good man, Eoin, that try was pure Hopalongski!’ came a familiar voice from the stands.

  Eoin stopped and stared into the crowd. There between his parents sat Dylan, newly released from hospital with not a whit of damage done to his vocal chords. He slotted the ball home and chuckled to himself at the sight of the boy wearing a Munster shirt cheering on the team in blue.

  Ulster struck back, and Paddy O’Hare kicked a penalty to tie up the scores again. Eoin looked around his team-mates and could see their faces fall when the ball went over the crossbar. They were down-heartened not just at losing the lead, but even more because it meant they might now have to play another twenty minutes extra time.

  Eoin checked the clock and saw there were less than two minutes left of normal time.

  The Leinster forwards were stuck around half-way, finding it hard to make progress. Every metre was hard won, and sometimes lost. As the clock ticked down Charlie stood with the ball between his feet as Páidí decided what to do next. Suddenly an Ulster hand reached in and tried to scoop the ball back. The whistle blew.

  ‘Penalty, blue,’ said the referee.

  ‘We’ll kick it, ref,’ Eoin announced immediately.

  ‘You sure, Eoin?’ asked Páidí, pointing at the ground. ‘That’s the half-way line.’

  ‘I’ll give it a go,’ said Eoin. ‘There’s a strong wind behind me. We’re going nowhere as it is and I want to get this game over with. The lads are dead on their feet.’

  Killian walked over and patted Eoin on the back. ‘Go for it, hero,’ he grinned. ‘If there’s anyone who can do this, it’s you.’

  ‘Listen, Kil,’ whispered Eoin. ‘Follow the ball, will you? It’s a huge distance and I’m not sure I can make it. Maybe you can frighten one of them into fumbling if you come charging in. You never know what could happen.’

  Killian nodded, and went to stand on half-way. He let the other quick runners in on Eoin’s suggestion.

  Eoin stepped back and prepared to kick. He thought back to the hours of practice with Barney’s whitewash spots. The longest of those kicks was from 35 metres, but didn’t he clear the bar by miles – surely that would be enough to make up the difference to 50 metres?

  His right leg swung back before he drove it forwards – whump! – the ball flew high off his boot, high towards the clouds and past Alex, watching in his restaurant on level three. It dropped, toppling over itself as wind and gravity did its work. And it fell – smack! – on top of the crossbar and bounced backwards… into the arms of Killian who was still moving at speed. The Leinster wing kept running and dived over the line despite the frantic scrambling of the Ulster defence.

  The referee, just as shocked as everyone else, hesitated before thrusting his left arm in the air and pointing down at the ground where Killian was buried under several boys in white. Moments later he was buried under even more boys in blue, but he escaped to allow Eoin complete the conversion just before the referee blew his whistle for the last time.

  CHAPTER 33

  As soon as Eoin had fought off his own teammates, he sought out Sam and Paddy to commiserate with them on the result. He knew the pain of defeat and suspected it would be even harder to take in the cruel way it had come for them. The pair looked a bit shocked, but a group hug sorted that out and they congratulated Eoin on his amazing, if strictly unsuccessful, kick.

  ‘There goes your 100 per cent record,’ said Charlie, ‘but I bet you wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  ‘Too right, Chaz,’ grinned Eoin. ‘And it gives me something to work on when we get back to school. I fancy my chances of getting a few 50 metre kicks in the Aviva.’

  A former England international made a short speech before presenting the cup to Eoin, who really didn’t know what to say so just thanked his team, Ted and all the coaches, and the families that came along.

  After he had showered and changed, he joined the families in a suite behind the dressing rooms where a reception had been laid on. He grinned at Charlie, who had no fear of being dropped now and was making a bid for the Guinness World Record for cocktail sausage consumption.

  ‘Well, Mam, I see you picked up some dangerous bug when you were at the hospital?’ Eoin said, straight-faced.

  His mother looked horrified for a moment until she heard her husband laugh and Dylan shout, ‘Hey, I’m not dangerous.’

  ‘Well, irritating, maybe,’ Eoin laughed, before apologising to his mother.

  ‘How you feeling, Dyl, you gonna be OK to fly?’

  ‘Yeah, they said there was no problem with that,’ answered his pal.

  ‘Lucky sucker,’ said Eoin. ‘You’re flying into Shannon so you’ll be home a lot quicker than us. And of course, we have a lot more in our baggage too,’ he chuckled, pointing at the silver trophy.

  The mention of baggage reminded Eoin he had left his second bag in the changing room, and he excused himself to go back to get it.

  He opened his locker in the dressing room, and sitting on top of his bag was a small box with his name written upon it.

  ‘I want you to have it,’ said a voice behind him. ‘I don’t need it, and you helped me complete it. It is right that you have my part.’

  Eoin turned and looked into the sad blue eyes of Prince Alexei Obolensky.

  ‘You’re a very good rugby player,’ Alex went on. ‘Very good indeed. Your try today reminded me of my own here in 1936, even down to the way you touched the ball down. Did you mean it to be so?’

  ‘Well…’ replied Eoin. ‘I suppose I spent a lot of time studying that move and I saw a chance to try to repeat it. I could have sworn you were at my shoulder all the while I was running.’

  ‘Yes, I was, in a way,’ said Alex. ‘And I hope you get as much fun out of this sport as I once did. I must go now, my little quest is over and I must rest. But it was wonderful to meet you and I hope we can see each other again some day.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Eoin. ‘I can’t take the egg. It’s worth twenty million pounds! That sort of money could ruin my life. Can’t you find someone else to take it?’

  ‘No,’ replied Alex, firmly. ‘The egg is yours now. You must decide what to do with it. Farewell.’

  And Alex was gone, leaving Eoin with a small, priceless gift which he stuffed back inside a sock and hid in his kitbag.

  He rejoined his family, and with them was Dixie, who had earlier been deep in discussion with an elderly Englishman about the good old days when a try was worth three points.

  ‘I’ve just been talking to that man there,’ he said, pointing, ‘and he was talking about the remarkable similarities between your try and that of a very famous player back before the War. We dropped into the museum again to check it and he was right. And the funny thing is, the chap who scored the try was very familiar. Obolensky was his name and I have a vague memory that was the same name old Nicky Lubov mentioned to me.’

  Eoin grinned. ‘What a remarkable coincidence,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 34

  All the way home to Ormondstown Eoin worrie
d about the egg.

  ‘You don’t look like a man who won the cup,’ said his dad as they were bringing the bags in from the car.

  ‘I’m just tired, Dad, sorry,’ replied Eoin, although he had slept on the plane and in the car all the way home.

  He soon hit his bed too, glad of the familiar mattress after a week away, but sleep was slow in coming.

  His clock said 2.15am, but he decided to get up. He rambled downstairs and into the washroom where he had left his bags. He rummaged in the pockets and took out the small box in which Alex had placed the bluegreen egg.

  Back in his room he examined the treasure that had so bewitched the dead rugby player. Now he knew its true value he realised the tiny jewels must be diamonds, and the decorative bands wrapped around it were solid gold. On the side of the egg was a gold medallion which showed a serious-looking man with an oval-shaped head and a bushy moustache.

  Eoin switched on his computer and typed ‘Tsar of Russia’ into a search engine. Up came lots of pictures of men in uniform, most with bushy beards or moustaches. But he eventually narrowed it down to one who resembled the man on the egg, who he now knew was Tsar Alexander III.

  He typed in ‘Tsar of Russia Easter egg’ and his mouth dropped open at the stunning jewels that appeared. There were dozens of the Fabergé eggs, covered in gold and precious stones and with little intricate paintings of Russian royals. Eoin checked the prices that collectors paid and saw that Alex had been right.

  He lay back in bed, now more disturbed than ever by the situation in which he found himself. He dozed off, but woke with the dawn chorus.

  Eoin dragged himself out of bed and decided to go for a run, his usual solution to a problem that needed serious thinking. There were very few people about as he trotted along the pavements past the homes of his friends and the shops he called into every time he was in town. Having twenty million pounds in his bank account would mean he couldn’t do that again easily. He probably couldn’t go for a run without being stopped by someone – or worse.

  He jogged out of town towards his grandfather’s house, and past it to the gates of the old Lubov mansion. He was sure there was someone standing at the doorway this time, but who could it be? They certainly weren’t wearing rugby gear.

  He paused, unsure whether he should venture inside, but a friendly wave from the figure encouraged him. He knew he was a fast runner and this person looked very old, so he could surely escape if there was any danger.

  ‘Good morning, Eoin,’ said the stranger.

  ‘Eh, good morning…’ replied Eoin, ‘but how do you know my name?’

  ‘I know quite a bit about you, actually,’ he smiled, ‘but don’t worry, it’s all good. My nephew Alex filled me in.’

  ‘Are you Uncle Nick?’ asked Eoin.

  ‘Yes, that’s what he called me, and your grandfather too. But as you now know, my real name is Alexander Romanov and I was once the last uncrowned Tsar of Russia.’

  ‘Why did you come here?’ asked Eoin. ‘I’ve never seen you here before.’

  ‘I have been gone a long time,’ said Alexander. ‘And I am sad to see what has happened to my old home. I wasn’t very good at paperwork and I should have made better plans for what would become of it.’

  ‘So why did you come back?’

  Alexander smiled. ‘I understand you know just what the gift I gave Dixie was. Alex was very grateful that you helped him to put together the mystery at last, and I am delighted that he has presented you with the complete treasure.’

  Eoin looked at the ground.

  ‘And I also understand that you are burdened by the ownership of the egg. But I am here to tell you not to be. It is too much a treasure for one man to own, or one young boy. Ireland has been good to me. Perhaps the people of your nation would enjoy it more than if it were stuck in a bank vault, or a smelly old sock.’

  Eoin grinned and suddenly saw the solution. He thanked Alexander, who said goodbye and walked back into the old mansion. Eoin turned on his heels and raced home as fast as he could.

  CHAPTER 35

  Back in his bedroom he collected the egg and returned to his grandfather’s house. It was still very early so he waited outside for a few minutes until he saw the curtains being drawn and Dixie waved him in.

  He sat at the kitchen table as Dixie made tea and toast, and when the old man sat down he produced the little cardboard box from his pocket and placed it in the middle of the table.

  ‘Do you remember that little rugby ball, Grandad?’

  ‘Oh, that old thing? Yes, why do you ask?’

  ‘Well I brought it to England with me as a sort of lucky charm. It obviously worked, too. Anyway, after the final I found this box in my locker, and inside was the other half of the ball, or the Easter egg as it really is.’

  He opened the box and removed the treasure. Dixie was amazed how beautiful it looked when complete, and how it really did look more like an egg than a rugby ball.

  ‘This is really very special. What have you found out about it?’

  ‘Well, I’ve found that it could be worth twenty-five million euro for a start…’

  Dixie dropped his toast.

  ‘Twenty-five…’ he started.

  ‘… million,’ Eoin finished the sentence for him.

  ‘Oh, lord, and I nearly threw it in a bag for the charity shop.’

  ‘Well, that would have been a pity – but they might have made something out of it, I suppose,’ chuckled Eoin.

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’ asked Dixie.

  ‘Well, I don’t want it,’ said Eoin. ‘It’s a stupid amount of money and it would change everything. I love living here and going to school in Dublin, and all that. If I had twenty-five million I’d need security guards and we’d probably have to move.’

  Dixie smiled at his grandson. ‘That’s very sensible of you, but what are you going to do with the egg? You can’t leave it in your room.’

  ‘I thought I’d give it to the National Museum up in Dublin,’ he said. ‘They could fix it and look after it, and maybe more people would go to see the museum if this was in it. We’d all be winners then.’

  Dixie nodded his approval, and Eoin thanked him for his support. He would still have a bit of explaining to do, and maybe even the Gardaí would want to talk to him, but he reckoned he would be able to tell them the story without mentioning ghosts.

  Eoin closed the gate carefully and jogged back towards Ormondstown with a huge weight off his shoulders. It was time to call for Dylan – school was just around the corner again and it was time to get the banter started about London. Eoin would never let him forget about the day he wore that Leinster scarf.

  About the Author

  GERARD SIGGINS was born in Dublin and has lived almost all his life in the shadow of Lansdowne Road; he’s been attending rugby matches there since he was small enough for his dad to lift him over the turnstiles. He is a sports journalist and worked for the Sunday Tribune for many years. His other books about rugby player Eoin Madden, Rugby Spirit, Rugby Warrior and Rugby Rebel, are also published by The O’Brien Press.

  Copyright

  This eBook edition first published 2016 by

  The O’Brien Press Ltd,

  12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar,

  Dublin 6, Ireland

  D06 HD27

  Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777

  E-mail: books@obrien.ie.

  Website: www.obrien.ie

  First published 2016.

  The O’Brien Press is a member of Publishing Ireland.

  eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–856–5

  Text © copyright Gerard Siggins 2016

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  © The O’Brien Press Ltd

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