Free Kick by Tom Palmer (that summer book .TXT) 📕

our ankles, I reckon,’ James said, lying down on the bed again. ‘They won’t want us getting injured.’

‘True,’ Jake agreed. Then he gazed back down at the street. ‘James?’ he said, after a minute. ‘Are you happy at United?’

‘What?’

‘I just feel like you’re not enjoying it. The last few weeks.’

James didn’t know what to say. Had Jake uncovered his secret? Was it so obvious that James was having doubts? How could people tell? Now he was going to have to tell him. Or at least say something.

‘I… I’m not sure,’ James said.

‘How do you mean?’ asked Jake, turning to glance out of the window again.

James didn’t know what to say in response to Jake. He was trying to put the right words together when Jake shouted.

‘James!’

‘Yeah?’

‘Is that Craig?’

‘What?’

James got up again and came over to the window. He looked down. ‘It is,’ he said. ‘What’s he up to?’

Craig was standing outside the door of the student accommodation block, several people walking past him. And a policeman was talking to him.

James called his dad on his mobile. He didn’t need to think twice.

‘Craig’s outside the main door,’ James said quickly, ‘and the police are with him.’

Jake and James watched the rest from their window above. James’s dad – and Steve – were outside in seconds. Steve went up to the policeman and Craig.

The policeman was talking quickly to Steve. He looked angry. They saw Steve nodding, then shaking the policeman’s hand. Then everyone moved out of view, so neither Jake nor James could see what was going on.

They heard the door slam.

And the city carried on making its noises. Everything was back to normal.

‘What was that all about?’ Jake asked.

‘I dunno,’ James replied. ‘But I reckon Craig’s getting a right telling-off now.’

One-Match Ban

There was a strange silence at breakfast the next morning. Something had happened overnight, but nobody knew quite what.

Steve and James’s dad were chatting with Will’s mum. The adults were making sure all the boys had what they wanted to eat. And that they took their empty plates and mugs to the right place.

Nobody dared ask anyone else what had happened.

James looked over at Craig a couple of times, but Craig was just looking at his bowl, moving his cereal around with a spoon, not eating it.

‘Right, lads,’ Steve said.

Nobody even smiled when he said this. It had become a joke that Steve always started saying things with ‘Right, lads’. But today it wasn’t funny.

‘Last night I told you all to stay in the building,’ Steve continued. ‘I’d like to thank the eleven of you that did.’

None of the boys’ eyes moved from Steve.

‘But last night three of you – Craig, Sam and Daniel – did not. Those three were found outside the main door in what could have been a very serious situation. They’re all on a final warning. And they’re all dropped from today’s game.’

A murmur went round the room.

‘It’s my responsibility to keep you safe on this trip,’ Steve went on. ‘We are in London, one of the biggest and therefore potentially most dangerous cities in the world. I’ve said all I’m going to say. Any more trouble and the same punishments apply.’

Steve stood up, took his empty dishes to stack for washing and left the room.

James looked at his dad, but his dad was still talking to Will’s mum.

Then James saw Craig looking at him. There was no expression on Craig’s face. But it made James wonder if Craig knew that it was him who had told the adults he was out on the street last night.

Half an hour later the coach was waiting for them outside the accommodation block.

James sat behind Jake and Yunis. Yunis was the team’s leading scorer, a fast striker who was quiet off the pitch but strong on it.

James was still feeling uneasy. They were going to play the tournament at West Ham’s training ground. His dad’s old club.

Jake was bouncing around in his seat. ‘Do you think they’ll be good?’ he asked.

‘Course,’ Yunis said. ‘They’re Arsenal players, so they must be. And their attack is supposed to be amazing.’

‘Well, James can handle them,’ Jake said, turning round. ‘Can’t you, James?’

James nodded.

‘You’re quiet,’ said Yunis.

‘Yeah.’ James smiled. ‘I just get nervous going to West Ham. Everyone goes mad over Dad – and they make a big fuss of me too.’

Yunis nodded, but said nothing.

Jake looked at James, wishing he’d talked to him more about how he was feeling the night before, when they’d been interrupted by Craig outside on the street.

He felt like James had something to say.

West Ham v Chelsea

West Ham’s training facilities were a bit like United’s: a block of buildings clustered together; several large pitches; a lot of fancy first-team cars in the car park.

James could see that his dad was waiting for him so that they could get off the coach together. Father and son.

And as soon as they were outside, the former West Ham player was being called out to. Every other man in a tracksuit wanted to come up and shake his hand.

‘Cyril! How’s it going?’

‘Cyril! Have you come back for a game?’

‘Cyril! How’s life in the frozen north?’

And everyone was laughing. They were happy to see the man who had lifted the cup for them in the 1980s. The man who had scored the winning goal.

Then the focus turned on James, who had been thinking how strange it was to hear his dad called by his first name. Especially as it was such a weird name.

‘Your lad’s getting big now, Cyril. He’s looking good. Still at United, son?’

‘Yes,’ James said.

‘It’s going OK?’

‘Great,’ James said.

‘You’re going to be pulling on an England shirt one day, son. Just like your dad. I can tell.’

Then there was more laughter.

Jake watched James getting all the attention but looking gloomy. What had James been trying to tell him last night?

‘Right, lads,’