Dead Ball by Tom Palmer (snow like ashes series .txt) 📕

They hung out with a group of friends after school sometimes. But that was it. In fact, they’d seen less of each other recently.

But Danny had asked to meet her today for a reason. A good reason. Charlotte’s work experience was with the police and Danny wanted to know what it was like. At least, that’s what he told himself.

‘So,’ he asked casually, ‘what have they had you doing today? The police, I mean.’

Charlotte looked at each of the tables around them, then turned to Danny and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve been doing surveillance,’ she said.

Danny’s eyes widened. ‘What? Who?’

‘There’s a criminal gang operating out of the market in town. We’re watching them from a tower block. They’re expecting a delivery today.’ Charlotte looked around again. ‘Class A drugs,’ she whispered.

Danny was spellbound, watching Charlotte’s mouth.

Now he felt envy. Pure envy. Would he rather be meeting international footballers with Anton Holt or observing major drug deals with Charlotte Duncan?

Both.

He wanted both.

He saw Charlotte’s mouth open out into a smile. And then she was laughing. Loudly.

‘What?’ Danny said.

He noticed men looking over and he blushed again.

‘You believed me,’ Charlotte said. ‘You think they’d have me doing that? You’re such a mug. They’ve had me putting stuff on to computers.’

Danny frowned.

‘Inputting data.’ Charlotte went on. ‘Typing. It’s about as exciting as one of Mr Hinchliffe’s English lessons.’

Danny tried to look like he didn’t care that Charlotte had called him a mug. If Paul had said it, he’d not have been bothered. But there was something different about Charlotte saying it.

‘So you’ve not got anything for me?’ he said in a hard voice.

‘What?’ Now it was Charlotte’s turn to frown.

But Danny had to go on.

‘Nothing about CID? Anything going on?’

‘Nothing,’ Charlotte said, looking away.

And Danny felt small. Really small. Maybe Charlotte thought he had only asked her for a coffee because he wanted to know about the police.

And the worst thing was – it was partly true.

‘How’s your mum and dad?’ Danny said, trying to change the subject.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘And your mum and dad? How are they?’

She was taking the mick now. How could he get out of this situation? Be honest. That’s what his dad always said. Be straightforward with people.

‘I didn’t just want to meet you to ask about the police,’ Danny said. ‘I like meeting you. And we haven’t seen each other for a bit.’

Charlotte sat back in her chair. She smiled. ‘Actually, I have read some interesting things in the stuff I’m inputting.’

‘Yeah?’ Danny tried to sound only slightly interested. But he leaned forward – ready to listen.

APPOINTMENT WITH ALEX FINN

3 p.m. Danny sat outside the pub at a wooden table – that was on the edge of the car park and a lawn – while Anton Holt and his boss, Giles Forshaw, the newspaper’s editor, went inside.

Danny was feeling deeply envious. All the way from the newspaper offices, Holt and Forshaw had talked only about their travelling to Moscow on Sunday. On the players’ flight. He wished he could go. Imagine going to Russia to watch the football. With the team!

Danny stared across fields that sloped down to a river. Further up the river there was a ruin. An abbey. Danny remembered his dad bringing him here years ago. They used to come a lot. And eat here sometimes. When his dad still had his sight. He smiled at the memory.

But it didn’t allay his nerves. His big worry was that Alex Finn would arrive before Holt and his boss came back. Then he’d have to talk to Finn. Alone.

What do you say to England’s number one if he comes and sits on the seat next to you the night after he’s played a blinder for his country? Well played last night, Alex. Something like that?

Danny smiled.

Until he saw a silver Mercedes move slowly into the car park. It crunched on the gravel as its driver edged it backwards into a parking space next to a Porsche.

Danny shivered. He had a thing about Mercedes cars. Ever since the madman and former football chairman Sir Richard Gawthorpe had tried to run him over in his Mercedes.

Danny watched as the driver got out.

It was Alex Finn, his pair of sunglasses not disguising him. He looked around the car park for a long time before he shut the door and moved away from his car. He appeared hesitant, like he was trying to avoid someone.

Danny was surprised to see how tall Finn was. He knew he was six-four. He had it on a trading card. But seeing him was different. He was huge. Massive shoulders. Long legs and arms. Like a statue of a man made bigger than a real man should be.

He practised his line: Well played last night, Alex. Or should he call him Mr Finn?

Finn walked towards Danny.

This was it.

‘Alex? Over here.’

Danny watched as Finn turned towards Giles Forshaw by the door to the pub. He saw Finn wave, then head over to the newspaper’s editor, who had been joined by Holt. The three men stood in a triangle.

Danny took in the scene: three men at a pub, surrounded by trees and posh cars, a hill sloping up behind them. After a few moments they came over to Danny, Holt carrying a tray of coffees and a Coke for Danny.

‘And this is Danny,’ Forshaw said. ‘He’s doing work experience with Anton. Just for a couple of weeks.’

Danny put out his hand. Finn shook it. The hand was enormous. Really enormous. Danny had wanted to be like one of the adults, but seeing his hand dwarfed by the keeper’s, he felt even more like a child.

The three men sat down with Danny.

‘First of all, Alex,’ Forshaw said. ‘You played a great game last night. Those saves – wonderful.’

‘Thanks,’ Finn said. His voice was quiet. Muted. He wasn’t what Danny had expected. And Danny noticed he kept glancing at the car park entrance every time a car came by on the main road.

‘We’d like to