Extra Time (7 page)

We're all glowing with happiness in the car going back to Mrs Jarvis's.

‘Yee-ha,' says Uncle Cliff. ‘You're on your way, Matty.'

My doubts are on their way too. On their way to disappearing.

Today was Matt's first day and first days are always a bit weird. It's like my first day at primary school. The year twos made us new kids use the toilet near the ants nest. It was called the tickle toot. I reckon that's probably what Ayo and the others were doing just now on the pitch. Giving Matt a taste of the tickle toot.

‘You're a lucky boy, Matt,' says Ken as he steers us through the traffic. ‘Do you know how many kids round the world dream of training with a club like ours?'

Uncle Cliff thinks about this.

‘Is the number more than fifty thousand or less than fifty thousand?' he says.

Ken laughs.

‘Millions,' he says.

‘Hear that, Matt,' I say. ‘You're one in a million.'

As Matt's manager and somebody who's not very good at maths, I'm allowed to exaggerate a bit.

Nobody in the car disagrees with me, and that's the toast Uncle Cliff makes back at Mrs Jarvis's.

‘To our one-in-a-million kid,' he says.

We all clink our teacups.

Ken says he won't stay for dinner.

After he goes, Mrs Jarvis serves up a delicious lamb hotpot.

‘This is top tucker,' says Uncle Cliff to Mrs Jarvis. ‘I could eat this three times a day.'

‘That wouldn't be a good idea, Cliff,' says Mrs Jarvis. ‘Your digestive system would get over-stressed and you'd end up with a spastic colon.'

Uncle Cliff doesn't seem to mind. Probably because Mrs Jarvis is so pretty.

I know I should let the grown-ups talk more. Mrs Jarvis is single like Uncle Cliff. Her husband is living with a sports physiotherapist in Gdansk.

But there's something I have to ask.

‘Mrs Jarvis,' I say. ‘Today we met a boy at the youth academy called Ayo.'

She pauses in the middle of giving Uncle Cliff another dollop of hotpot.

‘Ayodele Awolopo,' she says, smiling. ‘Sweet boy. And a very good player. The top kid in the under-fifteens.'

I tell Mrs Jarvis what Ayo said. How if you help somebody at the academy, you kill them.

Matt and Uncle Cliff frown. They haven't heard about this.

‘What did Ayo mean?' I ask Mrs Jarvis.

She sighs.

‘It's so competitive at the academy,' she says. ‘They're all terrified. They think if they look weak or vulnerable, they'll miss out.'

I don't understand.

‘But Ayo's been chosen,' I say. ‘The club's chosen him to train with them. He's made it.'

‘That's only the start,' says Mrs Jarvis. ‘Out of all the boys training there, do you know how many actually make it into the first team and earn the big money?'

I look at Matt and Uncle Cliff.

None of us know.

‘Is the number more than fifty or less than fifty?' says Uncle Cliff.

‘Some years it's none,' says Mrs Jarvis.

We stare at her.

‘Some years it's one,' she says. ‘Two tops. Same with all the big clubs. And do you know the crazy thing? After they've ditched most of their academy trainees, they pay huge money to buy players from other clubs.'

We sit there in silence, taking this in.

Matt is looking stunned.

Uncle Cliff's mouth is hanging open. I can see half-chewed hotpot. Which looks even more of a risk to your breathing than half-chewed fish finger.

I'm finding it a bit hard to breathe myself.

I get it now. The reason the academy boys are so grim and rough and not interested in having fun.

They're all desperate to be the one.

What are they going to do when they find out the one is Matt?

Before we go to bed, we skype Mum and Dad on Uncle Cliff's laptop, and tell them about Matt being invited to train with the club for the rest of the week.

‘Wow,' says Mum.

‘Not surprising,' says Dad. ‘Good on you, Matt.'

But then Mum and Dad glance at each other, and I can see what they're thinking.

Leg pins.

‘Be careful, love,' says Mum to Matt. ‘Have fun, but take it easy.'

‘Don't worry,' I say to Mum. ‘The other boys are giving Matt the royal family treatment,'

Uncle Cliff helps Mum feel better too. He tells her and Dad about the photos he's put on Facebook.

‘It's everything we've been doing,' he says.

That isn't totally true. There are lots of photos of the pork and pistachio paté and Mrs Jarvis's hedge and Gazz's waterfall and the training centre and Mrs Jarvis, but Uncle Cliff has very kindly made sure for Mum's sake that there isn't a single photo of a grim face or a rough tackle.

Mum and Dad relax a bit.

Sort of.

After we all go to bed, I creep into Matt's room.

I knock first. It's best with older brothers, even in digs.

‘Yo,' he says.

I go in. His lamp is on and he's lying on top of the bed in his pyjamas, bouncing a rolled-up sock between his knees.

‘Can't you sleep either?' says Matt.

He sits up and I sit next to him.

‘Mum and Dad were feeling really proud of you,' I say.

Matt nods, but doesn't say anything.

We both know Mum and Dad were feeling a lot of other things too.

‘You can be the one, Matt,' I say. ‘I know you can. David Beckham signed with Manchester United when he was fourteen. No way is he chunkier than you, and I reckon you're more determined than him. And more talented.'

We look at each other.

I can see Matt is having worried thoughts. Probably about leg pins.

I try not to let him see the thoughts I'm suddenly having.

Does this mean we won't see Mum and Dad for a long time? Does it mean I'll have to leave school? I'm not even sure if that's legal at ten.

Matt puts his arm round me.

Which is a surprise. He doesn't do that much these days.

I want to snuggle into him and let him cuddle me. But I don't. Right now he doesn't need a sooky little sister, he needs a manager.

Matt is frowning. I know he's thinking about Mum and Dad. About how tired they looked tonight. About how much they need a long rest. Ideally in a big comfortable house with automatic blinds.

I've never seen Matt look quite like this before.

He definitely is more determined than David Beckham.

I'm glad Mum isn't at Matt's first training session. I'm glad she's on the other side of the planet in bed. Not having to see what Matt's doing.

I can hardly look myself.

The trainers made the boys pair off and take turns to keep the ball away from each other. Matt chose Ayo. I would too. He's the only kid who's been even a bit friendly.

Big mistake.

Matt started with the ball, and Ayo slammed into him like a fridge on castors. That happened to Dad once, on a sloping driveway. But Dad was able to go to hospital. He didn't have to pick himself up and try to get a ball back from the fridge.

‘Fair go,' yells Uncle Cliff.

We're standing at the edge of the pitch, jiggling up and down, partly to keep warm and partly because we're so indignant about what's going on.

Nobody else seems to mind. A few other parents are just standing around watching. They don't look very happy, but that's probably because the weather's so bleak and grey. Even the trees around here are shivering. None of them have got any leaves and the only birds you ever see in them are those big black English ones that make tragic sounds.

Ayo is kicking at Matt's ankles while Matt dribbles the ball.

Big hard kicks.

‘Hey,' yells Uncle Cliff. ‘That's not on.'

I try to be a positive manager.

‘I think Matt's OK,' I say to Uncle Cliff. ‘He's so fast and clever, Ayo's missing him most of the time.'

But not all the time. I can see Matt wincing when Ayo's boot hits him.

Sometimes, when you're an Aussie manager, you just have to have faith in Aussie leg pins.

‘Looking good, Matt,' I yell.

‘Don't worry,' says a man standing next to us. ‘The boys will be fine.'

The man looks like he could be Ayo's dad.

‘Where I come from,' says Uncle Cliff to the man, ‘people go to jail for hurting each other like that. Unless they're at the Boxing Day sales.'

‘It's normal,' says the man. ‘Trust me. I know. I've got boys training with six clubs.'

I stare at him. If he's Ayo's dad, he must have a very talented family.

‘Rupert Nkrumo,' says the man, holding out his hand to Uncle Cliff. ‘All Africa Sports And Talent Agency.'

Uncle Cliff goes to shake Mr Nkrumo's hand, then sees what Matt and Ayo are doing.

Ayo's got the ball, and Matt is trying to tackle him. Ayo is using his elbows to make it hard for Matt to concentrate. It must be very hard to concentrate when your kidneys are being bashed.

‘Stop that, you two,' yells Uncle Cliff, hurrying onto the pitch.

Mr Nkrumo is still holding his hand out.

I shake it.

‘Pleased to meet you,' I say.

‘That man is your father?' says Mr Nkrumo, pointing to Uncle Cliff, who's being yelled at by one of the trainers.

‘Uncle,' I say. ‘But he takes the job very seriously.'

Mr Nkrumo nods.

‘Of course,' he says. ‘Every job should be taken seriously. The world is a serious place. Plenty of time to relax when you're dead.'

I look at him, puzzled. Why does everybody here always talk about dying?

‘Harder,' shouts Mr Nkrumo.

I'm shocked. He's shouting it to Ayo, who's bashing into Matt with both shoulders.

‘Excuse me,' I say sternly to Mr Nkrumo.

I'm about to let him know I take my job of looking after Matt seriously, but before I can, Uncle Cliff comes back with a dejected face.

‘I've been sent off,' he says.

I know how hurtful that must be for an ex-referee. I hold Uncle Cliff's hand.

‘Thanks,' he says. ‘But they told me I have to wait in the carpark.'

He heads off.

‘Foolish man,' says Mr Nkrumo. ‘Family and agents are not allowed on the pitch. I could have told him that.'

I'm starting to not like Mr Nkrumo very much. I've read about soccer agents like him. They might be good at getting players an extra ten thousand a week and a better parking spot, but they're not very warm-hearted.

Oh no, now Matt and Ayo are chest to chest with the ball on the ground between them, trying to knock each other over just using their hips.

Can't the trainers do something?

At last, Mr Merchant the head coach is calling Ayo and Matt over.

He should have done this ten minutes ago. Cooled them down. Told them this sort of behaviour isn't acceptable.

‘I've been watching you two,' says Mr Merchant. ‘In the old days you'd both have been sent off for doing that. And suspended for a month.'

Matt's face falls.

‘But this isn't the old days,' says Mr Merchant. ‘So let's see what positives we can take out of this. Good aggression. Good application. Exactly what a first team player needs. Just don't let the ref see.'

He slaps them both on the back.

Ayo grins. Matt looks a bit stunned.

So am I.

Training finishes with the boys splitting into two teams and having a match. Which is a relief. A match will give Matt a much better chance to show his skill.

And he does.

He scores two brilliant goals, both times using balance and speed to avoid some very rough tackles. And when he gets turned and held and bashed into, he just jumps up and gets back into the game.

‘Good on you, Matt,' I yell.

I'm proud of him. He's learning to cope with soccer at the highest level.

Mostly. But there is one part of it he's not coping with so well.

Each time Matt scores, not one of his team looks happy or says well done. Even when he tries to set up goals for them, the boys in his team don't give him a single friendly look.

I remind myself why this is happening. It's because they all want to be the one. When somebody else sets up a goal for them, they worry that the other person is being the one.

Once Matt is out of all this and in the first team, things'll be better. I must remind him of that.

Matt's not reminding himself. He's starting to look dejected. Just little signs only a sister can spot. Trying to hide a sigh by picking his nose. Shoulders drooping when he scratches his private parts.

‘Team Sutherland,' I yell, because I think that's what Uncle Cliff would do if he was here.

At the end of training I give Matt a high-five and tell him how brilliant he was.

‘A lot of positives we can take out of today,' I say.

That seems to cheer him up a bit.

‘Where's Uncle Cliff?' he says.

‘Got sent off,' I say.

Matt grins, which is good to see.

But as he heads off to get changed and I go to the carpark to find Uncle Cliff, I start feeling a bit dejected myself.

Matt is so friendly and generous and kind, I just wish he didn't have to put up with all this unfriendliness. I wish there was some way I could make it easier for him.

I stop being dejected.

Managers don't get dejected, they get working.

I ask myself if there's any way of making this academy a happier and friendlier place.