Obsidian Pebble (25 page)

Oz heard the collision, which sounded remarkably like a ten-pound haddock connecting with a wet marble slab, even from where he stood, forty yards away. Skinner did a Titanic, rolling on the floor and clutching at his ear and making a noise like a cross between an injured cat and a bellowing antelope. He didn't stay down for long, however. Five seconds later he was running around the pitch, screeching like a demented owl and clutching the side of his face, where his ear had already swollen to twice its normal size. It took all of Oz's willpower not to roll about on the ground, he was laughing so much. Skinner was mercifully taken off, but not without glowering at Ellie.

When play had resumed, and with no one on the pitch but Oz watching, Ellie stopped on the touchline next to Skinner and did a shadow taekwando move which earned howls of complaint from the Skullers' supporters. But when the ref turned around to look, Ellie was long gone, chasing after the Skullers' fullback, the epitome of innocent enthusiasm.

As the second half wore on, something happened to the Skullers. Their failure to score was causing them a great deal of frustration, and they began blaming each other for simple mistakes. Jenks and the centre forward, especially, seemed not to get on and more than once ended up shouting at each other and calling one another very unpleasant names, until the referee had to intervene and warn them. After Jenks sent one too many long balls skittering over the dead ball line, irritation boiled over in the Skullers' team. The centre forward ran across the pitch and stuck his face belligerently close to Jenks'.

“What the hell was that? I'm not a bleepin' greyhound, you know.”

“No, more like a bleepin' snail.”

They began pushing and shoving each other, and some of their teammates ran across to separate them. Oz thought about waiting for them to sort themselves out, but then, as he lined up for the goal kick, saw Ruff waving frantically in a big open space on the left midfield. Oz didn't hesitate; he launched a loping pass straight to Ruff, who immediately sprinted forward into the Skullers' half. The altercation between Jenks and the centre forward had pulled two other Skullers' players out of position, and Ruff had seen the gap it had left. Some slick passing got the ball to Ellie, who slipped it between the fullback's legs and got to the goal line. A cross was on, but instead Ellie pulled the ball back to Lottie Barnes, who was unmarked at the edge of the penalty area. Lottie controlled the pass cleverly and shot. The ball dipped low, bounced once and flew over the Skullers' despairing goalie into the back of the net.

One-nil to the Lions.

The team went wild. The spectators on the touchline went wilder. They were hugging each other and shouting, while on the other side of the pitch the Skullers' supporters stood about in shocked silence. Furious, the Skullers coach took Jenks off. He left the thunder-faced centre forward on and ordered his team to go on all-out attack. They flew at the Lions in the last five minutes, but Oz was on a roll. He somehow caught and parried and deflected everything they threw at him.

But there was one more throw of the dice left. With a minute to go to full time, and with the Skullers pushing everyone forward, the Lions' fullback lost his footing and Natasha Stilson broke down the left wing and passed to the centre forward, who had made a run from deep. Suddenly there was no one between the big number nine and the goal, except, of course, Oz, who charged out to challenge. The centre forward was tall and rangy, and came straight at Oz, keeping the ball skilfully at his feet. It looked certain to be one-all. All the Skullers' number nine had to do was beat Oz and slot the ball home, but it was clear that he wasn't going to risk a shot from that far out. The safest way was to dribble the ball in.

Oz, however, had other ideas. He kept coming out, right to the edge of the box, blocking the goal as best he could but keeping his eyes on the ball all the time. Just before he got to Oz, the number nine took the ball left, but Oz, instead of diving, feinted left and went right at exactly the same time as the centre forward drove in that direction. Oz felt the ball hit his stomach and grabbed at it with both hands. A collision was inevitable, and the centre forward's momentum took him right over Oz and sent him sprawling.

There were immediate shouts and appeals for a penalty, but the referee shook his head and the whole of the Skullers team ran after him, protesting, followed by the Lions, who were doing exactly the opposite. What was clear to the referee was that Oz had played the ball, and it was the centre forward's bad luck to have been behind it and to have fallen over the goalkeeper.

Oz had enough sense to stay down on the floor as the ref, who'd had more than enough of the Skullers' followers by now, blew the final whistle. Oz got up, blinking mud from his eyes, and saw a movement behind his goal near some changing rooms. It looked like someone, seeing that Oz was looking and not having expected it, had stepped back behind the edge of the building. That someone had been wearing a very familiar-looking red and black coat, just like Lucy Bishop had worn the day before. Oz wiped his eyes properly with his sleeve, but when he looked again the figure had gone.

There was a noise on the pitch behind him. He turned and saw, to his utter astonishment, that the whole of the Lions team—plus the thirty or so parents and supporters—were all running towards him, telling him that he'd had a brilliant game, cheering and laughing as if they'd just won the FA Cup final. Two seconds later, mothers were kissing him and fathers and brothers were clapping him on the shoulders, while Ellie and Ruff kept saying to their teammates, “Told you so. Told you he was really good.” Meanwhile Oz, bemused and mud-covered, basked in and tasted something that he had never tasted before.

Glory.

And with it came a very strange feeling indeed. It took a while for it to sink in, but eventually Oz realised that he had not felt as happy as this for a long, long time. But it was while he waited for Ruff and Ellie afterwards that the best thing of all happened. It was Ruff's turn to collect the flagpoles and Ellie's to sort the shirts, and they were both busy loading the kit into a big van with “Steve's Roofing Services” written on its side, when Oz wandered over to stand next to Ruff's dad's van to wait. He leaned on the bonnet, picking the grass and mud from the bottom of his boots. Mr. Adams joined him and cleared his throat.

“Oz, the way you stood up to that bullying number nine today was…well, it was bloomin' magnificent. It's made my season, it really has.” Mr. Adams shook his head. “I didn't know your dad, and I am truly sorry for what happened to him. But I know that, if he'd been here today, he would have been really proud of you. Really proud.”

He held out his hand. Oz took it and looked across at the now-empty expanse of pitches and said quietly, “I think he probably was here.”

Mr. Adams nodded, sniffed and turned away to stare at a seagull on the goalposts so that Oz had time to wipe the moisture from his eyes. Just as well, because two seconds later Ellie and Ruff appeared, red-faced and grinning.

“I can't wait until tomorrow,” Ellie said animatedly. “I can't wait to walk into registration and see Jenks' and Skinner's faces.”

“I never thought we'd ever beat them,” Ruff said in a voice still resonating with shock.

“Well,” said Mr. Adams, “like I said. A bit of self-belief is all you need.”

“And Oz,” Ellie said.

“And Oz,” Mr. Adams agreed, nodding.

“What a brilliant buzzard day,” Ruff said.

* * *

They dropped Oz off outside Penwurt, but he didn't get out until they'd finished singing another chorus of “We are the Champions,” which Mr. Adams had played half a dozen times on the way back. Tired but content, Oz waved them off and turned to walk through his gate just as the first spots of rain drifted down from the lowering sky. Oz looked up to see clouds moving in quickly from the west. There was a damp and icy wind of change in the air.

The police car was parked unobtrusively at the side of the house, out of view of the road. Oz stopped, frowning as something cold and unpleasant did a somersault in his stomach. Oz didn't like police cars turning up because, in his short and troubled life, he had learned that their occupants were rarely the bearers of good news.

Oz used his key to open the front door and called to his mother from the hall. She emerged from the dining room, looking serious.

“Mum? What's going on? Why are the police here?”

“They're here to see you, Oz,” Mrs. Chambers said.

The cold thing in his gut did another unpleasant sloshing manoeuvre. He had no idea why the police wanted to see him, and his mind cast about for possible reasons. Did it have something to do with school and Badger Breath? Could you be arrested for getting one hundred percent on a maths test? His mind buzzing, he only half-heard what his mother was saying, but he managed to tune in when he heard a name he recognised.

“…a break-in at an antique shop. Garard and Aldred, I think they said—”

“Garret and Eldred?” Oz asked, his voice rising.

“Then you do know it?” his mother asked earnestly.

“Yes, but…”

“Come through, Oz. We shouldn't keep them waiting. I'll let them explain.”

There were two uniformed police officers sitting in the dining room. They both stood as Oz entered. One was a burly man with a round, lived-in face and not much hair. His name was Sergeant Thomas, and it was he who did the introductions. The other, a petite woman with an unsmiling expression, was a woman police constable called Keller. She held an open notebook in one hand and a pen in the other.

“So,” said Sgt Thomas after he'd told Oz who they were, “how did the football go?”

“Good. We won, one-nil,” Oz said, turning to watch WPC Keller write something down.

“Good, good,” Sgt Thomas continued in a singsong Welsh accent. “Now, I don't want you to be alarmed, or to worry about anything. These are just routine enquiries.”

“About what?”

“You know a shop called Garret and Eldred in the old town?”

Oz nodded. “We, that is, my friends and me…we were there yesterday.”

Sgt Thomas nodded. “There was a break-in last night. Nasty business. In the course of the robbery, Mr. Eldred was assaulted.”

Oz felt all the fun and happiness the morning had brought evaporate in an instant. He sat heavily on the sofa next to his mother. “I was here…all night. Me and my friends—”

Sgt Thomas held up his hand and gave a mirthless smile. Oz couldn't help noticing that Keller's expression didn't change at all as she stared unwaveringly at him.

“You and your friends are not suspects, Oscar. That's not why we're here. As a general rule, we find that robbers don't introduce themselves to their intended victims like you did. No, this robber was after something specific. Wasn't subtle about it, either. Made enough noise to wake Mr. Eldred up. Foolishly, he challenged the man, who then turned on him, poor chap. Luckily someone heard the noise and called us. That time on a Sunday morning we have patrols all over that area, so we got there pretty quick. Could have been much worse. We're here talking to you because we want to try and establish the events of yesterday afternoon. Mr. Eldred was able to give us your address. Now, you went to the shop at about what time?”

Oz could feel his heart beating in his throat like a stuck sweet. A robbery? Who would want to rob a jumbled old curiosity shop like Garret and Eldred's?

“Uh…about three,” Oz said, marshalling his thoughts, but finding it difficult to stop thinking about Mr. Eldred. “The shopkeeper, Mr. Eldred, he's all right, isn't he?”

“Badly shaken and bruised. He's in hospital for observation, but he'll be fine,” Sgt Thomas reassured him.

“He seemed such a nice bloke,” Oz said.

“Why were you at the shop?” asked WPC Keller abruptly. “Not your sort of place, I would have said.”

“It isn't. We were looking for something special.” Oz sensed his mother's eyes boring into the side of his head, and he dared not look at her for fear they would burn right through his eyes and sear his brain.

“Mr. Eldred said you bought something,” Keller barked.

“Yeah, it was a brooch. A dress clip brooch.”

Keller frowned. “Funny thing to buy.”

Oz gulped. He was very tempted to lie, make something up about Macy, Ellie's sister, always wanting one, but it sounded lame and hollow. He felt his insides knotting. The last thing he'd intended was for his mother to learn about any of this, let alone listen to him explain it all to a stranger.

“My friends and me, we found some old papers in the library here and some stuff belonging to my dad and…” It still sounded weak and pathetic, but at least it was the truth. “Well, we think my dad was looking for something a bit like this brooch.”

“Is your dad,” said Sgt Thomas, and then corrected himself, “was your dad a collector?”

“Sort of,” Oz said, still keeping his eyes away from his mother's face. “He was a lecturer in historical materials. We found a picture of the brooch in an online advert from Garret and Eldred and…”

“I see,” smiled Sgt Thomas. “Just a bit of an adventure, was it?”

“Yeah,” Oz said, knowing that what he had just said must have sounded pathetic and childish to this big policeman, but oddly glad, because it meant he didn't have to go into all the other stuff. The weird stuff. Maybe this way Mum wouldn't twig, either. He risked a glance at her and had his worst fears confirmed. She looked grey and drawn and very unhappy. She knew, all right.

“Did you happen to notice anyone strange hanging around the area?” Keller went on.

“It's not a very nice area, I know that. But Ruff, my friend, he found a secondhand video game shop, so we went there afterwards.”

“But nothing strange or unusual?”