least another few weeks before Jamie might be able to start running again.
The sky was a dense white sheet, smothering the sun that lay buried above. Jamie felt as though he hadnât seen the sun in years.
âWhat am I going to do, Jack?â he suddenly asked. Heâd stopped walking.
âWhat do you mean, JJ?â
Jamie smiled. Jack and Mike were the only people whoâd ever called him JJ.
âI mean: what am I going to do without football? Football was my life. Without it, Iâve got ⦠nothing.â
Jamie looked at the ground. His emotions were all jumbled up. He didnât even know if he was making sense.
Then Jack took Jamieâs hand softly but firmly into hers. Their hands fitted together as neatly as they always had done.
âSo get back into football, then,â she said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Â
Â
The rain was beating down so violently on the groundsmanâs decrepit old shed that Jamie could hardly hear the knock of his fist against the weathered wooden door.
When it finally opened, a man stood in front of him, holding a steaming mug of tea in his huge, rough hands. He had an aggressive expression on his face.
âHi,â smiled Jamie, attempting to hold his nerve. âIâm here about the job.â
âWhat job?â snapped the man impatiently. âWe havenât advertised a job.â
âI know,â nodded Jamie. âBut I want one.â
Â
As the heavy storm continued to pelt down, a fat drop of water snaked its way down Jamieâs soaked scalp, tickling his neck as it trickled along its journey.
Jamie didnât flick it away; he was focusing all his attention on the man standing in front of him.
Meanwhile, Archie Fairclough, Hawkstone Unitedâs Head Groundsman and Kit Manager, looked the young lad up and down. What had brought him here on a Thursday morning in the pouring rain? Didnât he go to school?
The kid seemed keen enough, and Archie knew that, now more than ever, he could do with an extra pair of hands around the place⦠But he was always wary of people who came asking for a job at Hawkstone. What were their real motives?
Archie pulled his thumb and his fingers across his chin as his mind edged towards a decision. Strange , he thought to himself, I could have sworn Iâd seen this kid somewhere before.
âThere ainât no money in it, if thatâs what youâre after,â he grunted. âWeâre not on footballersâ wages, you know⦠And we might all be out of a job come May anyway, if we end up going down.â
âI donât care,â the boy responded. âIâm not here for the money. I just want to help.â
And whatâs more, Archie Fairclough could have sworn he was telling the truth.
Â
Â
âA constructive way to generate an income until he goes back to schoolâ was Jeremyâs view of Jamieâs new job at Hawkstone.
Although Jamie had no intention of ever going back to school, heâd decided to save that argument for another day.
Now, because Jamie was earning his own money, Jeremy couldnât have a go at him any more. In fact, he was even giving Jamie a lift into the Hawks training ground for his first day at work.
Jamie stared at Jeremy as he drove. He was wearing his leather driving gloves, checking his rear-view mirror every forty-five seconds. He had the news on the radio. He never ever listened to music in the car. And he always stayed exactly on the speed limit.
Straight , Jamie decided. Straight was the ideal word to describe Jeremy. Everything about him was uniform, in order and unsurprising: his hair, his tie, his neatly polished shoes. Even his voice was boring. Jamie hadnât realized that Jeremy had been talking for the last two minutes. Heâd just tuned in for the end of the sermon.
ââ¦and that is why punctuality is so important,â Jeremy was
The sky was a dense white sheet, smothering the sun that lay buried above. Jamie felt as though he hadnât seen the sun in years.
âWhat am I going to do, Jack?â he suddenly asked. Heâd stopped walking.
âWhat do you mean, JJ?â
Jamie smiled. Jack and Mike were the only people whoâd ever called him JJ.
âI mean: what am I going to do without football? Football was my life. Without it, Iâve got ⦠nothing.â
Jamie looked at the ground. His emotions were all jumbled up. He didnât even know if he was making sense.
Then Jack took Jamieâs hand softly but firmly into hers. Their hands fitted together as neatly as they always had done.
âSo get back into football, then,â she said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Â
Â
The rain was beating down so violently on the groundsmanâs decrepit old shed that Jamie could hardly hear the knock of his fist against the weathered wooden door.
When it finally opened, a man stood in front of him, holding a steaming mug of tea in his huge, rough hands. He had an aggressive expression on his face.
âHi,â smiled Jamie, attempting to hold his nerve. âIâm here about the job.â
âWhat job?â snapped the man impatiently. âWe havenât advertised a job.â
âI know,â nodded Jamie. âBut I want one.â
Â
As the heavy storm continued to pelt down, a fat drop of water snaked its way down Jamieâs soaked scalp, tickling his neck as it trickled along its journey.
Jamie didnât flick it away; he was focusing all his attention on the man standing in front of him.
Meanwhile, Archie Fairclough, Hawkstone Unitedâs Head Groundsman and Kit Manager, looked the young lad up and down. What had brought him here on a Thursday morning in the pouring rain? Didnât he go to school?
The kid seemed keen enough, and Archie knew that, now more than ever, he could do with an extra pair of hands around the place⦠But he was always wary of people who came asking for a job at Hawkstone. What were their real motives?
Archie pulled his thumb and his fingers across his chin as his mind edged towards a decision. Strange , he thought to himself, I could have sworn Iâd seen this kid somewhere before.
âThere ainât no money in it, if thatâs what youâre after,â he grunted. âWeâre not on footballersâ wages, you know⦠And we might all be out of a job come May anyway, if we end up going down.â
âI donât care,â the boy responded. âIâm not here for the money. I just want to help.â
And whatâs more, Archie Fairclough could have sworn he was telling the truth.
Â
Â
âA constructive way to generate an income until he goes back to schoolâ was Jeremyâs view of Jamieâs new job at Hawkstone.
Although Jamie had no intention of ever going back to school, heâd decided to save that argument for another day.
Now, because Jamie was earning his own money, Jeremy couldnât have a go at him any more. In fact, he was even giving Jamie a lift into the Hawks training ground for his first day at work.
Jamie stared at Jeremy as he drove. He was wearing his leather driving gloves, checking his rear-view mirror every forty-five seconds. He had the news on the radio. He never ever listened to music in the car. And he always stayed exactly on the speed limit.
Straight , Jamie decided. Straight was the ideal word to describe Jeremy. Everything about him was uniform, in order and unsurprising: his hair, his tie, his neatly polished shoes. Even his voice was boring. Jamie hadnât realized that Jeremy had been talking for the last two minutes. Heâd just tuned in for the end of the sermon.
ââ¦and that is why punctuality is so important,â Jeremy was
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