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  One–nil to Chelsea.

  The way the Chelsea players celebrated was hard to take. And even worse was the way the crowd of four hundred celebrated: they were mostly Chelsea fans.

  United trudged back to their positions. They were losing.

  But Ryan was in among them.

  ‘Come on, we can do this. Remember, they’re tired,’ he said to the defenders and then to the midfielders. He was trying to fire the players up. ‘We can be the first non-London team to win it,’ he said. ‘Do you want that?’

  Once the game had settled down after the goal, the United players seemed more positive. Soon they looked more like a team that had just scored, not let one in. And Chelsea were playing deeper, defending. Thinking they could win it now by just keeping United out.

  And that’s what happened.

  United attacked and attacked for half an hour. Everything they tried failed. Jake couldn’t find the space to run down the left because the right-sided defender and midfielder were barely leaving their half. And as much as Chi and Ryan tried to pass the ball up the middle, they couldn’t get through.

  There were ten minutes to go.

  James glanced over at Steve. He looked frustrated and James knew why. There were no substitutes, no fresh legs. No Craig or Daniel. And Tony – the only other player left – had been injured against Arsenal the day before.

  James wanted to start playing long balls into the Chelsea area, but he remembered both Steve and Ryan had said they should stick to their plan: keep playing the ball along the ground, keep passing.

  Two minutes later it worked.

  Chi collected the ball in the centre circle. He played it to Jake. But instead of running with the ball, Jake did something different. He drew the Chelsea defenders and midfielders towards him and suddenly drove the ball across the width of the pitch to Ben, who was unmarked on the far right.

  Ben ran towards the penalty area fast. Very fast.

  Jake’s pass had turned Chelsea inside out.

  No one had got to Ben by the time he reached the edge of the area. Ben had two players to pass to: Will and Yunis, two strikers hungry for a touch of the ball. But Ben passed to neither of them.

  He shot.

  A low hard shot that rocketed past three defenders and the Chelsea keeper before they had seen it.

  Goal.

  The crowd had gone quiet. But slowly, after a few seconds, they began to applaud Ben.

  Ben smiled. He looked over at Steve, who was clapping too.

  One–one.

  After congratulating Ben, Ryan came over to Jake.

  ‘Great cross, Jake.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Now you’ll have some space to play in. Attack them.’

  Jake put his thumb up. ‘I will,’ he said.

  Two Minutes

  Ryan was right about the game opening up. Jake had loads more space now.

  With two minutes to go, Jake took a great pass from Chi. It left Chelsea stretched. Jake touched the ball twice and found himself on the edge of the penalty area.

  He had three options.

  Pass it into the path of Ben on the far side of the pitch?

  Hold the ball up and wait for Yunis and Will to get into the penalty area?

  Or shoot?

  Without thinking any more, Jake shot.

  The ball powered across the face of the goal, past the keeper, towards the top corner of the net. But, just as it looked like it was going to be a goal, a Chelsea defender made it back. He managed to get his head on to the ball and deflect it over the bar.

  Corner.

  Ben waited patiently for the crowd to return the ball. Eventually they did. They were quieter now that United were back in the game.

  Ben lined the corner up.

  Jake watched him. He looked nervous with so many people standing near him.

  Ryan was calling extra players forward. He knew this was the last chance they had to win the game in normal time.

  ‘James,’ he shouted. ‘Come up. You too, Connor.’

  The ball came sailing over the penalty area. Ben had over-hit it. But Jake was waiting on the left. He trapped the ball and lofted it back into the six-yard box. The Chelsea players had started to move out of the area, maybe trying to get the United forwards offside.

  But not quickly enough.

  As the ball sailed towards the penalty area, James made a short run forward. He knew he had a minute left as a United player. This could be his last touch of the ball.

  James jumped. Like he’d seen his dad jump in the cup final when he scored his famous goal.

  James met the ball with his head. It rocketed towards the net. The keeper got his hand on to it to push it over the bar for another corner, but it was too powerful.

  The ball was in.

  Goal.

  Two–one.

  James was aware of three things when his team-mates leaped on his back.

  His mum and dad grinning on the touchline.

  The Chelsea players slumped, some kneeling, defeated.

  And the hundreds of watching fans applauding.

  Applauding James’s last goal for United.

  There was a short ceremony at the end of the game. There were winners’ and losers’ medals and the presentation of the Christmas Cup.

  Lots of the fans stayed on for the awards, plus the four teams.

  After United had collected their medals, Ryan turned to James. ‘You go and collect the trophy, James,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t,’ James said. ‘You’re the captain.’

  ‘Please,’ Ryan said. ‘Go on. It’s your last chance.’

  ‘But I shouldn’t. You should.’

  ‘You scored the winner,’ Ryan said.

  James smiled. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Ryan.’ Then he looked over at his dad.

  And so, standing a few yards away, Cyril Cunningham, former West Ham and England player, saw his son step up to collect a football trophy for the first – and last – time.

  He smiled, joining in the applause.

  Thursday 22 December

  Chelsea 1 United 2

  Goals: Ben, James

  Bookings: none

  Under-twelves manager’s marks out of ten for each player:

  Tomasz 8

  Connor 7

  James 10

  Ryan 9

  Ronan 7

  Chi 6

  Sam 6

  Jake 8

  Yunis 7

  Will 7

  Ben 9

  Karaoke

  Back at the accommodation, the whole team had gathered for the Christmas party. There were streamers across the canteen, balloons and lots of food.

  And the Christmas Cup was sitting – pride of place – on the main table.

  Secret Santa presents had been received. Jake had got Ryan a United scarf. Yunis presented Steve with a Superman mug. And Ryan gave Tomasz a football story, but one that had been translated into Polish.

  Tomasz beat James’s dad in the FIFA 10 final, though most people reckoned the former England international let him win.

  As Steve had promised, the party finished with karaoke. Most of the lads did famous Christmas songs, with mixed results. Steve and Will’s mum sang a duet of a song called ‘Little Drummer Boy’.

  Everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves. Chi had made up a scoreboard to score each song. Steve and Will’s mum got nines. Ryan and Ben got fives for singing ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’.

  Then, eventually, it was James’s turn. He took the microphone from Steve, suddenly looking nervous.

  The room went silent.

  And then James began to sing.

  The atmosphere in the room was different from how it had been for the other songs. This time it was serious. The boys had stopped laughing and making fun. They were listening.

  James was singing like a real singer. It was amazing.

  And the team soon realized who the song was for. It was James singing to his mum and dad. A
fter all that had happened over the last few days, he was singing a song for his parents.

  Will’s mum listened. She was smiling.

  At the end of the song there was silence for a moment. Then Chi put up his board.

  Ten.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ Will’s mum said.

  James smiled. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  Then he felt his dad’s arms come around him in a huge bear-hug. And his mum too.

  FIFA 10 Final scores

  James’s dad 5–7 Tomasz

  Father to Son

  ‘That was brilliant,’ Dad said. ‘I never knew… You were excellent. This is what it’s all about, isn’t it?’

  James smiled. He hadn’t even needed to tell his dad what he wanted to do instead of football. His dad had guessed it straight away.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘Did you ever talk to your mum about wanting to be a singer?’ Dad asked, glancing over at his wife.

  ‘No. But…’

  ‘… but she knew?’ Dad finished his sentence.

  ‘She knew something was up.’

  The party was going again now. Loud voices were calling out and someone else was singing.

  ‘Why didn’t you talk to us about it?’ Dad said.

  ‘I didn’t want to upset you. Because I know football means so much.’

  Dad nodded.

  ‘And when we went to West Ham,’ James said, ‘and all those mates of yours were telling me I was going to lift a trophy like you did that day…’ James paused. ‘Well, it did my head in.’

  Dad smiled. ‘I know,’ he said.

  They were silent for a minute.

  ‘How did you feel about playing your last game?’ Dad asked.

  James grinned. ‘Good,’ he said.

  James thought his dad was going to say something, but he just breathed out.

  ‘Do you understand why I want to give football up?’ James asked.

  ‘To sing?’ Dad shook his head. ‘No, James. Not really. But I respect it. It’s your choice.’

  ‘I like football. But I don’t want it to be my life,’ James said. ‘Like when you were saying I’d have to be more involved once I’m fifteen. I just don’t want to.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Dad said. ‘It was my life for twenty years. Football. Football. Football. But that was before you were born.’

  ‘I want to do singing,’ said James. ‘At school they think I’ve got a chance.’

  ‘A chance of what?’

  ‘Of becoming a real singer – for a job. I could go to that music college in town. I love it, Dad. I know it’s stupid – wanting to sing – but I –’

  ‘Who said it was stupid?’ Dad demanded. He sounded angry.

  ‘It just is,’ James said. ‘Football’s cool. Skateboarding is cool. PSPs are cool. But singing?’

  ‘Singing is brilliant,’ Dad said. ‘And I’m really proud you’ve found something you love.’

  James smiled. His dad supported him and he couldn’t believe it. He wished he’d told him about it weeks ago.

  Thank Yous

  Thank you, as always, to my wife, Rebecca, and daughter, Iris, for their ongoing support and encouragement with my books. And to Rebecca in particular for reading it at its various stages and giving me such unflinching and intelligent advice.

  Thanks to Ralph Newbrook and Jim Sells for their football advice.

  And to Sophie Hannah and James Nash for excellent feedback on the novel in its first draft.

  Thanks, as always, to Burnley FC for allowing me to spend time at their training ground and get some of the facts about academy football straight.

  And to Nikki Woodman for reading it through and giving me great feedback.

  Thanks to the football writers’ group. And to Thomas Wigg for introducing me to the PSP.

  The Football Academy series came about thanks to the imagination and hard work of Sarah Hughes, Alison Dougal and Helen Levene at Puffin, working with David Luxton at Luxton Harris Literary Agency. Thanks are due to all four for giving me this opportunity. Thanks also to Wendy Tse for all her hard work with the fine detail, and to everyone at Puffin for all they do, including Reetu Kabra, Adele Minchin, Louise Heskett, Sarah Kettle and Tom Sanderson and the rights team. And thanks to Brian Williamson for the great cover image and illustrations.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Books by Tom Palmer

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Contents

  Football Academy: Free kick

  Snow

  Off to London

  Sing When You’re Winning

  Bright Lights, Big City

  Central London

  Craig in Trouble

  One-Match Ban

  West Ham v Chelsea

  Arsenal v United

  The Deadly Duo

  Penalties

  Like Father, Not Like Son

  Secret Santas

  Posh Shopping

  Thin Ice

  Red Card

  The Fan

  Missing

  An Announcement

  Chelsea v United

  One–Nil

  Two Minutes

  Karaoke

  Father to Son

  Thank Yous