Final Whistle

by Dan Freedman

  But by now, Archie knew Jamie well enough to understand that when he had his heart set on something, there was no way of talking him round. Especially where football was concerned. So, in the end, he had no other choice than to give Jamie a massive bear hug and wish him the best of luck.

  Jamie didn’t want to get his mum’s hopes up, so he told her that he was going to see a doctor down in London and that he might even have to stay overnight.

  When the minicab arrived, Jamie headed straight for the airport.

  In his bag he had his passport. And his football boots.

  Stonefish picked Jamie up from the airport, Jamie’s conveniently dipped baseball cap having allowed him to travel pretty much unrecognized.

  They headed straight for the training ground.

  It was as though Jamie was in some kind of strange trance. As they travelled along the roads of Barcelona on Stonefish’s moped, he felt echoes of having been here in a former life, but nothing so clearly defined as could be called a memory.

  It was the same when Godal and his Barcelona teammates greeted him. They showed him a warmth and a care that he felt he did not deserve. Jamie knew who these men were – of course he did, they were the most famous football team in the world – and yet he did not know in what way they knew him.

  But in a sense, none of this mattered. The only relevant fact was that Jamie was about to play football with them.

  As he jogged out on to the pitch, Jamie felt sure that within seconds he’d be able to tell if that spark was still there, if that football brain was still working inside him. If he could produce just one moment of magic today, one glorious glimpse of genius, that would be enough. Enough to show Godal that Jamie Johnson was on his way back. Enough to show that he had a future with Barcelona.

  However, Jamie could feel that something was not right almost as soon as Godal blew his whistle to start the practice game. The first time he ran to chase the ball he felt his head banging as his brain seemed to crash against his skull.

  After a couple of minutes, Godal interrupted the game to make some small tactical alterations. It was the second that Jamie needed to clear his head, to focus on what he was here to do. He tapped his chest hard, just above his heart, to get the blood pumping.

  Godal restarted the game by rolling the ball straight to Jamie. Had he planned this or was it a coincidence? Jamie watched as the small, round object that contained all his dreams spun towards him. It was coming so very fast.

  And really, that was the difference. Before, whenever Jamie had played, it had seemed like everything was happening in slow motion in front of him. He could see the tackles coming in and avoid them; he could capture the exact flight of the ball and prepare himself; and he could predict the way in which the game was going to unfold.

  But today it was the complete opposite. Everything seemed to be happening way too fast for Jamie to take in. His teammates were shouting for the ball as his opponents closed in. It all happened in a flash. He lost the ball.

  And it was not all he’d lost.

  There was no pace or power in his legs whatsoever.

  The final blow came five minutes later when Jamie jumped to contest a high ball in the air. He managed to win the header, but as soon as he made contact with the ball, it felt as if the lights in his head went out.

  Jamie collapsed on the ground, clutching his head.

  Seeing everybody crowd around him in concern, he tried to get back up to show them that he was OK, but as soon as he did, he felt wobbly and sick.

  Godal caught him just as he was about to fall.

  And, for Jamie, the look in his manager’s eyes said it all.

  Jamie turned on his phone and searched for his name on the internet to see what people were saying about him.

  It had been a constant stream ever since his trip to Barcelona. It made grisly reading.

  Majorb So gutted to hear about Jamie. Really feel for him. #JamieJohnson

  HawksFans Sad news. U can watch him try to train w/ Barça here: http://bit.ly/w26L@m At 6.21, he tries to head the ball and collapses. #JamieJohnson

  StueyMawhers Cld be the end for him. He ain’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box. If he can’t play football, what do you reckon he’ll do? #JamieJohnson

  LindyMargot Jamie is my son’s favourite footballer. He’s in tears now because he’s just heard that JJ’s career is probably over. How sad! #JamieJohnson

  BarçaNews Godal asked about Johnson’s future at press conference. Said: “It does not look good, but it’s a decision for Jamie now.” #JamieJohnson

  XabiDB I’ve met Jamie Johnson. Great guy and proud too. Being embarrassed like that will be tearing him up. Needs our support now. #JamieJohnson

  Jamie put his phone down beside his bed and closed his eyes. It was just his luck that someone had filmed the practice game and put it on the internet.

  Now his nightmare had been laid bare for everyone to see.

  “Do you want a hug?” asked Jack.

  Jamie had completely forgotten she was in the room. This was the first time she’d come to visit him in a week. Something had definitely been different between them since the injury but Jamie could not put his finger on what it was. There seemed to be a distance between them that had never existed before.

  Jamie shook his head. He didn’t want a hug. Didn’t deserve a hug. He wished he could just close up his whole body and hibernate for the rest of his life.

  “Jamie,” said Jack, her brown eyes misty with concern. “I need to tell you about some conversations we had in Barcelona. It’s important … it’s about us…”

  But Jamie was back on his phone, torturing himself with the ten new messages about him that had appeared in the last two minutes.

  “What did you say?” he just about mustered, without ever fully drawing his eyes away from the phone’s screen.

  “Oh forget it,” said Jack, getting up to leave, before adding under her breath, “Just like everything else.”

  She left before Jamie could see the tear in her eye.

  It had been the fact that even Archie had not tried to change his mind. That was what had settled it for Jamie.

  Jamie had expected Archie to say that he was being stupid; that they should carry on, that they would get there in the end. But Archie hadn’t. Just like everyone else, Archie had seen the footage of what had happened when Jamie had tried to head the ball.

  So when Jamie told him what he was planning to do, Archie had just looked at him with a face of pure sorrow and nodded his head. The spark of hope had gone from his eyes.

  That was the moment that Jamie knew the game was up.

  Even then, though, he still hadn’t acted on it. For the whole weekend, he’d turned it over again and again in his mind to see if there was another solution.

  But there wasn’t. This was the only way.

  So here Jamie Johnson sat, alone at his desk, composing the most difficult letter he had ever written.

  Dear Señor Godal,

  Firstly, I want to thank you for everything that you have done for me.

  I still can’t remember playing for Barça but, in a way, it doesn’t matter. To know that I have done it makes me so unbelievably proud. I will always think of Barça as the greatest club in the world.

  I haven’t watched the accident against Madrid back yet but people have told me what happened.

  That injury has changed everything.

  I’m not the same player any more.

  I’m not that Jamie Johnson any more.

  Each day I wake up, hoping that this will be the day that it comes back to me. And it never does.

  And what happened last week proved it to both of us.

  Señor Godal. It’s time for us to cancel the contract.

  It’s time to let me go.

  Thank you fr
om a person who will always be grateful.

  I hope you can forget what happened last week and just remember me as the player you signed. That would make me happy.

  Jamie Johnson

  Jamie Johnson – The Footballer.

  It was the only way he had ever seen himself. Even before it had actually come true.

  Jamie had believed it would happen for him from his first days at school. He had believed in his dream even when others had laughed in his face.

  Not just the kids but the teachers too.

  “How many boys do you think I’ve seen come through this school saying that they want to be footballers?” Jamie’s head teacher, Mr Patten, had once asked him rhetorically. “Thousands, if not tens of thousands… And do you know how many actually did it? Zero. So I suggest that you start thinking of another career, Mr Johnson.”

  But Jamie had done no such thing. He wasn’t interested in what had happened to the other kids who had gone through his school. They were not like him. He was different. He had always known it. And if people wanted to doubt him, Jamie didn’t care. Every cackle, every joke at his expense was more motivation for him. More fuel to fire his ambition.

  He simply kept believing, kept working, kept focusing on the vision he had in his mind’s eye of becoming a professional.

  And yet now he was back exactly where Mr Patten had told him he would be: searching for a career other than football.

  The question battered his brain with continual menace.

  WHAT NOW?

  “OK – Dig!” shouted Dillon, his huge neck muscles straining under the weight of the earth.

  He and Jamie slammed their spades into the near-frozen soil and continued to hollow out the trench. They would probably finish the digging by the end of the night, which would mean when they arrived tomorrow they could get on with the fun bit.

  Building.

  It still amazed Jamie that this was where he had ended up. It had certainly not been his first idea. In fact, it had been somewhere near his last.

  First off, he’d accepted Archie’s invitation to do some coaching with the younger Academy players at Hawkstone. However, the youngsters quickly became obsessed with trying to get Jamie to demonstrate his skills, which, of course, was the one thing he was now unable to do. So that lasted about two weeks.

  Then there had been the ill-fated attempt to become a football pundit on TV. Jamie had been really excited when the television company had called asking him to be their studio guest to analyse a big Hawkstone game. It was a great opportunity for him and the money was good too.

  At half-time, the presenter had turned to Jamie and asked him how Glenn Richardson had managed to put the ball through the keeper’s legs from such an acute angle. It was a straightforward question which required only a simple answer. And yet that was the moment that Jamie’s mind had chosen to go completely blank. All he’d been able to think about was the fact that three cameras were pointing directly at him and millions of people were watching at home. Weird thoughts had started to enter his brain: what if he burped … or farted … what would happen if he swore right now on national television?

  The questions paralysed his mind. He’d opened his mouth to say something but no words had come out. He and the presenter just sat there, staring at each other in silence, until finally the director went to the adverts.

  In the end, the television company had “invited” Jamie to go home during the second half and released a statement saying that Jamie had been suffering from an illness on the day. Unsurprisingly, that was his one and only foray into the world of TV.

  The situation regarding Jamie’s future appeared to be so bleak that when, one night, Jamie had sat at the dinner table with his mum and Jeremy to discuss what he could do next, it seemed as if he had completely run out of options.

  All except one…

  Dillon had opened his front door with a big, friendly smile which had immediately put Jamie at ease. It had been a big deal for Jamie to go over there that night. He’d had to swallow a massive amount of pride to even consider asking Dillon for help, but Dillon had made it easy for him.

  He’d asked his brother, Robbie, to make himself scarce and he and Jamie had sat and talked. They talked as they had never talked before. And, in fact, it was Dillon who had started it.

  “I was bad, wasn’t I?” he said. “At school, I mean. I remember some of the stuff I said and did. I remember putting old Uriah Snodgrass’s head down the toilet. I remember smashing a stink bomb on Doctor Hardy’s overcoat. I remember weeing on Miss Prescott’s car… And … I remember some of the things I did to you.”

  Both their minds flashed back to those days at school. Dillon had been a walking, living nightmare for Jamie.

  “Why did you do it?” Jamie asked.

  “I don’t know,” answered Dillon. “Maybe I was jealous of how good you were at football… Maybe it was my dad and the way he used to … be with me…”

  Jamie nodded. He remembered the time he once saw Dillon’s dad hit him after Dillon had lost a football game.

  “But maybe that’s just the way I was. Angry. And … I’m sorry.”

  The words seemed to produce an effect on Jamie. Something similar to relief. They didn’t take away the suffering that Dillon had caused. Nothing could do that. Those sick feelings of apprehension that he’d had to deal with every day on the way into school, wondering what Dillon had in store for him when he arrived. Those lame excuses that he’d had to offer to his mum for the marks on his face when, clearly, he hadn’t “walked into a door”. Those were all memories that would never leave him.

  But it was time for both of them to move on. To look to the future.

  “Dillon,” Jamie began. “Remember what you said when I saw you in the gym? I think I’d like to take you up on that offer you made me…”

  Betsy. That was her name.

  And even though she was probably even older than Jamie, he still loved her.

  And so did Dillon. Even more than Jamie.

  He adored Betsy. Probably would have married her if he could.

  Never has a boy had such deep affection for a van.

  Dillon hooted Betsy’s horn outside Jamie’s house at eight thirty every morning and off they went to work.

  Digging, building, plastering… Together they worked tirelessly every day. But they almost didn’t notice. Because, while they laboured, they were having fun. Not only did they get to listen to music and sing along to all the songs, they also got to talk endlessly about Hawkstone’s mad season and how, despite fighting relegation in the league, they were somehow still striving on in the Champions League. And all the while, they were outside doing exercise. Finally, Jamie had found a job – other than football – to which he was suited.

  And the more they worked together, the more it became apparent how much Dillon and Jamie had in common. Neither of them had been much good at schoolwork, but they were both hard workers who took satisfaction from actually producing something with their hands. When they looked at a wall they had built at the end of the day, they truly felt proud of themselves.

  And as the cement walls were going up, the emotional ones were coming down. Jamie even found himself talking about his dad to Dillon. How he wished he’d been able to have a relationship with him, how he envied the sons who were close to their dads.

  One day, Jamie even told Dillon about Jack. About how their relationship seemed to be different since the injury and about how he hoped that they would soon be able to get back to becoming as close friends as they had been before.

  It was only when Jamie leapt into Betsy one morning that he realized he’d stopped hoping for something else.

  When had it been that he had actually stopped? About a week ago? Maybe even longer.

  For weeks after his injury, Jamie had gone to sleep each night praying that his football skills would
come back to him.

  He had developed a kind of mantra – “Please let me find my talent again, please let me have my skills back, please let me play again.” And he would repeat those words over and over hundreds of times until unconsciousness claimed him.

  Then each morning, he would wake up with a mixture of hope and desperation – would this finally be that special day? He would pick up a ball and try to juggle with it. But it would be no use. Nothing had changed.

  His football skills were like bright silver fish in a black pond. Sometimes, just for a second, they looked as if they might swim to the surface to come back to Jamie, but the more he tried to grasp for them, the faster they disappeared.

  And yet these last few days and weeks building with Dillon had shown Jamie that there was life after football. And a good life too. And so Jamie had stopped praying for the existence he’d used to know. Instead something else had happened. He had become thankful. How many other boys get to play for the football club that they love?

  Recently, he’d watched the video recording that his granddad, Mike, had made of the first day Jamie had ever stepped out in front of the Hawkstone fans as an eleven-year-old mascot and wowed them with his overhead kick. How they had clapped. How the electricity of excitement had ripped around the ground. “We’ve got one,” the experienced fans had celebrated. “That boy is a bit special – keep an eye on him!” And how right they had been.

  Jamie Johnson was already in the folklore of Hawkstone United. He’d won the Premier League and he’d played in a World Cup. He’d even played for Barcelona. What did he really have to feel annoyed and bitter about? Yes, he would have loved to be able to do it for longer, but he was also immensely grateful for the experiences that he’d had.

  Jamie Johnson had done it his way. He’d been the boy who had been born to play.

  And play he had.

  As they had been working on a local house, Jamie happened to be home early.