Noah’s thoughts turned back to football again. And from there to his teammates and manager. Stevie the manager. He still wasn’t used to it. But he had to admit that Stevie was excellent, far better than he’d ever expected. Not that he’d told him that. Things felt a bit weird with Stevie these days. They still talked, but usually only at training. Of course, things were different in other ways too. Before, it had been just Stevie and Noah hanging out, but now there was another group of . . . well, friends, Noah supposed.
His thoughts were interrupted when the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but the days of him being surprised by someone calling at the door were long gone. There was a constant stream of visitors to the house these days: Dave, Maggie, Limbsy, most of the team had been there at one time or another, everyone except McCooley and Michael Griffin. On this occasion, the visitor was his manager.
‘Stevie? Why didn’t you come round the back?’
‘Last time I tried that it didn’t work out too well,’ Stevie said. ‘Can I come in?’
He looked anxious and not like himself at all, Noah thought. His eyes were red and watery and he was tugging and scratching at his arms and belly as if he had an itch that wouldn’t quit.
‘Are you OK?’ Noah asked as he led Stevie into the kitchen.
‘Not really. I’m not very good at all.’
Stevie sat down and began drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
‘More allergies?’ Noah asked.
‘Hives, Noah. I’m covered in hives.’
‘Hives are a pain,’ Noah said sympathetically.
‘A pain?’ Stevie laughed a hollow laugh. ‘That’s the understatement of the year. I can’t sleep a wink. I’m driven to distraction by the itching. I try not to scratch because I don’t want to make things worse, though how they could be worse I don’t know.’
‘That’s rough,’ Noah said.
‘Oh, I’m not finished yet. I’m also covered neck to toe in my mother’s homemade hive lotion. My mother is a lot of things, but a good lotion maker is not one of them. It stinks, Noah. I mean yesterday when I was out for a walk Matt Lawlee’s dog came over to me, took one whiff and ran off whimpering.’
Noah did his best to suppress a smile. ‘Why don’t you go to the doctor?’
‘Because I know what’s causing it. It’s not an allergic reaction – it’s stress. Horrible, horrible stress.’
‘From the pressure of being a manager? Or are you worried about Hegarty?’ Noah asked.
Stevie looked his best friend in the eye. ‘It’s you, Noah.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. You’re stressing me out.’
Noah was incredulous. ‘But I haven’t done anything.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Huh?’
‘You’re my best friend and when I got the job of manager you didn’t even congratulate me. You never said a word. All the years we’ve spent talking about football, all the analysis over the last six months, all the work I’ve done, and then I get my dream job on the team and there’s not a peep out of you.’
Noah knew he hadn’t exactly been over-exuberant about Stevie taking the job, but he didn’t think he’d made it obvious.
‘Are you sure? I thought I did say something, but, even if I didn’t, why would that cause you to break out in hives? I don’t get it.’
‘It’s not just that. You never even say whether you like the training sessions or not.’
‘Everyone’s always going on about how much they like your sessions. They’re always saying how great they are, how much fun they’re having.’
‘Everyone except you.’
‘What difference does that make?’ Noah asked. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Part of him wanted to get up and walk out of the room. He really didn’t like talking about things like this. All these emotions and stuff? What good could come of it?
‘Because I want to know if the sessions I designed to get the most out of everyone are actually working for our best player.’
‘You think I’m the best player?’
Stevie threw his hands in the air, a gesture of exasperation. ‘Of course you’re the best player. You stand out a mile. Don’t get me wrong – the others are very good, even Mr McCooley has his strengths, but you’re extra-special. You don’t do flicks and tricks all the time, but you see everything that’s happening. Sometimes I think you see what’s happening eight moves ahead of everyone else. You understand football. You know when to move, when to pass the ball. You control the tempo of the game. Just because you don’t always come up with a Hollywood pass doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Thanks, Stevie.’
It was nice to hear that. Sometimes he wondered if people ever really saw what he brought to the teams he played for. Jim and most of the Killian’s crowd didn’t seem to appreciate it. Most people only noticed the showy stuff – the highlights reel, as his dad used to call it – but there was much more to football than that.
Stevie was looking at Noah with an expectant expression on his face.
‘Oh, your sessions are excellent, Stevie,’ Noah said finally.
Stevie breathed out in relief. ‘You’re not just saying that, are you? I mean, you do like them?’
Noah found himself staring at his feet. He noticed every scuff mark on his trainers, every scratch and small tear. ‘I do. Your sessions . . . all the training . . . it’s . . . well, it’s the most fun I’ve had since I was the Mighty Dynamo.’
‘The Mighty Dynamo? What’s that?’ Stevie asked.
A hot flush of embarrassment spread over Noah’s cheeks. He’d said too much. ‘Nothing. Forget about it,’ he said.
Stevie was on his feet. ‘No, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re always holding something back. You wouldn’t have told me about breaking into the school if you hadn’t needed to borrow my phone. You never tell me anything any more. You haven’t told me anything since –’
He stopped himself before he said the words, but they both knew what he was talking about. He means since Mam died, Noah thought. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why did Stevie want to talk about all this stuff anyway? And why now?
Neither of them spoke for almost a minute. Noah could hear his neighbour pottering around his garden. The man was singing to himself. He didn’t have a good voice.
‘By the way, I got my tablet back from Mr Hegarty on the last day of school,’ Stevie said, breaking the silence. ‘Five weeks after he said he’d give it back. And it’s not even my tablet. Well, he says it’s mine, but there’s nothing on it, nothing at all. And the serial number is completely different. It’s lucky that I’d backed up my school project or else I’d have lost months of work. I think he gave me a brand-new model and he swapped it with my old one for some reason. He claims the hard drive got wiped because he left it beside a magnet, but there’s no magnet in the school powerful enough to do that so I don’t know what he’s playing at.’
Noah knew that Stevie had sensed his embarrassment and was trying to change the subject. He really was lucky to have a friend like him. An annoying friend – a very annoying friend – but one who had always looked out for him.
‘I—’ Noah began.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. Forget it.’
‘No, go on. Please, Noah.’
‘Well, it’s just . . . you complain about your parents all the time, but at least they’re around. My dad’s in Australia. I mean, who loses their job and then can only find one in Australia? And now we’re playing in the greatest competition any of us will ever play in and he can’t even afford to fly home cos he needs to save the money for the stupid mortgage.’
‘You miss your dad.’
‘Of course I miss him!’
‘You never said.’
‘Why would I say it? Isn’t it obvious?’ Noah snapped.
Stevie didn’t reply. He just sat there, patiently waiting for Noah to continue.
‘Saying it won’t mak
e any difference, will it?’ Noah said, a little more softly. ‘It’s not going to bring him home. He’s still in the middle of nowhere. And Mam is still –’
He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
‘She was here and then she was gone. People talked and talked. It didn’t matter what they said. Nothing changed. And nothing’s going to change if I talk about my dad.’
They sat in silence again listening to Noah’s neighbour singing an awful version of ‘Dancing Queen’.
‘I don’t like saying anything bad about people, but that man is a terrible singer,’ Stevie said.
Noah almost raised a smile. He found himself warming to his old friend again. He placed his hands on the kitchen table and took a deep breath.
‘Do you remember when Mam was here? What she spent all her free time doing?’
‘Yes, of course – reading. She had the best library I’ve ever seen.’
‘Exactly. This must be one of the smallest houses in town, but there wasn’t anybody who had more books than us back then. They were stacked floor to ceiling in every room.’
‘And the hallway. Remember when I was going up the stairs and that huge pile of books on the landing toppled over?’
Noah started laughing. ‘That’s right. You must have been only six or seven and loads of them—’
‘An avalanche of books cascading down towards me. I thought I was going to die. I’ve still got a red mark the shape of Italy behind my ear from where her hardback copy of War and Peace hit me. So, what have the books got to do with anything?’
‘Well, I don’t like books the way Mam did, the way Simone does. It was always just football for me. The team I was really into back then was Dynamo Kiev. Must have seen them play on television or something. When I used to kick the ball around the back garden, I was always commenting on my own matches. You know – and now Noah Murphy has the ball. He gets past one, and another and . . . what a shot from Murphy! That’s the hat-trick! – that kind of stuff.’
Stevie knew. He’d often done the same kind of thing himself.
‘I’d be the star of the team,’ Noah continued. ‘But it wasn’t just me. I imagined teammates as well. I made up names for them. I’ve forgotten most of them, but I still remember there were three Davies brothers – Jack, Mike and Peter. Mike was the goalie. Anyway, my mam used to watch me out of the back window all the time. She’d hear me commentating so when I’d come in she’d ask me what happened in the match and we’d sit by the fire and draw pictures of the action and we’d make up little stories together. She used to call me the Mighty Dynamo after Dynamo Kiev—’
Without warning, Stevie jumped out of his chair. ‘We’re the Mighty Dynamo!’
‘What?’
‘Don’t you see? Barbara and Maggie and Mr McCooley and Piotr and all the lads. We’re the players now. We’re mighty. Mighty Dynamo Football Club. We’re the friends that you never had. But we’re not imaginary – we’re real.’
‘Er . . .’ Noah said.
‘Too cheesy and sentimental?’ Stevie said.
‘Far too cheesy and sentimental. I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘You know, I sensed it was too much as soon as I said it. I’m sorry. I got carried away. I just like the excitement and the camaraderie and . . . oh, well, everything. Being the manager of a football team is the closest I’ve ever been to being cool,’ Stevie said, using air quotes to emphasise being cool. ‘I was even thinking about putting a rip in a pair of jeans. Me. With ripped jeans. Can you believe it?’
‘But you didn’t actually rip them, did you?’
‘Goodness, no. It’d be a terrible waste. They’re still quite new and if I’m being honest I’d be terrified of what my mother would say if she saw them.’
‘I don’t know much about being cool, Stevie, but I think if you use air quotes and you’re terrified of your own mother, you don’t really qualify,’ Noah said.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Stevie said. He saw the look on Noah’s face. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’
Noah nodded. It took him a couple of minutes to gather himself. His neighbour was in the middle of murdering ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ when Noah spoke again.
‘It’s . . .’ He stared at his trainers again. ‘I haven’t been the best teammate.’
He couldn’t stop himself talking now. It was as if someone had flipped on a switch. It didn’t feel quite as terrible as he’d imagined, but it wasn’t easy either. A trip to a cruel dentist would have been more fun. He hoped all the talking was a passing phase. He couldn’t imagine being like this all the time.
‘What do you mean?’ Stevie asked. ‘You’ve been a great teammate.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ Noah sighed. ‘We’re supposed to be a team, but I’ve been doing this for myself.’
And then he told Stevie the truth. He told him why he had spent the last six months working so hard, far harder than he ever had in the past. He told him everything.
‘Let me get this clear,’ Stevie said. ‘You want to become a professional footballer so that you can earn enough money to pay off your dad’s debts and bring him back home from Australia?’
‘Yes,’ Noah said.
‘What’s wrong with that? I know the odds are against you, but I don’t understand why it makes you a bad teammate.’
‘Well, because I wasn’t honest. I tricked you into organizing things and then I got all the players rounded up and they’re all doing this thinking it’s because I want to win the tournament and play in the World Cup just like them, but it’s—’
‘OK, that’s it. I’ve had enough. I know you’re trying to be nice, but it doesn’t suit you. It makes you kind of creepy, if I’m being honest. Answer a question: do you want to win the tournament?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘No buts. And do you want to play in the World Cup?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, there you go. That’s it. What difference does the rest of it make? You’ve pulled the wool over my eyes a little with all the analysis and everything, but you never twisted my arm. I loved doing it and I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to. As for the others, they’re not doing it for you – they’re doing it for themselves. Maggie wants to win to show the world how great she is. Barbara is delighted to finally get a chance to play a proper football match. Frank loves all the messing. Mr McCooley never had friends before, but he likes being part of a team even if he’d rather chew off all his fingers than admit it. We all have our own reasons for doing this, Noah.’
The way Stevie explained it, it seemed plausible. Maybe Noah hadn’t done anything wrong after all. Just a bit of deception. That was normal enough, wasn’t it? He’d never wanted to be a goody two-shoes anyway.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. I can’t believe you even thought about it.’
‘I didn’t until I started enjoying training,’ Noah said. ‘Thanks.’
‘So, all we’ve got to do is win the tournament and make sure you get spotted by a scout from one of the top football clubs. Easy peasy.’
‘Sounds great,’ Noah smiled.
‘Are we OK now?’ Stevie asked. He looked a little worried. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you when I came in all guns blazing.’
‘Of course we’re OK. And, Stevie, you’re the least offensive human being, like, ever.’
‘Well, that’s not quite what I’d like on my tombstone, but I’ll take it. So, should we hug this out?’ Stevie asked.
‘Nope. Definitely not,’ Noah said.
‘You footballers jump all over each other and kiss each other when you score goals, but you can’t hug a friend?’
‘That’s different. Anyway, you have hives. Aren’t they contagious? Don’t want to get sick before the tournament.’
‘OK, OK, I get it.’ Stevie grinned, then his face changed. It was his turn to look serious. Noah had told him a lot of private things, now it was time for Stevie to tell his friend the truth – that he
wanted to get on the pitch in the tournament. He wanted to play, even if it was only for a minute, even if he’d only get to make one pass or take one shot. He wanted it more than anything.
‘You look like you’ve got something to say,’ Noah said.
Stevie hoped Noah wouldn’t laugh at him. He didn’t mind people making fun of him, but that was about other things. This was different.
Just as he was about to speak, the doorbell rang. Then it rang again. When it still hadn’t stopped nine seconds later, Noah ran down the hall and pulled the door open impatiently.
‘What?’ he shouted.
Mrs Power was the last person he expected to find standing there.
‘Now, is that any way for the captain of St Mary of the Immaculate Conception School for Girls to address his principal?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Ma’am? I may be old, but I wasn’t born in the nineteenth century, Noah. Mrs Power will suffice.’
‘Sorry. Um, Simone’s not here.’
‘I know. I just spoke to her. She told me you’d be here and it’s you I need to talk to. Who’s your friend?’
‘Steven Treacy, pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Stevie said, pushing himself forward and shaking Mrs Power’s hand.
‘Ah, the brains of the operation. Well, boys, we appear to have hit a little snag.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re trying to kick you out of the competition.’
The Mighty Dynamo Page 16
