The Mighty Dynamo

by Kieran Crowley

  Adam was so determined to prove his worth that he sprinted on to the pitch far too quickly. He zoomed past everyone before losing control and ploughing into the crowd on the far side, knocking over a couple of spectators. A teenage girl helped him back to his feet.

  ‘I’m good,’ he yelled, giving Stevie the thumbs up.

  Their second match of the day was against Park Community School. Just like Noah’s team, they’d lost their first match too. They’d been well beaten by St Killian’s and it showed. Noah knew from the moment the match kicked off they were ready to accept defeat. They hardly showed any enthusiasm at all. It was like the heavy loss in their first match had killed their will to win. He couldn’t understand that attitude. It made him angry. Even if his team was losing 7–0 with three minutes to go he’d want to keep giving it absolutely everything until the final whistle blew. Luckily, his teammates seemed to be of the same opinion. St Mary’s knew another defeat would mean almost certain elimination from the tournament and they weren’t going to let that happen.

  Park managed to hang on for a few minutes, but no longer than that. Maggie scored from a lovely pass from Noah, slotting the ball past the keeper with ease. It was their first goal in the tournament and she celebrated wildly, although the celebrations were nothing compared to Hawk Willis’s when he scored the second a couple of minutes later.

  Nobody ever celebrated his or her first goal in a football tournament more extravagantly than Hawk did at that moment. It took his delighted teammates almost sixteen seconds to catch him and by then he’d already been through three somersaults, fired imaginary guns at the crowd, impersonated an aeroplane and pointed to the non-existent lettering on the back of his T-shirt, which he briefly thought stated his name in big bold letters. Then he started blowing kisses.

  ‘What’ll he be like if he scores the winner in the final?’ Sunday asked as they got ready for the restart.

  Another Maggie goal from an Adam O’Brien through ball made it 3–0 just before half-time. The second half was a doddle and played at a slow pace by the majority of the players, the exceptions being Noah and the dynamic duo, Cormac and Adam, who raced around like whirling dervishes. Since St Mary’s were in control at half-time, Stevie had decided to give the exhausted Limbsy a rest and allowed Adam to stay on for the entire forty minutes. He repaid his manager’s faith with an all-action display. There weren’t any other goals until Maggie claimed her hat-trick with a flying header in the last minute.

  Her celebrations were a little less muted than Hawk’s, but still over the top. They involved her screaming her own name, including her middle name – Isabella – in the manner of a Portuguese football commentator. It startled the crowd and the opposition, although her teammates appeared to find it perfectly normal.

  ‘Nice way to show it’s a team sport,’ Noah said.

  ‘You’re just jealous. Three goals for me, a big fat zero for you. What does that mean, I wonder? Am I three times as good as you?’

  ‘Three times zero is zero, Maggie,’ Limbsy said.

  ‘You’d better make it as a footballer with those academic skills, Maggie,’ Noah said.

  There was very little conversation on the bus home. Most of the players were practically asleep – heads lolled on shoulders or gently bumped against windows – but Stevie and Noah were checking the printout that Stevie had got from the organizers. It was the day’s results and league table. Pengardon Academy had beaten Drumlock in their second game of the day, so they were top of the group with six points. There was a three-way tie for second place between St Mary’s, St Killian’s and Drumlock who all had three points. Poor old Park had no points at all.

  ‘Mathematically, Park are still in with a chance of qualifying,’ Stevie said, ‘but it would take an unlikely sequence of results for all teams to end up with six points.’

  ‘They’re out. They don’t even want to be here any more,’ Noah said. ‘What about us?’

  ‘We have to win both our matches tomorrow or else our chances are slimmer than Limbsy’s legs.’

  ‘We’ll win,’ Noah said. ‘We’ll definitely win, but there’s something else I want to do first.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘I can see the carrot at the end of the tunnel’

  Stuart Pearce

  The St Mary’s team wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, it had been disappointing to lose their first match, but on the other they were still in with a shout after their great result against Park. Kevin McCooley hadn’t apologized to anyone except Stevie, but they all knew he was feeling guilty about his sending off. They’d seen him angry, cranky, belligerent, nasty and violent before, but never so glum.

  ‘Hey, Mr McCooley. Do not worry about this problem. The referee was a very harsh man and you did not deserve to be treated so badly,’ Piotr said.

  McCooley looked up at him through watery eyes. If Noah hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought he was going to cry, but as Kevin had told him once after crashing into a goalpost and injuring a sensitive area during a training session: ‘McCooleys never cry.’

  ‘Got it,’ Stevie said.

  He’d been working on his laptop feverishly since they’d arrived back at Bitsy’s.

  ‘I’ve managed to find out where Pengardon are staying,’ he said. ‘They’re in a hotel about a kilometre from here.’

  ‘Why do you want to know where they’re staying?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Stevie thinks there might be a connection between Pengardon and Hegarty. I’m going to go over there and check things out. See what they’re up to,’ Noah said.

  ‘But you said yesterday that you didn’t want to check it out,’ Stevie said.

  ‘You don’t have to remember every single thing I say, you know, Stevie. Yesterday my gut told me not to check it out – today it’s telling me to investigate.’

  ‘You and your gut,’ Stevie muttered.

  ‘Why are you investigating? They’re hardly likely to have a document lying around the hotel lobby labelled “Evil Plans”,’ Frank said. ‘What are you hoping to find?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I feel like I have to do something. I can’t just sit here waiting for them to make their move.’

  ‘If they’re going to make one,’ Darren Nolan said.

  ‘If they’re going to make one,’ Noah agreed, ‘but I’m still going to check it out. You never know, maybe I’ll uncover something that’ll give us an advantage in the matches tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll all go,’ Maggie said.

  ‘That might not be the best idea,’ Sunday said. ‘Fourteen kids wandering around a hotel is bound to arouse suspicions. And our minders are going to be keeping an eye on things too. Michael’s dad is always checking up on us.’

  Michael Griffin shook his head sadly.

  ‘Yeah, so it’s best if it’s just one or two of us that go. You guys can make up an excuse if anyone’s looking for me,’ Noah said.

  ‘We’ll tell them you got the runs, man,’ Hawk Willis said earnestly. ‘No one ever asks any follow-up questions when you tell them that story.’

  ‘You’ve used that excuse?’ Adam O’Brien said, scrunching up his face in disgust.

  ‘Loads of times,’ Hawk Willis said.

  ‘Or you could just tell them I’ve gone to the shop or something more normal like that,’ Noah said. ‘Kevin, you want to go with me?’

  Kevin McCooley looked at Noah. He didn’t even bother to remind him that he should be calling him Mr McCooley.

  ‘Nah, you’re grand, Murphy,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not trying to be nice. I’m asking a favour. I might need you in case things go wrong,’ Noah said.

  ‘Oh, OK, then.’

  They changed into white T-shirts and trackie bottoms. Since Noah’s tracksuit was particularly shabby and the hotel wasn’t, Maggie loaned him one of hers.

  ‘It’ll never fit me,’ Noah protested, but when he emerged from the bathroom a few moments later he reluctantly agreed that it fitted
him perfectly.

  Stevie gave them a couple of backpacks.

  ‘If anyone stops you in the hotel, pretend you’re part of the Pengardon team. The outfits and backpacks make you look sporty so they’ll think you’re just back from the day’s matches. Your coach’s name is Arthur Slugsley and Cornelius Figg sponsors the team.’

  He handed them his iPhone.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Noah asked.

  ‘There’s a street map of Dublin on it. You’ll need it to find your way. Now, remember it’s a five-star hotel.’

  ‘That means posh, right?’ McCooley said.

  ‘Very posh. The thing is to act like you’re very comfortable there and you’ll be fine, but look awkward and they’ll recognize you for what you are . . .’

  Darren Nolan grinned. ‘A couple of chancers.’

  Noah loved the buzz of Dublin. Everyone was busy and seemed to be in a rush to get somewhere else. Cars inched by with impatient drivers behind the wheels. Buses lumbered along in their lanes. Cyclists weaved in and out of traffic. Hundreds of pedestrians walked along the wide, grey footpaths beneath the fading evening sun. It was exciting and thrilling and Noah felt there was so much life here. More than in Carraig Cruach anyway, not that his hometown seemed as bad as it once did, not after the last few weeks.

  ‘Thanks,’ McCooley said after they’d walked in silence for some time.

  ‘For what?’ Noah asked.

  ‘You know what, now shut up about it.’

  The truth was Noah didn’t know what he was being thanked for – was it for allowing him into the team in the first place? Or for not giving him a hard time about getting sent off? Whatever the reason, he decided the best thing was to just let it be.

  They were passing by two men arguing over a parking spot when McCooley saw the hotel. Noah whistled in admiration, although McCooley wasn’t as impressed.

  ‘It’s posh,’ he said. ‘I hate posh.’

  The Ailesbury had all the trappings of luxury, even down to a doorman in a top hat and an overcoat with gold-trimmed lapels. Noah resolved that when he made it as a professional footballer he was going to bring his dad and Simone to stay here.

  ‘Remember, act like we own the place and they’ll think we’re guests,’ Noah said.

  McCooley was already on his way. He swaggered up the granite steps. The doorman eyed him for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to let him in.

  ‘You goin’ to open that door or do I have to do it meself?’ McCooley said.

  The man hurriedly pulled the door open and McCooley went inside. Noah rushed up the steps after him and thanked the doorman profusely for his help before he followed McCooley into the lobby.

  The reception desk was off to their right, across the marble floor. Thick-framed oil paintings hung on the walls and the guests that filtered through the lobby were well dressed.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ McCooley asked, sniffing the air.

  ‘I think it’s perfume,’ Noah said.

  ‘It stinks. Right, no point hangin’ around here like a bunch of tulips. What’s the plan?’ McCooley said.

  ‘Erm, well, I . . . Wow, this place is something else,’ Noah said, looking around. You could fit my whole house into this lobby, he thought.

  ‘I’ve never seen a bigger collection of snobs in me life. Makes me sick,’ McCooley said. ‘C’mon, Murphy, what are we doin’?’

  ‘Let’s see if we can find out anything by looking around or—’

  ‘I could knock on every door until we find one of the lads you think might be cheatin’ us and then I could threaten him until he tells me what they’re up to,’ McCooley said.

  ‘That’s one way of doing it, but maybe we could try something a bit more . . . What’s the word? . . . Subtle.’

  ‘Subtle? OK, not really my kind of thing, but you’re the brainy one.’

  If I’m the brainy one, then we’re really in trouble, Noah thought.

  He approached the reception desk, McCooley loitering at his shoulder. The pleasant-looking receptionist was tapping at her computer. She looked up and smiled when she saw the two young men standing in front of her.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ she said to Noah.

  Noah wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Er, hello. How’s it going? Ahm, Pengardon. Figg?’

  ‘You’re looking for Mr Figg, sir?’

  Noah shrugged. He dearly wished he’d thought this through before approaching the desk.

  ‘We’re with Pengardon. Figg’s team,’ McCooley said.

  ‘Oh, I see. Yes, you’re with Pengardon Academy. I hear you had a good day at your tournament. Congratulations. How can I be of assistance?’

  ‘Lost our room keys,’ McCooley said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

  Noah nudged him with his elbow to remind him that this wasn’t how five-star guests generally behaved. The receptionist hadn’t noticed. She was busy checking her computer again.

  ‘What room are you staying in?’

  ‘Can’t remember,’ McCooley said.

  ‘If you just give me your names then and I can . . . Oh, here comes your teammate.’

  Noah and Kevin turned round in time to see Barney Figg heading towards the lift. He was lightly tanned and as expensively dressed as always. He strolled across the marble floor as if he owned the hotel.

  ‘Mr Figg, sir?’ the receptionist called, waving at Barney.

  ‘What?’ he barked.

  She smiled and nodded at the two newcomers.

  Barney stared back, a little confused. ‘Am I supposed to know them or something?’

  With a sigh, he sauntered over to Noah and Kevin. Noah didn’t believe in judging someone by your first impression of them any more, not since he’d got to know his new teammates, but he really had to fight back the intense dislike he felt towards this Mr Figg character within the first three seconds of encountering him.

  ‘Who are you?’ Barney asked.

  Noah noticed the sneering look as he took in their clothes, as if he thought he was so much better than they were, which, to be fair, he did.

  ‘They said they were your teammates, Mr Figg,’ said the receptionist in a voice that was getting frostier by the second. ‘Don’t you know them?’

  She nodded towards a man in a sharp grey suit. Noah presumed he was security. McCooley must have spotted him too because his hands bunched up into fists.

  ‘No, I don’t know them,’ Barney Figg said, ‘but after all that’s happened in the last few months I don’t know half of the players on my team.’ He frowned at Noah and Kevin. ‘Are you new too? When did they sign you up?’

  ‘Yesterday,’ Noah said unconvincingly. He wasn’t entirely sure what Figg was talking about, but he thought it best to play along.

  ‘Yesterday? That’s a bit last minute, isn’t it? You enrolled in Pengardon yesterday? At the beginning of the summer holidays?’

  ‘Yes?’

  The receptionist signalled to the security man to let him know things were OK.

  ‘Seems stupid to me, but perhaps that’s how things are done now. I leave all that administration stuff to Healy. You can’t be any worse than the players we’ve already got, I suppose. Some of them were terrible today,’ Figg said.

  ‘But didn’t you win both your matches, sir?’ the receptionist asked.

  Barney Figg glared at her. ‘And what, exactly, do you know about football?’ he asked.

  She didn’t reply – she just put her head down. Noah felt sorry for her. His first impressions of Cornelius Figg’s son were proving to be accurate. He saw that McCooley’s mouth was twitching from the effort it took to remain calm.

  Looks like he’s thinking the same way as me, Noah thought.

  ‘Have you talked to Healy yet?’ Barney Figg asked.

  ‘No, we’ve been rushing around trying to get—’ Noah began.

  ‘I didn’t ask for your life story. You’d better come with me, I suppose.’

  Noah thanked the receptionist for her help
then followed Kevin and Barney Figg across the lobby. He led them through a set of mahogany double doors and down a long hallway. He moved quickly and they almost had to break into a jog to keep up. The hall smelled of fresh flowers and the carpet was so thick Noah felt as if his feet were sinking into it.

  ‘I’m JJ and this is, er, Luke,’ Noah said.

  ‘I don’t care what your names are. I don’t remember names; it’s up to you to remember mine.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  Noah already knew the answer, but he wanted to confirm it.

  Barney Figg stopped walking and turned and faced Noah. He exhaled through his nostrils. ‘You don’t know my name?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I’m Barney Figg. I’m the captain.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just been a bit hectic recently,’ Noah said. ‘So, you said that we’re not the only new players?’

  ‘Not the only ones?’ Barney said, resuming the walk. ‘Real Madrid don’t sign as many new players as Pengardon. It’s Ireland’s top school so I suppose that’s why most people want to go there, but it’s crazy. The new students aren’t exactly what I’d consider Pengardon material either.’

  ‘Lots of new students? Just before the tournament?’ Noah was adding two and two together. ‘Are these new students any good at football?’

  ‘They’re not as good as me, but they’re not that bad I suppose. Better than the lot we used to have. They were rubbish. Couldn’t pass the ball to save their lives. Here we are.’

  They arrived outside room number 241. Barney Figg thumped on the door. Almost immediately it was answered by Plunkett Healy. The room was small and from the papers piled on the tiny desk it looked as if it doubled as an office.

  ‘You’d better not have been asleep, Healy. My father doesn’t pay you to sleep.’

  Noah couldn’t see why Barney would have thought Healy was asleep. The man was impeccably dressed in a suit and tie and hadn’t a hair out of place.

  ‘What can I do for you, young sir?’ Healy asked.