Noah could tell that he hated Barney Figg just from the way he spoke.
‘These are the new players.’
‘New players?’ Healy said. His forehead wrinkled up when he frowned.
‘Yes, new players. It’s your job to take care of them, not mine. I have to go and get some snacks. I’m playing Soccer Blaster X with a couple of kids from LA and London in ten minutes. I’m hoping one of them knows the Beckhams so I can get an introduction.’
He stalked off without saying goodbye. Healy stared at the newcomers.
‘I don’t have any details of new players arriving and I take care of all the administration. Who sent you here?’
‘Mr Slugsley,’ Noah said quickly.
‘This isn’t right. Wait here a moment while I get my phone and give Slugsley a call,’ Healy said, disappearing into the room.
Plunkett Healy was only on the phone to Slugsley for thirty seconds when his suspicions were confirmed. The boys at the door weren’t new recruits. They were either pranksters or worse, an unwelcome stick in the spokes of the Pengardon wheel. By the time he’d run back into the hall, mobile phone still in hand, Noah and McCooley had gone.
Name: William Sheehan
Nickname: When my dad was around he used to call me Billy, but I don’t let anyone else call me that.
Age: 12
Position: Midfielder. I’m not an attacking midfielder or a defensive one – I try to do both.
Likes: Football. Action films.
Dislikes: Droombeg Flats, where I live. It’s a horrible place. Some of the people are nice, but some are really dangerous. As much as I dislike the flats, though, I don’t hate it as much as I hate the Figg family. They’re super rich, but they’re the worst people I’ve ever met: spoiled, arrogant and they think they’re so much better than anyone else.
Player you’re most like: I don’t know, but the player I’d most like to be like is Luis Suárez. Not for the bitey stuff, but because of his attitude. He’s got skill, he’s a hard worker, he always tries new things, he plays for the team and he never, ever gives up.
Favourite player: Kingsley Coman. I’m nothing like him, but I love his power and pace.
Favourite goal: Benteke’s bicycle kick against Manchester United.
Messi or Ronaldo: Ronaldo is unbelievably good, but I think Messi is the greatest player that ever lived.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
‘Well, I don’t like to make outlandish statements . . . but Wimbledon would have beaten them 10–0’
Eamon Dunphy
William Sheehan, Pengardon Academy’s best player, hadn’t planned to eavesdrop. It wasn’t as if he was trying to hear what they were saying. It just happened. All he’d wanted was a soft drink from the vending machine, but as he padded down the luxuriously carpeted hallway of The Ailesbury, a few minutes after Noah and McCooley had scarpered, he realized that this wasn’t the kind of hotel that would have a vending machine. If you wanted a drink, a smartly dressed man who’d call you sir would bring it to your door. That wasn’t his kind of thing, so, instead, he decided to head outside for some fresh air.
He wasn’t proud of it, but he realized that he’d grown to love his time with Pengardon. He loved the training facilities, especially the perfect pitches and the brand-new footballs, Arthur Slugsley’s coaching and the great food that was prepared for them every day. His accommodation had been brilliant too. Everything was top of the range and he never wanted for anything. He was living the life of a professional footballer. True, there were some negatives. He disliked Barney Figg more than any other person he’d ever met in his life, but disliking and complaining about Barney was something all of the Pengardon team had in common. It had helped them bond. It was good to have somebody for them all to moan about.
William had even managed to persuade himself that playing for Pengardon wasn’t cheating. So what if he wasn’t really a student? He had been registered as one and that made it legal. And, really, how was Pengardon taking the best players from other schools so very different from the way clubs like Bayern Munich or Manchester United or Real Madrid behaved? They were big clubs, they spotted players they thought would improve their team and they paid for them to join. That’s all Figg had done: pay for the best players from other schools to play for his son’s school. There was nothing wrong with that. It was the way things worked. If it was good enough for the biggest clubs in the world, then it was good enough for him. He was being paid to play football and that was all there was to it. If that was the only wrong thing Pengardon was going to do, then he could accept it.
But two minutes later, when he overheard the conversation, he knew that Cornelius Figg wasn’t going to stop there.
Arthur Slugsley and Plunkett Healy weren’t aware that William was getting his breath of fresh air beneath the open hotel-room window. If they had been, they wouldn’t have said a word. Their voices carried out into the gravel courtyard.
‘You’re sure the ref knows what to do?’ Plunkett Healy said.
‘Yes, if we’re not winning easily by half-time, then he’ll make sure decisions start going our way. He’ll send some of their players off if he has to.’ Arthur Slugsley sighed. ‘This is wrong, Plunkett. Fixing the groups, paying off referees. I used to have principles. How did we let ourselves get dragged down to this level?’
William Sheehan walked away before he heard Plunkett Healy’s reply. He felt like a fool. When he’d first arrived at Figg’s house he was playing because he needed the money, but in the last few weeks he’d wanted to lift the trophy because he wanted to be a winner. Not like this, though, not by cheating. He couldn’t let them get away with that.
CHAPTER THIRTY
‘I would not be bothered if we lost every game as long as we won the league’
Mark Viduka
It took some time for everything to calm down. A bunk bed collapsed when McCooley punched it. It groaned once before clattering to the ground. Metal clanged and a loosened bolt rolled along the grubby floor. Stevie fretted that they’d have to pay for the damage. McCooley told him to shut up. Barbara told McCooley to shut up. Voices were raised and there were plenty of unhappy faces in Bitsy’s Hostel.
‘There’s no point in us getting worked up. Things haven’t changed. All that’s happened is we’ve found out what’s going on behind our backs,’ Noah said.
‘Allegedly,’ Stevie said.
‘There’s no need to say allegedly, Stevie. There are no lawyers here. We’re free to tell the truth. It all adds up. They’re dirty, low-down, rotten cheats,’ Sunday said.
‘No doubt about it,’ Cormac chimed in.
Noah and McCooley had arrived back at the hostel twenty minutes earlier having run all the way from the hotel. As soon as they made it to the dorm, they launched into the story of what had happened in the Ailesbury. As far as they were concerned, Cornelius Figg was donating a lot of money to Pengardon Academy and in return they allowed certain football players to enrol in the school. Figg was cherry-picking the best footballers around and making Pengardon as good as possible so that they could win the tournament for his son.
‘He’s the richest man in the country and he could do loads of good things with his money and instead he tries to rig a football tournament. He makes me sick,’ Cormac said. ‘Sick as a dog.’
‘And he paid Hegarty too. That night when we were in the school. He handed him an envelope, remember? Hegarty said he hadn’t given him enough. He had to be talking about money,’ Darren said.
‘He’s paid off Mr Hegarty? Who else has he bribed? This could go all the way to the top,’ Limbsy said.
‘To the White House?’ Hawk Willis asked.
‘No, to the president of the fourteen-and-under Irish schools’ football association.’
‘Well, that’s not really the same thing, but it’s still high enough,’ Hawk Willis said.
‘If I get my hands on him, I’ll rip his head off,’ Maggie said. ‘And I really mean it. I will rip his cheati
ng head off.’
From the look of fury in her eyes, Noah was sure that she would too.
‘We should tell Mr McGlinnigle,’ Adam O’Brien said.
‘Definitely,’ Barbara agreed. ‘He seems like an honest man and since he allowed us to play in the tournament in the first place that means he’s the one person you can guarantee hasn’t been bribed. If he had been, he’d have just kicked us out, wouldn’t he?’
‘Absolutely,’ Stevie said. ‘That’s a good point. We can trust him.’
‘But he said he never wanted to see our faces ever again,’ Cormac said.
‘I’m sure if he knew what was happening then he’d want us to tell him.’
Noah just sat on the edge of his bed, silently waiting for them to calm down. When they finally did some time later, he spoke.
‘We’re not telling anyone,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Have you gone mad?’
‘We can’t let them get away with it.’
‘We’re not going to let them get away with it,’ Noah said.
‘What’s the plan, Murphy? Violence? Intimidation? Stealing their boots?’ McCooley asked.
‘No, we’re going to do what we came here to do. We’re going to play football and we’re going to play it well. We’re going to beat St Killian’s and we’re going to beat Pengardon Academy and then we’re going to win this tournament and represent Ireland in what, Piotr?’
‘THE WORLD CUP.’
‘You make it sound so simple,’ Adam said.
‘Why would I want to make it sound difficult?’
‘Fair point,’ Adam replied.
Noah was still finding it hard to get his head round the idea, but after talking about it with Stevie he was sure there was only one conclusion. Hegarty had kicked him off the team because Slugsley had paid him to. His own principal had betrayed him so that Barney Figg could cheat his way to victory. But there was something else that was bothering him as well, something that he hadn’t mentioned to Stevie. If Slugsley had gone around the country looking for the best players and paid them to play for Pengardon, then why hadn’t he chosen him? Noah wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but his pride was hurt too. It gave him another reason to beat Pengardon and win the tournament. His reasons for wanting to win were really starting to pile up.
‘What if they have some other tricks up their sleeve? They could try and hurt us – like they might send some kind of ninja guy in the night to break our legs or something,’ Cormac said.
‘Or they could have bribed the referees so that all the decisions go their way,’ Barbara said.
Frank jumped to his feet, his eyes ablaze with righteous anger.
‘They can try every trick in the book, but they won’t get away with it. We’ll outsmart them. We’ll outplay them. We’ll fight them if we have to, we’ll fight them all until we’re the only ones left standing,’ he shouted, pumping his fist in the air.
He was expecting whoops and cheers and applause, but the only response was thirteen pairs of eyes staring at him in astonishment.
‘Erm, what was that about, Frank?’ Limbsy asked.
‘Sounded like you were auditioning for a Braveheart sequel there, man,’ Hawk Willis said.
‘Sorry, I got a bit carried away,’ Frank said, slumping back on to the rickety bed.
In the end, when they’d all calmed down, they prepared as thoroughly as they possibly could. Nobody ate chips that night. Nobody went to bed late or stayed up talking. By eleven o’clock all lights were out and as fourteen heads hit fourteen pillows they were filled with one thought – tomorrow they were going to win.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘It’s getting tickly now – squeaky-bum time I call it’
Alex Ferguson
The atmosphere in the sports ground was even better on the second day. Now that there were teams in danger of being knocked out there was an unmistakable air of excitement, and nerves, a crackle of electricity. Of the eighty school teams from around the country that had started the tournament, just sixteen would still be standing by the end of the day. Only the group winners would make it through. There would be four left the following day. The champions of Ireland, the team that would participate in the World Cup in Paris, would be crowned the day after that.
Noah was delighted to see some friendly faces in the form of Simone and Dave when they reached the sports ground. They’d got up at five in the morning to drive across the country to make it in time for the day’s matches. Simone still had sleep in her eyes, but she was on good form. Noah would have hugged both of them if there hadn’t been so many people milling about.
‘I’ve got a surprise for you, little dude,’ Dave said.
He peeled off his jumper to reveal a replica top of the St Mary of the Immaculate Conception School for Girls jersey. It was the same black colour with the white v-neck and the two stripes on the shoulders. It even had the same crest. It was far bigger than Noah’s, of course, yet still too small for poor old Dave. It clung so tightly to him that it showed off every lump and bump on his torso.
‘That’s amazing, Dave. Is it as tight as it looks?’
‘Yeah, it’s actually cutting off my circulation and I keep thinking I’m going to pass out,’ he said with a grimace. ‘It’s so clingy I think I’ll have to cut it off with scissors later. But it’s worth it.’
The team went through its warm-up. They were all focused and as close to professional as a school team could be. Nobody wanted to mess this one up.
Adam’s ankle went just before the end of their routine and to his dismay the tournament doctor ruled him out, which meant the only player they now had on the bench was Cormac, unless you counted Stevie, which Noah didn’t. Cormac had been happy to give up his place on the team to the returning Kevin McCooley. Stevie wasn’t certain whether Cormac was doing it for the good of the squad or if his aim was to avoid the wrath of the team’s bruiser. McCooley himself was delighted to be back after his one match suspension and determined to show everyone how good a player he could be when he put his mind to it.
As they lined up and saw that McCooley was in the starting eleven, a couple of the St Killian’s team looked anxious. Not Jim Reynolds, though. He looked as eager to play this match as Noah did. Noah wasn’t going to mention it to Reynolds, but it felt weird to be lining up against his former teammates. They were all there: Rob Gillespie, Bestie Keenan, Sean McDonagh, Terry Sweeney, Wets, Dermot Coughlan and the rest of the lads. He’d worn the same blue-and-white striped jersey they were wearing so many times, and he’d been proud to wear it, but St Mary’s was his team now.
On the referee’s instruction, Jim shook hands with Noah, squeezing a little harder than was necessary. Noah’s fingers cracked as Reynolds applied more and more pressure. He didn’t react, though. He just smiled politely and wished Jim Reynolds luck.
‘Why would we need luck? We’re playing against a girls’ school,’ Reynolds said with a sneer.
‘Going to be embarrassing for you when you get beaten, then, isn’t it?’ Noah replied.
Stevie paced up and down the sideline, furiously chewing his fingernails. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for something suspicious, something that Cornelius Figg might be using against his team. He was so wound up it took him a moment to recognize the large man approaching him.
‘Well, well, Mr Treacy. Fancy meeting you here,’ Hegarty said.
‘Hello, Mr Hegarty. Good to see you,’ Stevie lied. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. I didn’t know you were interested in football.’
‘Oh, I’m a man of the world, Mr Treacy. I take an interest in many things. For example, one of the things I take an interest in are my pupils, especially the ones who decide to represent another school in a sporting endeavour,’ he said. He leaned in closer to Stevie until his jowly face eclipsed the sun. ‘Some people might consider changing allegiances like that to be a grave insult, or even a betrayal.’
Stevie gulped. Hegarty’s expression was
impossible to read, but his words were clear enough. Things were going to be tough for him during the next school year. At least he had nearly three months of holidays before it started. More than enough time to build himself into a frenzy of terror.
‘Where’s the coach?’ he asked in an attempt to change the subject.
‘Mr Fleming couldn’t make it,’ Hegarty said. ‘I’ve decided to oversee things instead.’
‘Well, good luck in the match, sir,’ Stevie said. ‘May the best team win.’
He held out his hand for Hegarty to shake. The principal stared at Stevie’s hand until Stevie grew so self-conscious that he stuffed it back in his pocket.
The referee blew the whistle and the match kicked off to a great cheer from everyone gathered on the sidelines.
This is it, Noah thought. Here we go.
St Killian’s attacked immediately. They were quick, aggressive and first to every ball. Their style was very different to when Noah was in the team. They played as if they had a point to prove. Just like St Mary’s they had a win and a loss from their opening day, so they needed the three points. A defeat for either team would mean almost certain elimination from the tournament.
The ball pinged around the pitch, but Frank and Barbara marshalled the defence well, aided by several well-timed and enthusiastic shouts from Piotr. Michael Griffin and Darren were working hard to help their centre-backs out yet they also had to cover any attempts by the St Killian’s midfield to get down the wing and whip in crosses.
‘Man on the overlap, Michael,’ Frank yelled.
Griffin got across to the winger just in time to jostle him off the ball.
‘Great work, Griffin,’ McCooley shouted as Michael cleared the ball down the line.
Michael accepted the compliment with a nod before getting back into position.
The Mighty Dynamo Page 23
