The Mighty Dynamo

by Kieran Crowley

  ‘Two good teams,’ Noah said.

  ‘But only one who played by the rules,’ McGlinnigle said.

  Noah realized he must have looked alarmed because McGlinnigle began to chuckle before turning serious again.

  ‘Not your team, Mr Murphy. I’m well aware of your attempt to bend the rules. It’s Pengardon Academy I’m referring to – they’re a disgrace.’

  ‘How did you—’

  ‘I received a very interesting email last night. It pointed out a couple of anomalies with the Pengardon situation. It mentioned a Mr Figg. Our paths have crossed in court on a number of occasions. I have won more often than I’ve lost.’

  Stevie, Noah thought. Stevie must have emailed McGlinnigle even though he’d asked him not to do anything.

  ‘Just to be on the safe side I switched the referees at the last moment so that there wouldn’t be any – how shall I put it? – impropriety,’ McGlinnigle said.

  Suddenly, Darren was at Noah’s shoulder.

  ‘You’ve got to see this. Everyone, come on.’

  Nobody else wanted to move – they were too exhausted – but Darren was insistent.

  ‘You’ll want to see this too, Mr McGlinnigle.’

  ‘Well, I did have a couple of other things I wanted to say to Mr Murphy, but it does sound urgent and it’s not like a young person to get overexcited by anything,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘And somebody bring a phone,’ called Darren before haring across the pitch. On the far side was one of the large temporary car parks that was currently home to hundreds of vehicles.

  ‘You go, I’ll follow you on at my own pace,’ McGlinnigle said.

  ‘I’ll walk with you,’ Stevie said. ‘Here, Noah.’

  He threw his phone. Noah caught it and took off after Darren, with Maggie and the rest of the team not far behind. Noah squelched across the muddy pitch, summoning the energy from somewhere. He covered the distance in just over ten seconds. He had no idea what he was looking for, but as he got closer to the cars he spotted someone he recognized – Simone. She was standing on the edge of the car park, waving her hands frantically. Was she in trouble? But then Noah saw her put her finger to her lips to signal quiet. And Darren was doing the same.

  What’s going on? he wondered.

  Noah slowed down and let Darren take the lead. The rest of the team behind him must have got the message because they too were suddenly a lot quieter. Quieter than they’d been since Noah had first met them.

  ‘Shh,’ Simone said as Noah reached the edge of the car park.

  He stopped behind a white Range Rover Evoque. On the far side of the vehicle he spotted the large and distinctive head of his principal, Mr Hegarty. He was shouting at somebody.

  Simone mimed at Noah to start filming with the phone. He’d almost forgotten he had it tightly gripped in his hand. He sneaked past her and moved down the side of the Evoque, keeping just out of sight. Now he could see that Hegarty was arguing with two people – a man and a boy. Cornelius and Barney Figg. And further on, standing behind the red Ford Fiesta that looked like Slugsley’s car, was the man in the poncho, the scout. Noah glimpsed a salt-and-pepper beard beneath the hood and began to wonder why a scout would be standing there watching the argument before he was distracted by Hegarty’s words.

  ‘I did my job and now I want to get paid,’ he said.

  ‘You did your job? It couldn’t have gone any worse. Look at my poor son, practically in tears because of you.’

  ‘It’s not my fault your team was such a miserable failure. And, just let me say, your son is possibly the worst footballer I have ever seen in my life.’

  ‘How dare you insult him, you incompetent moron!’

  Hegarty ignored Cornelius and turned his attention to Barney.

  ‘You lost to a team with girls in it, Barney boy,’ he said. ‘Do you know how embarrassing that is? Almost as embarrassing as your father buying the tournament and your team still failing miserably. He bought players to play for your team and you still lost.’

  ‘Why you—’

  Cornelius Figg swung wildly at Hegarty and missed. He slipped and fell on to the muddy ground. Barney made no effort to help his father up and Cornelius Figg slipped another couple of times before he managed to get back to his feet.

  ‘Did you really pay people to play for Pengardon? All those new players? You actually paid them?’ Barney said, shocked.

  ‘No, no, no, of course I didn’t. Don’t listen to a word that fat liar says,’ Cornelius Figg spluttered.

  ‘Yes, it was just coincidence that all those new players turned up right before the tournament. I don’t know what’s worse, Barney – that you’re so thick you believe your dad’s lies, or that your dad tries to trick you by playing a team of mercenaries,’ Hegarty said.

  ‘Dad?’ Barney whined.

  ‘Shut up, Hegarty. Do you know who I am?’

  ‘Yes, you’re the man who owes me over ten thousand euro. You asked me to get rid of Noah Murphy and I did and now I want to get paid.’

  ‘Except you didn’t get rid of him, did you, you buffoon? He turned up for that girls’ team and knocked my son’s team out and now Barney’s traumatized for life.’

  ‘Tell me the truth, Dad, or I’ll make things really difficult at home,’ Barney said.

  ‘Fine, fine,’ Cornelius said, wiping his filthy hands clean on his designer suit. ‘I did it. I paid for them to play.’

  Barney’s tanned face twisted itself into a spitting, snarling rage.

  ‘You paid a bunch of players and those were the best you could find?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re rich. You could have got a lot of top-class players from South America and no one would have been able to tell the difference and instead you got that bunch of nobodies. Not a single Galáctico among them. You’re a useless father.’

  Barney stormed off. Unfortunately for Noah and the rest of the team who were gathered behind him shivering in their sopping wet jerseys and shorts, he stormed off in their direction. He stopped dead when he saw them all gathered there, gaping at him.

  ‘Dad, that horrible team that beat us is lurking here and they’re filming our conversation.’

  Hegarty and Cornelius Figg forgot their differences and joined Barney in record time.

  ‘Murphy?’ Hegarty said.

  ‘Give me the phone, boy,’ Cornelius Figg said. ‘Give it to me now.’

  Noah passed the phone to Adam who in turn passed it to Stevie.

  ‘Now, let’s be reasonable here, Murphy,’ Hegarty said. ‘We’ve both done some things we’re not proud of, but if you just delete that video then I’m sure we can have an amicable chat about how we see your second year in school going.’

  ‘I think it’s too late for that, Mr Hegarty,’ Noah said.

  ‘Too late? It’s never too late. All you have to do is—’

  ‘The video’s online,’ Stevie said.

  Hegarty’s face fell. ‘No, it can’t be. Not already—’

  ‘One of the many good things about this tournament,’ Stevie said. ‘Great Wi-Fi.’

  ‘I will make your life a living hell,’ Hegarty said.

  ‘Not sure you’ll still be in a job, then,’ Maggie said.

  McCooley laughed.

  ‘You’ve just made a huge mistake,’ Cornelius Figg began. ‘I’ll sue every last one of you. You’ll lose your houses, you’ll lose your—’

  ‘Oh, pipe down, Cornelius,’ Mr McGlinnigle said as he arrived at the back of the group of players.

  ‘McGlinnigle?’

  ‘I see you remember me. And you know what I can do in court, so you might want to reconsider those threats.’

  ‘I . . . Barney, let’s get out of here,’ Figg said, dragging his son by the arm just as he was in the middle of forming a rude gesture specially for Noah.

  As the Figgs departed, Hegarty remained where he was, his face growing redder and redder until it reached volcanic level.

  ‘Yo
u’re a sneaky, horrible, nasty little boy, Murphy. Just the sight of your stupid, skinny face makes me sick. No wonder your father left you—’

  Noah watched in shock as the man in the poncho rushed forward from his hiding place and placed a meaty hand on Hegarty’s shoulder. Hegarty spun round in a fury, but when the man pulled back the poncho hood and revealed his weather-beaten features all the fight left the St Killian’s principal. His face transformed from red to white in a heartbeat.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Cormac asked.

  Noah didn’t hear the question, but he supplied the answer.

  ‘Dad,’ he whispered, turning as white as Hegarty.

  He couldn’t believe it. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. This had to be some kind of trick. Or maybe I’m dreaming, Noah thought. But as the rain continued to bucket down he knew he wasn’t. His father really was standing there in front of him. He looked a bit older, a bit hairier than when he’d last spoken to him on Skype, but it was him. Noah just stood there gawping. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to react.

  ‘Want to repeat those words, Mr Hegarty?’ Noah’s dad asked politely.

  ‘What? Ha, ha. No, no. I was joking of course, Joe. You know me. I speak first, think later. I’d never really threaten a child.’ He smiled nervously. Joe Murphy’s hand still rested on his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll give you three seconds to get out of here, Mr Hegarty, or else I won’t be responsible for my actions. One. Two . . .’

  Noah had never seen a big man move as quickly as Hegarty did at that moment. He slipped and skidded, bashing his chin on the roof of a car before scrambling to his feet again and running off into the crowds.

  ‘Dad? Is . . . is . . . that really you?’ Noah asked. His heart was racing and the bitter taste of adrenalin filled his mouth. He could hardly contain his excitement. Please don’t let me be wrong, he said to himself. Please.

  ‘Sure is,’ his father said, his face wrinkling into a broad smile. ‘Had to come back and see what all the fuss about this girls’ team was.’

  ‘St Mary’s,’ Piotr bellowed.

  Joe Murphy reached across and grabbed his son, wrapping him up in a bear hug.

  Nothing else in the world mattered to Noah now. His dad was here. He wanted to shout the words: He’s here! Normally, a public display of affection would have embarrassed him, but as he buried his face in his father’s shoulder, as the rain lashed down, he couldn’t care less what anyone thought of him. His family was together again. He thought he was going to explode with joy.

  Hawk turned to McCooley. Kevin didn’t look quite right to him. ‘Hey, are you . . . are you crying?’

  ‘No. Shut up,’ McCooley said, wiping his eyes with a sopping sleeve.

  ‘You are! You said McCooleys and St Mary’s never cry and—’

  McCooley gave Hawk such a thump that he didn’t know what had happened to him until he was flat on the ground, tasting mud.

  ‘Hawk down,’ he mumbled.

  ‘You had to have been expecting that,’ Maggie said.

  It took Noah a long time to calm down. A very long time. He’d never experienced emotions like this before. He could hardly think straight. Nothing made sense. His father was really there. He was home again. It was wonderful.

  His dad had hoped to make it back in time to see both matches, but his plane had been delayed and he’d only arrived in time to see the second-half comeback against Pengardon. Noah didn’t care. He was here now.

  ‘I thought you didn’t have enough money to come home,’ Noah said.

  His dad smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  ‘I’m not complaining,’ Noah added quickly, in case his father got the wrong idea.

  ‘I know you’re not. In a way, I wouldn’t have been able to return if it wasn’t for your friends,’ Dad said.

  ‘My friends?’ Noah was confused.

  ‘I know why you played in the tournament,’ his father continued. ‘To get a professional contract and bring me home.’

  ‘Who—’

  ‘Stevie told Simone. She thought you were throwing yourself into football because you loved playing it again, not because you wanted to help our family.’

  ‘That’s why I started doing it, Dad, but once I began playing . . .’

  ‘I know.’ His dad smiled. He understood. He’d played enough football when he was young. It was fun. ‘Anyway, once I heard that, I knew I couldn’t stay in Australia. Of course, I couldn’t just leave – I still needed the money. The last six months and Simone’s two jobs have helped hugely, but we still have money to pay back. I need a job. I did a Skype interview with OCH, a company that’s starting up in Carraig Cruach in a couple of weeks. The pay’s not half as good and it’ll take us a little longer to get fully back on our feet, but it’s work.’

  OCH? The name was familiar, but Noah didn’t care about that now. He wasn’t certain: was his father really saying what he thought he was saying?

  Noah’s dad wrapped an arm round his son’s shoulder. ‘It’s not your job to take care of me – it’s my job to take care of you. And I can do that better when I’m here at home.’

  ‘You’re staying home?’

  ‘I’m staying home,’ his father said with a smile. ‘This is where I want to be. This is where I have to be.’

  Noah could hardly believe it, but it was true, even if it would take him days before he finally accepted it.

  When the commotion had died down and after they’d all had piping hot showers and a bite to eat, the St Mary’s team piled on to the bus for their journey home. Players collapsed into their seats, their legs aching, their spirits drained. They had given everything and they were wrecked. Despite his protestations, Noah’s dad managed to persuade him to go home on the bus with St Mary’s while he took a spin with Simone and Dave.

  ‘From what I’ve heard, Stevie, Maggie, Kevin and all the lads couldn’t have done any more for the team,’ he said. ‘You can’t let them down now. You have to go home together. Don’t worry, you’ll be sick of the sight of me soon enough.’

  ‘Never,’ Noah said, and he meant it.

  Noah and Stevie were about to board the bus when McGlinnigle hobbled over to them.

  ‘I’m glad I caught you before you left,’ he said, a little out of breath.

  ‘Me too. I wanted to say thanks for your help earlier. After Mr Hegarty and Mr Figg left, things got a bit hectic and I didn’t see you,’ Noah said.

  ‘Your thanks are unnecessary,’ McGlinnigle smiled. ‘I should be thanking you. You’ve helped restore my faith in young peop—’

  He was looking at the bus window. McCooley had Adam O’Brien in a headlock and the long-haired player’s face was pressed up against the glass. A stream of drool rolled down the window.

  ‘Erm, Stevie,’ Noah said hurriedly, ‘Mr McGlinnigle got your email about Pengardon.’

  ‘My email? I didn’t send any email,’ Stevie said.

  ‘Oh no, that was from a William Sheehan. I believe he was one of the Pengardon players. Must have had an attack of conscience, poor lad. Can’t blame him. When he heard about the plans to bribe referees into giving decisions Pengardon’s way, he grew outraged and wrote an email to me. This whole situation has been a terrible mess. Pengardon won’t be allowed play in any schools’ tournament for many years to come. Bribes to principals and referees, paying players to play, illegal payments to the school, getting committee members to arrange the groups in his favour. This one will run and run.’

  McGlinnigle reached into his coat pocket and took out a business card. He handed it to Noah.

  ‘It’s for a contact of mine. He scouts for a club in England, not at the top level, but high enough. You’ve got some good players on your team, but you’re an excellent talent, Mr Murphy, and I’ve already raved to him about your ability. Next time you organize a match, give him a call and he said he’ll come and watch you. Some of the others too. Can’t make any promises, mind you. The professional game’s a tough one to
break into.’

  ‘Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it,’ Noah said. And he did. He didn’t need to be a professional footballer now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to become one. He couldn’t climb aboard the bus without asking. ‘What did you think of Maggie? Number nine.’

  ‘An undoubted talent,’ Mr McGlinnigle said. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t think the men’s game is liberal enough to allow women players just yet. But the women’s professional game has really taken off recently. Miss O’Connell may yet receive the recognition she craves.’

  ‘I don’t know. She really has her heart set on playing against men,’ Noah said. ‘If anyone can make it through, she can.’

  ‘That I can believe.’

  As McGlinnigle said his goodbyes, Noah put two and two together and for once managed to come up with four. Miss O’Connell, McGlinnigle had called her. He’d almost forgotten that was her surname.

  ‘Stevie, you know lots of boring stuff, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, knowing a vast amount of information about the world we live in couldn’t be considered anything but dull,’ Stevie replied.

  ‘Exactly. So, what’s the name of Maggie’s dad’s company?’

  ‘OC Holdings. Stands for O’Connell Holdings. Why?’

  O’Connell Holdings. OCH. That was it.

  ‘Her dad offered my dad a job. You don’t think she had anything to do with it, do you?’

  ‘The thing about Maggie is she puts on this tough front because she thinks she has to be self-centred and ruthless to make it in the world of professional football. She believes that showing you care is a sign of weakness,’ Stevie said.

  ‘But under that tough front, she’s actually soft?’

  ‘No, under that tough front, she’s cranky and intolerant and more than a little arrogant, but I’ve seen her help people too. Usually, she insults them at the same time, but she’s not entirely unfeeling.’

  Noah thought about Kevin McCooley and his new boots.

  ‘I wouldn’t mention it to her, though. If you really believe she did your family a favour, I mean,’ Stevie continued. ‘She wouldn’t like you bringing it up. It would embarrass her. In fact, she’d probably punch you.’