Free Extra Time by Morris Gleitzman

but adds an extra five free minutes to the rental period so I don’t have to hurry to where the car is parked.
    Which is very kind and friendly. Exactly the sort of thing we’re planning to encourage at the academy.
    Then we rent a barbecue. The party supply rental person doesn’t give discounts either. Neither does the butcher (sausages) or the supermarket manager (onions, rolls and fizzy drinks).
    It doesn’t matter. They say no in a friendly way. And at least we get the sausage sizzle set up in time.
    â€˜Come on, lads,’ calls Uncle Cliff from the academy carpark as the under-fifteens troop off the training pitch. ‘Have a sausage and a drink, then we’ll have a kick-around, just for fun.’
    The boys all look at him blankly.
    So do their parents.
    I can feel my insides going sausage-shaped. This felt like such a good idea. An Aussie-style barbie and kick-around. To remind the academy boys how much better football is when it’s fun. And to get everyone relaxed so Matt can make some friends.
    But not one kid picks up a sausage.
    Well, one.
    â€˜Put it back,’ says his mother. ‘It’s not on the club diet. I’ve got your protein powder waiting at home.’
    The boy puts the sausage back and gets into a car with his mother.
    I see Ayo heading towards a minibus with Mr Nkrumo.
    â€˜Ayo,’ I yell. ‘Come and have a sausage.’
    Mr Nkrumo says something to Ayo, who looks across at us, gives us an apologetic shrug and gets into the minibus.
    A cold grey wind springs up and blows away the yummy sausage and onion smells.
    All the other boys and parents are getting into their cars.
    Matt, who’s been hanging back and looking embarrassed, comes over.
    â€˜G’day, Matty,’ says Uncle Cliff. ‘Hope you’re hungry. There’s thirty-six sausages here for the three of us.’
    â€˜What are you doing?’ says Matt. ‘Most of these kids live miles away. Their parents spend hours driving them here. Nobody’s got time to hang around for a dopey barbecue.’
    I try not to feel hurt. And I hope Uncle Cliff doesn’t either. We both know poor Matt’s under a lot of pressure.
    Matt’s shoulders droop.
    â€˜Sorry,’ he says, picking up a sausage. ‘It’s a good barbecue. I’m just a bit stressed and hyper cos I’ve been given a place in the under-fifteen team against Manchester United on Sunday.’
    We both stare at him.
    â€˜Judas H brilliant,’ I say, giving him a hug. ‘Matt, you’ve done it.’
    â€˜Rock ’n’ roll,’ says Uncle Cliff, giving Matt a hug too. ‘Team Sutherland.’
    â€˜That’s it,’ says a loud voice. ‘Finish. Pack it up.’
    A stern-looking person in a tracksuit is striding towards us across the carpark. It’s Mr Merchant the head coach.
    â€˜We’re celebrating,’ says Uncle Cliff. ‘Have a sausage. Six if you like.’
    Mr Merchant ignores the offer.
    â€˜Go and get changed, Matt,’ he says.
    Matt looks uncertain. Then he heads off to the changing room.
    Mr Merchant gives the barbecue a sour look.
    â€˜When you’ve got this unauthorised facility packed away,’ he says to Uncle Cliff, ‘please regard yourself as banned from the academy grounds.’
    We stare at him.
    â€˜So that’s no to a sausage?’ says Uncle Cliff.
    â€˜This club,’ says Mr Merchant, ‘has just made a significant gesture of faith in Matt. Foolish antics like this are not helping him.’
    â€˜Am I banned too?’ I say.
    Mr Merchant looks at me. He shakes his head.
    â€˜You’re a child,’ he says. ‘You can’t be expected to know any better.’
    â€˜This barbecue was my idea,’ I say indignantly.
    â€˜Exactly,’ says Mr Merchant, giving Uncle Cliff and me very stern looks, like he wants to put us off helping Matt for good.
    He’s wasting his time.
    When