Free Extra Time by Morris Gleitzman Page A

your brother’s playing his first match against Manchester United in three days, nothing puts you off.
    As Mr Merchant strides away, somebody else calls my name.
    I turn.
    Ken is hurrying over from the office building.
    â€˜Bridie,’ he says. ‘I’ve had a special request from our Australian media friends. It’s quite a cute idea and I think we can make it happen.’
    He stops and stares at the barbecue.
    I wait patiently. Grown-ups sometimes take a while to get to the point.
    â€˜Good barbecue,’ says Ken. ‘What a shame the media aren’t here today.’
    â€˜Sausage?’ says Uncle Cliff.
    Ken takes one. Then he remembers he’d started to tell me something.
    â€˜This Saturday,’ he says through a mouthful of sausage, ‘our first team’s playing Liverpool. On match days, when our team runs out into the stadium, we always have our mascots leading us. The Aussie media want one of the mascots on Saturday to be you.’
    I’m a bit stunned.
    I look at Uncle Cliff. I can see he thinks it’s an exciting idea. After a few moments I start to feel that way too.
    If I become a mascot, maybe I can help make this club a happier place for Matt.
    But I’m a bit nervous as well.
    The thought of going into a stadium in front of a huge crowd of people is giving me butterflies in my tummy.
    Oh well, at least it’s better than the sausage feeling I was having earlier.

I’m helping Mrs Jarvis make fishcakes.
    â€˜Try to take all the bones out,’ she says. ‘We don’t want Uncle Cliff to get stabbed. Though that’s probably happening right now if the diet experts at the academy have heard about his sausage exploits.’
    I remind Mrs Jarvis that Uncle Cliff is banned and he has to wait by the gate, so he’ll be safe.
    Mrs Jarvis chuckles.
    â€˜A barbecue,’ she says. ‘What a harebrained scheme. That man, honestly.’
    I open my mouth to tell her that the barbecue was my idea. All that comes out is a yawn. I was awake half the night worrying about being a mascot tomorrow. That’s why I’m too tired to go to training today.
    â€˜Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m finding it a bit hard to concentrate.’
    Mrs Jarvis gives me a sympathetic smile.
    â€˜You’ll be a fab mascot,’ she says. ‘And I’ve asked a friend over to give you a few tips. She was a mascot for three years.’
    I stare at Mrs Jarvis. That is so kind.
    â€˜Thank you,’ I say.
    â€˜Bones,’ says Mrs Jarvis.
    I concentrate on the fish until the front doorbell rings.
    â€˜I’ll get it,’ says Mrs Jarvis, wiping her hands.
    She heads off down the hall. I wash my hands to get rid of the fishy smell and go after her.
    I’m glad I used hot water and soap, because standing by the front door holding her hand out to me is the girlfriend of one of the most famous footballers in the world.
    â€˜Wotcha, Bridie,’ says Terrine. ‘Alright?’
    â€˜Yes,’ I say, my voice a bit squeaky with surprise. ‘Thanks.’
    â€˜Why don’t you two go and sit by the fire,’ says Mrs Jarvis. ‘I’ll make some tea.’
    I follow Terrine into the lounge room and we sit down.
    Terrine can probably see I’m still feeling a bit surprised, so she explains that she’s known Mrs Jarvis for years, ever since Gazz was an academy boy staying here at the house.
    â€˜Is that how you met Gazz?’ I say. ‘Being a mascot?’
    Terrine nods and starts to sob.
    I’m not sure what to do. Managers don’t have to deal with tears that often. Plus I’m a bit worried Terrine’s going to tell me bad things about being a mascot.
    After a few moments I go and sit next to her on the settee and pat her arm. It doesn’t seem to do much good.
    Mrs Jarvis comes in, puts her tray down and hurries over.
    â€˜Oh, love,’ she says to Terrine. ‘What’s