Free The Secrets Club by Chris Higgins Page A

one–nil up.
    ‘Well done, boys,’ says
Terry as he passes
around bottles of
water. ‘But it’s not over yet. Brilliant goal, Lofty – more of those
please. Keep it up, Danny, you’re playing well. Marvyn, we need more direction
in midfield …’
    Marvyn. I’d been a bit concerned
last Saturday after the party that he’d recognized me. I was pretty sure a few
times I’d caught him looking at me but he’d said nothing and today we
have more important things to worry about.
    ‘Your dad here?’ whispers
Lofty. I shake my head and turn to survey the people who’ve gathered to watch
us. It was quite an impressive number.
    ‘Mine is. You can’t miss
him.’ I follow his gaze to where a tall lanky guy is standing head and
shoulders above the rest of the crowd and gulp. Even though he’s not wearing
his trademark cord jacket, only one person could possibly be that tall.
    Mr Little.
    ‘Is that your dad?’
    ‘Afraid so.’
    Mr Little sees me watching him and
waves. Oh no, he’s recognized me! That’s all I need. After my monumental
efforts my cover is about
to be blown by
a beanpole supply teacher who happens to be a dad. Then, beside me, Lofty waves back
and I realize it’s him he’s waving at, not me, and I’m struck by
how proud he looks of his son. And I can’t help wishing my dad was here to be
proud of me too.
    But there’s no time to think about
that because the second half is about to start and we’ve got a job to do.
    And we do it. Beautifully. Basically,
with a lot of skill and a little good fortune, we run rings round the opposition.
With increasing confidence we gradually seize possession and territory, and though
they hold out and manage a goal somewhere along the way, it’s not enough.
Systematically we slaughter them: four goals to one.
    And I score two of them, even in boots
two sizes too big for me. It’s magic.
    Terry is over the moon. We all are. Mr
Little and the other dads go wild on the touchline, jumping and shouting like
it’s the FA Cup Final. Our very first fixture and we’ve stolen the
show.
    We head back to the changing rooms in a
blaze of glory, arms wrapped round each other.
    ‘Leave your kit here and
I’ll take it home and
wash it for
you,’ orders Terry. ‘Don’t want anyone leaving it behind next week
like Dopey Danny here.’ He ruffles my hair to show he doesn’t mean it as
people start tugging their shirts over their heads and dropping them into
Terry’s big bag. ‘And don’t forget to shower, you lot, before you
disappear to your parents.’
    Everyone groans but does as
they’re told. I avert my eyes as boys pull off their kit and make a dash for
the showers. I’d been dreading this.
    ‘What’s the problem,
Danny?’ asks Terry, noticing my hesitance.
    ‘Haven’t got a towel. Left
it on the train, didn’t I?’ He will never know how grateful I am for
forgetting my bag at this point in time.
    ‘Go on!’ he scoffs.
‘Someone’ll lend you theirs.’ I bite my lip, wondering what on
earth I can say to get out of this, and he adds, ‘I don’t want your dad
after me for sending you home dirty.’
    ‘My dad couldn’t care
less,’ I say bitterly. ‘He doesn’t live with us any
more.’
    ‘What about your mum?’
    ‘She’s at work. I can have a
shower before she gets home.’
    He hesitates. ‘No one watching you today then?’
    I shake my head.
    His eyes soften and he gives me a wry
smile. ‘Pity,’ he says gently. ‘You did well. Your parents would
be proud of you.’ Then he ruffles my hair again.
    ‘Go on then!’ he says, his
voice back to normal. ‘Get off home and tell your mum how well you played. See
you next week, Danny. And don’t forget your boots!’
    ‘I won’t!’ I say
happily and get changed quickly before someone comes out of the showers and offers
to lend me their towel.
    I’d got away with it this time.
But how would I manage next week?

Chapter 21
    ‘This is becoming a
habit!’
    As Lissa hands me my bag on