Striker Boy Kicks Out by Jonny Zucker

gauge their opinion about your dad’s condition. You can make your mind up after that.”
    â€œGood idea,” replied Emi. “I’ll do that.”
    The conversation then lightened up and they switched to chatting about the Celtic game. Nat felt a pulse of relief in his chest. Talking to Emi about his mum hadn’t been so bad. Emi was a really sympathetic listener and at the moment he could really relate to Nat’s loss. Maybe Nat needed to talk about his mother a bit more – maybe it would help the healing process if he got things off his chest from time to time.
    They were talking about the hulks of Angus Reakin and Paul Smithfield an hour later when Ian Fox and Stan Evans strolled into the lobby.
    â€œOK, you two!” called Fox, marching over to them. “It’s nine thirty. Time for bed!”
    â€œWho says so?” laughed Emi.
    â€œMe!” stated the gaffer.
    â€œYes, boss,” said Emi, as he and Nat stood.
    â€œGood,” said Fox with satisfaction. “Now get some sleep and you’ll be fresh for the morning. “
    Nat phoned Inés to tell her he was going to get a cab back.
    â€œYou don’t need to,” she replied. “It’s part of the deal. The club are paying me to have you as my guest, remember? Let me come and get you.”
    â€œI’m fine, honestly. There are plenty of cabs outside.”
    â€œOK, if you’re sure.”
    Nat and Emi went outside to get taxis. Their hosts lived in opposite directions, so Emi got into one cab and Nat climbed into another. In faltering Spanish he had to give the driver Inés’s address three times before the man understood him. The taxi had only just set off when his mobile rang.
    â€œHi Dad.”
    â€œHow was training today?”
    â€œIt was much better than yesterday.”
    â€œThat’s great. You all set for tomorrow night?”
    â€œI don’t know if I’ll get on.”
    â€œYou’re bound to feature at some stage.”
    â€œIan Fox never reveals what he’s thinking. I might not even get on the subs bench.”
    â€œDon’t be mad! Think of what you did against Man United.”
    â€œI think he’s forgotten that now.”
    â€œWell, whatever happens, don’t forget how you got there – by sheer hard work and determination.”
    â€œAnd some major lying,” quipped Nat.
    â€œOK,” laughed Dave, “that as well. One of the lads at work has hundreds of cable channels and he says that one of them is showing tomorrow’s match.”
    â€œNice one.”
    â€œWhere are you now?”
    â€œI’m in a cab on my way back to the villa.”
    â€œGood move. Hope tomorrow turns out well.”
    â€œCheers Dad, catch you later.”
    The taxi driver took a slightly circuitous route, but Nat wasn’t prepared to try and have an argument in his weak Spanish so he just paid the fare.
    As he walked towards the villa, he passed the window of José’s room. The curtains were open and Nat spied José sitting on his bed with a look of intense concentration on his face. At first Nat assumed he was reading a magazine or a newspaper but when he edged a bit closer he saw that he was counting some bank notes. And this wasn’t a small pocket-money type pile. This was a huge wad.
    Nat frowned and hurried on, making sure that José hadn’t spotted him. Where on earth did José get that kind of cash? He didn’t have a job at the minute and it certainly wouldn’t be Inés’s money – she’d said she didn’t earn that much from teaching and that they just about got by on her salary and a small pension left by her husband.
    Nat stepped inside, mulling this over. Could someone have lent it to him? Or maybe he’d just sold something valuable on eBay or another trading site? But what? And did Inés know about this money?
    Nat got changed for bed, still thinking about these