Striker Boy Kicks Out (28 page)

“WELL DONE!” she beamed. “What a great match! And what brilliant goals! I've made you something to celebrate.”

There on the table stood the most exquisite-looking chocolate cake.

“You didn't need to do this,” Nat said, but he couldn't hide his delight.

“I know I didn't,” she laughed, “but when you win something, you celebrate!”

She cut him a big slice and a smaller one for herself and
they stood there eating. It was one of the best cakes Nat had ever tasted.

“So, it's back to England tomorrow,” said Inés.

“Yeah,” sighed Nat, “we've got Victor Mabena's lunch with the Talorca players and our families – my dad will be there. It'll be interesting seeing Tieras again. I've got no idea how he'll be with his own players, let alone us. And then it's the flight home.”

“Are you training on Monday?”

“No, the boss has given us a day off, but then it's straight back into it.”

“He's a hard taskmaster, then?”

Nat thought about Fox's behaviour tonight and smiled. “He's old-fashioned, but he's a good man.”

“Well, congratulations again. I'm so pleased for you.”

A thought suddenly struck Nat – a question had been bugging him all week and even though it was a painful subject he wanted to know the answer. “Inés . . . do you mind me asking you something?”

“Not at all.”

“Why do you keep the smashed motorbike in your shed. Isn't it a constant reminder of the crash? Doesn't it upset you?”

“I don't understand,” replied Inés.

“The motorbike – the one your husband and José crashed on?”

“José and my husband didn't crash on that motorbike,” replied Inés. “It's mine from years ago. I crashed into a fence and have never got round to fixing it.”

“Oh,” frowned Nat, “I thought that. . .”

“They were in a
coach
crash,” explained Inés. “My husband was employed as a driver for Talorca FC. He worked for them for many years. He and José were completing the last leg of a journey when the coach swerved off the road and smashed head-on into a tree. My husband was killed instantly. José's leg was broken, but thankfully his life was spared.”

“Right,” nodded Nat slowly, realising how wrong he'd been. “I'm sorry I asked”

“I didn't want to fill you in on the details,” said Inés, “but as you asked, that's the answer.”

Nat took a breath and blew out his cheeks. “Well, thanks for everything, Inés. You've been a great host and I've really enjoyed it here. You've been amazing to me.”

“It's a pleasure!” smiled Inés. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I'll spend the morning here and then go to the lunch at La Plaza. I'll take my bags because we're going straight from the stadium to the airport.”

“OK. I'll be around until about eleven when I'm going to walk over to some friends. So I'm sure we'll get a chance to say goodbye.”

As Nat walked to his room, he thought about the coach crash that had killed Inés's husband and shattered José's football career. That was all it took – one piece of bad luck and your life could be ruined.

He walked into his bedroom and shut the door. It was only then that he realised how completely exhausted he
was. It wasn't just tonight's action on the football field. It was everything that had happened since he'd been here – the training sessions, the spat with Tieras at the radio station, José's possible involvement with car theft, the man he was convinced was stalking him, the Ray Swinton blackmail incident, the Celtic and Lazio matches and now the incredible final. How was it possible that so much could been packed into such a short space of time?

As he lay down, he began replaying the final in his head. He glossed over most of it and focused on his goals. He could see the build-up, his position, where everyone else was and then his two strikes. Seeing the ball beat Xavier Bergas and nestle in the Talorca net had been sweet the first time – seeing it twice had been outrageous!

He re-spooled through the goals again and as he did so, it hit him that Hatton Rangers fans back in England and all over the globe would be celebrating right now. And he'd made the victory possible. After all of those years on the road with his dad, following the ups and more frequent downs of Hatton Rangers's performances, here he was, providing other people with a night to remember.

Maybe winning the cup
would
inspire Rangers to a better Premier League season. How much of a part would he play in that season? Just because he'd scored twice tonight in no way meant that he'd be an automatic choice for Ian Fox. And then, of course, there was always the worry that someone would uncover his real age and spill the beans to the world. Nat thought once more about how complex his life had become over the last few months.

Finally, at about 2 a.m., all reconstructions of goals and shots and passes, and all other matters of significance in the brain of Nat Dixon, were switched off and he fell asleep.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a sound in his room. He opened his bleary eyes and, in the darkness, saw a figure crouching down on the floor near the cupboard. He sat up quickly.

“Sorry.” It was José's voice. “I left some batteries in here. Ah, got them. Thanks.”

A second later, José was gone. Nat shrugged and went back asleep.

When he next woke it was 10.55 a.m. and Inés was peering round his door, asking if he wanted anything. He said he was fine and he got out of bed.

“I'm off to my friend's now, so I guess it's goodbye,” she smiled.

She gave him a hug and kissed him on both cheeks. “I'm sure we'll see each other again at some stage,” she grinned. “Now, go back to bed, but don't oversleep and miss that lunch!”

Having said his goodbyes, Nat rolled back under the covers, and the next time he checked his watch it was 11.48. He got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen.
José was nowhere to be seen and Inés's laptop was on the table. He sat down in front of the screen and started using Google to try and find some information about the coach crash José and his father had been in. Ten minutes was wasted in fruitless searches, and then Inés's computer crashed. Finally, when the computer was up and running again, he unearthed a nine-month old article in the English-language magazine,
World of Business Affairs.
Entitled ‘Spanish Transport Magnate in the Dock', it read:

Spanish multi-millionaire Victor Mabena, owner of the Mabena Vehicle chain, appeared in a Seville court yesterday, answering questions under oath about two recent crashes involving coaches manufactured by his company. The first coach ended up in a ditch, but thankfully no one was badly hurt. The second coach, however, was involved in a serious crash on a major road. This vehicle was being used by Talorca FC, the Spanish football club of which Mabena is President. The vehicle crashed into a tree and resulted in the death of one of the club's long-standing drivers.

Two independent experts gave evidence last week. The first expert, Maria Santos, acting for Mabena, claimed that the two crashes were both down to human error. She said that safety checks at Mabena's plant – where the coaches are produced – were over and above the national minimum safety requirements, and that the company was in no way to blame. She said that an
internal and thorough investigation had found absolutely nothing wrong with the coaches' braking systems. The company claim that, when they recalled the entire fleet after the crashes, no such problems were found on any of the recalled vehicles.

However, Daniel Malvades, acting for the family of the deceased man Frederico Mancini, insisted that both crashes occurred due to lax health and safety procedures at Mabena's plant. He pointed out that an independent safety check just three months prior to the crash had found several areas of weakness in the safety protocols at the plant, and claimed that these weaknesses led to the possibility of poor braking facilities in this specific model of coach.

Into this fray stepped Mr Mabena, who was calm and focused when answering questions. He stated that: “Safety at my plants is our number one concern. No stone is left unturned as we carry out a battery of tests on every vehicle. I, personally, would never, ever compromise on safety, and it is impossible for a coach to leave our plant unless it is in perfect condition. Once again, I offer my sincere condolences to Mr Mancini's family.”

Nat's eyes widened as he read the piece. Not only had José and his father been in a coach crash, they'd been in a crash on a coach made by Victor Mabena's company. And there was obviously a lot of controversy about safety concerns surrounding that particular type of coach. It explained José's feelings about Mabena. José must believe that Victor Mabena and his company were responsible
for his father's death and the termination of his own football career.

No wonder José hated Mabena. No wonder he wanted to steal the man's car. It wasn't much – Mabena could easily afford a new car – but it was a finger in the eye. It would inconvenience and probably infuriate the Talorca President – his car being stolen from the safety of his team's supposedly ‘secure' stadium executive car park.

Nat carried on searching for more information. Everything he found mirrored the first article. Some people blamed Mabena and his company for the crashes, others said they were simply down to drivers losing concentration, or, in one article, possibly falling asleep at the wheel. After a long official enquiry, the court passed a verdict of accidental death in the case of Frederico Mancini.

When Nat finally flipped the laptop shut, he checked his watch and saw it was 12.53. Mabena's lunch started at 1 p.m. Nat was going to be pretty late for it, especially as he was going to have to walk down to the main road to catch the bus to La Plaza Stadium. But there would probably be loads of glad-handing and chat before the meal. No doubt he had far more time than he thought.

So he didn't rush his shower. When he'd finished, it was 1.25 p.m. He knelt down by the trousers he'd worn the night before to get his ID pass for La Plaza Stadium. But he couldn't find it. He quickly checked the other pockets, but without luck. He looked in his wallet and his bag, and then under the bed and all over his bedroom floor.
But there was no sign of it anywhere.

And then something occurred to Nat. He'd woken up in the middle of the night and seen José crouching down in his room. What if José had lied to him and hadn't been looking for batteries? What if he'd been looking for Nat's ID pass? Was that possible? And then another thought hit Nat, but this one was more worrying. What if it wasn't a car theft that José was planning, but something else? What if he'd planned something to brutally avenge the death of his father? Nat suddenly shivered. This could potentially be very dangerous.

He quickly shoved his things into his bag, hurried into the corridor and stepped outside.

The jeep wasn't there. But Inés's small Fiat was. Nat bit his bottom lip. Walking to the main road and waiting for a bus might take ages. He hesitated for a few seconds and then ran back into the villa and grabbed the Fiat's keys off the work surface in the kitchen. He knew he was being impulsive and crazy, but something within him told him he had to act. He looked back at the villa for a second and then jumped into the car.

Nat had known how to drive since the age of ten. A bed and breakfast owner in Holland had taught him in a Mini in his huge backyard.

Nat turned the Fiat key, the engine purred and he headed up the hill, down the other side and spilled out onto the main road. His heart was pounding madly. It was now 1.32 – Mabena's event was thirty-two minutes old. Was he too late to prevent whatever it was that José was
planning? Nat put his foot down and the Fiat's engine roared. He reached one hundred kilometres per hour, but that seemed to be as far as the engine would stretch.

Can't this car go any faster?

With the clock indicating 1.55, Nat swerved round the corner and the La Plaza Stadium came into view. He pulled up in one of the public parking spaces and saw that José's jeep was parked a short way up ahead. Nat felt his stomach twist, leapt out of the Fiat and sprinted towards the front entrance of the stadium. He was met by two burly security guards in black suits, brandishing walkie-talkies.

One of them said something in Spanish.

“I'm Nat Dixon!” he blurted out. “I'm a Hatton Rangers player. I need to get inside!”

“Where is . . . your . . . your . . . ID pass?” asked the first guard, in faltering English.

“I don't have it!” Nat responded. “But please let me in!”

The guards exchanged a look. Nat quickly reached in his jacket pocket for his mobile. It wasn't there. It must have dropped out when he was frantically getting his stuff together on leaving Inés's place.