The Day I Died. Polly Courtney

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      Finally the ball was controlled and the game of pinball resumed. Jo stayed put for a moment, contemplating her apparent skills. She had kicked the ball. But not just in a lucky, kick-it-and-see way. She had rolled it from stationary onto the top of her foot, lifted it into the air and launched it at exactly the angle she’d intended.

      The haphazard game continued, the score-line developing as predictably as a lottery draw. Sanjit was hopelessly inept at stopping the ball, despite taking up most of the space between the two piles of jumpers. That didn’t matter much, though, because the guy at the other end, who was wearing what looked like a fisherman’s hat, was equally lacking in skills.

      There was a small amount of talent on the pitch, thought Jo, admiring the man nearest her manoeuvre around the wolf-whistler with the relative skill of a professional. He was tall, like the well-spoken guy, but with less of a belly and–if the shorts were anything to go by–more of a sense of style. He dribbled the ball up the wing and sent it straight between the legs of the fisherman, who looked as though he was sitting on an invisible toilet.

      ‘Wanna play?’ asked the scorer, jogging halfway to where Jo was standing. He had spiky blond hair and chiselled features that were glistening slightly with sweat.

      Jo hesitated. Running about seemed like a good hangover cure, but she still wasn’t convinced by her newfound ability. It could have been a fluke. A lucky kick. She wanted to test out her theory, but she wasn’t sure she wanted an audience while she did so–especially not this fit guy with his blue eyes and sexy smile.

      ‘Come on. We’re two against three.’

      As he said this, the fisherman attempted a drop kick and managed to send the ball behind his head onto the main road.

      Jo nodded. ‘All right then.’ She dumped the plastic bag under a tree and tied her hair in a ponytail. ‘I’m Jo.’

      ‘Matt,’ the fit guy replied. ‘You’re on my team, with Sanjit.’ He nodded at the rotund goalkeeper, who waved back like a clown. ‘On the other team there’s Raj–’ he pointed at England shirt–‘Henry–’ he motioned to the man in tight shorts who gave a little bow–‘and Kieran.’

      Kieran came running back from the main road and attempted to head the ball back into the game. It was a reasonable effort, thought Jo, considering the hat.

      ‘OK, ready?’ yelled Raj, clearly keen to show off his footwork.

      Jo found herself taking the left side of the pitch. Passing and dribbling, she and Matt worked together and quickly turned the game into an exercise of shooting practice against poor Kieran, who was still searching for a technique that worked. Henry and Raj darted about randomly, confounded by the new opposition but unable to bring themselves to admit that they were losing because of a girl.

      It felt good–not just because Jo was running around, winning the ball from Raj, scoring goals and clapping hands with the gorgeous Matt. It felt good because it felt instinctive. She didn’t have to think about it. Despite not remembering the exact circumstances, Jo knew she had been here before. She’d been a midfielder. She’d been on a team she was proud of. Football had been a part of her life.

      Eventually Raj held up his hand. ‘OK, next goal wins,’ he yelled, and proceeded to kick the ball straight past Sanjit’s stationary limbs. Jo looked across at Matt. He winked at her and smiled.

      ‘Bravo! Good game, all,’ cried Henry, clapping Raj on the back as they wandered round picking up goalposts.

      Jo was nursing a blister on the sole of her foot–a consequence of playing in eight-pound Choice Buys plimsolls–when the questions started.

      ‘So, where d’you play usually?’ Matt rubbed his face with the fabric of his T-shirt, revealing a perfect six-pack underneath.

      ‘Er…left wing,’ she said, trying to stay focused.

      ‘No, I meant what club–where do you train?’

      ‘Oh, er, right.’ Jo shook her sock. It was a good question. ‘Well, I used to play for a team in London, but I’ve just moved here so I’m not really playing, er, properly.’

      Henry gasped in mock offence. ‘What, you mean you don’t call this “proper”?’

      Jo smiled and carefully pulled her sock back on. The pain shot up from the circle of exposed pink flesh.

      ‘Thanks for the game, anyway. Ow.’

      ‘Any time. It’s nice to have someone who scores.’

      Raj looked a bit put out. ‘She didn’t score all the goals.’

      ‘Hey, you should swap numbers with one of us,’ suggested Matt. ‘We’re here most Saturdays, sometimes weeknights too.’

      There was a rustling noise as all five young men reached for their mobile phones.

      Jo smiled. ‘Actually, I don’t have a number at the moment.’

      They all looked at her as though she’d claimed to be without arms.

      ‘I’m sort of…between numbers. Between houses…’

      ‘Between jobs?’ suggested Sanjit.

      ‘Yeah, as it happens.’

      ‘What field of work?’ asked Matt as they headed towards the edge of the park.

      Shit. Again, she was unprepared. Jo tried to think up a plausible story that wouldn’t command too many follow-up questions. Using the actress line on these guys would be suicidal. Annoyingly, though, her brain was buzzing from the football and she could only think of silly responses like bull fighter and inventor and sky-diving instructor.

      ‘Instructor…’ she found herself mumbling. Then for some reason she added, ‘of kids.’

      ‘Isn’t there a name for that?’ quipped Raj. ‘Aren’t they called teachers?’

      Jo rolled her eyes as though she heard that joke every time. ‘I’m not a teacher,’ she replied. ‘I kind of help children…do stuff.’

      She was desperately trying to think of something else to say when Matt came to her rescue.

      ‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘You’re a support worker, aren’t you? A kind of mentor.’

      ‘Yes! Exactly.’ Jo nodded fervently, slightly concerned that Matt knew so much about her supposed career. ‘A mentor.’

      ‘I work at Dunston’s in Oxford,’ Matt explained. ‘I don’t actually work with the kids–I do the marketing and press and that.’

      ‘Saint Matt,’ muttered Raj under his breath.

      Matt casually stuck his foot out and tripped him up. ‘And what is it you do these days?’

      ‘I’m an entrepreneur,’ Raj replied stiffly. ‘Anyway, see you next week.’

      He cut down a side street at the edge of the park and disappeared with an impressively large swagger for someone so СКАЧАТЬ