Extra Time by Morris Gleitzman Page B

fabulous view of the Essex marshes. Ken told me.’
    Matt doesn’t get it.
    â€˜Gazz is really unhappy,’ I say. ‘Even unhappier than he would be if he was in prison with Terrine’s brother.’
    Matt looks puzzled.
    That didn’t come out right.
    â€˜Listen, Bridie,’ says Matt. ‘If you’re homesick and you want to go home, that’s OK. We’ll tell Uncle Cliff. He’ll take you.’
    I stare at him, shocked.
    â€˜No way,’ I say. ‘My place is with you.’
    â€˜I’ll be fine,’ says Matt. ‘But I think you’ll be better off at home.’
    â€˜I’m not leaving you,’ I say. ‘I’m your manager.’
    Matt gives me a sad smile. Then his face goes serious and determined again.
    â€˜Not any more,’ he says quietly. ‘You’re fired.’



‘Mrs Jarvis,’ I say, as soon as Matt and Uncle Cliff have left for training. ‘Is there somewhere near here to have a fun kick-around?’
    Mrs Jarvis wipes her hands on a tea towel and looks at me.
    â€˜A fun kick-around?’ she says. ‘Those boys at the academy wouldn’t know a fun kick-around if it was going on in their own undies. For most of those lads, football has been the deadly serious centre of their universe since they were four.’
    â€˜I don’t mean at the academy,’ I say. ‘I mean somewhere else. A council estate, say.’
    Mrs Jarvis looks at me thoughtfully.
    â€˜I hope Matt knows how lucky he is to have you as his manager,’ she says.
    â€˜I’m not his manager any more,’ I say. ‘Just his sister.’
    Mrs Jarvis nods slowly.
    I wish she’d answer my question. I’m feeling so guilty about what I’m planning to do I just want to get on and do it. Mum and Dad are really excited and proud about what’s happening to Matt, and I hate spoiling it for them.
    But I have to.
    â€˜You’re not going to give up, are you?’ says Mrs Jarvis. ‘You’re not going to rest until you find football being played as football should be played, so Matt can rediscover the joyful spirit of the beautiful game.’
    I look at her.
    â€˜And then when he remembers what he’s lost,’ says Mrs Jarvis, ‘maybe he’ll have another think about whether he wants to be here.’
    She’s incredible. I haven’t said anything about this. Perhaps the younger sisters of other academy trainees have tried to save their brothers’ gentle loving hearts too.
    â€˜You’re right,’ I say. ‘I’m not giving up, and all the rest of what you just said.’
    â€˜In which case,’ says Mrs Jarvis, reaching for her coat, ‘I’d better show you where the council estate is.’

The council estate isn’t far.
    As me and Mrs Jarvis walk into it, I look around, a bit fascinated.
    I’ve never seen anywhere like it. There are heaps and heaps of houses, all the same and all with sort of grey pebbles stuck to them.
    In the middle of the houses is a patch of waste ground almost exactly the same size as our pitch at home.
    Perfect.
    â€˜I’ll leave you here while I do some shopping,’ says Mrs Jarvis.
    I stare at her, surprised.
    â€˜You’ll be better off exploring on your own,’ she says. ‘Sometimes grown-ups get in the way.’
    I nod gratefully. I really hope Mum gets to meet Mrs Jarvis one day. You can learn really important things from wise landladies.
    â€˜Have fun,’ says Mrs Jarvis, tucking my scarf into my ski parka and giving me a smile.
    She heads off.
    The waste ground is deserted. The local kids must still be in school.
    Doesn’t matter. I can see a lot of soccer is played here because there are two goals made from old plastic buckets and most of the grass is gone.
    I walk slowly towards the middle of the pitch, imagining all the fun that happens here. And, even better, imagining Matt in the thick