Page 87 of One Last Try

Owen appears on the small TV screen, and the chatter instantly quietens. Almost everyone in this room has a vested interest in what he’s about to say. Dan turns up the volume, but we’ve already missed the first part of his interview.

“—lads are doing great. It could absolutely go either way,” Owen says. He’s smiling, and my heart aches just looking at his pink puffed-out cheeks.

Harry jams his elbow into my ribs, but I don’t spare him any attention.

“What would you say our boys need to do in the second half to take the win?” the interviewer asks Owen, tilting the mic under his chin.

“Honestly . . . continue what they’re doing. Keep attacking, keep owning that ball. If we pull ahead early on, it’ll put Bristol on the back foot playing catch up. We’ve got a great team, really strong. We can definitely do it,” Owen replies.

“I agree. I think the boys can pull it back.” The interviewer shifts his weight, subtly letting the audience know he’s changing the topic. Here it comes. The big announcement. I swallow down a sudden case of dry mouth and breathe through my adrenaline spike. “Now Bosley, you haven’t just come here to talk about today’s game, have you?”

Owen smiles, but waits for the interviewer to finish speaking.

“I’ve heard a little rumour that you and Mathias Jones—Mathias Jones of all people—have a . . . surprise up your sleeves?”

He finally moves the microphone towards Owen. Owen laughs. “We do. We do. We’ve been planning something for a while. Some might not like this . . . or even believe us, but Mathias Jones and I have become good friends.”

Beside me, Harry snorts with laughter. I hold my breath.

The interviewer raises a suggestive eyebrow at the camera. “So, you’re saying there are no hard feelings between you now?”

Oh, god. I see the thought flit through Owen’s dirty mind. His eyes sparkle. “Not at all. There are still plenty of . . . hard feelings.”

Now Dan’s in fits.

Owen continues. “So we’ve decided the only logical solution to deal with these . . . hard feelings is to have a . . .”

He pauses, building the tension, years of media training coming in handy right now.

The locker room silences. Everybody knows what he’s going to announce. Most of them are playing in the game, and if they’re not on the roster because they’re leaving town, they’ve helped in some other way. The PTA at Dan’s kid’s primary school will face paint, a few of the medics will set up a first aid station for the fair as well as provide separate medics for the match, and even Eksteen has thrown in a one-to-one coaching session as a raffle prize.

But the suspense we feel is real. This could be a disaster.Couldbe.

Though I know deep down, it won’t be. I’ve done too much risk assessment to know it can’t be anything but successful. I don’t take those kind of gambles.

“We’re going to have a . . . rematch,” Owen finishes after keeping everyone waiting for what felt like a decade. “Team Owen Bosley verses Team Mathias Jones!”

The Cents boys cheer. Beyond the walls we hear the fans stomping in their seats. On camera, Owen glances about the stadium, smiling.

The interviewer waits until the crowd has calmed a little. “Tell us more. When can we expect to see this rematch? Where? And are you selling tickets?”

“Saturday the twenty-first of June. Kick-off’s at two p.m. Mudford-upon-Hooke RFC club. Limited tickets will be available to buy online . . . uh, right now. I . . . don’t actually know the web address. Sorry, Daze.” Owen pulls aneekface, looking off to the stands to where I assume Daisy is sitting.

“That’s fine,” the interviewer reassures. “We’ll get the address and we’ll link it to the catch-up stream. What else can you tell us about the event? Will any other Cents boys be playing?”

“It’s gonna be a mix of old boys and pros. Lots of Cents lads will be there.”

In the locker room, the guys slap each other’s shoulders. I cannot stop my smile from taking over.

Owen continues. “There’s gonna be all manner of entertainment. Face painting, bouncy castles, a raffle, food trucks. It’s going to be a real family event . . .” He pauses, looks over in Daisy’s direction, nods, and gives her a thumbs up. “Oh, and for anyone who can’t be there on the day we’re selling passes to watch it live on the internet.”

Damn, that is such a cute old man thing to say.

The interviewer takes back his microphone. “Obviously the last time you played against Jones—the only time—it ended pretty badly for you. How do you think it’ll go down in this match?”

Owen stares straight into the camera. He pauses, a smile ticks the corner of his mouth, but he stops it from forming all the way. “Mathias Jones is going to get his butt handed to him.”

“Something’s gonna happen to his butt,” Dan wails, slapping my ass.

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