left; he'd scored a hat-trick and created the other two goals. His low centre of gravity, ball control, ability to pick a pass -- even if his teammate's ability to receive it was questionable -- and his pace over short distances marked him down as something special. There was an extra characteristic Foster recognized: hunger. The boy loved to have the ball at his feet, enjoyed the challenge of beating a man, and seized every opportunity to shoot whenever the goal came into his sight.
As his third goal went in and the smattering of parents and other hangers-on applauded, Foster had found himself giving Gary a thumbs up. A man in a large overcoat and brown woollen hat saw him do this and sidled up to him.
'Your lad, is he?'
'No,' Foster said.
'Is his dad here?'
'No. Why?'
'I'd be interested in having a word with him, that's all.
About his lad's prospects.'
'There is no dad. Or any other guardian, at the moment.
Are you a scout?'
'Something like that.'
Who for?'
'Queen's Park Rangers.'
'Really?' Foster said. 'My team, QPR.'
'So you know the lad?'
'Yeah.'
'I could give you the details. We just want him to come and train with our academy one day.'
When?'
'Saturday mornings?'
'Next Saturday then?'
The man smiled. Yeah, great. Ten a.m.'
'See you then.'
The man slipped away.
It finished 5--1.The final whistle blew, the players shook hands. His teammates all went to clasp Gary's hand or pat him on the back. Even the defeated opposition. Foster let him go to the changing rooms and get dry and dressed. He waited in the car, feeling the water drip down the back of his neck, and the cold seep into his bones.
Still, he couldn't stop himself smiling. The boy could play. Maybe he'd come and watch him even when a new foster family was found.
Gary came out a few minutes later, drinking a can of Coke, swinging his bag around. He climbed in the passenger seat. He gave Foster a big grin.
Well, what do you think?'
'Not bad,' he said. 'Think there were a few times when you could have used the ball a bit more wisely.'
The boy's face fell.
'Usually when you passed it to one of your mates rather than keeping it yourself.' He ruffled his hair.
The kid grinned.
'No, you were different gravy today' He started the engine. 'I've got some news for you.'
Was it that bloke I saw you talking to second half?'
'Him? No, nothing to do with him. This is much more important. I got a call during the first half. Guess who from?'
'Chelsea?'
'You wish. No, it was from the Law Enforcement Agencies in the USA. They've made a few arrests in the small town I told you about, the one where Leonie lived.'
Yeah?' A look of suspicion crept across his face.
Well, they've also spoken to Leon
Gary looked down at the footwell.
'And she's coming back.'
He looked up, face alight with joy. 'Really? Will I be able to live with her?'
We'll have to see. But as long as she's OK, I don't see why not. But there's a complication.'
'Oh.'
'She has a two-year-old baby. A boy'
He looked stunned.
'She called him Gary'
His eyes lit up. 'I'm not sure about babies, man. Could be fun. Maybe. But can we live together?'
'There's some paperwork that needs doing, and a few other bits and pieces but she should be home in a week.'
Gary punched the air.
'That's the good news,' Foster said.
Again, Gary's face fell. He looked anxiously at Foster.
Foster couldn't contain his smile. 'The bad news is that she won't be back in time to see you have a try-out for the QPR academy!'
Nigel drank his morning tea and listened to the radio. The story of Naomi Buckingham being saved dominated the headlines. Nigel turned it off, not wanting to hear.
'Oi, I was listening to that.' Heather came out from the kitchen, wearing one of his striped shirts from Pink -- nothing else - a cup of tea in her hand.
'Sorry,' he said.
'No, you're right, time to move on.'
She bent down and kissed his cheek. Three days since they'd got back from the States and she hadn't been home.
He grabbed her now and sat her on his lap.
'Mind my brew,' she said, laughing, putting the mug on the table.
They kissed. The phone rang. They both laughed.
'There's a theme developing,' he said.
She told him to answer.
It was his television producer. She was almost hyperventilating with excitement. They had heard of an unconsecrated old non-conformist burial ground that had once been attached to a chapel in Islington. The graveyard had been closed in 1863 when it contained around 15,000
bodies. Ever since it had lain unused, a prime piece of London real estate. Eventually the Council had given permission for it to be used for commercial purposes, yet only on condition that the bodies which lay beneath be disinterred, moved and reburied on consecrated ground. A company, the delightfully named Necropolis Ltd, had been hired to perform the task before the developers moved in, and had agreed to allow the production company to spend one day at the site filming for use in a short pilot that could be touted to the television networks.
He cursed. It meant leaving Heather. On the way back from the airport, they had intended dropping Nigel at his place first, before the cab took Heather back home. Nigel paid the driver off and asked Heather in for a coffee. She came in with him -- and stayed.
You said you'd explain,' he had got round to asking eventually, as they lay in his bed, morning or afternoon, he couldn't remember -- time had ceased being relevant.
About why you rejected me last summer.'
She had winced at his choice of verb. 'I didn't 'reject'
you,' she maintained. 'It was a difficult time.' She told him about her mother's death, its effect on her, and how an ex had provided a sympathetic and familiar shoulder on which to lean. She hadn't felt it was the right time to start a new relationship - she'd been weak, vulnerable. 'I didn't want to burden you with it all. At times like that, an old slipper seems more comfortable than the brand-new high heel.
