Page 207 of Playing By Ear

His manager came over and put both hands on his shoulders. “It almost certainly won’t come to it,” she said, “but if you do have to take that walk, I’ll be with you—we’ll all be with you—every step of the way.”

He could only nod in response, as opening his mouth might lose him his lunch.

The referee beckoned the two captains for the coin toss. Jamie took a last look up at his family, his friends, and the love of his life.

Perhaps the camera was on Jamie at that moment, or perhaps Perry sensed his gaze. It didn’t matter how, only that Perry took off his hat and sunglasses, looked straight at him (more or less), and blew a kiss.

Jamie caught it, pressed his hand to his heart, then walked out onto the pitch.

The video feed on Perry’s phone was lagging. He was lucky it hadn’t happened sooner, what with all the people in this stadium uploading photos and videos to social media.

John suddenly jolted. “Here he comes!”

Two seconds later, Perry watched onscreen as Fergus stepped out from the line to take the first penalty of the best-of-five shootout.

Embodying his Rule One, No Drama slogan, the Warriors captain sent his shot to the lower left corner of the net as the keeper dove the other way.

Thanks to the lag and the celebrating Regiment, Perry knew Fergus had scored before it happened on his screen. He kept watching, for seeing it on delay was better than seeing nothing.

“Thank God.” John sounded almost in tears, his voice muffled and nasally. Perry pictured John’s hands pressed over his mouth and nose in that classic football fan prayer pose. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

The Forthside captain was as calm and efficient as Fergus. 1-1.

Then it was Evan’s turn.

“I can’t watch,” Ben said.

“He’s a sure thing if there is one,” Andrew said. “He’s taken more penalties than the rest of the Warriors combined.”

Evan set the ball on the spot, then lifted his head to look straight at Ramsay, the goalkeeper. Perry smiled to think how Ramsay must have felt with an ex-spy staring him down.

The whistle blew in real life, echoed two seconds later in Perry’s earphones.

The Regiment groaned in horror, and Ben gave a strangled cry. Evan had missed? On Perry’s screen, he shot to the left as Fergus had done, but higher and faster, what should have been a great strike. The goalkeeper batted it away like a cat with a toy.

Hang on.

“John, look at this.” Perry tapped the video to rewind it. “What seems off to you?”

John leaned in to watch Evan’s penalty attempt unfold. Then he gasped. “That bastard.”

The Warriors waited on the center line, arms linked. Standing between Katie and Colin, Jamie felt a tremor run through the whole team as Ramsay saved Evan’s shot.

If their most experienced and confident penalty taker could miss, then what chance did the rest of them have?

A shell-shocked Evan walked back to the Warriors, who dispensed hugs and back pats en masse—even Liam, who had once hated him.

Meanwhile, the strutting Grimes went to take his turn. He spun the ball on his finger like a basketball player, then set it upon the spot.

Grimes backed up. The whistle blew. He took three running steps, then a slow final step before chipping it down the middle.

Heather caught the ball and wagged her finger at Grimes, who was already covering his face in well-deserved shame.

“What a dickpiece,” Colin said. “Thought he’d humiliate us with a Panenka kick.”

“And in an amateur final,” Katie said. “Grow up, dude.”

Grimes’s attempt was ballsy, for sure, the sort of high-risk, high-reward style Martin would have loved.