For Love or Money by Tim Jeal

Author:Tim Jeal [Tim Jeal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571303885
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2013-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

FRANTIC exertions with brushes and spades had ensured that the Finals of the House Rugby Competition would take place.

Crofts was standing on the touchline in front of a dirty bank of slush and snow. His overcoat was pulled up well round his neck. He opened his mouth as wide as he could.

‘Co——me on, Greville,’ he roared hoarsely. It had been seven years since the house had got to the finals and even then they had been beaten. Winning the competition would be extremely good for house morale and might well be the beginning of better things. Crofts’s mouth opened again.

‘Let’s have another try, Greville.’

He looked around him with disapproval at the ranks of junior boys in his house. Perhaps it had not been a good idea to make it compulsory to watch the match. So far he had been the only person to cheer.

Cold hands had meant fumbled passes and to date David had not touched the ball. He was wishing that he had put on two vests. Patiently he waited for another scrum to form. Almost all sensation seemed to have left his fingers. Suddenly the scrum-half had the ball away. David saw it coming down the line towards him. He took it well on the run. Three of the opposing forwards were running round to cut him off. He swerved and went on running. His breath was coming in rushes. One of them got a hand to his vest but he wrenched himself free. He handed off another in the face with all his strength.

Ahead of him he could see the posts and the solitary figure of the full back (full back for the school). David ran straight at him. Not much further if only he could get past. He glanced behind. Nobody there. Have to go on. At the last moment he pretended to slip, swerved and he was through.

‘Played Lifton, played,’ yelled a distant Crofts. A thin cheer rose from the chilled spectators. David got up slowly, mud all over the front of his body; he walked back with the ball for a few yards before tossing it to Hotson, who was going to try and convert.

David trotted down the field again and turned in time to see Hotson’s massive kick rise high between the posts. There was another slightly weaker round of applause.

Over on the far touchline, David caught sight of Andrew Matthews wearing a dark overcoat and a silk scarf round his neck. Even at that distance he could tell that he was smiling. David felt enormously proud—of course it couldn’t really make any difference, only somehow it undeniably did.

The game ended without further scoring. Greville had won.

Several days after, lunch was drawing to an end in Greville.

‘Any more for you, Lifton?’

Crofts invitingly held out a spoonful of trifle.

‘No, thank you, sir.’

‘Well, you’ll have some anyway, won’t you, Chadwick?’

Crofts was smiling.

‘I think I’m fairly full actually, sir.’

‘No offers?’ Spoon still poised, Crofts glanced round the table, ‘I’ll have a bit myself anyway.’

Every week two

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