The Wish List by Eoin Colfer

Author:Eoin Colfer [Colfer, Eoin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction - Young Adult
Publisher: Disney Publishing Worldwide
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CROKE PARK WAS WELL ILLUMINATED EVEN AT THIS TIME of night. Orange lamps buzzed high overhead, throwing ominous shadows across the hulking stands. The grounds were littered with bottles and cans; the wind had swept them into corners like garbage drifts. Obviously, the grounds crew hadn’t yet done the cleanup after a big game.

Lowrie limped onto the field itself. Night lights cast a pale wash over the grass, painting it a ghostly white. The old man couldn’t stop himself grinning. He was here. Actually here, after all these years. He strode out to the center circle, arms outstretched, basking in the applause of his absent classmates. Now, you mockers. Who hasn’t the guts? Who’s a big farmer chicken?

“It’s me!” he shouted, his voice echoing under the Hogan stand. “It’s Lowrie McCall sneaking in at the dead of night!”

Meg giggled, she could see the happiness emanating from the old man like little orange fireworks.

“I’m here to put one over the bar in Croke Park!”

“Are you, now?” said a voice.

The partners turned to look. A security guard was pitching them a very intolerant look, his radio slung low on his hip like a six-shooter.

“And what I want to know,” he continued laconically, “is how the pair of ye intend to put one over the bar, when you haven’t a soccer ball between you?”

Lowrie swallowed. Meg blinked. Two thorny ones there. One: how indeed were they going to play soccer without a ball? And two: what exactly did the security guard mean by the pair of ye?

The guard’s fingers flexed, gunslinger style, over his holstered walkie-talkie.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t—”

Lowrie interrupted his speech. “Don’t I know you?”

It was niggling at Meg too. Something familiar. The security guard shrugged. “Don’t think so. Anyway, don’t be changing the subject. Give me one good—”

“You don’t have a brother, by any chance?”

“Dessie?”

“Same business?”

“Security consultant like myself. Guards all the bigwigs over at the television station, if you don’t mind.”

“With a degree in medieval poetry?”

“Dirty limericks is more like it. Do you know him?”

Lowrie nodded. “Sort of. He opened the gate for me today.”

“Small world,” the guard extended a hand. “I’m Murt. Any friend of Dessie’s and so on . . .”

Lowrie shook the hand hesitantly, on the lookout for a sly handcuffing. Formalities over, Murt was all business again.

“Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Ahem, give me one—” The guard cut himself off this time, realization chasing itself across his face like a galloping virus. “Hey. Lowrie McCall! You’re him, aren’t you?”

“Him who?”

“Off the television. Kissing Cicely Ward. You nervy old monkey.”

“Sorry, wrong man.”

“Cut it out, of course it was. I’d recognize that wrinkly old mug anywhere. Sure, you’ve been plastered all over the evening news, with your olé and your hopping around like Errol Flynn.”

Lowrie couldn’t help a little smug grin. “Okay, it was me.”

“What are you? An escaped lunatic, gallivanting around kissing celebrities?” Murt’s eyes widened. “Here, you’re not staking out another victim at this very minute, are you?”

“No, it’s nothing like that!”

“I hope not.

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