Rugby Flyer (3 page)

T
he boys ran home as quickly as they could and slipped into the front room, where they sat silently.

‘Is everything OK?’ asked Mrs Madden as she popped her head around the door.

‘All fine,’ said Eoin. ‘We were just out for a run up by Grandad’s,’ he added, omitting some important details.

‘I’ll drop you in a drink and a snack, then,’ she announced before departing for the kitchen.

‘That was all a bit weird,’ said Dylan. ‘I wonder if it was a ghost – Alan and I were able to see them when we were with you before, too.’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Eoin. ‘I must ask Grandad does he know any more about Mr Lubov – and that rugby player too…’

He stopped talking as his mum entered with a glass of orange squash and a granola bar for each of the boys.

‘I hope today wasn’t too boring for you, Alan,’ she said.
‘These two are rugby mad and they spend all their time at it. Hopefully you’ll find something else to put the colour back in your cheeks. You
do
look a little pale…’

‘I’m fine, Mrs M, thanks. There’s plenty to do around Ormondstown, it seems.’

‘Really?’ she replied. ‘Well that’s good. I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Do you think she suspected anything?’ asked Dylan after Mrs Madden had closed the door.

‘Nah, she hadn’t a clue. And we didn’t do too much wrong anyway besides trespassing in an old house that nobody owns,’ said Alan.

‘Well, unless you count this as stealing,’ gulped Eoin, as he took the brown, fading photograph out of his back pocket.

‘Aha,’ started Dylan, with a big grin on his face. ‘I’m not sure what else you can call it, Mr Goody Two-Shoes!’

Eoin went red. ‘Ah, that’s unfair, I’m no Goody Two-Shoes!’

‘Well you certainly aren’t now,’ quipped Alan, ‘But seriously, what are you going to do with it? You can’t leave it back there.’

‘But I can’t ask Dixie about it either, can I? I suppose I could say I borrowed it?’

‘From who?’ asked Dylan, with a grin.

Eoin was embarrassed and slipped the photo into his pocket once more.

‘Alright, I’m off to bed,’ he snapped. ‘See you in the morning.’

The next day was too wet for the boys to practise rugby so they lounged around the house watching DVDs of old matches that Dixie had given Eoin for Christmas. Eoin had a good eye for spotting moves and had already learned some interesting things about tactics and how the game had changed. Alan was just as keen, but Dylan bored easily and wanted to be outdoors.

‘Anyone fancy a return trip to the haunted house? We could bring torches this time and maybe a weapon or two.’

‘What would we need a weapon for?’ asked Alan. ‘Sure if it was a ghost we wouldn’t be able to hurt him, and if it was a human then we’d be better off running as fast as we could. Anyway, he didn’t seem too interested in talking to us last night.’

‘He never got a chance to talk because you pair were gone quicker than a snowflake on a pizza,’ laughed Eoin.

Alan blushed. ‘I’d like to go back. Sure what harm
could we do?’

Eoin paused the DVD. ‘I don’t know, I think we should keep out of there for the moment. We don’t want to risk doing ourselves an injury ahead of the Leinster and Munster things.’

Dylan nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right. You’d look pretty stupid ringing up the Leinster branch saying you broke an ankle exploring a haunted house. They wouldn’t be ringing you back in a hurry.’

Eoin switched the rugby back on. ‘Look at this break by O’Driscoll, Dyl, he leaves the French fella sitting on the ground. That’ll be you in a red shirt in a couple of years, wiping grass stains off your shorts.’

Dylan threw a cushion across the room, catching Alan on the back of the head.

Alan turned and fired his half-eaten chocolate bar at Dylan, and the three soon collapsed into a friendly scrum as they wrestled across the bean bags that covered the floor.

T
he days flew by while Alan was around, and the trio got up to plenty of fun without risking life and limb. Eoin’s trip to the Leinster academy meant Alan’s holiday was nearly over.

They could tell Dylan was getting nervous about his own rugby camp as he had been getting more and more cranky as the days drew nearer.

‘Hey, Eoin, I’ll tell the Savage brothers you were asking how the knitting lessons were going,’ he snarled one morning as they walked back to Eoin’s house from training. ‘And I’m sure Curry Ryan will be glad to hear you’ve joined the dark side.’

Eoin wasn’t worried about what his old Ormondstown national school mates thought of his switch, but he was getting fed up of Dylan’s constant baiting of him and his new province. He was happy he had made the right decision to take up Leinster’s offer, and anyway,
Munster hadn’t bothered to ask him either.

‘Listen, Dylan,’ he growled back. ‘I’m delighted you got the Munster call-up. They obviously think you’re a far better player than me. And if that’s what their academy thinks, then it is obviously the best academy to be in,’ he smiled. ‘So best of luck with that.’

Dylan was even more incensed. ‘You think this is funny? This is some excuse to be sarcastic? This is Munster ye’re talking about. It’s no joke! I
know
you’re a better player than me, but I’m going to take my chances and turn myself into a top star.’

Eoin wasn’t sure whether he should smile or keep a serious face, but in the end, as Alan made a face behind Dylan, he just spluttered out a laugh. Dylan leapt at him, fists flying, and connected one with his eyebrow before Eoin pushed him away and Alan held him back. Eoin put his hand up to his face and felt the sore spot where Dylan had made contact. He checked his fingertips and was angry to see a few drops of smeared blood.

‘What did you do that for, you muppet?’ roared Eoin.

Dylan had calmed down and now looked at Eoin with a horrified expression.

‘Oh no, I didn’t mean to cut you,’ he moaned.

Eoin jogged ahead home and seethed as his mother mopped up the cut and applied a plaster.

‘It was just horseplay,’ he lied. ‘I hope there isn’t a scar, or the Leinster coaches might think I’m some sort of trouble maker.’

‘Sure cuts and bruises are like medals to rugby players,’ said his grandfather, who had just come into the kitchen. ‘Though I’m not sure how you could have got that when all you were practising today was your goal-kicking,’ he added, with a grin.

‘Hi, Grandad,’ said Eoin, blushing. ‘We’re off to Dublin tomorrow. Were you really watching us practise?’

‘I was. Barney made me a nice cup of tea and we hid in his shed watching you through the cracks between the planks. You took forty-four kicks at goal and put thirty-eight of them over. And you hit the crossbar once, which counts as a miss.’

‘Ah, but the GAA posts are narrower,’ Eoin protested.

‘True, but the crossbar is lower too,’ Dixie replied, smiling at his grandson. ‘That’s a very good kicking record, and I liked the way you varied your kicking position and distance. You’ve worked very hard to get that good.’

Alan arrived at the kitchen door. ‘Hi, Dixie, nice to see you,’ he said. ‘We were going to ask you about the Russian man and his house.’

Eoin bowed his head, still embarrassed about taking away the old photo.

‘Gosh, I’m not sure I remember much. It was such a long time ago and no one has been near the house for years.’

‘Did he ever talk to you about rugby?’ Eoin asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Dixie, ‘although I didn’t like to talk about it myself in those days either. I just don’t believe the subject ever came up…’ Dixie paused, scratching his head. ‘Actually, I think he mentioned it once – way, way back when I got to know him first. He told me his family name, which was about eight unpronounceable names with lots of hyphens and dozens of syllables. He asked me did I recognise one of the names, as it was well known in rugby circles, but I couldn’t always understand his thick accent and the name meant nothing to me. Is this something to do with that blue rugby ball trophy I gave you?’

Eoin looked away. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he said. ‘I was wondering did he have any interest in the game.’

Dixie looked at Eoin, puzzled. ‘Well, no, like I said, we never once discussed it.’

The old man stood up and walked to the door. ‘I was just dropping in to say goodbye and good luck. I’m off to visit the garden centre near Limerick tomorrow so I won’t be around. I’ll talk to you when you get back.’

H
is holiday over, Alan returned to Dublin the next day courtesy of Mr Madden, who offered to bring him home while he was leaving Eoin to UCD. Having Alan in the car took Eoin’s mind off the weekend ahead and stopped him getting too nervous. They dropped his pal home first, and Eoin promised he’d phone him on Sunday night.

The car was silent as Mr Madden steered it into the university grounds to the place where the players had been asked to meet.

‘Here we are,’ said his dad as they reached the Leinster Rugby building.

HMr Madden ruffled Eoin’s hair and checked he had enough credit in his phone to ring his mum that night. ‘Go show them that classic Castlerock style – but don’t forget the Munster passion,’ he grinned.

From the boot Eoin lugged his kitbag, which was
adorned with the crest of his school. As he waved good-bye to his dad he spotted another boy arriving, this one carrying a bag which showed he played for St Osgur’s, who had been one of the main rivals of Castlerock in recent years. Eoin nodded at the boy, who recognised him, and said hello.

They walked into the building, where they met a couple of coaches with clipboards and saw a long line of huge blue kitbags with the white and yellow logo of the recent European champions embroidered upon them.

‘Eoin Madden and Killian Nicholson, your names are on your bags in alphabetical order so you two are along there,’ the first coach said, pointing.

‘How did you know who I am?’ asked Killian.

‘We know who everyone is here,’ the coach replied. ‘And we know
everything
about you too. I know you got an A in History in your summer exams, Mr Madden, and that you failed French, Mr Nicholson. And I also know you haven’t got your school report yet so I’ve ruined your day. Sorry. Collect your bag there and move out into the car park. There is a bus waiting and we’ll be leaving as soon as the last of you lot arrive.’

The boys walked over to the line of kitbags and picked up those with their own names embroidered just under the Leinster crest.

‘Cool,’ said Eoin, admiring the bag.

‘What on earth is in it?’ asked Killian, as he tried to lift it up.

The boys looked inside and were delighted to see a huge range of shirts, t-shirts, polos, shorts, socks, drink bottles and other items. Eoin fished around and pulled out two pairs of boots, which were just his size.

The coach called out their names again and jerked his thumb in the direction of the door, so they hauled the bags onto their shoulders and left quickly.

‘That’s an amazing amount of kit,’ chuckled Killian. ‘They’ve even given me a scrum cap and I play on the wing!’

‘Here, I’m going to stick my own school kitbag inside,’ said Eoin. ‘It looks so tiny compared to this monster.’

Killian did the same, but when they stood up a tall blond-haired boy in a black tracksuit proclaiming he was from Dodder Woods was laughing at them.

‘Embarrassed what school you’re from, eh? You must be the saps from Castlerock and St Osgur’s then,’ he sneered.

Eoin stared at the boy, who looked like he enjoyed using the fact that he was taller than almost everyone else in his year. Dodder Woods had a reputation for looking down on other schools, but he seemed even
more obnoxious than that.

They walked past him without a word, tucked their bags into the stowing area of the bus and climbed aboard.

‘Eoin Madden!’ came a roar as he climbed up the steps into the coach.

Eoin was confused, and he searched the sea of faces for a familiar one. All he could think was how he wouldn’t need to be introduced to his team-mates – everyone knew his name now.

‘Here!’ came a second call as he spotted Rory’s red hair and familiar cheeky grin.

He shuffled down the aisle, avoiding the gaze of the other players, most of whom knew his name already from his heroic performance in the Junior Cup Final, which was shown on one of the satellite TV channels.

Rory was seated next to another member of the Castlerock team, Charlie Johnston, and Eoin slipped into the seat behind and gestured at Killian to follow.

Eoin introduced them all and they spent the next few minutes discussing what they had been up to so far that summer.

‘It’s great to have a few guys from the school along,’ said Charlie. ‘I was terrified to tell anyone or contact you in case I was the only one.’

Killian turned to look out the window.

‘Are you the only Osgur’s player?’ asked Eoin.

‘It looks like it,’ said Killian. ‘Our best player broke his leg playing soccer last week.’

‘Want to hang out with the Rock boys?’ asked Rory. ‘We’re not fussy.’

Eoin laughed. ‘Of course we’re fussy, and Killian is more than welcome. I wonder where we’re going to on the bus.’

‘I hope we’re staying in some big, swanky hotel with a pool and room service,’ said Charlie.

‘I bet we’re staying in tents in a field up the mountains,’ moaned Rory.

Neither boy was right, as they discovered not long after the bus pulled out of the university sports ground. It was a short, ten-minute drive to their destination and the academy head coach, Ted, winked at Eoin as they pulled through the gates and up the driveway. There in front of them was a large grey building with a stone inscription over the door which read ‘
Victoria Concordia Crescit’
– Latin for ‘victory comes from harmony.’

Home for the weekend would be Castlerock College.