What's Ukrainian for Football? Read online

  “What’s so funny? I bet you wouldn’t like it. I bet you never get told off. Me? Every breath I take someone’s on my back.”

  “I think,” I said, sliding my arm through hers, “I have a solution to both our problems.”

  If the rest of the team were surprised to see me walking into the restaurant arm in arm with Jenny-Jane they didn’t say anything. They were probably just relieved we hadn’t killed each other.

  Afterwards, we all went to the karaoke evening in the big marquee. It was so funny, especially when Petra and Megan went up on stage and sang “I Predict a Riot”.

  “I predict a headache,” Eve joked.

  It was a good end to a strange day. That night I thought I’d dream about FC Start or Jenny-Jane or blisters – or all three – but actually, I just slept.

  12

  Next morning I woke feeling much happier. Telling the story had been – what’s it called? A turning-point. Even my blisters had stopped hurting. When she came to examine them after breakfast, Mrs Fawcett said they were clean and healing well. I should be fine to play.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You’re very kind.”

  “And you’re very brave.” She smiled.

  “It’s just a few blisters. My boots were rubbing.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Megan, dumping a pair of black and white Puma VKs on the worktop. “JJ’s sent you these.” They were top range. Maybe Jenny-Jane’s family were rich, after all.

  I reached down for my carrier bag, feeling a little embarrassed by my shabby specimens. “And these are for her.”

  “Swapsies coming through,” Megan said and disappeared with my boots under her arm.

  When we arrived on the playing fields, everyone gathered round the fixture lists. The group tables had all been updated, so instead of being in alphabetical order, the teams were now ranked according to points. This is how it looked:

  Sherburn Sands 7th Festival of Football Fun World Cup Competition

  Girls’ Under 11s Group 1 Round 6

  “Oh, what!” Megan spluttered when she saw that Ukraine were eighth equal out of eleven.

  “Don’t panic,” Eve told her. “All we need is to win every game and for Brazil, the Republic of Ireland, China, Denmark, Italy and America to lose all theirs and we’ll qualify. Pips.”

  Megan sighed. “Who’ve we got first?”

  “That’d be Brazil.”

  “Brazil. As in the team who have dropped only two points? Oh well. I guess I’ll save my acceptance speech until next year.”

  “No you won’t,” Jenny-Jane said, stepping forward and puffing out her chest. “We’re Ukraine. We can overcome any odds.”

  Everyone looked at her in disbelief – apart from me. Since our talk, I knew she was on my side. And when Jenny-Jane’s on your side, anything is possible. In that moment I believed her: we, the Ukraine Under 11s, could overcome any odds. For the first time in the tournament, I felt butterflies stir in my tummy. “You’re right, JJ,” I said. “We can.”

  “Well, if you two say we can, then we can!” Megan beamed. She threw her arm round my shoulder. “Nika, what’s Ukrainian for football?”

  “Er … futbol.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s easy enough. And how about ‘Here we go?’”

  “Idemo v pered.”

  “Eed-e-mo-view-per-ed?” Her pronunciation was terrible and my expression told her so. “Let’s just stick with the eed-e-mo bit,” she said. “OK, everybody. Let’s hear it. Eed-e-mo, eed-e-mo, eed-e-mo…”

  We “eed-e-mo”d all the way to the pitch.

  “How’re the boots?” I called out to Jenny-Jane as we took up our positions.

  “They’ll do.”

  “I’m sorry they’re not as new as yours.”

  “I’m not fussed as long as they do the job.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “Yep,” she agreed, her eyes already sizing up the opposition. “There is.”

  13

  I have been playing football since I was six years old, so I have played a lot of matches, but I have never felt like I did when I took up my position that day.

  As I waited for the game to begin, my heart thudding in my chest, my stomach knotted with tension, I imagined this was how Kolya must have felt all those years ago. Of course, I knew that Ukraine v. Brazil Under 11s at Sherburn Sands could not compare in any way to FC Start v. Flakelf. And I knew that Brazil were really the Lincoln Griffins Lionesses and we were the Parrs, but the joy I experienced when I heard the referee ask, “Ready, Ukraine?” and the feeling of pride that burst through me when Gemma answered “Ready” was unlike anything I had felt before. The strangest thing was I think the rest of my team felt it, too. Not just me, not just Jenny-Jane, everyone. They all seemed to be standing up straighter, taller, prouder, and Megan … Megan had her arm across her chest in the old Fizcultura salute, just like FC Start had. One by one, everyone copied her, and it took every ounce of strength I had not to cry.

  Then the referee blew her whistle and I told myself to concentrate. I am glad I did! It was immediately obvious why Brazil topped the table. They moved the ball quickly, with almost every pass finding its intended player. Our goal area was soon under attack, and I played most of the first half supporting the defence. Luckily, Megan was alert, tipping one attempt over the crossbar and punching away two more at close range. Sadly, though, she couldn’t stop a low shot from their sharp striker just before the half ended. The ball flew into the bottom left-hand corner to put them one up.

  “Well played, girls! You’ve woken up today!” Hannah praised as we swapped ends.

  “Just keep pegging away,” Katie added. “Megan, let’s see you getting some of those goal kicks further upfield so we can counter-attack faster.”

  A slow smile spread across Megan’s face. “Kolya style,” she said.

  So Megan began taking her goal kicks “Kolya style”. The first couple of times she over-kicked and sent the ball straight out, but about midway through the half she judged her kick beautifully, directing it straight down the middle. Gemma chested it down, while I ran forward into the box to join Eve. Gemma then lobbed the ball high into the air, where Eve rose to claim it – but her marker got there first. The defender headed the ball out, too high for me to do anything except watch. I thought it was going to dip over my shoulder so I kept my eyes on it, turning all the time until I had my back to the goal. Then as the ball started to drop, I stretched out my leg, leaned backwards and powered my foot through the ball.

  Whoosh! The ball flashed over my head, straight past the keeper and into the back of the net. An over-head kick! I had equalized with an overhead kick!

  “Unbelievable!” Eve laughed as she helped me to my feet.

  Jenny-Jane walked with me back to the centre spot. “Who do you think you are – Peter Crouch?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but I couldn’t have done it without your boots!”

  The goal spurred us on, no doubt about it. It was Brazil’s turn to defend hard, but though we pressed and pressed we just couldn’t get the winner. When the referee blew for full time, the Brazil team applauded us. “Thanks. Best game yet,” their striker told me as we gave three cheers.

  Mr Fawcett also complimented us as we crossed to the next pitch. “That was one of the most exciting matches I’ve ever seen you girls play.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” Megan said.

  She was right. In our next four matches we fought for every ball. We found space. We passed and tackled and remembered what to do in set pieces. Best of all, we scored. We beat Korea three–one. We beat the Republic of Ireland four–three, with Jenny-Jane scoring the fourth from a direct free kick in the last minute. Gemma scored a hat-trick against Italy to which they had no reply, and in our final match I assisted both goals in our two–nil victory over Denmark.

  When that final whistle went, we all gathered by the touchline in stunned silence. Then we stared at each other. “
Am I dreaming or have we just won every match except the one against Brazil?” Megan asked.

  “We’ve just won every match except the one against Brazil,” Eve confirmed.

  Megan nodded. “Thought so!” And she tipped the contents of her water bottle over her head.

  Everyone thought this was a good idea and followed our captain’s example.

  “Oops!” Petra blinked, her face dripping purple. “I forgot I’d put Ribena in mine!”

  14

  We raced over to the pavilion area to check out the final table. Only the top two from each group would qualify.

  There was a massive crowd round the board, so Lucy volunteered to elbow her way through.

  “I will come too,” I said, unable to stand the thought of waiting. We jostled our way as close to the front as possible. Lucy, being taller than me, saw the results first.

  “Well,” I said, “have we done it?” I knew there was a chance. After all, we had picked up thirteen points out of fifteen that afternoon and we’d lost only three matches altogether. Maybe, just maybe… “Lucy?”

  She turned – and her disappointed face told me everything. “Missed it by three points,” she said.

  “What? Let me look.”

  She stood aside so I could see for myself. Even on tiptoes I could make out only the top half of the table because of the heads bobbing in front of me.

  Sherburn Sands 7th Festival of Football Fun World Cup Competition

  Girls’ Under 11s Group 1 Round 11

  “Bum and bum and more bum,” was Megan’s response when she heard the news.

  “Brazil and the others forgot to keep their side of the bargain and lose, then?” Eve asked.

  Lucy nodded. “Sorry for letting you down, Nika.”

  “Letting me down?”

  “By not getting Ukraine through to the final,” Gemma said. “We were all trying for you. Especially as today’s the anniversary of the revenge match.”

  “Nobody has let me down,” I said. “We played like lions.” I glanced towards Jenny-Jane. “Three lions.”

  “Seven lions, actually.” Eve sniffed, rubbing her knuckles across her shirt as if polishing her claws.

  “Who goes through from the other group?” Gemma asked me.

  I shook my head. I hadn’t even thought to check.

  “Scotland and the Netherlands,” Lucy told her.

  “Scotland!” Jenny-Jane spluttered. “Scotland!”

  “Yo! That’s us, Jimmy. Bonnie Scotland,” a chirpy voice behind us yelled.

  We all turned to see a group of girls in purple tops and white shorts dancing in a wavy line. “Join in, then!” one of them called – and before she could protest, Jenny-Jane was seized round the waist by the girls at the end and made to dance with them.

  “Help!” Jenny-Jane called out as she was whisked away, but we were too busy laughing.

  Later that afternoon we watched the finals. There was a buzz in the air, with all the teams who had been knocked out cheering on the ones who were left. Brazil met the Netherlands in the final and beat them three–one to take the Under 11s’ cup. “At least we took a point off the winners,” Megan declared.

  In the evening we had the presentation. We were all given medals to commemorate the tournament; I tucked mine down the inside of my top so I could feel it close to my heart. I had meant it when I told everyone I didn’t mind not going through to the finals. That didn’t matter. What mattered were the memories I would have of Sherburn Sands. Jumping in the sea. Swapping boots with Jenny-Jane. Telling everyone about FC Start.

  As we walked back to our chalets I glanced up at the night sky, wondering if maybe Kolya and the others had watched and listened to it all over the past few days. I hoped, if they had, they’d be happy to know that their story lived on.

  15

  The next morning we had to be out of the chalets by ten, so there was no time to do much apart from have breakfast and load up the minibus. While Lucy finished packing I took Jenny-Jane’s boots back to her. She was in her bedroom, cramming the last of her clothes into her rucksack.

  “Hello,” I said. “I’ve come to return your Pumas.” I thanked her for lending them to me and set them down reverently next to her toiletry bag.

  Jenny-Jane glanced at them, then continued with her packing. “Nah – you keep ’em,” she said, stuffing a pair of socks into one of the rucksack’s side pockets.

  “Oh, I couldn’t!” I protested.

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re yours and they’re nearly new.”

  “So?”

  “Plus they are expensive.”

  She shrugged. “It makes no difference if they don’t fit, does it?”

  “They will fit one day, surely?”

  “What, like when I’m ninety?” Jenny-Jane reached for her toiletry bag. “Go on, take them.”

  I felt uneasy. It was kind of JJ to offer me her new boots, but even if I took them I wasn’t sure her mama would approve. I knew mine wouldn’t. She would march me straight round to the house and say I had made a mistake. “Perhaps you could return them to the shop instead?” I suggested.

  Jenny-Jane glanced sideways at me and scowled. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “What do you mean? No receipt?”

  Instead of an answer, her eyes flicked towards the open bedroom door. She walked across the room to close it. “Can I tell you something? Something secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “Those boots fell off the back of a lorry.”

  “Did they? And yet they’re not scuffed or damaged at all,” I told her, picking one up to examine it.

  Jenny-Jane frowned and then a smile spread across her face. I had never noticed before how Jenny-Jane’s face changes when she smiles. It is like the sun coming out from behind clouds. “Yeah … bit of a miracle, really. But don’t tell no one, will you? That’s between me and you.”

  “Sure,” I replied. Although I was a little unsure why it had to be a secret, I felt pleased Jenny-Jane had shared it with me. It showed how much closer we had become, and I couldn’t wait for the new season to start.

  “So you keep the boots, OK?” she said.

  “If you are really, really sure…” I would work out what to tell Mama later.

  “Course I’m sure. I wouldn’t say so otherwise, would I?”

  I knew that was definitely true. This was someone who always meant what she said. Smiling gratefully, I picked up the boots and cradled them in my arms, like I used to do with Sofi when she was a newborn. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “And can I keep yours?” Jenny-Jane asked. “Because they’re at the bottom of my backpack and I’ll be well cheesed off if I have to undo everything.”

  I laughed. The rucksack looked like a fat and lumpy old tree trunk, sprouting things here, there and everywhere. “Oh, I wouldn’t make you do that, not after all that careful packing.”

  “Cheers.”

  There was a tap on the door. “Time to go, people!” Megan called.

  Jenny-Jane and I grinned at each other. Time to go indeed.

  “Have you all enjoyed yourselves this weekend?” Hannah asked as we sat on the minibus, waiting for Katie to hand in the chalet keys.

  “Yeah!’ Megan replied, answering for all of us. “It’s been wicked.”

  “It’s gone too fast,” Petra complained.

  “I know. It always does,” Hannah agreed.

  Mr Fawcett sighed. “I’m so mad at myself for not bringing the camcorder.”

  “Then you could have caught our awesome comeback,” Megan told him.

  “And Petra’s impression of a blackcurrant afterwards,” Eve said. “That was classic.”

  “Not forgetting Nika’s amazing overhead kick,” said Lucy, digging her elbow into my ribs.

  “There’re women on the senior team who couldn’t have pulled that off,” Hannah said, grinning at me.

  I hid my face in my hands. I am not very good at being praised. A
nd my team-mates did not help by leaning over and mussing up my hair and squeezing me to pieces.

  “Stand up and take a bow, sista-wiv-da-blista,” Eve teased. Then they all began rocking from side to side, rapping out “Sista-wiv-da-blista” over and over again. Crazy.

  I was so relieved when Katie arrived and we could get going. “Aw, poor Nika.” She laughed when she saw my new scarecrow hairstyle. “We’d better drop you off first so you can recover.”

  “Thank you,” I said, frantically trying to flatten my hair back into place.

  Hannah started the engine. “What was that song you guys were singing yesterday? For ‘Here we go’?” she asked.

  “Eed-e-mo,” everyone chorused.

  “Let’s hear it, then.”

  “Eed-e-mo … eed-e-mo … eed-e-mo,” we sang at the top of our voices as the minibus pulled out of the car park and headed for home.

  Final Whistle

  I did feel a little gloomy for a few days after the tournament. It was nice to be back with my family but a little dull, too, after all the drama. Funnily enough, it was Yuri who stopped me from getting too fed up. He suggested we should write Uncle’s story down. “War stories are always popular. We could sell it on eBay afterwards. I’ll do the illustrations, you can do the writing,” he decided.

  That weekend Tato took us to the library to check the facts in books and on the Internet. Yuri was delighted to discover that Uncle’s story was known as the Match of Death. “There’s the title, right there,” he said, and he got out his red felt-tip to draw blood dripping from the lettering. I am afraid he has a ghoulish streak.

  Writing kept me very occupied. “You know something?” I said to Yuri one afternoon when we were halfway through. “I reckon Uncle is a hero, too. Living through all that.”

  We both glanced across at him sleeping peacefully in his armchair.

  “You’re right,” Yuri said quietly. “He is.”

  It took us until the end of the summer holidays to finish our booklet. I wrote two versions: one in English and one in Ukrainian. Mama and Tato said it was an excellent piece of work and they had copies made. Yuri didn’t put his copy on eBay, thank goodness. He took it into school to show his new teacher instead.