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mum was watching him as his dad was getting ready. She was leaning in the doorway looking at him. Her face was half asking a question, half looking worried.

‘Are you ready to go, James?’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ James said, trying to make his voice sound excited.

‘Come on then,’ Dad said. ‘Before we get snowed in.’

After running upstairs to fetch his bag, James followed his dad out on to the driveway.

Off to London

Dad’s silver Range Rover moved effortlessly through the snow. There were already a couple of centimetres settled on the side roads and footpaths by the time they approached the United stadium. And the snowflakes were getting bigger every minute.

James peered out of the window as they drew up by a luxury sixty-seater coach. He noticed Ronan and Connor, both defenders with United, piling huge suitcases into the baggage hold under the bus. The stadium towered over the coach. James could see its huge pipes and panels of steel, with the United crest illuminated above them, still visible through the driving snow.

‘They’ve packed well,’ James’s dad said, laughing.

‘They’re flying off to Dublin straight after the tournament,’ James said. ‘From Heathrow Airport. And Tomasz will be going back to Poland for Christmas.’

‘Of course,’ Dad said. ‘It’ll be the day before Christmas Eve when we’re done.’

James nodded.

He watched his team-mates being hugged by their parents, then skidding across the snow to get into the coach. It felt good to be here, about to go away with the rest of the team. But he felt confused.

Did he want to be part of this team or not?

James put his hand on the car door handle. He would go. And he’d try to enjoy it, try to forget his doubts.

‘Right, lads.’

The full under-twelves squad was on the coach now. Wet coats hung over spare seats at the back. The heaters were blasting hot air around them and snow was sliding down the glass on the outside.

But most of all there was an excitement in the air. It was like electricity, coming from each of the boys.

‘We’ve got fourteen of you lot and four adults,’ Steve said. ‘The adults are me, then Paul, the under-fourteens coach, James’s dad and Mrs Cole, Will’s mum. For this trip every adult has as much say as me. If an adult tells you to do something, you do it. OK?’

Fourteen lads nodded.

‘We’re going to head off now. Try and beat the snow. It’s bad here, but it’s not snowing in the Midlands. So as long as we get on to the motorway we’ll be fine. We –’

‘Who are we playing?’ a voice shouted, interrupting. It was Craig, the team’s left back.

Steve looked irritated for a moment, then his face broke into a smile. ‘Arsenal,’ he said. ‘Then West Ham or Chelsea.’

The bus exploded with noise. Fourteen excited voices shouting – and groaning.

Arsenal! They were famously good. This was a challenge the United under-twelves would relish.

Steve clapped his hands firmly. The bus was quiet again.

‘Right. Does everyone have their seatbelts on?’

Steve listened to a series of clicks, then nodded.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Let’s get going then.’

The coach driver gunned his engine like a Formula One racer waiting on the grid.

Then they were off.

James was glad that he was sitting next to Chi. He liked Chi. Chi was laid-back. He wasn’t one of the more pushy or mouthy members of the team, like Craig, for instance.

Chi was a central midfielder and normally played in front of James, so they had a good relationship on the pitch – and off it. He would be good company on the drive down.

Chi was fishing around inside a bag. James wondered what he was up to. Then Chi took out two PSP consoles, grinning.

What was this about?

The coach’s back wheels skidded dramatically as they turned on to the main road. Several of the team cheered.

‘All right, lads. Quiet.’ Steve’s voice again. ‘Let the driver drive.’

Chi took out a sheet of paper and showed it to James.

‘We’re having a tournament,’ he said.

The piece of paper had sixteen names on it. All fourteen boys plus James’s dad and Steve. Jake and Connor’s names had been ticked; Chi and James’s names were next on the list.

‘What sort of tournament?’ James asked.

‘For the trip,’ Chi said. ‘We’re having a FIFA 10 competition. You know, the football game on PSP? Eight minutes each game. The first round, quarter-finals, semifinals and a final. The winner wins something. I’m not sure what. Steve said he’ll sort it once we get to London. Jake’s already beaten Connor eleven–nil. Winner goes through to the next round.’

James glanced out at the snow. It was still heavy, but the main roads were clear.

They were going to London. There was no escaping it. So he decided to enjoy himself.

‘OK,’ James said. ‘Can I be England?’

‘You can,’ Chi said. ‘I’m Brazil.’

FIFA 10 First round scores

Connor

0–11

Jake

Chi

3–7

James

Ryan

4–3

Will

Steve

0–2

James’s dad

Craig

1–6

Ronan

Ben

2–8

Tomasz

Yunis

0–12

Tony

Sam

5–4

Daniel

Sing When You’re Winning

By the time Sam had beaten Daniel five–four in the last game of the first round of FIFA 10, the coach was pulling off the motorway.

Craig shouted, ‘Are we there?’ And everyone laughed when they saw that they were heading into a service station.

The lads were allowed to go where they liked in the service station, as long as they stayed inside.

Steve waited by the door, drinking a cup of coffee, watching their every move.

The team-mates headed for two places: one lot to the amusement arcade, the other lot to the cafe, watching the next round of the FIFA 10 tournament.

James was first up against Jake, the team’s small but speedy winger.

He knew Jake had a PS3 at home. And that he had FIFA 10. So this was going to be a hard game.

James wasn’t sure he could win.

The cafe was noisy. Food was being served and half the kids were getting themselves a Coke. The more sensible ones were drinking