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having a slight misunderstanding here, Bridie. We haven’t come to ask Matt to play for the club. Sorry.’
    I stare at him.
    â€˜Why not?’ I say.
    A thought hits me. In the video, did they see the scars on Matt’s legs? Is that what’s putting them off?
    No, it can’t be that. Matt hasn’t got that many scars. He just looks like a soccer player who’s been kicked quite a bit.
    â€˜Matt is very talented,’ says Franco Di Rafaela. ‘But his size is not thick enough.’
    â€˜What Franco means,’ says Ken, ‘is that Matt has the wrong body shape for a modern professional footballer. He’s too lightweight.’
    This is crazy. They don’t understand.
    â€˜I don’t mean the first team,’ I say. ‘Not yet. I mean the youth team.’
    The visitors all shake their heads.
    â€˜Still too lightweight,’ says Ken apologetically. ‘Matt is what’s called an ectomorph. Lean and skinny. These days we find the young players that do best are mesomorphs. Chunky and strong.’
    â€˜Matt’s only fourteen,’ I say. ‘He hasn’t had his growth spurt yet.’
    Ken sighs.
    â€˜The sad truth is,’ he says, ‘you can’t ever change your body type.’
    I don’t believe him. That is so negative. I look at Bruno to see if he feels the same as me. Managers have to be positive, it’s their job.
    But Bruno is nodding sadly like he agrees with Ken.
    I have one more go.
    â€˜What about Lionel Messi?’ I say. ‘He’s the most famous footballer in the world and he isn’t chunky.’
    Nobody says anything.
    I think they’re trying to protect my feelings. Because now I think of it, as well as being short, Lionel Messi is quite chunky.
    I want to plead and beg. Tell them talent is more important than chunkiness any day, plus I’ll make Matt take vitamins.
    But Mum and Dad come back in, and suddenly everyone’s more interested in tea and biscuits.
    I slump back in my chair. I’m so disappointed I don’t hear what anyone else says for a bit. I can see lips moving, and Mum and Dad looking a bit stunned, but I don’t take much in.
    Outside I can hear a crowd murmuring. Half the pub followed us home. Uncle Cliff is out there keeping them quiet.
    Dad’s frowning like he’s struggling to get his brain round something.
    â€˜Have I got this right?’ he says to the visitors. ‘You’re offering to fly us all to England?’
    â€˜Exact,’ says Franco Di Rafaela. ‘We fly you free. Business class.’
    â€˜Come over and spend a few days with us at the club,’ says Ken. ‘Watch a match from the VIP box. Meet some famous players. All expenses paid.’
    Mum and Dad look at each other.
    I look at them both, my thoughts racing.
    This actually isn’t so bad. I’ve no idea why they’re doing this, but once we’re over there, Matt can show them in person that talent is more important than chunkiness.
    â€˜That’s incredibly kind,’ says Mum to Ken. ‘But why us?’
    â€˜Fair question,’ says Ken. ‘Next week we’re opening five superstores in Australia, all selling our club merchandise. While Franco’s over here, he’s helping us with the publicity. As part of that publicity we’ve been looking for an Australian family to take back to London as our guests. The media love that sort of thing. When we saw the coverage Matt’s been getting for his party piece with the livestock, well, you lovely people are the obvious choice.’
    Mum and Dad look at each other again.
    Mum’s face is doubtful.
    Ken gives Franco Di Rafaela a quick glance.
    Franco Di Rafaela turns to Matt, who’s standing in the kitchen doorway, flipping an egg from one foot to the other and back again without breaking the shell. Mum usually yells at him, but she doesn’t this time.
    â€˜What you think, Matt?’