Extra Time Read Free Page B

the . . .?’ says Dad.
    Oh no.
    Matt’s on TV.
    I’ve been dreading this, but I still have to look. What Matt did is even more amazing seeing it on TV. There are clouds of dust, but you can still see the cattle are trying to foul him the whole time. He doesn’t lose his temper once. Or the ball.
    I think the doctors are wrong.
    If Matt’s legs can survive that, they can survive anything.
    â€˜The Cristiano Ronaldo of the cattle yard,’ says the reporter. ‘Showing the minister what fancy footwork really looks like.’
    The segment ends. I peek at Mum. She’s staring at the TV, her mouth open. I can see half-chewed fish finger, which she’s always telling us we shouldn’t ever let anyone see.
    I hope she swallows it soon. Fish fingers can kill you if they get lodged in your airway. Asthma, page one.
    â€˜Judas H incredible,’ says Dad.
    Normally he’d be comforting Mum. But he’s still staring at the TV.
    I see why. The next segment’s started. And it is incredible. Matt’s in this one as well.
    Franco Di Rafaela, one of the most famous footballers in the world, has just arrived in Australia for a year to play in the A League. Uncle Cliff reckons it’s partly because he’s a bit over the hill and partly because they’re paying him millions.
    This is his press interview at the airport. And one of the reporters is showing him a phone video of Matt in the cattle yard.
    â€˜Is this why you’ve come to Australia?’ the reporter says to Franco Di Rafaela. ‘So you can learn some new skills?’
    Franco Di Rafaela frowns. He looks like he’s hoping the reporter will be sent off. Then he shrugs in a weary but good-natured sort of way.
    â€˜Australia is a young country in football,’ he says. ‘I come here to be young again.’
    He speaks good English, which isn’t surprising. Everyone knows he’s just spent a few years playing for a top English club.
    He points to the reporter’s phone, where a tiny Matt is still doing magic moves in the cattle yard.
    â€˜This boy is me,’ says Franco Di Rafaela. ‘Except I learned my football on the street. Much harder. Stampeding cattle are easy compared to the traffic in Italy.’
    The reporters laugh. The segment ends.
    We all look at each other, stunned. Except Mum, who leaves the room.
    Looking upset. Really, really upset.
    And angry.
    â€˜Matt,’ she calls from her bedroom. ‘Come in here, I want to talk to you.’
    Matt looks at Dad.
    Dad sighs, and signals for Matt to follow him into the bedroom. They both look like they’re carrying about six wardrobes.
    The phone starts ringing.
    I’m the only one left, so I answer it.
    â€˜Bridie Sutherland,’ I say. ‘Sutherland residence.’
    It’s one of Mum and Dad’s friends, telling them that Matt’s just been on TV. I take a message. The phone rings again. And again. I take about twenty messages. I wish we had an answering machine, but Mum thinks they’re rude.
    Then Uncle Cliff comes crashing in through the screen door. He only lives in the next street, so when he wants to tell us something he usually just comes over.
    â€˜How brilliant was that,’ he says breathlessly. ‘That was just totally Judas H brilliant.’
    He sees it’s just me in the room. He sees Mum and Dad aren’t there.
    His face changes.
    I can see he’s realising that maybe it wasn’t totally Judas H brilliant for everyone.

I have the bad dream again.
    The one I have a lot.
    Me playing for Australia in a World Cup soccer final. Nil–nil with two minutes to go. I’ve got the ball. Matt wants me to pass to him.
    But I can’t kick.
    There’s bubble wrap round my legs. And my arms. And my chest.
    Matt’s not much better off. His soccer shirt and shorts are made of cotton wool. Which is growing like fungus.
    It’s over his head and feet now.