I looked at the four academy boys. Wan-Bissaka, Eze, Nya Kirby, and Connor Blake. "You four, with me," I said. They exchanged nervous glances. They clearly thought they were in trouble. I led them out of the meeting room and down the corridor towards the press conference room. "Gaffer, what's going on?" Eze asked, his voice a nervous squeak.
"You'll see," I said, a slow smile spreading across my face.
I pushed open the doors to the press room. And there, sitting in the front row, were their parents. Nya's mum, clutching a handbag so tightly her knuckles were white. Aaron's dad, sitting bolt upright, his face a mask of stoic pride.
Connor's parents, holding hands. Eze's mother was already dabbing her eyes with a tissue. The boys stopped dead. They looked at their parents. They looked at me. They looked at Dougie Freedman, standing by the main table with a stack of documents. The confusion on their faces was a beautiful thing.
