“I
can’t believe I did all that for nothing.” I picked up the
newspaper and threw it down again on the kitchen table. “I took
drugs. Do you know how often I’ve taken drugs in my life?”
“I’m
guessing, never,” Sid said.
“You’re
right,” I said. After I’d finally come down from my unwanted
sojourn in chemical heaven and we’d discovered that I hadn’t even
been mentioned in the paper today, much less been exposed as a
sparkling, flaming, possibly even coruscating queer, we’d gone back
to Sid and Donato’s house to try and work out what was going on.
“Not recreationally, anyway. And I had a bloody dope test I didn’t
need to. How’s that going to look if anyone finds out about it?”
“It’s
not going to be a problem,” Donato said. “You had a good reason
for it. And surely better to do that than the alternative?”
“Except
the alternative hasn’t happened,” I said.
“It’s
strange,” Donato said. “What else would the reporter have wanted
apart from that?”
“Haven't got a clue,”
I said. “None of this makes any sense at all.”
“We
should have it out with that reporter,” Sid said.
“I
could ring the paper,” I said. “Tell them I want to give an
interview about my new signings - like Yves said - ask them to send
him round.”
“Then
we can tie him to chair and make him tell us what he is playing at,”
Donato said.
“On
the other hand,” I went on as common sense kicked in, “we could
wait until the paper comes out tomorrow. It’s possible he couldn’t
get his story in today’s edition. It was pretty late when we left
the last club.”
“Well,
if it is in tomorrow’s paper, that’s better,” Sid said. “I
mean better than today’s. Because you’ve already had the dope
test and everything, there’s no way it could look like we set it
up.”
“Let’s
hope he had second thoughts,” I said. “Perhaps my, uh, social
life is so boring it’s not worth writing about. I’m going to bed
anyway. Oh, no I’m not. I’m in the wrong house.”
“No
problem,” Sid said. “You can stay here. It’s better, in case
you have a reaction from the drugs and start being sick on the floor
or something.”
“You
say the sweetest things,” I muttered.
Sid
laughed. “You can sleep in my bed,” he said. “I’ll bring you
some warm milk.”
“Urgh,”
I said. “Drink it yourself. I don’t like that filthy stuff.”
“That
drug does not leave the boss in a very good mood,” Donato remarked.
“No,
he’s worse than usual,” Sid said. “Cuppa tea?”
“Yes,
thanks,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Not
a problem,” he said and went away into the kitchen. I took myself
off to bed. I was still feeling strange. Floaty. Unlike I’d
expected, I seemed to be able to remember everything I’d done while
under the influence. Of course, if I’d forgotten something, I
wouldn’t know I couldn’t remember it. Would I?
I
wasn’t too happy about what I could remember either, since some of
what I’d done was quite embarrassing. I was sure I’d been far too
affectionate with various of my players at various times. I was going
to have to sit down at some point in the near future and decide what
I thought about having all these members of the team find out about
my sexuality. But not now. I was too tired.
I
scarcely managed to drink half my tea before I fell asleep, after
being given a spare toothbrush by Sid and a pair of pyjamas by
Donato. I woke again in the early hours to find the room dark and
full of breathing.
Breathing?
There was mine - and - by the moonlight shining through the
half-drawn curtains I saw Sid, fast asleep in an armchair, wearing an
old Superdry hoodie and trackie pants in lieu of pyjamas, his
stockinged feet up on the bed.
I
smiled. Then I lay down again and reached out, taking one of his feet
in my hand.
“Eh?”
he said.
“Sorry.
I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What’s
the matter?” He was staring at me anxiously through the gloom.
“Nothing.
I just - I have no idea what I’m doing. I woke up.”
“Go
back to sleep.”
“Aren’t
you uncomfortable?”
“No,
I’m fine.”
“But
this bed…” I paused.
“What’s
wrong with my bed?” Sid asked.
“It’s
a double.”
“Yeah,
well. You never know. Might get lucky.”
“What
I mean is,” I went on, “there’s room for you in it.”
“What,
me sleep with you?” Sid’s eyes popped wide open. “You’re
joking, right?”
“Uh,
yes, I suppose so,” I said. I could feel my face heating up. My own
fault. I shouldn’t have - I was far too old for him. And I’d
never been very attractive, even when I was younger. I’d kept my
body in pretty much the same shape it always was, but bony and
intense was the best you could say for my face. Not that I was asking
him to sleep with me for any untoward reason, I told myself hastily.
Just so he’d be comfortable.
“It’d
be bad manners, wouldn’t it, me sleeping with the gaffer,” Sid
was saying.
“Oh,
is that what’s bothering you?” I asked.
“Well,
yeah, what else?”
“I
have no idea. And if I don’t mind about it, why should you? It’s
your bed, after all. I shan’t be able to sleep thinking I’ve
turfed you out of it into a chair.”
“Oh
well. If you want.” Sid pulled off his outer layer while I
pretended not to look. He was still wearing his briefs and a t-shirt
and apparently intended to keep on wearing them. Did he not have
pyjamas? Did he normally sleep naked? That probably wasn’t
something I should think about too much right now.
We
lay in bed together for a few moments, getting used to the idea. I
tried to remember the last time I’d actually slept in a bed with
somebody else and came up blank.
“We
recorded the match for you,” Sid said. “Holland vee Mexico.”
“Thanks,”
I said. “Any good?”
“I’ve
not seen it myself yet,” Sid said. “I heard about the result long
and loud from Wes on Facebook, but that’s all. We can watch it
together when there’s a bit of spare time. If we can avoid seeing
the score anywhere. People are always telling you the bloody score.”
“I
thought Wes already told you that?”
“Yeah,
but he didn’t tell you, did he? So you can watch it without knowing
what’s going to happen.”
“Oh.
Thanks.”
“No
problem.”
“We
should really get some training done in the morning,” I said. “We
can buy a paper on the way and see if the worst has happened.”
“It’s
not the worst,” Sid said. “The worst would be, I dunno, an
earthquake and everyone falls into big cracks in the ground and dies
or something. Or the Zombie Apocalypse. Have you seen The Walking
Dead?”
“That’s
a terrible programme,” I said. “I mean, it’s good, but so
depressing. You start to wonder why they’re going on at all.”
“That’s
what people do,” Sid said. “Even if they’re miserable. They
hope for better.”
Was
Sid miserable? I wondered. He had the same problems I did, didn’t
he? Difficult to meet anyone you liked and then what did you do with
them when you did meet them?
He
had his mum to deal with as well. As far as I knew, he went to see
her every day, sometimes more than once, and did all her shopping and
so on. No wonder if he sometimes got miserable. Was there anything I
could do about it? I didn’t know. Maybe I’d give his Belgian
goalkeeper a job. That would probably cheer him up. Then at least one
of us would be happy.
*********
I
woke to the sound of Sid telling a story.
“So
Barkie - we should’ve called him Barking, we really should - he’s
practically there, he’s got a clear shot, the fans are all yelling
his name and Dunajski decides to join in, so he’s yelling Barker,
Barker and - you won’t believe this - Barkie turns round to see
what he wants, trips over the ball and faceplants, right in front of
the fucking goal.”
“He
n-never.” James’s voice.
“He did.
You should have seen the goalie’s face. He was completely gone out.
And after that he was laughing so much anybody could have just walked
up and scored but it was like one of those dream moments, you know?
When you can’t move. We were all stood there like statues ‘cause
we couldn’t believe what we’d just fucking seen.”
“Was
that when Barker left? He wasn’t here w-when I came.” James said.
“He
wasn’t here for very long at all after that
performance,” Sid said.
“The gaffer went mental. Well - quietly mental. He doesn’t tend
to shout a lot. He gets sarcastic and stuff. When he starts asking
you questions, that’s when you know your days are numbered.”
“What
k-k-kind of q-questions?”
“Like
- they usually start with something like, what made you think it was
a good idea to, and then whatever stupid thing it was you did.”
“Oh,
those kind of questions.” James sounded a bit brighter. I hadn’t
actually got around to asking him anything like that yet. He was so
poor at everything, it was hard to pick out one specific thing to
question.
I
realised at this point that I was in the position of the eavesdropper
who hears no good about himself. I supposed I should let them know I
was awake, but really, it was so comfortable here. Sid was sitting up
with the pillows at his back and I was snuggled up against his side,
though how I’d got here I wasn’t sure. His hand was on my head
and every so often he gave my hair a little stroke. It was - it was
blissful. I hadn’t been in bed with a man for - oh, yes, I’d
already decided I couldn’t remember when the last time was. I
decided to wait a bit longer before I stuck my head above the parapet
and got caught up in the day’s usual hectic nonsense.
“You’ve
got a cup of tea here, Boss,” Sid said.
“Oh.”
I sat up. James was sitting on the edge of the bed and I had the
feeling he was laughing at me. For once in my life I didn’t know
what to say. Here I was in bed with my midfielder and my goalie
looking at me. What an odd situation. Should I comment on it or
completely ignore it? I had no idea.
“I’ll
drive you home in a bit, Boss.” Sid, who apparently didn’t feel
any discomfort about our mutual state of in-bedness, passed me my
tea. “You’ll probably want to get changed and so on.”
“Yes,”
I said. “I do.” My memories of the past couple of days had now
surfaced and I got out of bed and started looking for my over-worn
clothes. “I need to buy a paper first thing. If I’m in there with
my scandal it’s going to change the shape of the day.”
“We’d
all better get moving then.” Sid got up and I looked back at the
bed with a moment’s regret. It had been - it was something I’d
like to do again. No matter how wrong or ill-advised or downright
foolish it might be to spend the night with one of my players.
I
found myself starting to make plans to ‘accidentally’ find myself
stranded here some night and told myself not to be so stupid. I had a
lot more important things to deal with today.
*********
“Nothing,”
I said. I’d read the paper from back to front. Twice. Not a
mention.
“Maybe
he’s going to sell his story to, I dunno, the Daily Mail or
somewhere?” James, who had slept on Sid’s couch last night, had
come with us in the car. Like me, he was making a brief stop at his
own home for a shower and clean clothes. Donato had arranged to meet
us at the training ground, driving there in his own car. He was a
restless sort, constantly full of energy and he got bored waiting for
people.
When
everyone and their clothes were finally cleaned up, we set off again,
me still brooding over the mystery of the reporter who didn’t write
in the night.
“I’ve
to call at the new stadium,” Sid said.
“What
for?” I asked.
“Fib
and Yves went off to stay in a hotel last night,” Sid said. “Donato
took em and he noticed you could see where they’re building the new
stadium from the window of their room. He told them to walk over and
meet us there this morning so we wouldn’t get caught up in traffic
trying to get to the hotel. I’ve texted Fib and told him we’re on
our way.”
“Excellent,”
I said, cheering up a bit. I wasn’t in the paper and I was about to
see my two new players in action. Interesting.
“We’re
picking Barry up there as well,” James said. “So he can train
with me. He lives just round the corner so we thought we may as
well.”
“Everyone’s
saving petrol this morning,” I said, adding up seats in the Land
Rover. “Good thing you’ve got a seven-seater, Sid.”
“That’s
why,” Sid said. “People are always wanting a lift. I got sick of
em sitting on each other’s lap behind me and then I can’t see out
the back.”
I
looked out of the car window at the other early starters busy going
to work and I thought to myself that I wouldn’t change places with
any of them. Despite the hassles and stress that came with my job, I
wouldn’t want to do anything else. Even without the latest series
of events, my life bounced from one crisis to another and job
security? Forget it. The Board of Directors’ one guiding principle
was ‘what have you done for me lately?’ There was always some
other hapless manager they could stick in my place should they take a
serious dislike to me or my tactics.
But
so far, things were working out. The team and I made a good unit and
we’d done nothing but progress over the years I’d been here.
“There
they are.” James was pointing out of the window at what would be
the new stadium; right now a huge mesh of scaffolding surrounded by
tall cranes. I could see Fib, thankfully wearing jeans and a t-shirt,
together with Yves and Barry, wandering into the centre of it all.
Barry was pointing out various imaginary features to the newcomers,
where the stands would be and so on, no doubt.
“Should
Barry and them be in there?” Sid asked as we pulled up by the
roadside. He got out and gave a dirty look and a dirtier gesture to a
white van that nearly ran into the back of us. The van driver ignored
him and swerved around the Land Rover to pull in further down.
Construction workers no doubt, I thought. It was about time they were
turning up for work.
“No,
they shouldn’t be in there, not without hard hats,” I said. “Go
get them out, will you?”
He
hurried into the stadium-in-potentia and I followed more slowly. We’d
have to get into the Premier League to pay for this thing, I thought,
looking around me at the beginnings of it all. And to be able to fill
it, I qualified, there were a lot more seats here than we currently
had bums to sit on them. We’d need the additional interest that was
provoked by being in the top echelon.
We
could do it. I was sure of it. My team was -
The
earth shook. I staggered.
“What
the -?” James, beside me, took a couple of steps sideways,
off-balance.
There
was a rending, cracking sound, impossibly loud and the ground split
in front of us, giving way, collapsing and taking my number one
goalkeeper, my midfielder and my two new players with it.
“Eh?”
James, now on his knees, stared at the huge hole in the ground as if
praying to Hell.
“Sid!”
I yelled, running forwards.
I
flung myself down at the edge of the hole.
“Sid?”
I called. I could hear someone moaning. Was he hurt? Was he, dear
God, dead?
“I’m
here,” I heard. “What the fuck?”
“I
don’t know,” I said. “Everything just - fell in.”
“Tell
me about it. Barry’s hurt. I think he’s broke his leg. It looks a
funny shape.”
“Oh,
shit,” I said, managerial hat back on. No decent goalie at all.
That wasn’t good. “I’ll have you out of there in no time,” I
said, turning to James, about to ask him to ring for an ambulance.
A
plank of wood hit me in the face.
I
clutched at my bleeding nose as I was dragged to my feet, pulled away
from where Sid and the others were stuck down the hole. Two men had
me by the arms. I almost screamed as I caught sight of their dead,
grey and gory features before I realised they were wearing rubber
zombie masks. A third man was holding the plank he’d hit me with
and as I struggled, he hit me again in the ribs. While I was gasping
over that, they dragged me past James, lying motionless on the floor.
I guessed he’d also met the plank.
I
started to yell, hoping to attract someone’s attention, though if
they weren’t coming running after all the earthquake crash of sound
there’d been a few minutes ago, they were probably way too far away
to hear me.
“Boss?”
There was shouting from behind me, sounded like Sid.
“I’m
being kidnapped!” I yelled, still struggling. This time the plank
hit me in the diaphragm and I didn’t feel I could shout any more
for a while. Instead I gave the man on the left a good hard kick on
the ankle. He yelled and his grip loosened. I pulled myself free but
before I could take advantage the plank came down on my head.
I
lost interest in continuing the combat momentarily, giving my captors
time to rush me out onto the road and into the back of the white van
that had turned up at the same time as us. They must have been
following us, I realised. Now they wanted to take me somewhere and -
whatever. No. I wasn’t having it.
The
two who’d held me were climbing into the van after me. Mr Plank
must be the driver, I thought. I kicked out with all my strength, but
not at either of the men. I kicked at the van’s doors, bursting
them back open as one of the men was trying to shut them.
The
van set off, accelerating away from the stadium and the man who’d
been closing the doors was caught off balance. He grabbed at the
door, ending up hanging from it, swinging back and forth over the
road as we sped along.
The
other man, tastefully attired in a mask with a rubber hatchet stuck
in the top, glanced from me to the swinging man, who was yelling to
be pulled back into the van. I hoped he’d go to help his mate so I
could push him out onto the road but sadly he had more sense than
that. He circled me, instead, eyes flicking to the back corner of the
van.
I
wondered what he had there? I desperately wanted to turn and look in
case it was a weapon I could use myself. Even another plank would be
handy. My head was spinning and my ribs ached like a bugger, I could
do with an advantage. Then I caught sight of what was out the van
doors, apart from the clinging, swinging, shouting man.
I
abandoned further confrontation and rushed forward, shoulder charging
the man in front of me. He hurtled away to the side and I jumped,
right out of the van, hoping I still knew how to land from a fall.
The man on the door let go with one hand, reaching out to try and
grab me, but he missed.
I
landed hard on the road, more pain, but I didn’t feel as if I’d
broken anything. Now I just had to worry about what was coming up
behind me, the Land Rover, Sid’s horrified face gawping at me
through the windscreen before he managed to pull the wheel to the
left and come to a screeching halt on the pavement, just missing a
couple of old ladies with a bevy of small, hairy dogs.
“Get
down, get down!” I yelled, not sure if anyone was hearing me. Sid
had leapt out of the car and was yelling back at me, Yves had
followed him and was also shouting, the old ladies were screaming,
the dogs were barking and the van had pulled up so that I could see
what it was that Hatchet Man had been trying to get to in the back
corner.
“Is
that a fucking shotgun he’s got?” Sid leapt back into the car, me
following just as quickly; Yves flung himself across my lap and I
pulled the door shut, nearly trapping his legs in it.
Hatchet
Man dithered between the doors of his van. He looked from us in the
Land Rover to the old ladies and their hysterical dogs to his
partner-in-crime sitting on the road beneath the door he’d dropped
off. Then he lowered the shotgun and shook his fist at us. Shook his
fist. I’d never seen anyone do that before.
By
this time we were way gone down the road. Sid reversed into the
entrance to a trading estate and turned the car round before setting
off again forwards, heading back towards the stadium.
He
glanced at me. I looked back at him.
“What
the fuck was all that
about, Boss?” he asked.
NOW GO TO PART 5....
COPYRIGHT NOTICE - THIS STORY AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE COPYRIGHTED.
PLEASE DO NOT COPY AND PASTE THIS STORY ANYWHERE WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION.
DO NOT COPY THIS STORY IN WHOLE OR IN PART AND CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN WORK.
COPYRIGHT ALEX SWEENEY SEPTEMBER 2014
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