In The Family - Part 7

“No, it’s fine,” I said. “There’s no need at all for you to come back right now.”

“Are you sure?” Wenceslao Abieta, my team captain, was refusing to get off the phone until I’d reassured him at least fifteen times that he could stay in Brazil and see the rest of the World Cup without everything here going to rack and ruin. Not that it hadn’t already…

“I’m sure,” I said. “Very sure. Go party or whatever you’re doing.”

“Party? You think I want to party? Did Sid tell you -”

“No, he didn’t and I don’t want you to, either,” I said. “I’ve been too busy to watch the footie or even keep up with the scores.”

“Too - busy?”

“I’ve been distracted. I was kidnapped. One of the new players was kidnapped. There’s a hole where we should be playing year after next. Little things like that. So don’t tell me any scores. Is everyone else okay there?”

“Yeah, no problems,” he said. “Tim Talbot went missing overnight but it turned out he was at Fortaleza Zoo.”

“All night?”

“Seems so. He says he was looking at the animals and lost track of time.”

“That sounds like him.”

“Yeah. In a world of his own. Apart from that everyone’s fine. You’re sure you don’t need -”

“No,” I said. “I’m perfectly able to cope with a few little problems.”

“The stadium falling into the ground?”

“It’s not the stadium,” I said. “Just the pitch.”

“I dunno why that makes it so much better,” he said. “Oh, I found you a goalkeeper, anyway.”

“Pardon?” I said.

“To replace Barry. I mean, a broken leg, he’s not going to be playing for a long time. So I found you a new one. Someone I used to know when I lived in Peru. He’s playing in Germany right now, but he’s here in Brazil for the World Cup.”

“He’s - playing for Germany?” For a moment I thought all my dreams had come true, then I realised that Manuel Neuer was highly unlikely to have ever lived in Peru.

“No, just watching,” Wes said. “But he’s good.”

“Do you not think I can find my own goalkeeper?” I asked.

“I thought it’d be helpful. You must have a lot on your plate at the moment, what with people being kidnapped every five minutes and so on.”

“The bloke that was kidnapped is a goalkeeper. I was thinking he might replace James. Or Barry, now that Barry’s injured.”

“You’ll still need another, won’t you?”

“It’s dependent on someone taking James as an exchange,” I said. “I can’t afford to pay three of them. I’ll talk to you about it when you get back.”

After a few more pleasantries and reassurances I managed to get off the phone and turned it onto silent with a sigh of relief. I put it down on the kitchen table, determined to ignore it for the rest of the night. I felt I had more important things to do. Much more important things. One, anyway.

*********

“He’s in bed,” Sid said from the doorway.

“What?” I turned to him. “Who is?”

“Jelle. I’ve tucked him in and so on.”

“Dear God,” I said. “This team gets stranger by the day.”

“So, uh.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Do you, uh, want,” He paused and pushed his hair back out of his eyes, then clung onto it like a child with a security blanket.

“Do I want?” I prompted him. Seeing Sid so unusually lost for words almost made me forget how nervous I was myself. I’d almost welcomed all the annoying phone calls that had followed the events of the day because I hadn’t had to deal with - that important thing.

“Coffee?” Sid offered.

“I can’t believe you’ve bottled out,” I said, smiling at him. “There’s something I’ve never seen before.”

“I just realised I was maybe taking it for granted,” Sid said, staring at the floor. “I mean - I thought, you know, you’d want to.”

“I do want to,” I said and, looking at him like this, I really wanted to. I was starting to feel my clothes were too small for me, especially in the lower regions. I hoped we’d be able to get past all this chat soon and onto a more physical way of expressing ourselves.

“I thought you wanted Jelle,” I said.

“Eh? What for?” Sid looked up at me, surprised.

“Uh, sex.”

“Jelle? Sex with Jelle? That’s just - peculiar. He’s like a little kid. What gave you that idea?”

“I can’t remember,” I confessed. “I just -”

“Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want him?” Sid took a step closer, looking up at me. “Did you think I was lying to you?” he went on.

“Uh -”

“I’ve never lied to you. For God’s sake. I’ve been trying to get you to look at me ever since I found out you were gay. No, to be honest, I was trying to get you to look at me even before I found out you were gay. Just in case.”

“You were?”

“No points for observation, Boss.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got you to point out what I miss,” I said.

Sid smiled. “I thought you maybe wanted Donato, anyway,” he said. “You look at him like that sometimes.”

“I’m just looking,” I said.

“Yeah, everyone looks at him,” Sid said. “He’s lookable. At. Totally hench.”

“Yes. But it’s only like looking at - I don’t know, a painting or something,” I said. “Something you admire - I can’t talk to him like I can to you.”

“Oh, shit.” Sid gave me a look of mock horror. “I’ve got this all wrong, haven’t I? I didn’t realise you thought we were going to have a conversation.”

“I have to say,” it was my turn to take a step closer and I did, “right at this moment I’m hoping we’re not going to have a conversation for too much longer.”

Sid laughed and while he was laughing I took the last step, put my arms round him and kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss but it stopped him laughing. He muttered something into the kiss, clutched me and kissed me back as if he’d been waiting a very long time to do it.

“Bedtime,” I said as the need for oxygen made us break apart for a moment.

“Yeah.”

“Uh -” I came to the realisation that I was really, really bad at this. Lack of practise, I presumed. “What, er, do you want to do when we get there?”

“That's organised.” Sid looked amused. “Shall we make a to-do list? Put a chart on the wall?”

“Um. No - I just wondered -”

“I'm not fussy. I'll take what I can get and say thank you.”

“Yes, but -”

“Give over being nice,” he said. “You think I haven't already worked out what position you like to play in?”

“Oh. Is that -”

“It's fine. Whatever you want.”

“Sid,” I murmured, half just to hear myself say it, half in wonderment. Who would have thought?

“You can call me my name if you want,” he said as we headed for the stairs. “My first name, I mean.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah, if you like.” We went through his bedroom door and he grabbed me. We fell onto the bed together.

“You - you had better call me Noel,” I said while I still had enough sense to say it. That would be strange, I thought. Nobody called me Noel apart from family at Christmas.

“That’s weird.” Sid, also momentarily distracted, grinned at me. “Noel. Seems - funny. I mean -”

“I don’t want us to have the kind of sex relationship where you feel you have to call me Boss,” I said, which made him burst out laughing. He clung to me, shaking. “I’m not going to call you Minion either,” I went on.

“Fuck, I always wondered what it’d be like to be a minion,” he said, then he looked up at me and stopped laughing. “Boss - uh, Noel -”

“Hm?”

“Get on with it, will you?”

*********

 

“Water.”

“Pardon?” I struggled to sit up, realising what was required. There was a glass of water on the table and I passed it to Sid.

“Fuck me,” he said after he'd drunk about half the glass and passed it back to me.

“What, again?” I said. “Right now?”

“In a minute,” he said. “What's happened to the bed?”

We flung off the mess our remaining clothes had become and managed to put the bedcovers back into some semblance of order before getting into them.

“Now, Sebastian,” I said, rolling over to look down at him.

“Now?” Sid raised an eyebrow. “You've got some stamina, haven't you?”

The bedroom door opened.

We both turned to look.

“I can not sleep up there,” Jelle said. He was clutching the edge of the door and wearing a long white nightshirt that looked like a hand-me-down from Ebenezer Scrooge. “It is dark and when I put the light on it is worse. There is something walking around on the roof outside.”

“Birds?” I said.

“What, owls?” Sid said. “We’ve got owls on the roof?”

“I think you normally only get one of those at a time,” I said. “They don't flock.” I realised what a compromising position we were both in and moved away from Sid, pulling the covers up over us.

“I don’t know what it is,” Jelle said. “But I have heard it and I do not wish to sleep under it.”

“Looks like nobody’s going to sleep under anybody tonight,” Sid said. “Come on, you can get in here.”

“I want to be in the middle,” Jelle said, leaping onto the bed and diving in between us. “Then no roofwalking things can find me.” He pulled the covers up right over his head, leaving Sid and I with an impassable barrier between us.

“Fine,” I said. I looked across at Sid and shook my head. He rolled his eyes.

“We could probably do with a good night’s sleep,” he said.

“I’ve slept a lot more recently than I’ve -”

“Yes, well, there’s other times for that,” Sid said. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“No,” I said. “I mean, I hope not.”

Sid smiled and leaned over and kissed me.

“Is that kissing?” Jelle stuck his head out from under the covers.

“Yes, here’s one for you,” Sid said, kissing him as well. “Now go to sleep and don’t tell anyone.”

“About the monster on the roof?”

“About the kissing.”

“I’m not stupid,” Jelle said, eyes closing, his head on my pillow, I ruefully noticed. “I know what people do in private is not always what they want to say.”

“Good,” I said. “Um, and it’s probably just as well if you don’t mention the monster on the roof either.”

“You think perhaps that will annoy it? And it comes to eat me?”

“I think perhaps - I think it’s probably best to just let sleeping monsters lie.”

“Yeah, it’s not everyone wants a beast in their bed,” Sid said, with a wink for me.

“I know you are talking about sex,” Jelle said. “If you want to do that, go ahead. I will not mind. I have seen it before.”

There was silence.

“I think - we’re probably a bit tired now,” I finally said.

“Now who’s bottling out?” Sid said.

I gave him a look and he grinned back at me.

“I’ll go put the light out,” he said, which at least gave me a nice view as he went across the room.

I settled down to sleep next to Jelle, which wasn’t anything like what I’d planned. Still, as Sid said, we had plenty of time. Not that I ever had plenty of time. We’d have to make time for each other. That wouldn’t be a hardship, I thought. Just the thought of being alone with him again - probably wasn’t something I should think about if I wanted to ever get to sleep tonight.

We needed to find a minder for Jelle as well, I considered as I drifted off. Someone reliable to be with him night and day. He couldn’t sleep with us every night so he needed someone to keep him company. Someone who’d make sure he didn’t get into trouble or see chocolate… what kind of person would that be?

*********

“There are men all over the garden.”

I woke to this statement, uttered by Jelle, who was looking out of the window of Sid’s bedroom.

“What kind of men?” I asked.

“It seems like the press to me,” he said. “Photographers.”

“Bloody hell,” I said, getting up in a hurry and wondering what had happened to my clothes. They should have been on the floor. And where was Sid?

“Here you go.” Sid came through the door, a tray full of mugs in his hands, my clothes hanging over his arm. “Have some tea while you get dressed. I didn’t have time to wash them but I’ve ironed them a bit. You’ve seen the crowd down there, right?”

“Yes,” I said, taking my clothes and hurrying them on. “Thanks.”

“Good thing they didn’t start trying to climb up and look through the windows,” Sid said.

“We could push them back down again,” Jelle said, cheerfully homicidal. “Like when your castle is attacked by soldiers with ladders.”

“Fuck, I forgot to put the cauldrons of boiling oil on to warm up,” Sid said. “Talking of ladders, I should get someone round to check out the roof and see what’s living up there.”

“No!” Jelle clutched at Sid’s arm. “You must not disturb the monster. If you make it unhappy, who knows what it might do? I will try again to sleep there. It is not a problem.”

Not for you, I thought, but didn’t bother saying. I had the reporters outside to deal with first.

*********

“There’ll be a press conference on Thursday,” I said, Thursday being the longest I thought I could put it off. “The new players’ll be signing their contracts today, the very first day of the transfer window; then we’ll look at the squad and see if we need to make any further refinements.”

“Rumour has it James Halliwell is leaving the Wanderers.” The speaker was from one of the Middlesbrough papers, probably Rob Ryan’s replacement there. She was a large woman, short-haired, looked like she’d make a good centre back.

“I believe he’s interested in moving to a European club,” I said. “Fancies some foreign travel. That’s all I can tell you, because that’s all I know myself right now.”

“So you’re signing a new keeper?” This from Rob Ryan, giving me a cheeky grin from the back of the crowd.

“I’m signing a new keeper,” I said. “We decided not to bother trying to play without one.”

General laughter at that and a few glances at Ryan, who flushed and lost his grin.

“What about the new stadium?” he demanded. “And wasn’t one of your players kidnapped?”

“You seem to know more about that than I do,” I said, giving him a look. “But you’re not going to know any more about it until Friday. The recent, uh, unusual events around the team are going to be discussed in the press, but not in the Knightley Herald, I’m afraid, Adrian. Um, sorry, I mean, Rob.”

Rob Ryan opened his mouth and found nothing to say. I enjoyed that.

“We’re giving an exclusive to the Knightley Star,” I said.

“What, the weekly free paper?” the man from the Yorkshire Post looked amazed.

“What - us?” The bespectacled young woman from the Star stared up at me. She looked like a fifteen-year-old on work experience.

“That’s right,” I said. “See me this afternoon at Darkhill Park and we’ll sort it out.”

“Ooh!” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll get the photographer.”

“I’ve got one more announcement to make for general release,” I said, forestalling any more questions about my choice of recipients for the tale of recent events. “There has been some concern from fans recently about the cost of tickets rising, should we achieve our ambitions and get into the Premier League.”

I paused for effect, while the press recorded or wrote what I’d said. I didn’t want them getting any of this wrong.

“Therefore,” I went on, “the club is going to make a special, one time only offer to the fans that have supported us for so long. Anyone buying a season ticket for this year, will get next year’s for the same price, no matter what division we end up in.”

I left them with that and pushed through them to the Land Rover, where Sid was waiting with his foot on the clutch.

*********

“Cat among the pigeons,” Sid said as we pulled up at Bandhill. Some of the press were following us and we hurried inside before they could catch up. “When the Board find out.”

“I can understand how they feel,” I said. I ushered him and Jelle and Donato, who’d come with us, into my office. “The fans, I mean. It’s a lot of money and everyone’s got less of that all the time.”

My phone started belting out Beethoven and I sighed, looking at who was calling me. Jack Campion. Vice-president of the Board of Directors. Someone had let him know in double quick time. Probably Rob Ryan, the lying toerag.

I’m a good football manager, as I said. But sometimes, being good isn’t quite enough. That’s when you need - a little something extra. And over the course of my tenure here, I’d made sure that I had that little something extra when it came to dealing with each and every member of the Board. Just in case.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Campion set off at a run, no pause for hello, how are you. I let him rant for a few moments about how my giving away cheap season tickets was going to bankrupt the club and didn’t I know it would cost a lot more to run if we were in the Premier League.

“One of our new players is a transvestite,” I said, when he finally paused for breath.

“And another thing…” There was silence. “What did you say?”

“I was a bit surprised myself when I found out,” I said. “But, you know. We aim to be inclusive, don’t we? I mean, people do all kinds of things, it’s not our place to judge.”

“Uh - yes.”

“I mean, anyone might find themselves drawn to wearing clothes of the other gender. It's not that unusual. Happens in all walks of life. Footballers, businessmen, members of Boards of Directors -”

“You've made your point,” Campion muttered. “But you can't prove -”

“I've got photos.” I was lying, but he wasn't to know. I had the next best thing anyway, which was the phone number of the rent boy he did his dressing up with.

There was silence for a moment, until I broke it.

“So what I was thinking - you do want to know what I was thinking, don’t you, Mr Campion?”

“Uh - yes.”

“I was thinking that we might lose a bit on the season tickets next year. But we’ll make it back on normal ticket sales, advertising, sponsorship and so on. Also we’ll make a lot of money this year as everyone rushes to get their season ticket in the hope of a cheap one next year. And this year is when we need it the most, since the new pitch fell in. Who knows what it might cost to sort that out?”

“I, uh,” Campion paused. I could hear him taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Stewart. Went off at half cock a bit.”

“No problem,” I said. “It’s just - anything that gets the fans into the seats. We need a good strong twelfth man to cheer the team on this year. Help us win.”

“Yes, of course,” Campion said. “I understand your reasoning now. Brilliant. Can’t fault it. I’ll, uh, have a word with the other Board members, shall I?”

“That would be incredibly helpful,” I said. “I’m a bit pushed for time. New players and so on?”

“Yes, um.” Campion brightened up. “I must say, they sound very interesting. I might just drop in, you know, and have a word. Welcome them to the club, explain our, um, inclusivity policy and so on, what do you think?”

“I think that would be a wonderful idea,” I said. With my fingers crossed.

*********

All my manipulation and blackmail done for the day, I leaned back against my desk with my eyes closed. What next? I needed to put up a notice in the dressing room saying ‘no cocoa products allowed.’ Then -

“Hey, Gaffer, you know that whatsisface?” Jason Lee was looking around my door.

“What face?” I asked. “Who?”

“That Metcalfe, the one that kidnapped you.”

“Yes, I’ll never forget him,” I said.

“You want to know what he was doing up in that old tower?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Do I?”

“Yes. You do.”

“Tell me then,” I said. I sat down at my desk and waited. What now?

“Duty frees,” he said.

“Pardon?

“There’s a cellar. Donato found it. It was full of cigs and wine and stuff. Metcalfe must be one of those people that goes round pubs and people’s houses, selling cheap booze.”

“Good heavens,” I said. “What did you do with it?”

“We said nothing to the police and went back last night. One of Luke Macabeo's mates has got a van.”

“Where is it now?” I asked.

“Um, outside. I was wondering if we could put it in that old shed where we used to store balls and stuff.”

“You’ll need to get a new padlock for the door,” I said. “And I don't want it to stay there for too long.”

“I thought somebody in the team’d be able to find someone to shift it for us. We’re bound to make something out of it. Put it towards fixing up that hole in the pitch.”

“I suppose so,” I said, thinking about it. It was illegal, of course. I wasn’t sure which was the more illegal, stealing the stuff from Metcalfe or selling duty frees. “Make sure nobody can trace it back to us,” I said.

“I’ll be careful,” he assured me and took himself off. I went to look for Sid and found him having a kickabout outside with Fib and Yves. Jelle and James were down the back, kicking a ball against a wall and alternately catching it. At least, Jelle was catching it and James was mostly missing.

“I think everything’s sorted out,” I said. “Well, apart from most of the transfer stuff and the hole in the new pitch.”

“What do you expect when you try and build your stadium on top of a fairy hill?” Fib asked.

We all stared at him.

“It’s flat,” I said. “It’s a football stadium. By definition - flat. No hill anywhere.”

“Just hang on,” Fib said and hurried off inside.

I looked after him, then shrugged.

“What’s going on there?” Sid pointed over to where Jason and Donato were moving boxes, a van backed up to the old equipment shed.

“I have no idea,” I said. “And neither do you. And they’re moving equipment for the team. And I’ll tell you later.”

“Oh, is it the duty frees?” Yves asked.

“Does everyone already know?” I said.

“Yeah,” Sid said. “Don’t worry about it, Boss. No-one’ll say anything.”

“What are they doing now?” I watched in some perturbation as Donato and Jason came over to us, each of them holding a box.

“Look at this, Boss.” Donato had a large wooden box, like a tea chest. He put it down and pulled the top open.

“That’s not duty frees,” I said. I took out one of the straw-bedded wine bottles, carefully holding it sideways, the way it had been packed. “Bloody hell.”

“What is it, Boss?” Sid peered at the dusty bottle with interest.

“Expensive,” I said. “Where was this?”

“In the back of the cellar at the tower,” Jason said.

“Either someone else has been storing their valuables up there,” I said, “Or this has been there a very long time.”

“It’s probably treasure trove,” Sid said. “Belongs to nobody.”

“It belongs to us now,” Donato said.

“We won’t get rid of that down the pub,” Sid said.

“No, we’ll have to sell it at Christie’s or something,” I said. “Could be a bit difficult without provenance. What’s this other one?”

“Dunno.” Jason handed me a small box. It was ornate, decorated with floral patterns in - it had to be brass, didn’t it? Nobody’d put that much gold on a box and just leave it in a cellar. Would they? I lifted the small latch and opened it.

“What the -?” I said.

“That’s funny,” Sid said.

“It is a dish.” Donato told everyone what they could already see for themselves.

“Who’d put a pot dish in a fancy box like that?” Jason asked.

“I have no idea.” I squatted on the floor, the box on my knees and lifted the brown earthenware dish out to see if there was anything underneath it. There was.

“That’s even bloody stranger,” I said, pulling out a wooden spoon. I looked at it. It wasn’t the kind of spoon you’d stir soup or baked beans with. It was much shorter with more of a bowl to it and the end of the shaft was carved into a rounded Celtic knot.

“Look at this, Gaffer.” Fib was back, a large sheet of paper in his hands. A map. I put the bowl and spoon back in the box and tucked it under my arm as I stood up.

“What is it?” I asked.

“OS map,” he said. “See?” He dropped to the ground and spread it out in front of us.

“What exactly -” I began.

“Look at the contours,” he said.

“I don’t -”

“You think your new ground is flat.” Fib pointed at the map, circling with his finger. “But it’s only flat because it’s on the top of a really big hill.”

“I suppose so,” I said. “But you could say that for a lot of places.”

“It’s even called hill,” he persisted. “Bandhill.”

“Is that because - a fairy band used to play here?” Donato asked.

“No, I know this one,” I said. “It’s a Celtic thing. Ban, meaning white. There’s a white hill and a dark hill - Darkhill Park, where we train. I see what you mean, Fib. Both of them are on hills but they’re flat on the top.”

“Exactly.” Fib sat back on his heels and looked up at us.

I wasn’t sure what to say to him about all this. Donato and Jason, obviously wanting nothing to do with it, drifted away back to the old shed.

“Who’s that?” I said, attention distracted. Over by the far wall, Jelle, football in his hands, was bending to talk to a very small man. A midget or was that not PC any more? What was I supposed to say? Dwarf? Vertically challenged?

Luke's mate’s van pulled away from the equipment shed obscuring my view of Jelle and the little man.

“Who’s what?” Sid asked.

“That man over there,” I said. “Talking to - where’s he gone?”

The van had pulled out into the carpark proper and Jelle was once again kicking a ball against a wall. With James. Nobody else there.

“What man?” Sid asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “A little man.”

“How little?” Fib had got to his feet and was looking at me intently.

“I - it was a mistake,” I said. I didn’t think it was a good idea to get into conversation with Fib about little people of any kind. Who knew what he might make of that? “I need to go indoors and get the solicitors over here so you can sign your contracts.”

I hurried away and it wasn’t until I was back in my office that I realised I’d brought along the small box with the bowl and spoon. Never mind. I’d give it back to Donato or Jason later. Not that it was theirs anyway. I put it down on my desk, resolving to polish it up when I had a minute and see if I could work out what it was actually made of.

*********

“You need a break, Noel.”

I looked up from my paperwork to find Sid in the doorway.

“I’ll make you some coffee,” he said.

“Thanks.” I leaned back in my chair and watched him. I wanted him. I wanted him right here on my desk. Of course, that was impractical and would probably lose us both our jobs. I wondered when we could get together again. If he wanted to.

“A break?” I finally processed what he’d said through the filters of lust preoccupying my mind.

“Yeah, a holiday.” Sid came over and put my coffee down on my desk, then perched on the edge of it, looking down at me.

“I don’t have time -” I began.

“You can do all the transfer stuff on the phone,” he said. “Be back in time to sign everything. Leave everybody instructions what workout they’ve got to do.”

“I really -”

“We could go to Spain. Or Cyprus. The Greek islands. Italy. I can go online and find somewhere we can book right now.”

“We?” I stared up at him.

“Yeah. You and me.”

“On holiday?”

“Yeah.”

“Together?”

“Yeah.”

I stared around at the papers on my desk. There were a lot of things needed sorting out, not least my goalkeeper conundrums. Jelle’s welfare being a big part of that. Why had I employed such a troubled goalkeeper? And a delusional fullback, come to that. With a huge and bad-tempered dog. Where was the dog, anyway?

“We can have sex all day long and sleep together every night,” Sid said.

“Okay, then,” I said. “Where do you say you want to go?”

He laughed and stood up.

“Gotcha,” he said.

“Yes.” I smiled up at him. “I think you do.”

THE END 

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In The Family - Part 6

“So he’s here,” Sid said. “His flight came in, he was on it -”

“I asked the airport staff to see if they could get hold of him,” I said. “In case he’d fallen asleep somewhere or stopped there for a meal. They put a call out for him on the tannoy but realistically, he must have left hours ago.”

“And now he has gone,” Donato said.

“Vanished,” James said.

“Yeah?” Jason said into the phone. “Really? Okay - what, everyone? And what? Hang on, I’ll have to ask the gaffer.” He turned to me. “He says he wants the whole family to come and watch us play and stay in a hotel and their transport paid.”

“He knows how to drive a bargain,” Sid said. “Tell him they can all come, but they’ll have to stay with us. With the players.”

“I think Jason was talking to me,” I said.

“You want to change that, Boss?” Jason asked.

“No,” I said. “Tell him that. But if he won’t go for it, I’ll pay for the hotel.”

“I’ve got five brothers and sisters and a granny,” Jason said. “And they’ve to come from Carlisle.”

“Just do it,” I said.

Jason concluded his negotiations and turned to us with a smile. “He says that’s better if they get to stay with the players. My little sister’ll want to stay with Sid. She thinks he’s cute.”

“I am cute,” Sid said.

“What did you find out?” I said.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Well, the van belongs to a Craig Metcalfe and I’ve got his address here.”

“Let’s go, then,” I said as he handed me a piece of paper. “I’ve never heard of this place. Hob Hole? Where’s that?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Never mind,” I said. “We’ve got a postcode. Sid, put the GPS on. Everyone else, in the car.”

*********

“He’s not here.”

The woman who’d answered the door to the rather run-down looking council house didn’t look too happy at finding a slew of large blokes outside it, looking upset and asking for her husband. She looked as if she was about to close the door again and leave it that way, perhaps while she called the police or perhaps some even larger brothers, friends or neighbours.

“We’re the Knightley Wanderers,” I said, inspiration striking.

“You what?” she looked at us. “Oh, yeah… You’re that Donato Cola.” She smiled at Donato and blushed.

“Yes, that’s him,” I said. “And I’m Noel Stewart.”

“You what?”

“The manager,” I said as my players sniggered around me. “We’ve come to give you a - a prize.”

“You what?”

“You have won dinner with me.” Donato took over, and also took the lady’s hand and raised it to his lips.

“Omigod! Omigod!” The woman reached into her pocket and brought out her phone. I grabbed her other hand before she could start calling everyone she knew.

“We need to see Craig so he can sign to say he’s going to the dinner,” I improvised. “That both of you are going to the dinner. With the players.”

“Oh, well.” Her face fell. “He told me not to tell anyone where he was going. He’s got a thing.”

“Thing?”

“I dunno. It’s just him. He does stuff. Can’t I sign -”

“It’s got to be him,” I said. “Because he, uh, entered the off-season lottery.” I patted my pocket as if it was full of important papers. “If he doesn’t confirm his acceptance today, we’ll have to draw another winner.”

“Oh, well,” she said. “I mean, he’s not gonna mind, is he? Because he’s won - it’s not like you’re just anybody, is it?”

“Certainly not,” I said.

“He’s up at the Hob Hole,” she said.

“Pardon?” I said. “I thought this was Hob Hole?”

“Oh, aye, this is Hob Hole, but the Hob Hole is that old house up there.” She came out from the doorway and pointed up the hill to where some kind of structure stood. “It doesn’t belong to nobody,” she said. “He’s always up there doing stuff.”

“Thanks very much,” I said, and the whole lot of us took off in the direction of the hill.

There wasn’t very much to Hob Hole apart from the council estate. A few old buildings arranged around an overgrown green in what would once have been the centre. Very old buildings, looking as though they might have been built sometime in the seventeenth century or even earlier. One of them housed a Spar and another had become a bookie. There were a couple of bus stops and a chapel that had been converted into a community centre and that was it.

“That poor w-woman,” James said as we slogged up the hillside. There didn’t seem to be a road or even a path. Perhaps it was round the other side. “You should take her out to dinner, Pepsi. M-make up for the boss lying to her.”

“I don’t want to,” Donato said.

“It’s only fair.”

“I suppose. If I must. She is not much of a conversationalist.”

“I don’t suppose conversation’ll be what she’s after,” Sid said. “You’ll have to mind she doesn’t get in your pants and then you’ve got Craig whatsisface trying to kidnap you instead.”

“I do not think it is very likely,” Donato said. “I know how to defend myself from genital fan attacks.”

“What the hell does this Craig Metcalfe want with my goalkeeper?” I wondered. “Do they support someone else and they want to put a spoke in our wheel?”

“I do not understand that,” Donato said.

“Nobody understands it,” I said.

“No, I am meaning the spoke in the wheel. Surely a spoke in a wheel is a good thing? Are wheels not meant to have spokes?”

“Can you focus?” I said. “We’re nearly there.”

I looked up at the building above me.

“Looks more like a pele tower than a house,” I said.

“What’s that?” James asked.

“Towers that used to be built in high places,” I said. “When the Scots were raiding the English or at war with the English.”

“Throughout all of known history, then?” Sid said.

“That’s right,” I said. “They’d light a fire on top of the tower if they saw anything suspicious riding towards them.”

“We have those where I come from, near Hadrian's Wall,” Jason said.

“I wonder what this Craig does in there?” James said. “It’d be a g-good place to let off fireworks.”

“What are we going to do, Boss?” Donato asked.

I couldn’t see anyone currently keeping a watch out of the narrow stone windows. Were they even glazed? The place looked neglected as we got near enough to see, stone crumbling down from the walls, but it didn’t look as if it had been left untenanted for a few hundred years. The area round it was another matter, a long-untrimmed garden thick with scrubby trees, brambles and trailing ropes of thorny rose.

“Maybe it's not Jelly that's here,” James said. “Maybe there’s a p-princess asleep inside.”

“We don’t need a princess,” Donato said. “We have Fib already.”

“I’ll take a princess if she’s a good shot-stopper,” I said. “Looks like there’ll only be one way in. Unless anybody thought to bring a rope and a grapnel.”

“I’m not sure I would fit through such a small window,” Donato said.

“They’re bigger than they look from down here,” I said. “The door must be round the other -” I paused as I heard a peculiar sound.

“What’s that?” James grabbed hold of Jason’s arm. “That sounds horrible. Is it a ghost?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said, quite seriously. Did all my players believe in that kind of rubbish?

The sound, which had started as a low roar, grew in intensity. It seemed to be coming from the upper floor of the tower and we all gazed up that way. A loud shriek sounded from inside and we watched in horror as a body flew from one of the windows and down into the undergrowth below.

“Jelle?” Sid ran over, fighting his way through thorny plants.

“That’s not him,” I said. I was trampling down the overgrown brambles and roses until I could see the groaning, writhing figure of the man who’d fallen from the tower.

“He’s gone mad,” the man muttered. He was covered in scratches and stuck fast in the garden, but he didn’t seem to be badly injured, given by the way he was wriggling to try and escape his vegetative captors. “He’s off his trolley. He threw me out the bloody window.”

“Who are you?” I asked. “Are you Craig Metcalfe?”

“Who wants to know?” the man asked, then his eyes widened as he realised who we all were. “Oh - fuck,” he said.

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” I told him.

“I don’t give a shit you money-grubbing bastard,” he said, rather incomprehensibly. “You and that fucking new goalie of yours.”

“What did you do to him?” Sid demanded.

“We didn’t do fuck all to him,” Metcalfe said. “We never laid a finger on him. We even tried to feed the bastard. But no, a sandwich and a Mars Bar’s too good for him -”

I left him struggling and swearing and hurried back towards the tower. Sid followed.

“A Mars Bar?” he asked. “Jesus. He told me he had a phobia, I didn’t know he Hulked out when he sees chocolate.”

“Never mind,” I said, applying myself to opening the door of the tower. As I’d thought, it was round the other side from Hob Hole the village and there was also a small path leading windingly back down the hill. “Give me a hand with this, it’s stuck.”

*********

We pushed the door open to find an unconscious man behind it. His body was what had been holding it shut.

We were in a square, dark, stone room, completely unfurnished; a flight of stone steps ran upwards against the far wall and a third man was standing at the bottom of them, turning to look at us in surprise. He was holding the shotgun I’d seen earlier.

“Don’t shoot anybody,” I said. That seemed to need saying more urgently than anything else.

“That bastard.” He indicated a place above him, where we could all hear a lower version of the horrible noise that had preceded the flight of the man from the window. It sounded more like growling now.

“Yes, well, I know, but don’t shoot him either,” I said.

“He’s thrown Craig out the window,” the man said. “And Kevin’s there, he might be dead, the nutter flung him down the stairs.”

“I’m sure he’s not dead.” Keeping my eye on the man, I knelt to look at the one behind the door. Donato started to move sideways towards the stairs, but I shook my head at him. It was a shotgun. He could probably hit all of us at once with it and apart from that, if he fired it in here, we’d all be deaf.

As I touched the man lying on the floor he groaned and opened his eyes.

“See? He’s not dead,” I said.

“Oh, aye, never mind that. I know who you are,” the man on the stairs said. “So don’t be starting anything. Fucking posh fucking manager.”

“I’m sorry?” I said. “Have we met?”

“It’s all your fault.” The man, Jelle apparently forgotten for now, swung his shotgun decisively in my direction. Sid shifted at the side of me and I grabbed his arm to restrain him.

“Um - what’s my fault?” I asked. “You didn’t want me to have a Belgian goalkeeper?”

“He’s Dutch, isn’t he?” Shotgun Man said.

“He plays in Holland, but he’s Belgian,” I said.

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“They’re quite similar countries in many ways,” I said.

“That’s got nothing to do with it.” Shotgun Man remembered his mission. “You. And your bloody Premier League. How do you think normal folk are going to be able to afford to come and see you play any more if you get in the Premier League?”

“Oh, is that the problem?” I asked. “Because, excuse me, I can’t see how kidnapping my new goalkeeper before he’s even signed a contract is going to help you. You won’t be able to see any footie in prison unless you're allowed to watch it on the TV they have nailed to the wall.”

“We was meant to get you,” the man said. “Talk some sense into you. What happened? You were supposed to be out cold and then you just went off home like normal.”

“What?” I said. “You mean - when you put me in the van -”

“No, the other night. That bloody reporter, you paid him off, didn’t you? You and your money and -”

“I don’t have any money,” I interrupted him. “The club doesn’t have any money. We’re as poor as church fucking mice after they turn the church into a bingo hall. We’ve just had half the new stadium fall down a hole and take our starting goalkeeper out. And no, I didn’t pay off that bloody reporter for anything. Are you saying he was actually supposed to drug me?”

“I’m saying nothing,” the man said. He seemed to come to a decision and took a step upwards. “We’ve still got your goalie. You’ve only got one decent goalie now and this is him. So we’re hanging onto him. If you’re as skint as you say, you’ve got no money to buy another one and you’re not going to get into the Premier League with James Halliwell in goal, are you?”

“I heard that,” James muttered.

“I think you’re being very unreasonable,” I said. “But -” I lifted my hands and spread them in a gesture of what-can-I-do?

The man sneered and half turned away.

I leapt.

Two long steps across the room, he was turning back, the shotgun looked huge, I flung myself forward and grabbed him on the stairs and we both rolled down onto the stone floor together, me on top and him trying to hit me with the butt of the shotgun.

It didn’t last long as my players abandoned their learned techniques for something approximating a rugby scrum. By the time we got Shotgun Man out of it - minus his shotgun - he wasn’t in any mood to pass further comment on me or my managerial methods.

“Let’s get Jelle,” Sid said. James and Jason were sitting on the ex-shotgun toter, just in case he recovered himself, and Donato was calling the police.

I nodded and we both set off up the stairs. It was quiet up there now and I wondered what we’d find.

*********

Jelle was standing at the top of the stairs, near the entrance to another room, presumably the one with the window he’d thrown a man out of. He looked ready to throw us somewhere as well, maybe back down the stairs. He’d found himself a length of metal pipe, perhaps taken it off one of his captors, and was clutching it menacingly in both hands. I couldn’t credit the change in him, such belligerence in a young man who’d looked so mild-mannered, almost shy, in his interviews.

We all stared at each other for a moment, me wondering what on earth I could say to defuse his current homicidal mood; then I noticed something else different about him.

“You’ve changed your hair,” I said.

“I beg your pardon?” Jelle reached up and patted his head. “Yes, of course. I have thought that it is very old-fashioned to have the long hair. I am having it undercut to be with my new team.”

“It looks good,” I said. “Suits you.”

“Thank you very much,” he said.

“I’m Noel Stewart.” I took a step towards him and held out my hand. “Knightley Wanderers manager.”

“You - are my possible new manager?” Jelle’s eyes widened and he dropped his hands, apparently attempting to hide the length of pipe behind himself. “You like my hair?”

“Uh - yes,” I said.

“You like me?” he asked.

“I’m sure I shall,” I said. “Once we get to know each other.”

Jelle flung the metal pipe to one side and himself into my arms. I was startled. He seemed to weigh a lot more than he should.

“There, there,” I said, patting him on the back.

“I am glad you do not hate me.” He gave me a grateful look and I was disturbed to see tears in his eyes. What was wrong with him? Was I about to exchange a bad goalkeeper for a mad one? The phobias were going to be enough trouble without any added neuroses. I tried to reassure myself that he was just stressed out over recent events.

“Nobody hates you,” I said. “Now, let’s get you out of here and we’ll all, uh, go home and have a nice cup of tea.”

“I am liking the coffee,” Jelle said.

“Coffee, then.”

“But not the -” he glanced around him, then whispered, “- cappucino.”

“Certainly not,” I said.

“Let me see, I think James can take care of Jelle while we drive back to - where are we going?”

“Our house,” Sid said. “Jelle can stay in our spare room. It’s ready for him.”

“Sid, I am seeing you at last!” Jelle abandoned embracing me for grabbing Sid, nearly knocking them both down the stairs in his exuberance.

“Yes, it’s lovely,” Sid said, setting off down to the ground floor. “Come on down here and meet James. He’s a goalie too, you’ll have lots to talk about.”

“You are James?” Jelle was staring at our hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-goalkeeper in wonder.

“Yeah, that’s me,” James said. “The one and only. James Halliwell, pleased to meet - urkh!”

He left his sentence unfinished as Jelle hurtled over to him and gave him an enormous hug.

“You are beautiful!” Jelle declared. “I will go to your home with you and we will be friends, yes?”

“Uhhk, um,” James replied, which Jelle seemed to take as agreement. He grabbed James’s hand and dragged him towards the door with a big smile on his face.

“Donato, will you stay with Jason and deal with the police?” I asked. “I’ll have to see them myself, but for now…”

“Yes, I can see you are having problems of your own,” Donato said, giving Jelle a dubious look. “We will deal with it all. Should any of these men cause trouble, Jason will shoot them.”

“Why me?” Jason asked.

“Because you know how to shoot shotguns and I do not.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Jason picked up the shotgun and glared at the men lying on the floor.

“Don’t let the police see you with that,” I said. “Sid, let’s you and me drag in the other one from the rose bushes before we go.”

********

Our prisoners all secured, Sid and I went out to see that James and Jelle, still holding hands, were halfway down the hill.

“That was odd,” Sid said, as we hurried after them. “Jelle I mean. What he did.”

“He’s odd,” I said. “I think he’s got some kind of mental problem.”

“What, you think he’s really mad?”

“I got the impression that he thinks he’s - well, I don't know, he seems to be worried that some kind of chocolate is following him or something.”

“What, haunted by the spirit of chocolate?” Sid looked puzzled. “Something like that?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “He certainly seems volatile, doesn’t he? We’ll have a job keeping him calm enough to play.”

“Do you not want him?” Sid asked.

“Well - I don’t want to send him back,” I said. “I mean - look at him.”

“He seems cheerful enough now,” Sid said. “And he’s a good goalkeeper. If we make sure nobody shows him a Mars Bar.”

“Yes, we’re going to have to keep his problem secret,” I said. “Nobody should say anything about it to anyone that doesn’t already know. The last thing we need is to have someone’s striker running up to the goal and pulling a bar of Fruit and Nut out of their shorts so they can score while he’s distracted. Or fans thinking it’s funny to show him chocolate while he’s shopping and so on. Or throw it on the pitch, God forbid.”

“We’ll have to not let him go out too much,” Sid said. “Maybe take him to the park or something. Take him for a run up on the moors. Places where there’s not likely to be shops selling sweets.”

“Sounds like owning a dog,” I said. “What’s this about a spare room, anyway? You didn’t tell me you had a spare room.”

“Yeah, we converted the loft,” Sid said. “You know, in case we had visitors.”

“So, um, how is it that Jelle gets to sleep in your spare room and I slept in your room?” I asked.

“I don’t want Jelle to sleep in my room,” Sid said.

I stopped on the edge of the road as we were just about to cross over to the Land Rover.

“But you want me to sleep in your room?” I looked at him. He was looking back at me, cheeks flushed.

“Uh. Yes,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Um. Do you mean sleep or -”

“Don’t be daft.”

“Ah. So you want, er -”

“Yes.”

“Well. That’s, um -”

“We should probably talk about this when we’re back at the house,” Sid said, taking my arm and steering me across the road. “And when you actually can manage to talk about it.”

NOW GO TO PART 7....

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