Wings of a Sparrow

by Dougie Brimson

  ‘But I have gifts!’

  Rob sat at the head of the conference table and surveyed the faces staring at him.

  For the past hour he had been outlining his position to the staff at the club and this was the final group. In truth, it was the most important group - after all, the various admin staff were easily replaceable but the marketing and publicity staff had skills and contacts he would desperately need and which he couldn’t afford to lose. That’s why he had left them until last, to ensure that he had his patter bang on.

  ‘So that's it,’ he said abruptly. ‘One way or another I have to make this work, so you're either in or you're out. You've got twenty-four hours to let me know which.’

  The assembled staff stood and began to leave. Rob was unsurprised to note that they did not look best pleased but he hoped he’d said enough to convince them to stay. If he hadn’t, he was going to be up shit street.

  As they were shuffling out, a very unhappy looking Joanne ushered a middle aged man into the room. Portly but well dressed, he had an air of authority about him. His appearance attracted some double takes from the departing marketing staff but if he noticed, he didn’t show it.

  Instead he strode in and held out his hand. A beaming Rob stood and shook it warmly.

  ‘Gary Rogers. As I live and breathe. It's an honour sir.’

  Charlie pushed the front door closed and walked into the living room, where Mick was sitting staring at the TV.

  ‘Are those bloody reporters still out there?’ asked the old man.

  ‘There are a few. They were asking me who I was. Didn’t say anything though.’

  ‘Good lad. Bastards all of them.’

  ‘I’ve had it all day at school,’ said Charlie as he fell onto the sofa with a sigh. ‘Bloody scummers. It’s driving me mental.’

  ‘I bet. It’s been on telly as well. Cuppa?’ Mick stood and headed for the kitchen as Charlie grunted in response and leant across to take the TV remote.

  But even before he could begin flicking through the channels the sports reporter came on and, out of curiosity, he held off to watch.

  ‘Well, events at City continue to dominate the sports news - and the latest is that the former United striker and most recently Bournemouth manager Gary Rogers has been put in charge following the sacking of Ray Ellis.’

  There was a loud crash from the kitchen and Mick came bursting into the room, his eyes immediately drawn to the television.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘And now we can cross to Sarah Williams, who is outside George Park.’

  The blonde appeared on screen looking very different from the woman who had recently been sitting in Mick’s front room. Her hair was slightly tousled and she appeared extremely harassed, surrounded as she was by angry City fans.

  ‘Yes, the club have announced that Gary Rogers has indeed taken over with immediate effect and will apparently meet the players for the first time tomorrow.’

  ‘And how have the fans taken the news?’

  ‘This is bang out of order!’ shouted one of the assembled group before Sarah could reply.

  ‘This scummer is mugging us right off!’ barked another, his face twisted in angry frustration.

  The crowd suddenly began pushing and shoving to reach the microphone. Within seconds the screen cut back to the studio.

  ‘Well clearly,’ stumbled the host, ‘the saga at City continues and one can only wonder what's going to happen next. We're still waiting to hear from the new chairman but rest assured, whatever he has to say you'll hear it first on Sky Sports News.’

  Mick and Charlie stared at the screen in shocked silence as the news continued, unheard.

  ‘Well he said he wanted to piss them off,’ said Mick, finally breaking the silence. ‘I think it’s safe to say he’s done it.’

  Chapter Twenty

  The black Bentley slid silently through the wooden gates and proceeded to glide effortlessly along the gravelled drive, the sharp crackle of loose stone under tyre providing the perfect encore to the soft hiss of automotive class that had been whispering softly to Rob ever since he had managed to escape the melee outside George Park.

  That had been an experience he didn’t want to repeat too often and he let out yet another silent prayer of thanks that the locals had seemingly exhausted their supply of eggs by the time he’d left - although he had a sneaky suspicion that there might be a fairly substantial amount of phlegm hanging from the paintwork, judging by some of the more guttural noises he’d heard as he’d been escorted through the crowd by the reluctant coppers. Then again, that could just have been the City fans talking to themselves. He’d once written a piece in Wings of a Sparrow comparing their supporters to the Orcs in Lord of the Rings and if anything, what he’d seen today had merely confirmed how accurate a comparison that was.

  Rob smiled to himself as he thought about what he had planned for them tomorrow but for the moment he was content to simply listen to the Bentley’s soft rhythmic rumbling, so different from the steady rattle of his Mondeo’s tappets.

  Only when he pulled the car to a halt did he notice a second vehicle parked alongside Jane’s borrowed Jaguar and with a frown, climbed out of the Bentley and headed inside, avoiding looking at what might or might not have been carried home on his bodywork.

  ‘Please tell me you haven’t brought an Aston Martin,’ he called as he pushed the front door closed. However before another word could leave his lips a small white missile flew from the kitchen and began snapping at his ankles. ‘What the fuck?’ he shouted as he tried desperately to shake it off.

  ‘Lilly!’ commanded Vicky as she and Jane came bounding out of the kitchen. ‘Come here you bad girl!’

  Only when the missile had been scooped up did Rob relax.

  ‘This is Lilly,’ said Jane. ‘And Vicky. Isn’t she cute?’

  ‘Vicky or the dog?’

  Vicky laughed as she stepped forward and held out her hand. Rob reached to take it, only to snatch it back as the dog snapped at him again.

  ‘Oh she doesn’t like you,’ laughed Vicky.

  ‘It’s mutual,’ muttered Rob in response.

  ‘Don’t worry Vicky. My husband’s not much of a dog person. Mind you, he’s not exactly a people person either.’

  ‘Oh that’s OK. Lilly doesn’t like men very much, do you sweetheart?’ said the small blonde as she lifted the dog up and kissed it on the nose. ‘Then again, who does?’

  The two women collapsed into laugher. Rob looked them both up and down and frowned.

  ‘Have you two been drinking?’

  ‘A bit,’ they giggled in unison. ‘We were celebrating.’

  ‘Celebrating what?’

  ‘Meeting,’ replied Jane, with a grin which Vicky returned almost instantly.

  ‘Well,’ said Vicky with a noticeable slur, ‘I best leave you to it. It’s been lovely to meet you Rob.’

  Rob smiled and grunted in reluctant agreement as Jane led Vicky past him and out toward the front door. Posh tarts were not his forte and this one had money dripping from every pore.

  ‘And I’ll see you Friday evening,’ she added. ‘About seven?’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ said Jane.

  Rob’s phone began ringing.

  With a shake of his head he turned away and answered his call.

  ‘Two o’clock in the boardroom. Perfect.’

  By the time Jane returned to the kitchen, Rob had made them both a coffee and was perched on a stool.

  ‘What’s her story then?’ he asked, not out of curiosity but simply because he thought he should.

  ‘Vicky? Oh she’s lovely. But it’s quite a sad story actually. Poor thing-’

  Rob zoned her out as she rattled on. Years of listening to Jane nagging had helped him develop the ability to hear what she was saying without actually taking any notice of anything other than the salient points. Husband died, tragic, loaded. Got it.

  ‘So what’s happening Friday?’ he asked in an effort t
o get her to stop talking and start cooking, which is what he really wanted her to be doing.

  ‘Oh she’s taking me to a party at one of her friends.’

  ‘What like an Ann Summers thing?’

  ‘No Rob. Not Ann Summers,’ she replied stiffly before suddenly smiling and adding excitedly, ‘Is that your Bentley?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Rob said. ‘Well, it’s the club's which I suppose means it’s mine. It's bloody awesome!’

  Jane smiled warmly.

  ‘Bloody hell Rob. Big house, Bentley, Jaguar… how is this all happening?’ She paused, suddenly saddened. ‘I just wish Charlie-’

  Rob slid from his chair and walked over to her. His arms folded around her shoulders and pulled her to him, as much for his sake as for hers.

  ‘I know sweetheart. Don’t worry, he'll come round.’

  ‘I hope so. I'm going to pick him up from school tomorrow and take him out. Can you come?’

  ‘I’ve got to give a press conference at two but I'll try. I promise.’

  Chapter Twenty One

  After the trauma of having to get into the ground through the throng of journalists and angry fans who all seemed to want to speak to him, Rob had made it to his office in a determined if slightly fraught state of mind.

  He was feeling quite pleased with himself as the list of things he wanted to address as a matter of revenge as opposed to urgency was getting shorter. And now, as he sat at his desk and stared at the young blonde woman sitting opposite him, Rob knew it was about to get one point shorter.

  In reality, Andrea Barker wasn’t even reading the paper she was staring at. She’d actually been through it two or three times already. What she was actually doing was formulating a response. As head of marketing at the club, she knew exactly how important her role was going to be to the success or failure of Rob Cooper’s mission but as she lay in the bath the previous night, she had also realised what a staggering opportunity this was for her career. After all, the eyes of the nation’s media were upon them all and however much she hated what the man sat opposite her was doing, she knew full well that they were going to stay there for some considerable time. At just twenty-five that was not to be sniffed at.

  That said she was still struggling to work out how best to respond to the content of the paper in front of her. In the end, she lowered it onto her lap and took a deep breath.

  ‘You can’t be serious? We already have a sponsor.’

  ‘Yes I know,’ responded Rob. ‘It’s my distribution company. And since I own this club as well, I can put what I like on the bloody shirts.’

  ‘Yes but-’ Andrea paused as she struggled to find the right words. ‘What about the fans who’ve brought shirts already?’

  ‘What about them?’ asked Rob dismissively. ‘They can wear them if they like. And one more thing, unless it’s under contract already, I want the price of every hoarding and programme advert doubled.’

  ‘What?’ she exclaimed,

  ‘Have you seen all the press downstairs? Imagine what it’s going to be like on match days. That’s national advertising and it’s going to cost, so anything that’s not been sold, sell it. No one week deals either, full season only.’

  Andrea shook her head and stood up to leave.

  ‘I’d like to see mock ups of the shirts today if possible,’ said Rob in a tone which suggested it wasn’t a request.

  She grunted in response and Rob waited until the door was shut and then leant back in his chair, a self satisfied smile on his face. This football lark was easy. He glanced at his watch. Just over two hours until the press conference. He was really looking forward to that although the nerves in his stomach were already starting to make their presence felt.

  Rob suddenly realised he was both hungry and thirsty so ambled out of his office to find Joanne sitting at her desk. The look of disdain which flashed across her face as he appeared was hardly the most welcoming and for a second he wondered if she and Jane were related. The sisterhood of hate Rob.

  ‘Jo,’ he asked almost apologetically. ‘Is there any chance of getting something to eat here? I’m bloody starving.’

  Joanne looked at Rob for a second, then reached into her drawer and pulled out a biscuit which she began to munch on as she stared blankly at him.

  ‘Not really,’ she said between bites. ‘We all bring our own lunch. I could send out for something if you like.’

  Rob smiled sweetly. So that was how it was going to be. He half thought about taking her up on her offer but the other half immediately flagged up a warning that whatever he ordered might not arrive on his desk as intended.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said with a smile. ‘A coffee would be nice though. If it’s not too much trouble.’

  Five minutes later, Joanne entered and placed a mug of coffee on Rob’s desk.

  ‘Will there be anything else? Only I have to pop my car to the garage.’

  ‘No thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘OK,’ she replied. ‘Enjoy your coffee.’

  Rob lowered his eyelids into a glare as she left. He could have sworn he heard her giggle as she closed the door.

  His gaze turned to the mug on his desk. She had even placed it so the blue and white City crest was facing him, taunting him.

  With a sigh, he pushed it untouched across the desk before standing up and heading out in search of sustenance.

  Twenty minutes later, Rob was standing on the visitors’ end munching the second of the Mars Bars he’d liberated from a catering stall. It was the first time he’d walked into the ground proper since taking over and to say it felt alien was an understatement.

  The last time he’d been here had been back in 2006 when United had played City in the cup and handed out a 4-0 thrashing - and the events of that day suddenly came flooding back. The noise, the smells and above all, the hatred. Even in the empty stadium he could feel it. It was as if every brick, every empty seat and even every blade of grass was letting him know that he wasn’t welcome.

  Rob smiled as if in response and after a few seconds walked down to the gap between the advertising hoardings and strolled out onto the pitch, only stopping to look around when he reached the centre spot.

  He loathed the place. Loathed the club and he especially loathed the fans. Yet thanks to fate, here he was with the future of it all in his hands. Irony didn’t come close.

  ‘What a shit hole,’ he said out loud to himself before shouting ‘Come on you yellows!’ as loudly as he could. The chant ricocheting around the ground before fading into silence. Rob imagined the responses from the enemy but then looked around. He could actually hear them, for real!

  ‘Scum out, scum out!’ it came, drifting over the terrace roof from the mob outside.

  Rob grinned, clapped his hands together in celebration and ignoring the crack of sound which flew around the empty stands, headed briskly back into the bowels of the ground.

  His unexpected and sudden appearance in reception caused uproar and for a second, Rob felt like a rabbit in the headlights as cameras flashed and voices shouted at him.

  However, once acclimatised he dismissed them all with a wave of his hand and headed over to the desk where a shell-shocked Amyleigh was not quite cowering, but certainly keeping her head down.

  ‘Is Mr. Mayes in?’ he asked over the noise.

  ‘Lunch,’ she replied. ‘He’s due back in half an hour’.

  Mention of food again reminded Rob how hungry he was but for now, he would live with that. He had a more pressing issue he wanted to address.

  He grabbed a sheet of paper and pen from the desk and scribbled on it before stuffing it into an envelope.

  ‘Could you please give him that when he gets back? Oh, and any chance of a coffee? And not in a bloody City mug either.’

  Keith Mayes didn’t even bother to knock. He just burst in and was speaking even before he had come to a halt in front of Rob’s desk.

  ‘I’m not having it,’ he said angrily as he waved the note
in Rob’s direction. ‘No way.’

  Rob looked up and smiled.

  ‘I’ll call you back,’ he said, before placing the telephone receiver back onto its cradle.

  ‘So you got my note?’

  ‘You can’t do this,’ he said angrily. ‘What’s the point of changing the music the team run out to?’

  ‘I hate that bloody tune. Z-Cars is much better.’

  ‘And why close the supporters’ club?’ said Mayes. ‘The income-’

  ‘I’ve seen the books,’ interrupted Rob. Half the time it's costing money, not making it. Anyway, it's not about that.’

  ‘So what is it about then? Revenge because they don't like you?’

  ‘I don’t care what they think of me, I shut the supporters’ club down because I don't like them! Simple as that.’

  ‘But the fans make this club what it is. You have to-’

  ‘I don't have to do anything,’ said Rob sharply. ‘I can do what I want. I don't understand why that simple concept hasn't sunk in yet.’

  Mayes stood and stared angrily across the desk at Rob, who stared blankly back.

  ‘So you’ve sacked the manager and now closed the supporters’ club. What’s next? Close down the home end?’

  Rob raised an eyebrow but thought better of reacting. Mayes clearly hadn’t seen Andrea or he would have mentioned the issue of the shirts as well. Best leave that bombshell for now.

  ‘No need to be sarky,’ he said. ‘Look, you know the deal, I explained it all yesterday. There are things here that I’m not gonna put up with. End of.’

  ‘And you need to remember that everyone who works here is a fan of this club. You can’t keep pissing them off and expect them to sit back and accept it.’

  ‘Does that include you?’ asked Rob.

  ‘Bloody right it does,’ replied Mayes with an indignant sniff. ‘I love this club and the only reason I’ve not walked is because I’m not going to let you fuck it over. Not without a fight.’ He paused, then added ‘Mr. Chairman.’

  Rob nodded. So that was it, the lines had been drawn. Yet in all honesty Rob felt a pang of relief because if Mayes was intent on being the thorn in his side, it meant that he had no intention of walking away - and reluctant though he was to admit it, he needed Mayes alongside him. Because truth to tell, he was starting to feel seriously out of his depth. He’d achieved an awful lot in a very short space of time, but everything he’d done thus far had been for his own satisfaction if not enjoyment. He’d barely given any thought to the realities of running a football club on a day-to-day basis and had no real idea of where to start. Mayes had all that knowledge and more, so it was vital that he remained.