Wings of a Sparrow

by Dougie Brimson

  ‘Come on then Mr. Secretary,’ said Rob as he dragged himself to his feet. ‘We have a press conference in fifteen minutes and I don’t know about you, but I need a slash first.’

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Jane shut her eyes and shook her head as she struggled to work out which was the more horrific, the footage of her husband being shown on the television, the attitude of that same husband who was now sitting across from her watching it, or the looks on the faces of both her father-in-law and her son who were similarly absorbed.

  ‘Are you not embarrassed?’ she finally asked.

  ‘Rewind it,’ said Rob excitedly.

  ‘Clearly not,’ Jane muttered to no one in particular as for the fourth time, Sky Sports anchor Chris Skudder began running through his item.

  ‘Well there was more drama at City today when the much-anticipated first press conference by controversial new owner Rob Cooper descended into chaos.’

  The screen cut to footage of Rob sitting behind the long table in the boardroom. To his left sat Keith Mayes, to his right, Gary Rogers. Even as it did so, Jane noticed the three men sitting with her lean forward slightly.

  ‘It started well enough,’ continued the TV, ‘with the chairman first outlining the bizarre sequence of events which have gripped the football world over the last week and then introducing ex-United legend Gary Rogers as the new manager. Then this happened.’

  ‘Well,’ began Gary Rogers, ‘I met the players briefly this morning and-’

  Even as he spoke, shouting broke out from the assembled press pack and the camera panned round to see two men standing in the middle of the room, each wearing City shirts and neither looking particularly friendly.

  ‘This is a bang out of order,’ shouted one.

  ‘Bring back Ray Ellis,’ said the other. ‘City, City!’

  Suddenly, from behind the camera, Rob’s voice could be heard shouting in response, although much was drowned out by the beeps which had been dubbed over the film. His volley of abuse was returned by the two men, who by now could be seen with Rob on a wide shot taken on a mobile phone.

  ‘BEEP off back to United you BEEPer and take that fat twBEEP with you!’

  As the slanging continued, Rob jumped up and adopted a full on geezer pose before being dragged through the door at the back of the room by a clearly annoyed Gary Rogers. Even as he was being pushed out, Rob could clearly be heard shouting United! at the top of his voice.

  ‘By the time things had calmed down,’ said an obviously amused Chris Skudder, ‘the chairman had left the ground for what we were told were personal reasons.’

  ‘They were,’ said Rob. ‘I had to come see my boy!’

  ‘When he said fat twat,' asked Jane sarcastically, ‘did he mean you or that other bloke?’

  ‘Will you two shut up,’ said Mick. ‘We’re watching.’

  ‘It’s on Sky Plus. You’ve seen it four times already,’ said Jane.

  ‘Watch this bit,’ said Rob smiling as he watched Chris Skudder turn to the news anchor.

  ‘This is one of those situations that fans dream about isn't it Chris? Tell me, you’re a Birmingham fan - if someone handed you Aston Villa, would you do the same?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ came the reply without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘Proper football fan, that Skudder bloke,’ said Mick as he clicked the TV off. ‘Well son, gotta say I’m impressed you sticking up for yourself like that. And Gary Rogers, inspired.’

  ‘That’s nothing,’ said Rob with a grin. He walked out into the hall and returned a second later with a carrier bag, from which he pulled out a brand new City shirt.

  ‘Why’ve you brought that bloody rag into my house?’ said his father irritably.

  Ignoring his father, Rob held the shirt up facing him and then turned it round to reveal the words Wings of a Sparrow emblazoned across the front.

  ‘Ta dah!’

  ‘Sod me,’ laughed Mick. ‘You ain’t gonna sell many of those!’

  ‘I’m not worried about that. These are what the players are going to be wearing for the rest of the season,’ said Rob triumphantly. ‘Can you imagine how pissed off that’s going to make the scummers?’

  ‘Nice,’ said Charlie with a respectful nod - a gesture that gladdened Rob’s heart, even though he didn’t acknowledge it.

  Jane looked at the three men in her life and felt a pang of sadness. Although she’d never given it any voice she had always been jealous of the relationship her husband had enjoyed with their son. He loved her as much as any son can love his mum, she had never doubted that for a second, but Rob and Charlie weren’t just father and son, they were mates. And here they were again, not rubbing her nose in it, but unknowingly pushing her back into her place. Her isolation.

  Yet in spite of everything, she would rather have that than what she’d had to endure over the past couple of days. Not having Charlie around had been eating her up, and she hadn’t even begun to consider how she would cope long term. How could she? As she watched the three idiots laughing and joking together, she began to hope that maybe he would soon come back to her. But she knew in her heart if that happened it would be because of Rob, not because of her. And no matter how much she tried to ignore that simple truth, it still broke her heart.

  ‘Come on you three,’ she said, composing herself to disguise her pain. ‘Can we go and eat now?’

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Jane stormed into the kitchen and slammed her handbag down onto the kitchen top before hitting the switch on the kettle. If ever she needed a cup of tea, it was now.

  Behind her strolled a contrite Rob, his jacket covered in various foodstuffs ranging from gravy to custard. He walked to the sink, picked up a cloth and began wiping himself down.

  ‘Just take it off,’ said Jane. ‘It’ll have to be cleaned properly.’

  Rob sighed and slid the jacket from his shoulders as he watched Jane busying herself making the tea and waited for the inevitable onslaught. You didn’t stay married for as long as he did without knowing your partner’s way of doing things - and in cases like this, there was calm, then there was storm. Then more storm, then calm. Then silence. She hadn’t said a word since they’d left the restaurant, so it was only a matter of time before she blew up. Maybe she just needed a prompt.

  ‘Can we just get this over with?’

  ‘All I wanted,’ she began as Rob smiled to himself in that knowing here we go fashion, ‘was a nice meal with Charlie and what do I get? A bloody Carry On movie.’

  ‘What else could I do?’

  ‘You could have just ignored him.’

  ‘He called me an arsehole.’

  ‘You are an arsehole,’ she replied angrily. ‘And so's your bloody father!’

  Rob started to laugh but noticing the look on his wife’s face, quickly suppressed it.

  ‘You think this is funny?’ Jane raged.

  ‘I was just thinking of the old man dipping his bread roll in his soup before throwing it at that bloke. That was genius.’

  ‘This is what it's going to be like isn't it?’ bristled Jane. ‘People giving you grief everywhere we go.’

  ‘They hate me, I hate them. It’s how it works,’ he said with a shrug.

  ‘But don't you ever get bored of acting like a child? It’s bloody pathetic.’

  ‘Not to me it isn’t,’ he replied stoically. ‘It’s the way it is. And I tell you something else, if I know anything about football it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.’

  Jane looked at Rob and shook her head. Sometimes she wondered if she actually knew anything about him at all.

  ‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied with a smile. ‘It’s all part of the fun.’

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Andrea Barker placed the telephone back onto its cradle and stared at the A4 sheet of notes she’d just made.

  After a few seconds, she took her calculator and began adding up
the various figures - although even before she hit the button for the final tally, she knew what it was going to tell her.

  ‘Shit,’ she said out loud to herself as she looked at the small LCD screen. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  Barely five minutes later, Rob was staring at the same piece of paper as Andrea stood over him, her face the very picture of irritation.

  He looked up at her and smiled. She could have sworn she could see smugness seeping through his veins.

  ‘So that's everything sold then?’

  ‘Hoardings, programme adverts, the lot,’ she sighed.

  ‘Excellent. And what's happening on the ticket front?’

  ‘Last time I checked, season ticket sales are up and tomorrow looks like being a sellout.’

  Rob rocked back in his chair and rubbed his hands together. He so wanted to say I told you so but, having noted Andrea’s expression, thought it might not be such a good idea.

  ‘Good work,’ he said. ‘So let’s have it then. What’s wrong?’

  Andrea paused for a second and took a deep breath. She’d never given anyone both barrels before and although tempted, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She could however, water it down a bit. She just needed the right words.

  ‘Because, strange as it might seem to you, I am actually a City fan, and what you're doing - well to be blunt, it pisses me off. There, you asked.’

  Rob looked at her, a faint smile on his lips.

  ‘So me doing my best to ensure that one way or another this club is going to have a better season than the last one, that’s shit is it?’

  ‘I didn't mean that.’

  ‘I know what you meant. But trust me, I hate being here as much as you hate me being here.’

  A knock on the door interrupted him but before he could say anything, the door flew open and Gary Rogers entered, waving a sheet of paper.

  ‘Team for tomorrow Mr. Chairman,’ he said as he dropped the paper on the desk

  Gary grinned up at his hero like a teenager, still totally in awe of his manager.

  ‘You don’t have to call me Mr. Chairman Gary. I’d prefer Rob.’

  ‘No can do,’ said his manager. ‘It’s tradition. You’re Mr. Chairman.’

  ‘OK,’ replied Rob, slightly disappointed. ‘Everything OK?’

  Gary glanced nervously across at Andrea, who immediately excused herself.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The lads aren't happy about the new shirts.’

  ‘Oh, is that right?’ said Rob indignantly.

  The manager shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He’d been around football a long time but, like everyone, this was all new to him and he had no idea how to react.

  ‘Look, can I say something? Players are like racehorses. If they're unsettled, they're useless. All this stuff going on around the club, it's-’

  Rob stared at him, feigning bewilderment.

  ‘Are you telling me they're unhappy?’ he said incredulously.

  ‘Well, yeah. They think you’re taking the piss.’

  Rob settled back in his chair and interlocked his fingers before stretching out his arms and cracking his knuckles.

  ‘Well, maybe I should put their minds at rest.’

  Gary Rogers stared across the desk at his Chairman and sighed to himself. He liked Rob, liked him a lot. After all, he’d given him a much -needed job and a decent salary to boot. But he was starting to have a bad feeling about what was going to unfold. A very bad feeling indeed.

  After what seemed an age, Rob pressed the ‘save’ button on his document for the final time and sank back against his chair.

  So that was it. Everything was in there, from the saga of the will right through to his plans for City and its fans for the coming season. Rob hadn’t left much out but then again, he hadn’t really seen the point. After all, the press would no doubt scrutinise every word anyway, so he might as well be upfront.

  He had no real idea of what people were going to make of it, but that was for them to deal with, not him. He just hoped that the United fans would get a kick out of it. That was all that really mattered.

  Not for the first time, Rob’s thoughts turned to the game tomorrow. In truth, he was starting to get very jittery at the thought of having to take his seat in the directors’ box, especially knowing that the ground was going to be rammed solid. He’d been to enough derby games over the years to know what hostility felt like - and he was under no illusions that he would be facing the most hate-fuelled atmosphere he’d ever encountered. But he also knew that no matter how nervous he might be, he was going to have to do it. If only to show the scummers that he meant business.

  He only wished that Jane wasn’t insisting on coming. Rob had tried everything to dissuade her, explaining at length what it would almost certainly be like, but she’d been adamant. As the chairman’s wife, she felt it only right that she be there. Daft cow.

  With a sigh, Rob turned his attention to his keyboard. Within minutes, the most important editorial of his entire writing career had been sent out into cyberspace, and he was up and heading for home.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Rob had tried standing, then pacing. Now he was in that state where he didn’t know what to do, except that he had to be doing something. Anything to burn off the nervous energy which was boosting his blood pressure to the point where, if he remained static, he would have a full -blown coronary. Either that, or he’d explode and spray the contents of his body all over the pristine hall walls.

  For what felt like the millionth time he glanced at his watch - and could have sworn he actually felt a vein pop.

  ‘Will you get a fucking move on!’ he shouted a little too desperately. ‘We should be on the way by now. You know I want to be there by half 12.’

  Hearing nothing in return, Rob threw his hands up in frustration and began pacing again, muttering abuse and curses under his breath - every syllable aimed directly at his wife.

  This had been the morning he’d secretly been dreading. The one where, in spite of all the bravado and bullshit, he was actually going to have to face everyone and everything - the fans, the press and the one thing fundamental to the whole process, the actual football. For the simple truth was that everything revolved around the eleven men who Gary Rogers was going to send on the pitch and that process started today. If they didn’t, or couldn’t, do the business, he was screwed. And the irony of wanting and needing City to do well was eating him up.

  His mood had not been helped by a series of sarcastic, if not abusive, texts from his so-called mates. Ironically, the only one which had wished him anything but ill luck had come from Charlie. That at least was a positive.

  ‘So how do I look?’

  Rob glanced up in the direction of his wife and let forth a silent sigh of relief. He’d been terrified that she’d go over the top and wear something best suited to a Buckingham Palace garden party and for the one and only time in their marriage had actually asked Jane in advance what she was going to wear. Thankfully, she’d judged it perfectly, and although a knee-length red dress with black heels might not be appropriate for the terraces, it was ideal for the boardroom.

  ‘You look great,’ he said, meaning it. ‘Look, are you really sure about this? It could get a bit rough you know.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ she replied, ‘I’m the chairman’s wife. I do have one question though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘If I’m dressed like this, why the bloody hell are you dressed like that?’ Rob looked down at himself, adorned in his favourite Lacoste shirt, best jeans and a pair of almost new Adidas Gazelles.

  ‘This is what I always wear to football. What’s wrong with it?’

  Fifteen minutes later, freshly suited and wearing a nondescript tie as opposed to the United one he’d wanted to wear, Rob walked across the drive to the Bentley, where Jane was standing patiently by the passenger door. Pressing the button on the key fob, he pulled open the driver’s door
and moved to climb inside - only to stop when he caught sight of the get-the-fuck-round-here-and-open-the-door-for-me look on Jane’s face. With a sigh, Rob hurried around the car and with a sarcastic bow of his head, pulled open the door and ushered her into the plush interior.

  ‘Perhaps madam would prefer to sit in the back?’ he said sarcastically as he settled into the driver’s seat. ‘She can wave at the poor people.’

  ‘What madam would prefer is for you to stop acting like a dick and start acting like a gentleman.’

  ‘Of course madam,’ muttered Rob. ‘Three bags full madam. I still don't know why you want to come anyway. You never wanted to come to United.’

  ‘This is slightly different,’ she sniffed.

  For the hundredth time that morning Rob sighed and after starting the car and taking a moment to revel in the mechanical purr, put it into drive. Slightly different. Of all the things he’d heard over the past week, that was quite possibly the most accurate.

  Thirty minutes later, Rob yet again pulled the car to a halt. This was a bloody nightmare. Less than half a mile from the ground and stuck in stationary traffic. Still, at least they had time on their side. He might have told Jane he wanted to be at the ground by 12.30pm but that was to make sure she was ready in time. 1pm was his true target.

  Rob glanced around at his surroundings. Tattered shops and tattered people - and there in the middle of it all, reflected back at him in the dusty window of a secondhand kitchen appliance shop sat a shiny black Bentley. It couldn’t have looked more out of place if it had tried and he suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. He’d already noticed the odd glance from people as they’d crawled along in the traffic, but now he was stopped. Bollocks.