Wings of a Sparrow

by Dougie Brimson

  Rob locked eyes with the man and tried to take in the gravity of what he was saying - although it merely confirmed what had been nagging at his own thoughts since his earlier exchange with Gary Rogers.

  With City’s four remaining games against teams who had little or nothing to play for, there was plenty of scope to win enough points to secure their league status, while at the same time staying under the magical fifty one points he needed to secure his inheritance. The only clubs who might kick up a fuss were those who filled the relegation slots but even then it would be impossible to prove anything. Chickens and roosts.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Rob as confidently as he could. But as he headed for the toilet, he felt more nervous than he had for an awfully long time.

  Just as importantly, for the first time he felt totally out of control.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Having been unsettled by events at Roots Hall, Rob had driven home from Southend rather than stay in a hotel and was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and watching Sky Sports News when Jane returned from the post box by the gate.

  ‘Is this right?’ she said as she dumped The Sun on the counter in front of him. ‘Have you ballsed this up?’

  He stared down at the headline on the back page which read Has he blown it? above a picture of him biting his nails, taken the night before.

  ‘Shit!’ he sighed. ‘That’s all I fucking need.’

  ‘I tell you Rob,’ she began only to be interrupted by his mobile bursting into life.

  Rob picked it up and threw her a look.

  ‘Not now OK Jane. Yes dad, what’s up? Well can’t you tell me now? OK, I'll be there as quick as I can.’

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Jane anxiously. ‘Is it Charlie?’

  ‘No. Something else apparently, but he wouldn’t say what. I’ve got to go over.’

  Jane lifted the paper and held it out in front of her.

  ‘We need to talk about this Rob.’

  ‘No we don’t,’ said Rob as he headed for the shower. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

  Jane watched him exit and for a brief second thought about going after him. Not to have a go but because she wanted to do something, anything, to show him that she was sorry and no matter what, was by his side. However, during the personal hell that had been the past few months she had tried that countless times - and on each occasion Rob had thrown it back at her. Painful didn’t come close to it. And now there was this, the very real possibility of failure. She couldn’t even begin to think about how tough it must be for Rob at the moment, let alone how much blame he was placing on her shoulders. Although to be fair, it was probably only a tiny percentage of the blame she had taken upon herself.

  So instead of following him, she walked across to the cupboard next to the fridge, pulled it open and removed a small brightly wrapped box and a slim white envelope, which she placed in front of the kettle. Only once she had done that did Jane sit down and began reading.

  She had just finished when the sound of her husband barrelling down the stairs made her jump and Jane quickly moved across to stand next to the worktop where the small parcel and slim envelope sat awaiting their delivery.

  However, the sound of the front door opening and closing without so much as a goodbye signified that they would remain unopened for a while yet. They also caused a heart to sink and tears to form.

  Almost immediately Jane picked up her phone and texted Charlie, not for any specific reason but because it was something she did when she was hurting and needed some kind of contact with the men who were and always would be at the centre of her life. Yet in her heart she knew that it would remain unanswered just like the countless others she’d sent. That was the worst part of her penance, the cruelty of the loneliness being inflicted on her. And hope as she might, Jane couldn’t see any end to it.

  Rob stood in the doorway and glared at the four men sitting in front of him.

  ‘I don't actually believe what I'm hearing. Where did all this come from?’

  ‘We were talking about it in The Wellington after the game last night,’ said Baz. ‘And well, well- you know.’

  ‘You lot are fucking unreal. What happened to all that traitor crap you’ve been throwing at me for the past few months?’

  ‘Yeah… well…’ stuttered Richie. ‘I know we’ve been giving you shit but I mean, six million quid. That’s a fuck load of money’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’

  ‘Can I say, I’ve actually not given you any shit. I’ve been on your side from day one.’

  Rob looked at Jamie and shook his head. ‘You can fuck right off. I know it was you that wrote that about me in the karzi at The Rosie.’

  ‘Bollocks was it.’

  ‘Oh yeah! How d’you spell anus?’

  ‘A-n-o-s,’ said Jamie.

  ‘It’s a-n-u-s you dopey twat,’ said Rob as the others burst out laughing. ‘And what about you? What’ve you gotta say?’

  Mick looked sheepish as he reached for his cigarette tin and then lit up.

  ‘I just want you to do the right thing. That’s all. Six million is a lot to throw away for a principle.’

  ‘But it’s the bloody scummers. Don’t that mean anything to anyone except me any more?’

  ‘Course it does,’ replied Baz. ‘But at the end of the day mate, the only person who stands to dip out on anything is you.’

  Rob looked around the room and shook his head in utter bewilderment.

  ‘Un-be-fucking-lievable,’ he said.

  Having left his father and his mates, Rob decided on a round of golf rather than go straight home. He really didn’t want to get into anything with Jane at the moment and he knew that was inevitable were he to go back to the house. Besides, he had a lot to think about and was hopeful that 18 holes would provide him with the peace and quiet needed to gather his thoughts.

  However, having suddenly realised he was starving hungry and with a fuel gauge nudging empty,. Both Rob and his Bentley were in urgent need of refuelling, and so at the first opportunity he swung the large black car onto a garage forecourt.

  The nozzle had barely started dumping its expensive product into the tank when he caught sight of a man exiting the kiosk and heading for the blue van which was parked at the pump opposite the Bentley. Although Rob avoided eye contact, he couldn’t help but notice the flash of recognition which flashed across the podgy scum face and the thought here we bloody go! ran through his head.

  ‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ said a gruff voice as the man took station beside his van. ‘You mate, are a tosser. I'd give you a slap but you're not worth it.’

  Even as he was speaking, Rob released the trigger and put the nozzle back onto its holder. However much was in the tank would have to be enough.

  ‘D'you know what makes me laugh?’ continued the man who was seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was being ignored. ‘It’s that if we get relegated the only person who's gonna lose out is you.’

  Rob sighed to himself. After almost 36 hours of purgatory the last thing he needed was some dickhead he didn’t even know giving him grief. He certainly wasn’t going to put up with it.

  ‘OK then pal, how'd you make that out?’ he said flatly in response.

  ‘Because if you think taking us down is going to change anything,’ said the man arrogantly. ‘Then you're a mug. We'll still be there next season and the season after that, because that's what real supporters do.’

  ‘Is that right?

  ‘Yep. But at least we'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you'll have been fucked off with fuck all.’

  Rob watched unsmiling as the man climbed into his seat and after throwing a one fingered salute in his direction, drove off. Only once the van was out of sight did he wander into the kiosk, cursing under his breath as he walked.

  ‘Alright boss. You're the football man aren't you?’ said the attendant as an irritated Rob grabbed a handful of chocolate and pulled his credit card from his wallet.
/>   ‘Yes, I'm the football man,’ he sighed. ‘You gonna slag me off as well?’ he said in frustration.

  ‘No,’ replied the attendant with a smile. ‘But could I say one thing?’

  ‘Why not,’ replied Rob as he pushed his card into the terminal. ‘Everyone else seems happy to stick their bloody oar in lately.’

  ‘Well, if you ask me, what you are doing is wrong. PIN number please.’

  Rob grunted in annoyance as he tapped in his four digits.

  ‘It's not fair,’ continued the attendant.

  ‘Not fair?’ asked Rob. ‘What do you mean not fair?’

  ‘A football club should not be run by someone who has hate in their heart. It’s not fair to those of us who love it. Imagine how you would feel if I was to run United.’

  ‘But if you hate United, you’d do the same as me.’

  ‘But I don’t hate United. I don’t hate anyone. I love City, I love all football.’

  ‘You’ve bloody lost me mate,’ said Rob irritably as he pulled his card from the terminal. ‘Look, I never asked to be in charge of City, I got stuck with it.’

  ‘I understand. But football is about achievements boss. Those are what people get remembered for.’

  ‘Yeah, and?’ moaned Rob who was getting increasingly pissed off with being preached to by people he didn’t even know.

  ‘So what do you want to be remembered for? Hating and losing? Or loving and winning?’

  Rob stared at the smiling attendant for a second before grabbing his chocolate and walking out of the kiosk.

  Within a couple of minutes he’d peeled off the forecourt and was heading not for the golf course, but for George Park.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Given that he rarely went to the ground the day after a game, Rob was a little shocked to find the reception area contained a small group of journalists who were all apparently keen to talk to him. Not that it made any difference as he merely swept past them all and headed up the stairs to his office just as he always did

  ‘Thank God! I’ve been trying to call you,’ said a slightly shocked Joanne as he walked in.

  ‘It’s my day off so my phone’s switched off and whatever it is, I don’t want to know anyway. I just want to lock myself in my office and enjoy some peace and quiet for a while.’

  ‘Why have you come here then?’ she asked, slightly baffled. ‘I’d have thought that this is the last place you’d have wanted to be.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Rob, ‘but someone got me thinking and it seemed like the right place to be although as far as you or anyone else is concerned, I’m not here right?’

  ‘OK then, but could you turn your phone on? Only I need to call you to tell you to get your arse in here immediately.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The board have asked for an urgent meeting.’

  ‘Oh have they now,’ he replied. ‘When?’

  ‘They’re waiting for you in the boardroom. That’s why I was trying to get hold of you.’

  Rob looked at her, slightly bewildered.

  ‘What do they bloody want?’

  ‘Your head perhaps?’

  ‘The way things are going I'm starting to think they’re gonna get it anyway. Maybe even-’

  ‘Don't mention the R word,’ interrupted Joanne abruptly. ‘It's bad luck.’

  ‘Oh bollocks,’ said Rob with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. ‘Let’s see what they want.’

  ‘Oh before you go-’ Joanne reached into her desk drawer and handed him a large white envelope. ‘You might as well have this today. Most of the staff have signed it. I did try to censor the amount of abuse. Happy birthday.’

  ‘Christ, I’d forgotten,’ said Rob as he tore open the envelope and began reading. Only once he had read every message did he look up and give his secretary a beaming smile. ‘Thanks Jo, thanks a lot. Fancy lunch to celebrate?’

  ‘That would be nice,’ she said warmly. ‘I’ll book somewhere expensive since you’re paying.’

  The six members of the board present in the boardroom sat staring at Rob as they waited for a response to their proposal.

  To say it had come like a bolt out of the blue was an understatement and Rob had even been forced to ask them to repeat the basics to make sure that he had actually heard them correctly.

  ‘This is a piss take, right?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Ian Wilson smugly. ‘Look, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that after last night your little stunt has backfired and you’ve blown it.’

  ‘But you can't do this,’ replied Rob, aghast. ‘It's bloody criminal.’

  ‘Christ almighty,’ said scrap man. ‘Hark who’s lecturing us on right and wrong.’

  ‘Actually it's perfectly legal,’ continued Wilson calmly. ‘But we’ve got to do it before the final game of the season. Once the club is placed into trust, it’ll be too late.’

  ‘Because your shares will be worthless,’ added Rob as he settled back in his chair.

  ‘Don’t get all high and bloody mighty with us,’ said scrap man angrily. ‘You've spent all season trying to screw this club, and us for that matter.’

  ‘The fact remains,’ said angry man. ‘Barring a miracle, in a few weeks’ time you’re going to forfeit six million pounds plus. At least this way you'll come out with a decent six figure pay-off.’

  ‘As will you lot,’ Rob pointed out.

  ‘We're businessmen Rob.’

  Rob grunted in response.

  ‘But selling the ground will kill this club. You do know that don’t you?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you wanted all along?’ asked scrap man smarmily.

  ‘There will be provision in the contract for a new ground,’ said angry man, who continued to speak in a calm, almost monotone voice.

  ‘Which will never get built,’ laughed Rob. ‘Don’t take me for a fucking idiot.’

  ‘To be frank Mr. Chairman,’ said kerb crawler. ‘I hardly think you are in a position to lecture us about the ethics of running a football club.’

  Rob looked at the five men and shook his head. He felt sick.

  ‘I always knew people who sat on the boards at clubs were mercenary arseholes.’

  ‘You don’t give a shit about anyone at this club,’ said scrap man, who was almost bristling with anger, ‘so don’t start with the bloody indignation. It don’t suit you.’

  ‘And what if I tell you all to get fucked?’ asked Rob. ‘Or blow your little scheme to the papers?’

  ‘We’d just tell them that you’re trying to make excuses for your own desperate failure,’ said Wilson. ‘I doubt we'd have much trouble getting people to believe us.’

  Rob stood and headed for the door.

  ‘We’ll need an answer fast Mr. Chairman,’ said embalmed. ‘The clock’s ticking.’

  Rob turned round to face the five men.

  ‘D’you know what, these last couple of days I’ve learnt something. No, I’ve been reminded of something. See, I might be a United fan and I might have hated this shite club all my life - but at the end of the day, I'm still a football fan, and without us, this game is fuck all. You lot, you’re not fans, you’re just parasites. Even the scummers deserve better than you.’

  ‘This meeting is over,’ said embalmed in his calm, monotone voice.

  ‘Too fucking right it is,’ said Rob. ‘I've done some stupid things this year but at least I've stuck by my principles. You lot, you couldn't spell the bloody word.’

  Rob stormed into his office in such a fury that even Jo was taken aback.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Is Keith Mayes here?’ Rob said, seemingly oblivious to her question. ‘If not, get him here.’

  ‘OK, but what-’ before Joanne could finish her question, he was gone.

  The journalists who had been tasked by their editors with haunting the reception area at George Park throughout the season had, it’s fair to say, been having quite an easy gig.

  Safe in
the knowledge that Rob would never speak to them, their days had been a mixture of monotony, watching Sky News, drinking the refreshments provided by the club and trying to pull Amyleigh the receptionist, although not one had enjoyed anything remotely approaching success.

  So it was with not a little degree of shock that they greeted the sudden appearance of the club chairman in their midst. As usual, he was enraged - but for the first time, it wasn’t about them. Indeed, for once he actually wanted to talk.

  ‘Listen up!’ shouted Rob to the room. ‘Is there anyone from Sky here?’

  ‘They’re outside having a fag,’ piped up a voice from the back.

  ‘Right, you want to talk to me? Pitchside, ten minutes. And I want that fucking camera there or else.’

  As one, the journalists bolted for the door. Rob waited until most had left before he turned to Amyleigh who looked in total shock.

  ‘Where is Mr. Mayes?’ he asked angrily.

  ‘Of course he’ll take it,’ scoffed Ian Wilson. ‘He’s a fucking council worker. D’you know how long it would take him to earn two hundred K on the shit wages they get paid?’

  ‘Well if he doesn’t-’ said embalmed.

  ‘He will,’ sneered scrap man. ‘He’s got to. Maybe we should speak to that bitch of a wife of his. She’s-’

  The noise of a phone ringing interrupted his chain of thought and he glared at Ian Wilson, who reached into his pocket and answered.

  He listened for a second and then took the phone away from his mouth. ‘Put Sky News on!’

  ‘Is this some kind of desperate last throw of the dice?’

  Rob tried to stare through the glare of the lights and see who had asked the question but in the end, simply gave up and spoke directly into the light which was enveloping him.

  ‘Not at all. I can't say too much but let's just say I've had a few wake-up calls these past few days.’

  ‘But assuming that City aren’t going to reach fifty one points,’ continued the distant voice, ‘given the terms of the late Arthur Cooper’s will, surely this would have happened after the last game of the season anyway. So why do it now?’

  ‘Can we be absolutely clear,’ asked another before Rob could answer. ‘With immediate effect you are putting the 90% shareholding in City into the hands of the supporters.’