by Adam Baron
‘Anyway. I wanted to play so I went down a division to West Brom, followed Dave Harvey who I knew would put me in the side and let me play where I wanted. I scored eight goals in eleven games. That’s where I first got my nickname. It sounded pretty good with a whole stand singing it I can tell you – even if it was in a Brummie accent. But I was only there two months when I did my cruciate. That’s the ligament at the back of your knee…’
‘I know what a cruciate is.’
‘Well, that was the end of that year. And most of the next. What a fucking nightmare. When that healed I finished the season, played in a few reserve games but we got relegated before I was back in the first team. They kept Harvey on and I could have stayed too but Wolves came in for me. They’re a big club and I jumped at it. I was fine for a bit, playing up with Bully, even pushing him out now and then, but I did my groin. Then the gaffer, Don Hughes, put me back in before I was ready, the bastard, because we were chasing the play-offs. I’ve not been right since, to be honest, not until now. Little knocks, then different managers who didn’t have any faith in me. Different clubs. People don’t understand how long it takes to get back, if you’re not given the chance to…’
Alberto appeared with Jack’s Coke and set it down in front of him. Draper gave his famous person’s thank-you nod to the waiter and I tried not to smile at the fact that Alberto had no idea who he was. Draper looked at me, trying to remember where he’d got to. I couldn’t help him. I hadn’t been listening really. I was looking at the pictures he’d brought me. As Alberto moved away I realized he’d forgotten my coffee.
‘So the last thing I need is this. Not now. This is my chance, you know, to show people I belong at the top. And I do belong there. I don’t want to stay at Orient, obviously, but it’s a good platform for me. I’ve been knocking ‘em in from all over the park.’ He couldn’t help a slight smirk creeping across his lips as he said that. ‘But the last couple of games I’ve been off, I haven’t been right, thinking about…that. Still scoring, but not feeling right. I’m not getting any younger. This is my chance, I know it, and I want that sorted, I really need to find out which bastards—’
Draper was getting overexcited and I stopped him. It was my turn to look around the restaurant. ‘Jack,’ I said. ‘Slow down. When did this all start? How long have you been getting these? The pictures? You haven’t even told me how you got them.’ I put the prints on the table while Draper took a breath, his impatience flooding out of him like a wave.
‘A month or so.’ He shook his head, as if he’d just been given offside. ‘A bit more. They’ve just been coming in the mail. Plain envelopes, nothing else in them. To start with I just thought it was weird, a fan or something. It freaked the missus out but I wasn’t that bothered.’
‘So why did you decide to find me today? Nicky said you weren’t keen on getting anyone’s help.’
‘It’s the last one. My wife, she kind of insisted I speak to you. Or someone. That last one. She told me I had to get it sorted.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘When did that happen?’
‘That was today. I took the picture myself, just for proof. It’s the last straw.’
‘I can see how it would be.’
‘I mean, that’s sick, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not usual.’
‘It’s fucking sick and I want it sorted. The others, that’s spooky but I know how to handle myself. But I don’t know what to make of this kind of shit.’
Draper picked the photo up from the table. It was a Polaroid and he stared at it, his mouth open, shaking his head. The rest of the shots on the table were black and white, taken with a zoom. They looked like the sort of prints someone like me would take – if I ever did any divorce work that is, something I’ve so far been successful in avoiding. But maybe someday I’d be forced into it, like playing for Leyton Orient when you’d once been the new star at Elland Road.
There were six pictures in all and the first two featured Draper. In one he was on a suburban street, getting into a car, a blue Jeep Renegade. The second showed him walking away from a house, probably on the same street. There followed a shot of a street sign, one of a number plate, presumably Jack’s Renegade, and one of the Renegade leaving from the front gate of Leyton Orient football club. The last one was of a woman, an attractive woman in her mid to late twenties pushing a pram. I raised an eyebrow as I turned it round in my fingers.
‘Louise,’ Draper said, nodding. ‘And Tommy, our little boy. I was freaked out enough when I got that one, and that’s when I did tell Nicky about it and he suggested you. I wanted to wait a bit, though, I thought things would become clearer first, I’d be contacted, told what it was someone was trying to prove. That they knew where I lived? Big fucking deal, I’d have said. But they didn’t, I didn’t hear anything. Then this happened.’
He handed back the Polaroid and for some reason I had another look at it. I don’t know why. I knew what it showed and it wasn’t exactly a pleasant thing to look at even after your dinner. It was in colour, naturally, and was of the back door of a house, or garden flat. There was nothing at all unusual about the door, which was a stained wood with four frosted panes, but there was definitely something unusual about what was stuck on it. Hanging from a nail was a head shot of Jack in his kit, taken from a magazine. The picture was hanging upside down, Jack’s big, inverted grin more like a grimace. Also fixed on the nail was the severed head of what looked to have been a large, silver tabby cat.
The cat was staring into the lens like a misplaced and very lifelike gargoyle. I couldn’t remember actually having seen a dead cat before and was surprised by the slightly comic look on its face, a small pink tongue poking out of its mouth. I wasn’t laughing, though. It was a pretty gruesome sight, made more so by the fact that there was quite a lot of blood staining the picture beneath it, running down Draper’s upturned face to the door underneath.
I slid the photo under the others, then looked back across the table. Jack looked like a manager knocked out of the cup by an own goal.
‘My neighbour’s boy found it. Can you believe that? He’s always coming round – my wife’ll give him a glass of milk. She babysits him sometimes too and I kick a ball around with him in the garden and stuff. Hasn’t got a mum. He came round after school. Louise had come in the front door and she hadn’t seen it. Can you imagine what running into that sort of thing’ll do to a ten-year-old kid?’
I wasn’t sure, actually. Kids can be an amazingly resilient bunch. My younger brother Luke and I certainly had to be, or else there wouldn’t have been a whole lot of us left. Not with Rucker senior around. But I’ve also heard that one single trauma can affect your life for ever, if it happens at the wrong time.
I nodded. ‘And you want me to look into who’s behind all this?’
‘I don’t want Rolf Harris to come round and see if he can cure the poor fucking thing! Yes. There’s been no notes or anything, no indication at all. I’ve got a couple of ideas, the photos possibly but I can’t believe they’d actually do that!’
I had another look at the picture and thought about it. Jack was shaking his head. His leg had stopped moving but he was tapping the corner of the table with his thumbnail instead. I picked up the shot of his wife and child.
‘You know they may be unrelated?’ I said. ‘The cat’s head, that could just be kids. Who are your local rivals?’
‘At Orient? West Ham are the nearest but we don’t compete. We wish.’
‘But it could be rival fans?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose, but…’
‘And the other?’
‘Well, I’ve pissed off a few people in the press, other players and stuff. Other people. I’ve made a list, but how the hell I’ll ever know who it was…’
‘And the police? What are they doing? Someone obviously knows your movements and where you live. With this last thing I can’t see them failing to put someone out to watch you, keep an eye on your wife at least. The pictures on th
eir own, I’m not sure, but they would have to take it seriously now. Who are you dealing with?’
I reached into my jacket for a pen. My notebook was in my bag, but as I bent down to it I stopped. The look on Draper’s face told me I wouldn’t be needing it. He let out a breath and turned his head to the side. Then he picked up his Coke. I left my bag where it was.
‘You haven’t told them.’
My tone must have given away what I was thinking. Draper met my eye but he didn’t say anything.
‘You’re afraid it’ll get out. Yes? There’ll be headlines.’ Still, he didn’t speak. I shrugged. ‘What does it matter? You’ll just get better known, you’ll just get more for that column you write.’
‘I don’t want to be a fucking journalist! Listen, I can’t go to the Bill. It will get out. That’s why I’m using you. Because Nick said you were good, and I could trust you.’
There was a slight hint of a threat in his voice that I decided to ignore. I gave him a look that said, ‘Go on.’ He leaned forward, making an effort to lower his voice.
‘I’m looking to move, okay. My agent tells me some of the big boys are interested. I need someone to sort it, and not say anything.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s your choice. But it’s the police you should contact. More than likely the sight of a squad car will scare off someone with a grudge, or local kids. And if it is more serious, and the two things are related, well, that makes it doubly important. They have pictures of your wife. Doesn’t that worry you?’
‘Of course it worries me. This is all about my wife!’ The volume had gone up again. The guy to my right, who had clocked Draper, looked round. ‘And my kid. Do you think the likes of Man U would go near me if they thought I was hassle? Football’s all squeaky clean now, it’s all role models and shit. Listen, I’ve thought this out, okay? It’s my last chance, it’s the last chance for Louise and for Tommy. A year or two at United or Villa or some place like that and I’m sorted. My contract’s up at the end of the season and so I won’t cost anything. I know someone will come in for me – if I’m not any sort of risk – and pay me big money. That’s why I need you.’
‘Well,’ I said, shaking my head, ‘All I could do is look into it, which would still leave you wide open, or else keep watch on your house. I couldn’t even do that alone, not effectively, twenty-four hours, and even if I could you wouldn’t necessarily learn anything. You need someone to watch yourself and your wife all day, and someone else to find out what’s going on. You really need the police. And if not them then a big company, someone like the TBG Agency, with enough people to cover you and do some delving—’
‘And it would get to the press even quicker.’
‘So, let it. And let it sort itself out,’ I said. ‘Then it’ll be over and people will see it’s not your fault, you’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘By which time my cruciate’s gone again! Or I can’t find the net because of it all and this time that’s it. I’m thirty-two years old. It can’t come out, it just can’t. So I’m asking you!’
By now, he was almost shouting at me. I didn’t like it.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want to give you a false idea—’
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Wait a minute. It’s not like I’m asking a favour here. I’m going to pay. I thought that’s what you did – investigate things for money?’
He pulled out a clip of notes from his back pocket and started pulling some off it. I didn’t like that any better than the shouting.
‘I’m working more than enough at the moment,’ I said, and felt pretty stupid as soon as I’d said it.
‘Oh? I’ll pay you double. Listen, this is my family I’m talking about. All I’m asking is that you keep an eye on our house.’
‘And like I told you, how can I do even that twenty-four hours a day? I suppose I could get someone in, just to sit and watch—’
‘I don’t want anyone else involved. Nick vouched for you but…’
‘Well, there you go then. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help. And it seems to me that if you actually did care about your wife’s safety you wouldn’t give a lorry load of shit what the papers said.’
I sat back and folded my arms. The conversation had somehow got away from me. The man opposite me took a deep breath and shook his head. He looked like he just couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t getting his way. But he was also scared. His eyes looked pinched, I could see the effects of pressure on him. He frowned to himself and suddenly it was as if I didn’t exist. I could see him wracking his brains, starting over, trying to think of another way to fix it. I let out a breath and shook my head.
I was about to tell him okay. I’d spend some time outside his house. I’d look out for his wife, tell him to send her to a friend’s or something. Then I could wait in the house, see if anyone else came by with any more offerings. Maybe I’d catch them delivering the rest of the cat. I’d have to find that book I got for Christmas once. I held my palms up and tried to catch his eye. I was about to say his name when he stood up.
‘Well, fuck you,’ he said. More people heard him, and turned. The girl at the table opposite plunged her eyes right in. ‘It wasn’t a counsellor I wanted but a private detective. I’ll just have to find one who wants to detect things. Nick told me you were a good guy, but I can see he’s lost his judgment over the years. I hope the next time you’ve got a problem someone tells you that you don’t give a shit about your family.’
I sighed. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘Jack…’
But before I could get out of my chair he was gone.
Chapter Four
It didn’t make me feel very good. When I thought about it I could understand his feelings. He wasn’t a bad person. He was just trying to juggle the various aspects of his life, which now included a very worrying new element. He didn’t want to turn the matter over to the police because he was scared that if he tried to put any one of the balls down he’d drop the whole lot. I could see why he didn’t want to blow his big chance. And the reason why I’d told him no had nothing to do with what I’d told him, not really. I just didn’t like him, that was all. I didn’t exactly know why. Maybe it had something to do with being well known and admired – and knowing it. I also knew that he’d been out with Shulpa when they were young but it couldn’t possibly have been that. Could it? It wouldn’t have been the first surprise I’d had since meeting Nicky’s sister. Whatever it was, he got my back up.
I pushed my chair behind me and stood up. I was annoyed. I still couldn’t see how I’d let the conversation run away like that. Draper was a friend of Nicky’s, I should have handled it better than that. I was also pretty interested in what he’d told me – looking into what was going on was bound to be a bit more stimulating than taking pictures of young girls in the cold looking for businessmen to jerk off. Oh well. I looked for Alberto but couldn’t see him. I slid a ten-pound note underneath the saucer, then sighed to myself and dropped two pound coins next to it. I moved towards the exit faintly aware that I’d just created trouble for myself. The place was pretty well rammed by now and my table was pounced on with the speed of a SWAT team by a couple who’d obviously been keeping me under tight surveillance for some time. I made my way through the smoke and the hubbub and stepped out onto the market.
It was dark, but not quite as cold-seeming, though a feather-fine rain had decided to fall. The light snow from the morning had transformed into patches of wet, spawn-like slurry that glowed orange from the street lamps. I stood for a second, breathing the damp, fetid air, listening to the amorphous rumbling in the bar behind me. I pictured Shulpa again. A cab trundled past and my hand itched in my coat pocket but I left it there. I strolled down the street towards my flat.
Thoughts of my bed floated into my head like rose petals on a warm breeze. I wasn’t going to call Shulpa, or go round. I needed space from her. It was all moving too fast. I felt myself slipping away into something that I wasn’t exactly sure about, as if one part
of myself was leaving the rest of me behind. I knew which part it was. I followed the rose petals to my door. It would be the first time I’d been alone in my bed for almost a week and as soon as I’d made the decision I knew it was the right one. I was lost in thoughts of sliding in between crisp cold sheets when a football came scooting across the wet street towards me. I stopped it with my right foot and looked up at three young kids twenty yards ahead of me, all of them wearing Arsenal shirts, with sweatshirts underneath. TWo of them were in red but the last one wore yellow. That kid must have come over from somewhere else to play. The kids were looking at me, all of them with their hands on their hips.
I kicked the ball back to them and the one in the yellow shirt trapped it with his instep and performed a neat turn. When I got level with them he said, ‘You an Arsenal fan?’
I stopped, folded my arms. ‘No,’ I said.
‘What are you then?’
I smiled. ‘Forest.’
The three kids thought that was pretty funny.
‘We just saw Jack Draper,’ the kid in the yellow said.
‘Yeah? Really? Give you any tips, did he?’
‘Nah, told us to fuck off. Wanker.’
I smiled. Poor old Jack, he would have to learn how to deal with his public at Man U a whole lot better than that.
The kid in the away strip had his foot on the ball. I made as if to walk past him, up towards my flat, but then ducked left and tried to take the ball off him. He was too quick. He ran his foot over and knocked it to his friend. He put his hands back on his hips and shook his head while his mates ran off.
‘You’re as bad as he is. Leyton fucking Orient!’
I shook my head. ‘See you,’ I said, laughing.
‘Au revoir,’ the kid said.
* * *
