TWELVE

Now you can probably work out that a man carrying 20 grand at an airport with the dress sense of Yousufine might have a few problems. After all, I knew airport staff were looking for these beady-eyed types because of 11/9 and 7 All. I obviously didn’t expect anything as bad as this happening to old Yousufine but I still got the post-match jitters when he called from Manchester Airport saying staff had been doing random checks on passengers to Islamabad.

‘They took passport,’ he said, although his voice were nearly drowned out by the noise of shuffling feet and squeaky trolleys.

‘Don’t worry, as long as they don’t check your hand luggage thoroughly, you’re fine,’

‘They already checked…’

‘WHAT?’

‘They check but not right inside the boots…’

Fuck me Yousufine, don’t scare us like that again. For a moment there, I thought you’d been nobbled. I told you there were nothing like filthy football boots to stash things in. No-one wants to put their mitts right into the toe area. And anyhow, you’re not the most spick and span of fellas so it’s ideal for you.

‘Okay, how long have they had your passport?’ I asked.

‘Few minutes…’

‘Well, Jamil tells us you’ll probably get it back pretty soon…as long as you haven’t got any dodgy previous.’

He didn’t answer and I could only hear the screeching of trolleys.

‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes…I think he’s coming…’

‘Who?’

‘Man with passport…okay I speak later…Allah hafiz.’

He ended the call a bit quicker than I expected but I were satisfied that he’d be in Islamabad shortly with a cool two mill.

Shazia wanted us to meet her but, as usual, she chose the worst place possible to have a chinwag: a busy Budgens store in the town centre. So I went in there with dark glasses and held on to her trolley so that everyone would think I’m as blind as a ref.

‘I just wanted to warn you about her,’ said Shazia, sporting a silk green hijab along with black shalwar kameez. She picked up a can of kidney beans and put it in the trolley. ‘Mrs Latif lies a lot and she’s a fantasist.’

‘I know, she came to my house.’

She stopped the trolley and looked at us, her cheeks even more pronounced because of the tightness of the hijab.

‘What did she say?’

‘Nothing much,’ I said, trying to keep the trolley moving. ‘Just that I should stay away from Shazia, that kind of thing. Oh, and that Abujee and Ibrahim did some kind of deal so I’d marry Rukhsana.’

‘She wants to destroy everything, that’s all. Just don’t believe a word she says.’

My mobile beeped and I picked it out of my pocket. I read the message. ‘Molly sent it…he says we’ve drawn Everton in the FA Cup at home.’ I looked round the supermarket. ‘Fuck, I forgot all about that…it were the FA Cup draw.’

‘Are they any good?’

‘Who?’

‘Everton?’

‘Aye, not bad.’

She smiled and looked away. ‘You’re not playing anyway, are you?’

I put my mobile back in my pocket. ‘Were there anything else?’

‘Not really,’ she said, moving the trolley again. ‘But I’m going to open that Sufferer Jets place soon, and I wanted to see if you can get a couple of players round to open it. I’ve already asked Jim if the paper would be interested and he said yes, so getting someone from the club over would be good.’

‘I’ll ask Jamil and he’ll probably get it sorted.’

She stopped the trolley again and turned to look at us. She put her hand on my shoulder and smiled. ‘Look, I know all the Ibrahim stuff’s been a bit difficult, but it’s gone now, so we can all move on.’

‘I’ve forgotten about it already, although Rukhsana does want us find the ball.’

‘What ball?’

‘The one Ibrahim and us played with at Starcot Lane.’

She took her hand off my shoulder and moved off. ‘I don’t think you should do that.’

‘Why not?’

She picked up a can of mushy peas and threw it into the trolley. ‘Because, we’re your family and you should listen to us.’

Now stop me if I’m wrong but aren’t you just stating the bleeding obvious? Unless some prossie had a satisfying night and chose to leave us on the doorstep of 73 Simpkiss Street because she couldn’t keep us, I’m Tahir and Ruby Karim’s loveless lad.

‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ I said. ‘I’ve got training in ten minutes.’

She put her hand on my shoulder again. ‘I’m sorry about that Sadiq, I didn’t mean it. Rukhsana’s a lovely girl. All I’m saying is that her mother’s a troublemaker, so you should watch out for her.’

‘I will,’ I said, bending down to give her a small hug. ‘See you soon.’

The call from Yousufine – to tell me he’d arrived safely in Faisalabad – were an early Christmas present. And the customs bods at Islamabad also got a present because Yousufine had to slip them £100 to get them off his back. One of the burly fellas – and Yousufine said he were – took one of the boots out of his hand luggage and asked him why he didn’t have a cricket bat rather than football boots. He said that Yousuf were a traitor for bringing that ‘Western game’ to these shores. Yousufine agreed and handed over the notes to get his boots back.

My own boots, however, had more chance of freezing up than being worn out after our trip to the Stadium of Light. We ended up being 90 minutes late for the game against Sunderland because of treacherous conditions on the A1. By the time we got there it were nearly 9.30pm and most of the fans had gone home because it were so cold. After Bowker, the ref, the Sunderland boss and a Premier League official had argued for another 30 minutes, we eventually kicked off at 10pm. Then at half-time, one of the linesman – they’ll never be referee’s assistants in my book – fell asleep because it were so late and had to be replaced by the fourth official. It were 15 minutes past midnight by the time we finished, but we managed to escape with a goalless draw.

But the club’s Christmas party were one thing we couldn’t escape. Mr Starmer insisted all the ‘troops’ turned up at the Albion Suite to enjoy the occasion as we couldn’t afford to go elsewhere. The chairman, Bowker and the rest of the staff turned into waiters, chefs and bus-boys for the night and served the team their festive grub. Mr Starmer were adamant the team should treat the staff like ‘kaffirs’ for a night, so they could taste power and feel like proper men. Kai, however, took this a bit too literally and kept making Mr Starmer pick up his steak off the floor.

We were also entertained by Jim and Jam, who were both dressed as Santas. Jimmy were pretty convincing as Father Christmas but Jamil were a bit too lean and polished: a bit more like the Son of Santa whose father dabbled a bit on the dark side.

Their first gift to the players were a book called the Foreigners Guide to London, after all, our next two games were against West Ham and Chelsea.

Just as I were getting into the swing of things, my mobile rang and I had to pull out. I rushed out of the suite and down towards the double doors of the players’ entrance. I pushed them open but nearly fell over as the ferocious wind and frosty step below unsettled us like a boxer reeling from a right hook.

‘Hello?’ I said, leaning against the wall.

‘Sid?’ said Rukhsana, ‘Sorry, for calling you but it’s about Yousuf…

‘Hmm…’

‘He didn’t come home yesterday. I was just wondering if you might have heard anything.’

Well, I did hear some notes rustling, a trolley screeching and a big super-dooper plane flying off into the old Raj but that were in the past. I haven’t heard anything since.

‘No, I don’t know anything about it.’

‘He went to work and didn’t come home. I’ve called his work and they said he did the full shift.’ She paused for a moment and sighed. ‘Anyway, I don’t care. When he needs some grub, he’ll be back. Look, about that ball. I put an ad in the Chronicle about three weeks ago and someone rang in…’

‘Aye…’

‘It was an ambulance driver called Eric…really nice man…anyway he said that he picked the ball up from Starcot Lane.’

‘Cheeky bastard, he were supposed to be saving Ibrahim’s life, not nicking balls.’

‘It doesn’t matter, he’s given me his number so I’m going round there now. What are you doing at the moment?’

‘I’m at the club’s Christmas do…’

‘Well, if you want to come it’s up to you.’

I switched the mobile over to my left ear.

‘Wait a minute, aren’t you worried about Yousuf?’

‘I never worry about anything I don’t have control over.’

I recognised Eric as soon as he came to the door, even though he were off duty. His short grey hair and long nose would forever be etched in my memory as he stooped over Ibrahim’s face and examined his eyes. But his short-sleeved light blue shirt and fluorescent yellow jacket had been replaced by a dark brown woolly jumper and grey trousers. He invited us in but Rukhsana didn’t want to hang around.

‘So have you got it then?’ asked Rukhsana, as we walked into the living room.

‘Erm, yes that’s what I wanted to speak to you about,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘Just go straight through into the kitchen.’

We walked into the kitchen and I sat down on the stool near the fridge. Rukhsana pulled out a wooden chair from the table.

‘So you have got it, haven’t you?’ asked Rukshana, in a soft voice.

‘Erm, yes I did,’ said Eric, ‘but I haven’t now.’

Rukhsana tutted and looked away.

‘I know I shouldn’t have,’ said Eric, with his back almost resting on the sink, ‘but after doing my initital check on the patient, I put the ball into my bag and then took it home when I finished my shift. I gave it as a Christmas present to my son, Jack. So I think he’s got it now.’

Rukhsana looked baffled. ‘But it’s not Christmas yet. He can’t have opened it already.’

‘He couldn’t wait,’ replied Eric. ‘I think he’s already taken it to school and played with it.’

‘How old is he?’ she asked.

’Nine.’

‘Doesn’t he live here?

‘He lives with his mum now.

‘What school’s he at?’

‘Terence Hills. He wanted a football so badly, a Premier League one, so I thought…’

Rukhsana got up and pushed the chair back underneath the table. ‘Well, thanks for your help, Eric.’ She walked towards Eric and shook his hand.

‘I don’t understand why you want that specific ball,’ said Eric. ‘I mean Sid must have plenty lying around at the club.’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Rukhsana, looking round at us. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Eric walked towards us. ‘Er Sid, Jack’s a big fan of yours, can you do a quick autograph for us.’

‘No problem.’

‘Let me just get a pen and paper,’ he said, walking into the living room.

Rukhsana walked closer towards us. ‘I’m not in tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I know a couple of teachers at that school, so we’ll go down there in the morning.’

‘But I’ve got training.’

‘Doesn’t start till ten-ish does it?’

‘No.’

‘Well then,’ she said, breezing past us.

I held her arm before she got away. She gave us a cold look.

‘You have to tell us what’s so special about that fuckin’ football.’

She were just about to answer as Eric walked in again. He handed us a small black notebook and red bic pen. I began to write but suddenly felt a slight pain in my right index finger. I hesitated for a moment and then pushed on.

‘What’s up?’ asked Rukshana.

‘Nothing,’ I said, handing back the notebook and pen to Eric.

‘Let me see your hand,’ she said, walking closer to us. She held up my right hand and examined it. ‘Hmm…it’s a bit like my father’s.’

Jesus and Mohammed, don’t go that far. Ibrahim got his dodgy mitts from years of stitching those poxy balls for a pittance. If I’ve got some dodgy mitts too from kicking the same footballs around for top dollar, it’s hardly fair is it? I want a level playing field.

‘Thanks for the autograph anyway, Sid,’ said Eric, leading us out of the kitchen. ‘Jack will be so proud. I’m sorry I couldn’t help out a bit more. I hope the patient gets better.’

‘He’s dead,’ said Rukhsana.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Eric, suddenly looking agitated. ‘Erm, you’re not going to tell the police are you?’

‘About the ball?’ said Rukhsana.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, looking at it technically, it was a theft,’ said Rukhsana. ‘But this is an emotional matter, not technical.’

‘Oh good.’

Rukhsana stopped in the living room to look at a framed picture on the wall.

‘Is that Jack, up there?’ she asked.

‘Yes, that’s when we were out fishing.’

Rukhsana smiled and then walked to the front door. Eric opened it and we stepped outside.

‘Just one more thing,’ said Rukhsana. ‘What colour was the ball?’

Eric scratched his head. ‘Erm, green and white, I think. It also had some writing on it but I can’t remember…I think it was something 90…’

‘Katmina 90…’

‘That’s it,’ he said, with a smile.

We left the house and walked towards Rukhsana’s Astra. I grabbed her arm before she got to the driver’s door.

‘I want to know what’s so important about the ball,’ I said angrily. ‘I want to know now.’

She shrugged us off and opened the car door. She held it open and sighed.

‘There’s something inside it.’

Okay, it’s true I were hanging around Terence Hills Primary looking a bit shifty, but peados are usually after a set of balls and I were just after a big one, so you can’t lay that one on us. But Rukhsana had other ideas. She stood outside the school gates at break time and tried to spot Jack through the railings. She got the attention of a few kids but no-one knew him, so she were finding it difficult. So she asked us to get out of my car, which I were reluctant to do because it were bloody freezing and I didn’t want my nadgers to be like icicles for training. Eventually I did, but as soon as I got close to the railings she shouted, ‘Hey kids, it’s Sid Karim the soccer star.’ Suddenly there were a surge towards the school gates. All these little blighters came rushing towards us, waving their hands and screaming all sorts: ‘It’s Karim cracker’, ‘Sid the Squid’ and ‘Saddo Sid’ were just some of the stuff coming out of their gobs. It weren’t right.

Anyhow, it seemed to work because the nine-year-old appeared after Rukhsana had shouted: ‘Does anyone know Jack?’ He got through a ruck of kids and came as close to the gate as he could. He were chewing furiously and kept wiping his nose with his thumb.

‘Hi Jack,’ said Rukhsana, bending down as she peered through the gates.

‘Is that really shit Sid?’

‘Erm, yes, it is,’ said Rukhsana. ‘Look Jack, did you get a ball for a Christmas present?’

‘Is that why he’s not playing, because no-one likes him?’

I’ll give you ‘not playing’ you cheeky little urchin. If I weren’t feeling so responsible, I’d do a Fosbury over these gates and give you a left-foot volley all the way to Starcot Lane.

Rukhsana smiled and put her hand up to stop us coming forward.

‘Jack, this is important,’ said Rukhsana. ‘If you tell me what I want to know, you might get free tickets to Starcot Lane.’

Jack sniffed and wiped his nose with his thumb. ‘They’re shit anyway, but if you can get me some for the Liverpool game…’

‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ she replied. ‘But I need to know about that ball you got for a Christmas present from your father.’

‘It were nothing, weren’t even an Adidas or a Nike. Someone robbed it off us anyway.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know. We were playing with it after school outside my house. Ben kicked it into Mrs Bright’s garden but when we went to get it back, it wasn’t there.’

‘Do you think she took it?’

‘I don’t know, but she showed us round, and it weren’t there. She said she knew nothing about it.’

Rukhsana got up and rubbed her leg. ‘So you say Mrs Bright lives on the same street as you.’

‘Jocelyn Street, yeah, 116…it’s a tip.’

I could see a concerned adult briskly walking towards us from the back of the yard.

‘I think it’s a teacher,’ I whispered. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Rukhsana nodded. ‘Okay Jack, thanks for your help, we’ve got to go now.’

‘What about my tickets?’ said Jack.

‘Call the club, and say Sid promised you,’ she said, hurrying towards us as I rushed to the car.

Now there’s plenty of times I’ve found myself in places I didn’t want to be. Standing in a wall with my mitts over my nadgers is one. Trying to mark a 6ft 7in ogre from a corner is another. But this had to be the worst, even though it were my own idea to check it out. You see, I knew Rico had his sights on being a bit of a screen legend after his football days, so when Rukhsana said I could have a little cameo in a short film, I thought I’d get one up on him. But as I stood there in the Birch Centre, with the sound man sticking a pole up between my legs and gawper paupers staring at us like nobody’s business, I thought it might have been a mistake.

I didn’t know what the film were about but I were supposed to be a witness in a court scene: the bloke and woman in front of us were wearing long gowns and wigs like barristers. But when Rob, the director, shouted ‘action’, I froze like a ref confronted by a prossie and couldn’t remember my lines. Even when Rukhsana whispered the lines to us, it confused us even more and Rob eventually shouted ‘cut’. I thought Rob were too hasty and I wanted to do the scene again. Rukhsana walked away with Rob for a minute and they had a mini-conference. They came back and decided to set up a scene especially for us in which I’d play myself. Now I admit to playing WITH myself before but this were something new, but if old Becks could do it in Goal! then I could too.

‘…and…ACTION!’ shouted Rob.

‘I bet you can now do all the things you dreamed of as a child,’ said Rukhsana, as she stood by my side.

‘Yes,’ I said awkwardly. ‘The status and money comes in handy, but it isn’t everything.’

‘There seems to be a lot of crime around here, do you think the club can help getting kids off the streets?’

‘It’s really important,’ I said, sticking my chest out a little. ‘They need someone to look up to. Role models, that’s what we are.’

‘So what do you spend your money on?’

I looked into her eyes and saw a pound sign in one and a rupee in the other. The line were gone.

‘No, no keep it rolling,’ said Rob, waving his hand. ‘Ruki, say the line again. We can edit it out later.’

‘So what do you spend your money on?’ said Rukhsana.

The silence were crushing. Yousufine, airports and sacks of dosh.

‘Forget the line, Sid,’ said Rob. ‘Just respond to it naturally. Ruki, let’s make the line more specific.’

Rukhsana looked at Rob and seemed to know instantly what he wanted. She turned to us again. ‘So what was the last thing you spent your money on?’

I hesitated and shuffled my feet awkwardly. ‘The last thing?…’

‘Yes,’ said Rukhsana firmly.

‘The last thing I spent money on…’

‘…Yes.’

‘Erm…a Christmas present for you…it’s a Bryan Adams CD.’

Everyone groaned and Rukhsana tutted.

‘It’s Ryan Adams,’ she said. ‘RYAN…as in Giggs.’

‘Does he sing too?’

Rukhsana rolled her eyes and looked at Rob.

‘No, no keep it rolling,’ he said, making circles with his finger. ‘This is good stuff.’

Now it may not have been Oscar material but I were still thinking of my performance as we headed to Mrs Bright’s in Rukhsana’s Astra. I got better as I went along, judging by the smile on Rob’s face, and I’m sure I could give old Becks, Vinny Jones or Eric Cantona a run for their money. After all, their screen roles are limited to playing people in this part of the world, whereas I could pass for a terrorist or an illegal immigrant, not that I’d ever take up something like that.

‘I’ve had a couple of more ideas for short films,’ said Rukshana, as she pulled in outside Jocelyn Street.

‘Any parts for us?’

‘No, these are serious,’ she said, smiling, as she parked behind a blue Volvo. ‘One’s going to be about the Sialkot stitching industry and what happens to the footballs once they get over here.’

‘I just kick and I don’t think about where they come from.’

‘Precisely,’ she said, pulling up the handbrake.

‘And the other?’

She unclipped her seat belt and sighed. ‘The other’s about bus crashes in Pakistan. I looked at an old photo of my father the other day and he was sitting on top of a bus. He used to go on a bit about how bad the roads and the drivers were over there. I think it’s an interesting subject.’

‘Boooring…’

She gave us a cold stare and got out of the car. I got out too and pulled down my beanie hat over my ears.

‘Just tell us what’s inside the ball.’ I shouted, over the roof of the car.

‘I DON’T KNOW,’ she shouted back. ‘He didn’t tell me.’

‘Some dad that,’ I whispered.

‘God, you’re worse than Yousuf.’

Hey, hold on there, no-one’s as bad as old Yousufine. I mean, name me another bloke who looks like Freddy Kreuger and has a cool two mill stashed in a pair of football boots?

Rukhsana walked down the path and rang the bell at number 116. I slowly followed and waited a few feet behind her. The door opened seconds later and a very old woman appeared. She had white hair, were about 4ft 6 and had a big, black key in her hand.

‘Hello, Mrs Bright,’ said Rukhsana, walking forward. ‘We’re not early are we?’

‘No, no my lovely, come in,’ she said. ‘I’ve got them all prepared for you.’

We walked in and followed her as she briskly went through the living room. Just as she were about to enter the kitchen, she turned and stopped by a dark blue door. She put the key in and opened it. ‘They’re down here, it’s just a few steps.’

Jesus and Mohammed, where the hell are you taking us old lady? I’ve already sent Freddie Krueger packing and now you’re taking us to The People Under the Stairs? I wouldn’t go down there even if Wes Craven were doing a soccer school.

Mrs Bright walked down into the cellar and Rukhsana followed.

‘Come on,’ said Rukhsana, over her shoulder. ‘It won’t bite, whatever it is.’

‘It’s my knee ligaments,’ I said, rubbing my left knee. ‘I have to be careful.’

She stopped on the second step looking up. ‘Come down right now…or else I’ll tell the rest of the team.’ She smiled and disappeared down the stairs.

I sighed and reluctantly followed her down the stairs. It were a narrow passage and the steps were too steep, a bit like the crappy ones I had to suffer at a non-league ground a couple of years back. But I got down to the bottom and there weren’t much to see apart from a big white pillar in the centre of the cellar and a brown cardboard box resting against it. Further down, there were an old telly, a set of white drawers and a small, disused snooker table lying on its side.

Mrs Bright pulled the cardboard box towards us, sliding it across the dusty floor. ‘Here you go, lovelies.’

‘God, how many have you got there?’ asked Rukhsana.

The box – easily the biggest I’d seen – were filled to the brim with footballs.

‘They kept flying over into my garden,’ she said, with a sense of pride. ‘So I started collecting them.’

Rukhsana crouched down and picked one of them up. She rubbed it between her palms and put it back down again. ‘Must be about 30 or so here, Mrs Bright.’

‘I guess so,’ she replied.

I guess so too, Mrs Bright eyes. You’ve got more balls than our kit-man, physio and groundsman put together. There’s everything down there: Adidas, Mitre, Nike and even a Bobby Charlton-signed special. I feel as though I should get warmed-up.

‘Is yours there?’ asked Mrs Bright.

Rukhsana put the ball down and searched through the other makes in the box.

‘Do you not like football then, young man?’ said Mrs Bright, looking up at us.

Well, if you were around you’d nick the ball off us all the time, so no I wouldn’t like that kind of football.

‘I play a little,’ I said, with a smile.

‘Look lovelies, I’m going to pop upstairs and make myself a cuppa, would you like one? I’ll put some nice mince pies out too.’

‘Oooh, yes please Mrs Bright,’ replied Rukhsana, continuing to check through the balls. ‘We’ll be up in a minute.’

‘Fine then, I’ll leave you to it.’

She walked up the stairs and into the kitchen.

‘What if she locks us in?’ I asked.

‘Oh stop being such a paranoid android.’

I bent down and helped go through the balls. I spotted one with ’90’ on it and my heart fluttered.

‘Here it is,’ I said, picking the ball up. ‘It’s got…’

‘What?’

‘Oh…it’s got ‘90’ on it but it says ‘Italia 90’, it’s not the right one.’

‘Pity.’

Most of the balls were now by Rukhsana’s feet and there were only two left in the box. She rolled them around and had a strained looked on her face.

‘It’s not there is it? I asked, putting the ‘Italia 90’ ball back in the box and getting up.

She picked up the last ball and threw it against the pillar in frustration. ‘No, it’s not.’ She sat on the floor and put her hands on her forehead.

‘Don’t sit down on that,’ I said. ‘I watched a programme once and they said you should never sit down on a cellar floor.’

She gave us a stern look. I bent down next to her and put my arm on her shoulder. ‘Look, it’s a bit mad chasing all around town looking for a ball with something inside it. Can’t we get back to doing normal things again? Do you want to come out for a drink?’

She picked up one of the balls by her side and smacked it on my head with both hands. ‘I’d rather go out with this,’ she said, clasping the ball to her chest.