NINETEEN

I told old Yousufine I knew a lot of people. There were a couple of heavies that used to do a bit of dirty work for footballers called Brian Jerome and Carl Swanson and I were ready to call them up if the thieving twat didn’t cough up. Pearly used them regularly if he got into any bother with hangers-on, stalkers or just plain nuisances and I nudged the former skipper about their availability.

But this plan were well and truly smashed when Rukhsana called us and told us that the sly fucker had done a runner again, after saying he were just popping off to Ali’s Convenience Store for a loaf and some chutney. I knew I shouldn’t have left that house without my money, but Mrs Latif said she didn’t want ‘that dirty boy’ in her home anywhere and I were forced to leave. She were getting hysterical and I had no option. As for old Yousufine, I’ve got Brian and Carl on the case but if I ever get his mitts on him, there’ll be blood spilled and cash recovered. He may be doing a rupee romp all the way to Rawalpindi but he’ll never have thousands of fans singing his name and celebrating his very existence. Only a few get that privilege.

So I weren’t too happy about being shafted for 75 grand, but at least things were looking up for us and Ruki. She’d more or less ditched the plan to move down south – with her mum as loopy as she were that were difficult anyway – but we’d talked about going on holiday to Dubai or New York and, maybe in future, moving into a new house together. Obviously, Mrs Latif hadn’t got wind of any of that yet – or else she’d be threatening another suicide attempt – but Abujee and Amejee would probably have their say too.

So that were the kind of turmoil I were in and it didn’t get better when I were called into see Mr Starmer straight after training. This were highly unsusual, as I’d only been in his office twice before, but he hadn’t spoken to us after the England game so maybe he wanted to say how proud he were of seeing a Town player appearing at Wembley. There were also a sense of wind-down at the club – we were out of all the cups, safely mid-table in the league and had just four games left this season: home to Hull City and Man United and away at Everton and Stoke – so maybe Starmer wanted to give us advice about how to tackle the forthcoming World Cup.

When I finally got into the office, after climbing the 39 steps, I were surprised to see Bowker sat there already in one of the swivel chairs. He’d left the training session ten minutes early and now I knew why.

Two pictures still dominated the wall behind Mr Starmer: one of a young Winston Churchill and one of a smiling Bill Gates. There were also much more Premier League paraphernalia on the other walls since my last visit about eight months ago: a team photo, sponsorship deals and pictures of Mr Starmer rubbing shoulders with politicians, businessmen and the Royal Family. There were also a small fish tank in the corner of the room and three leather chairs.

‘Sit down Sid,’ said Mr Starmer, picking up a piece of Kiwi fruit from a plate and putting it into his mouth.

I were wearing my trackie bottoms and it felt weird parking them in a shiny leather chair.

‘Now Sid,’ he said, clearly enjoying the fruit fizzing around in his mouth. ‘Ever been to Wimbledon?’

‘Yeah, we were supposed to go down there for an FA Cup tie a few years ago but Lino drove into Milton Keynes instead. I don’t know why. He drove us round these concrete cows and endless roundabouts but we still couldn’t find the ground.’

Mr Starmer swallowed his fruit and lowered his head. ‘The tennis, Sid…not the football.’

‘Oh right, no…erm, I haven’t been down there. I were given free tickets once but it’s not my thing.’

He picked up another piece of fruit from the small white plate on his desk. ‘Do you know what this is?’ He held up the piece of fruit.

‘Er…looks like a pear to me,’ I replied, looking intensely at the faded green slices on the plate.

He popped it into his mouth and looked away. ‘Whenever I’m at Wimbledon…’ He glanced at me again. ‘…and that’s every year…’ He looked away again. ‘I see the players eating bananas between points, I see spectators eating strawberries and I see plenty of apples and oranges about too but…’ He swallowed again and picked up another piece. ‘…But it struck me…’ He chewed with relish and looked at us again. ‘…and this was when I broke off from an endless five-set match to have cherry mozzarella balls and avocado pear for lunch last year…’ He smiled and clasped his hands. ‘…that these delectable, delightful little things are neglected.’

I heard Bowker sigh and shifted in my seat.

‘Can we get on with it?’ said Bowker.

‘All in good time,’ said Mr Starmer, pushing the plate towards me. ‘This is important for Sid. Take one, Sid.’

I reached out and picked up a piece. It were wet and sticky but I rammed it into my mouth as quick as I could so it wouldn’t dribble all over us.

‘Like it?’ asked Mr Starmer.

‘Hmm…’

‘Now, I’ve brought all this up, Sid because…’ he pointed down at the plate. ‘…I think as highly of you as I do these sacred little things on this plate. They’re special, sweet and utterly unique.’ He paused for a moment and stroked his tash. ‘But sometimes Sid, somebody else – apart from you – thinks just as highly of the same things. In fact, they believe the value to be even better and higher than you do…’ He got up from his desk and began to pace up and down. ‘…The England manager, peace be upon him, has obviously seen how good you are…’ he continued. ‘…and selected you for the national team. I congratulate you on that; it’s a source of pride for this club.’

Bowker tutted and turned to us. ‘What he wants to say, Sid is…’

Mr Starmer thudded across to Bowker. ‘Shhh…quiet, I’ll handle this. I didn’t invite you up here to spoil it…’

‘Right,’ said Bowker, getting up. ‘I’ve got more important things to do, like sort out some contracts and watch a triallist this afternoon.’ He looked at me with a tired smile and walked away towards the door. ‘I’ll be in my office Sid, if you need to talk to me.’

‘Oh Daniel,’ pleaded Mr Starmer. ‘Don’t be an ass.’

Bowker looked at Mr Starmer and then opened the door and left.

‘Oh well,’ said Mr Starmer. ‘Daniel’s always been a little impetuous.’ He walked behind his desk. ‘Right, where were we? Oh, yes…’ He sat down and picked up the last piece of Kiwi fruit from the plate. He put it in his mouth and closed his eyes for a few seconds. ‘Ooooh, heaven was in there…’ He opened his eyes and gave me a serious look. He eased forward, rubbed his sticky forefingers and thumbs and then clasped his hands on the desk. ‘You’ve been a great asset to us, Sid,’ he continued. ‘We’ve been delighted with your progress and I think you’re a wonderfully positive addition to our troops. But we were contacted about five months ago by a club…and they were interested in you services…’ He coughed and looked at the empty plate. ‘I knew I should have asked Valerie to cut a few more.’ He got up and walked towards the fish tank. ‘Anyway, the club have offered a substantial sum for your services and I have reluctantly accepted their offer. A club record.’

It were like my arse had melted into the leather seat. ‘But…but the transfer window doesn’t open till the start of July.’

He chuckled nervously. ‘Clubs do business all year round, you know that…It will be announced in July…but we need to get this specific agreement now.’

I looked at the fish tank and felt like going in two-footed so the water would spill over and submerge Mr Starmer. ‘But where…and why?’

‘Atalanta…’

‘The ocean?’

‘No Sid, not the ocean … Atlanta, Italy.’

‘Italy?’

Instead of match-fixing, the mafia and pasta, the only thing that popped into my head were Granny Fatima’s line that us and Italians were one and the same. She said their big families, love for cooking and beating people up at perceived slights were just like our family tradition. She even made friends with an Italian grandmother, Agostina, in later life and they went on numerous trips together: until they had an argument over a poorly-cooked Margherita pizza.

Mr Starmer sat down at his desk again. ‘Look, we didn’t want to let you go, Sid. As I said you’ve been a fantastic asset for us, but this offer was simply too good to refuse. We’ve got a lot of work to do on this ground to get up to Premier League standard, so it was something we had to do.’

‘How much?’

‘Like I said, a club record, £1.7million. We couldn’t turn it down.’

‘But what if I don’t want to go to Serie A?’

Mr Starmer coughed. ‘It’ll probably be Serie B. They’re on the brink of relegation right now.’

‘WHAT! No fuckin way. I ain’t going. I play for England for fuck’s sake.’

‘Precisely,’ said the chairman. ‘That’s why you’re attracting attention.’

‘What if I don’t want to leave? I’ve got three years left on my contract.’

‘They’re a good team Sid…and they look after their young players. They’ve got pedigree and they’ll probably bounce straight back to the top division. They want you at the centre of their rebuilding process. The Italian delegation are flying in tomorrow night. Make sure you’ve got representation.’

I got up and put my sweaty hands on the table. ‘You can’t do this…what if I do a Bosman?’

He tilted his head to the right. ‘For three years?’

‘What does Mr Bowker say?’

Mr Starmer coughed. ‘He didn’t want you to go, but he understands our delicate financial situation. Look, we know this might not go down too well in some parts of the town’s community…so I hope we can make this parting amicable.’

I turned and walked towards the door.

‘Oh Sid, just one more thing…’

I rested my palm on the door handle and turned around.

‘Kiwis are good for you,’ he said. ‘Try one sometime.’

I weren’t even listening to what he said. I opened the door and walked down the corridor with The Sopranos, Fabio Cannavaro and gondoliers jostling for space in my head. I got to the bottom of the stairs and waited. I looked to my left, where the players entrance were and then to the right where the tunnel and the pitch were. I slowly walked down the tunnel and towards the pitch. No players, staff or any other people were around. I walked to the end of the tunnel and looked out into the eerie green landscape and empty stands. I pulled out my mobile phone and dialled a number.

‘Hello, Jim?’ I said.

‘Is that you Sid?’

‘Aye, can you do me a favour?’

‘I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me what it is first.’

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked out onto the pitch again.

‘Sid?’

I put the phone to my ear again. ‘I’ve been sold, Jim.’

I weren’t going to turn up, simple as that. Fuck ‘em if they wanted me to sign for them, it was their problem. I were no B-list star. I were Albion Town through and through and I weren’t going to be carted off as some Italian Stallion for their enjoyment. And one thing I really don’t like is firecrackers going off on terraces: they shit me up, no end, so there’s plenty of reasons why this move is a bad move, if you know what I mean.

But after I’d spoken to Jim, he told us to calm down a little and assess the situation on its own terms. He said that I should at least turn up and hear what the Italian delegation had got to say because that would give us a better idea of what were in store. It were also lucky for us that he’d agreed to represent us in front of the Italians, although he said he were just doing it this one time.

So the meeting took place at the Albion Suite with three darkly-dressed blokes who spent most of the time kissing the tips of their fingers and thumbs and then releasing them to say, ‘Aaah, the beauty of Bergamo’. They showed us some brochures and talked about Trevor Francis a lot, who were a former player at the club. In fact, they spoke about him so much that I thought I were moving to Birmingham instead. The brochure, however, were ruined because one of the poor fellas shed the odd tear or two: if that were the price of relegation I didn’t want it, thanks very much. They also showed us the blue and black striped shirt, which I whispered were a bit like Inter Milan, although I took that back when one of them spat on the floor at the mere mention of the name.

But it were the signing-on fee that put a doubt in my head. I asked them to put it into pounds and pence and it turned out to be a cool quarter mill. This kind of cash could end any debt issues and also give us enough to spend on Ruki while ensuring my Audi R8 were shipped over to Italy in good time. There were also the guarantee of regular football, which I weren’t getting here; sitting in the dead zone were soul-destroying.

So I left the meeting more confused than before, but it were lucky that Jimmy were around to make things simple. He came out of the Albion Suite, zipped up his coat and said, ‘It may not be AC Milan, but nor is this. I’ve been checking their stats over the years and they’ll probably get back to the big league soon. You’ll have a relegation battle here every season from now on, so that has to be factored in.’

Clear as mud. But at least Jimmy were here in my time of need. Where were Abujee and the rest of my family? Obviously, I hadn’t asked them to come but I felt strangely distant from them. Would I miss them? Maybe. But if I stayed I would miss the money more.

I got back to the house and were just about to call Ruki and tell her about the transfer when Abujee suddenly popped up at the front door. He stepped in without saying hello or anything and headed into the living room. He took out his wristwatch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at it before putting it back in.

‘Namaz time, is it?’ I asked, shutting the door.

He sighed wearily. ‘I hear you’re moving to Italy.’

Now Granny Fatima used to say there were no ‘famine in the family fandango’ which meant that every secret, whisper, rumour or outright porkie would whistle around to every nosey parker in no time.

‘Who told you?’ I asked, walking away to sit down on the computer.

‘Who do you think? Jim told Emily, she told Shazia…and you can guess the rest.’

I sat down and tucked my knees under the desk. ‘What do you care anyway?’

He walked up behind us and I could feel his breath on my neck. ‘Running away with Rukhsana won’t do you any good…’

‘What are you on about?’ I sniffed.

‘People are saying things,’ he said, walking away towards the window. ‘Mrs Latif has tried to kill herself a few times and she’s blaming us, our family.’ He turned and walked back. ‘You need to understand how this looks for us.’

I’ll tell you how it looked from Shaw Crescent. Beefy Botham were right, the best place for that old hag were in Pakistan. There were a few more ways to kick the bucket over there – and no-one would give a shit either. Here she squeals and the pigs, the press and support groups are there to give her maximum attention. She should be put on the next plane to Islamabad.

I clicked onto Ruki’s website. ‘What do you care anyway?’

‘If only you knew…’

‘What?’

He paused and then walked towards us again. ‘Look Sadiq,’ he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. ‘There’s something you need to know…’

It must have been the first time he’d touched us for years. But it still didn’t feel as good as a team-mate’s hand on my shoulder after I’d laid on a goal at Starcot Lane. Although, Lassie’s hand probably didn’t feel too good after I blew out a greenie which nearly made his fingers stick together.

‘If it’s something about Yousuf, I don’t want to know…’

He put his other hand on my other shoulder. ‘No, it’s something more important…’

My mobile rang – the 786 again.

Abujee didn’t look best pleased. I walked into the kitchen and answered it.

‘Hi, it’s Rukhsana…’

‘It’s great you called, because I’ve got something to tell you…’

‘No, listen I’ve got some news about the ball…I think we’ve found it.’

‘Aw fuck the ball,’ I said, opening the fridge and picking out a bottle of Lucozade Wild Berry.

She tutted. ‘What’s up with you now?’

‘Nowt,’ I said, taking a swig and peering through the door to see what Abujee were doing. ‘It’s just Abujee’s here and he’s doing my head in…’

‘Well, I’m going down to The Bleeding Heart pub now, because they reckon they’ve got it.’

‘Reckon?’

‘The landlord thinks it’s in the storage cupboard…so we’ll find out.’

‘Look I’ve got to tell you something more important than that.’

‘Are you coming or not?’

‘It’s Friday night, shouldn’t we go down on a quieter day?’

She hesitated. ‘I can’t waste any more time…mama’s right on the edge. After Yousuf going, she’s the worst she’s ever been. Maybe, father left a message for her or something. Anyway, if you’d taken more care of the ball, then we wouldn’t have this wild goose chase now, would we?’

I were taking very good care of the ball until your father told us he were about the kick the bucket. It were nicely tucked away in my boot and it were him that took it out and played silly buggers with it at Starcot Lane. Obviously, when he said he were off to see Allah, it were a massive shock and I forgot all about the lusty leather. It weren’t my fault that the medic came along and nicked it. I mean, I know they like fiddling with balls but this were a big one they should have left alone.

I put the cap back on the bottle and placed it back in the fridge. I watched Abujee walking towards the kitchen.

‘Okay, give us a few minutes.’

The pub were absolutely heaving when we walked in. There must have been about 50 or 60 people stood up with filled-up glasses in their hands, twittering away like the sound coming from the stands prior to kick-off. We jostled our way to the front and stood by the bar. Two people were serving by the bar: a tall, overweight man wearing a blue v-neck jumper and a small woman with blonde permed hair.

‘That’s Rob,’ said Rukhsana, pointing him out. ‘He said his pub team took the ball home after a game with The Lifers.’

‘I fuckin’ hate these places,’ I said, keeping my head down.

She looked round at us and smiled. ‘God, do you ever go anywhere without that damn beanie hat?’ She tried to take it off my head.

‘Get off,’ I said, securing it with my hand. ‘It’s my protection.’

Ruki eventually got Rob’s attention after about five minutes. He walked over and ran his fingers through his short, spiky hair.

‘Evening lovers…’ he said. ‘What you sinking?’

‘Hello Rob, I’m Rukhsana…I called earlier, about the ball?’

‘…And that’s Sid ain’t it? Well, I never…Showbiz Sid, in my boozer. I feel like announcing it to the whole pub.’

So what if I announced you as Randy Rob, Mr Landlord, to the whole world rather than just the punters in here? I don’t know if you burst into brothels for some bush and bevy but I can’t remember the last club ‘Showbiz Sid’ went into. Don’t believe everything you read because tabloid tits make it up as they go along. One of them even said I’d had a three in a bed romp with two air stewardesses in a hotel at Mannie Airport. One of the stewardesses were so pissed she couldn’t remember who she’d invited in. She named us and there were juicy details across five-pages with pics of me looking up for it after a night out at Tiffs. But later the paper apologised and said it were Lassie instead. I got a two paragraph apology but I were still ribbed mercilessly in and around town. They shouted ‘He was as Karimy as hot chocolate’ whenever I walked in to a shop, bar or restaurant. It were very distressing.

Rob carried on smiling at us and then rubbed his forehead. ‘Look, it’s a bit busy right now, could you come back at the weekend?’

‘Well it’s only in the back isn’t it?’ asked Rukhsana, looking beyond the bar area.

‘Yes, but I think it might take a while to find it.’

‘What do you mean?’

Rob looked around at a woman rustling a twenty pound note. ‘Yes, luv, I’ll be with you a minute…’ He turned to us again. ‘Okay, just let me serve this lady, then I’ll have a quick look…’

We waited for about ten minutes until he were free. By this time, I’d had at least 20 stares from gawper paupers who’d either recognised us, hated us or still hadn’t worked out who I were. He then ushered us out back and it were nice to get away from all that sweat and noise. We stopped when we reached a little white door by the stairs. He bent down and yanked open the door because it rubbed against the thick carpet below.

‘Pooawhh,’ he sniffed, holding his nose. ‘It’s dusty down here…’

‘It’s in here is it?’ asked Rukhsana.

He stood up but still had to stoop over to get into the front of the cupboard. I looked in and could see a big wooden chair lying on top of a fridge with a kid’s high chair and swing lying at either side. There were also loads of toys pressed against either side but the whole space were so crammed that everything looked as though it were bolted in.

Rob moved forward and put his hand on the wooden chair. ‘Jesus, there’s so much stuff in here…’ He wiped his brow. ‘I’ve fuckin’ told Valerie about this, but she won’t listen. This is going to take a while.’ He looked around at me and smiled. ‘Sid, you can penetrate defences, I think you should get in there.’

‘No thanks, it were her idea anyway.’

Rukhsana tutted and gave us a cold look. She put one hand on her hip and looked at Rob. ‘So how long is this going to take?’

Rob sighed and sized up the task in hand. ‘I can’t do it now, love, we’re too busy. Give us a couple of weeks and I’ll fish it out for you.’

Rukhsana shook her head. ‘You said it’s been there from before Christmas…’

‘That’s right, we were playing these pansies from the pub in town and they had two balls. We all came back for a drink later – including their lads – and one of them left the ball under the table. I spotted it at closing time and it’s been in this cupboard ever since.’

‘Fine,’ said Rukhsana. ‘It would have been nice to get it now…but hey, you can’t have everything.’

Rukhsana began to walk away as Rob closed the door. ‘Not staying for a drink then? I’m sure Sid’s got a lot of tales to tell…’

‘He can stay if he wants to, but I’m off,’ she said, with hardly a look back.

Charming. I hold her mitts while she pops off on her daft treasure hunt and now she tells us I’m not needed. I wouldn’t give two if that stupid ball stayed in that fuckin’ cupboard after all. I mean, what’s so special about it? If Ibrahim wanted to tell us something why didn’t he just use his cakehole rather than lob it inside a football? I don’t like the inside of anything anyhow, I just kick, eat and run. Even when my hernia went two years ago, I had to be hypnostised before I were opened up and sewn back up again. I don’t know what they did, but I couldn’t see it so it didn’t matter.

‘Er thanks anyway,’ I said to Rob, who were looking at Ruki in a funny way. ‘Don’t mind her, she’s under a lot of stress.’ He turned and looked at us in the same way. ‘Her dad’s popped it, her mum’s suicidal and her husband’s ran off…’

‘Right…’ he smiled. ‘And you’ve popped up to score have you?’

‘Not quite.’ I said, watching her disappear into the front of the pub. I grinned and walked off. ‘Well, not yet anyway.’

I caught up with her as she hurried out of the pub. ‘Wait on,’ I said, jostling through the crowd again. I stepped outside and there were a light drizzle, so I took off my beanie hat to feel some of it on my warm forehead.

She stopped and leaned against the wall. She looked up at the sky and sighed. ‘I think it’s something to do with me…in that ball. I’ve driven myself crazy thinking about the whole thing. It must be something terrible or else he would have told me.’

‘You’re just paranoid. Look, I’ve got to tell you something.’

A man on a motorbike parked near the kerb a few yards away. He turned off the ignition and picked up a red bag behind him. He walked up to the pub and were about to walk in when I stopped him.

‘Is that a jalapeno and tuna?’

‘Yeah…’

‘For Sid?’

He nodded his head and slipped the large pizza out of the red bag. He handed it over to us and I felt the bottom of the white box warm up my hands.

‘Ere are…’ I said, handing him a £20 pound note. ‘Keep the change.’

He slotted the note into his bum-bag, walked back to his bike and drove off.

‘Fuckin’ cheeky bastard,’ I said. ‘I must have given him a six-quid tip there…’

‘Who’s that for anyway?’

I opened the box and the steam from the piping hot pizza made my eyes water. ‘…That’s what I wanted to talk you about. Here, take a slice.’ I eased the box towards her.

‘I’m not really hungry,’ she said, still picking up a slice.

I picked up the biggest slice and took a bite.

‘Do you like Italy?’ I asked.

‘Oooh, that’s hot,’ she said, with a mouthful.

‘Do you like Italy?’

Her munching didn’t allow an instant answer. ‘Yes…so what?’

‘I think we should move down there. Milan or somewhere near there. It’ll be great.

‘Have you lost it or something?’

I looked further down the road at a parked Volvo, which were making the only sound with its stop-start windscreen wipers.

‘The club’s decided to sell us to an Italian club. I said no at first but it’s probably a good deal. I want you to come and live with us.’

‘Gosh,’ she said, munching a bit slower. ‘That’s a lot to take in.’ She paused for a moment and looked down at the damp pavement. She swallowed and then walked up to me. She kissed me on the cheek and walked off slowly. ‘I’ve had one arrangement that hasn’t worked…I don’t think this arrangement will work either.’