by Tom Palmer
‘Yes, please,’ Ryan said.
‘There’s something else,’ Steve said, ‘that I wanted to talk to you about.’
Ryan wondered what it was. Maybe Steve was thinking what he was thinking: that he wasn’t a good captain because of all the trouble in the game.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ Steve said.
Ryan sat up straight.
‘I want to tell you how pleased I am with you,’ Steve said. ‘Since all the trouble we had in Poland, you have been great. You’ve really matured.’
Ryan tried not to grin too broadly. Praise from Steve made him feel good. Really good.
‘You’ve been a fine captain. And a strong team member; I’m really proud of you.’
‘Thanks,’ Ryan said.
‘But I can’t say the same for your mother,’ Steve said, smiling. ‘I’ll talk to her soon.’
Ryan nodded. ‘And I was wondering about Craig. Do you think he’s OK?’
Steve shook his head. ‘He’s been so different since the start of the London tournament. I don’t know what’s got into him. Do you?’
‘No. He won’t talk.’
‘Well, I’ll have a word with him at tomorrow’s training.’
‘OK,’ Ryan said. ‘I’ve tried to talk to him. I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ Steve said. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘But I’m the captain. I should be able to help.’
‘Not with this, Ryan,’ Steve said. ‘You are brilliant enough. Leave Craig – and your mum – to me.’
And Ryan wondered what Steve was going to do to Craig. He was behaving really badly, so he deserved whatever he got.
Ryan just hoped he didn’t release Craig, make him leave the club. He’d never wish that on anyone.
But what was his problem?
Craig’s Problem
Craig had left the pitch once he’d been sent off. He waited reluctantly for the post-match team talk, knowing he’d be in even more trouble if he left early. Even though he had somewhere to go. After the team talk he threw his clothes on and rushed to the nearest bus stop.
After a bus ride, he took a train. Two hours later he arrived.
It was two thirty in the afternoon when he got to where he was going. Tall walls. No windows. And bars. Lots of bars and gates and fences.
He’d never been in a prison before. Especially not to see his dad.
He was nervous. So nervous he thought he would be sick. But he had to do this.
Craig wouldn’t have to go in alone. His dad’s probation officer, Simon, was there too. They’d talked on the phone earlier in the week about the visit and made sure Craig knew what to expect.
Craig and Simon had to walk through some automatic doors that snapped shut quickly behind them. Then they went up to a counter, where three people sat facing them, unsmiling. Simon did the talking.
Next, they had to wait in a seated area, with several other families. Mostly women with their children. All the time watched by men dressed like police officers.
At every stage Craig felt more and more anxious. More and more like running away from this place. Simon had tried to talk to him, but Craig was so nervous that he didn’t want to speak.
Then they had to leave their mobile phones and keys in a locker and walk through a scanner – like the ones at airports – before they were allowed into a room where several tables were set out.
Craig and Simon were told where to sit. They had one table. Other families were sitting at other tables.
Then a row of men filed into the room. All wearing the same-coloured clothes.
Craig’s heart was beating fast.
Was he there?
What if he’d forgotten?
Or they hadn’t told him?
What if he didn’t see him until he was released?
He felt sick.
And then he saw his dad.
His dad was trying to smile. But not doing a very good job. He came across the room and sat down, leaning across the table to ruffle Craig’s hair.
Simon pulled his chair away at an angle, trying to pretend he wasn’t there, to give Craig and his dad some privacy.
‘So how’s the football? How’s school?’ his dad said. His voice was breathless. ‘You look OK. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, Dad,’ Craig said.
‘Good. Me too.’
‘How’s… How is it here?’ Craig asked.
‘Fine,’ his dad said. Like he was staying in a hotel. Not a prison.
Craig didn’t know what to say. He was used to talking to his dad in the car. Or in his front room. Alone. Not in a massive room. Not watched by prison officers. Not surrounded by families and noisy babies. Not with a probation officer sitting right next to them, pretending he wasn’t there.
His dad smiled at him again. But it was a sad smile.
‘We lost six–nil today,’ Craig said to break the silence.
His dad shook his head. He looked genuinely shocked. ‘What went wrong? Was Tomasz injured or something?’
‘No. We’ve lost a few players. James has left. Ronan and Connor aren’t back. Oh, and I got sent off for violent conduct.’
Craig’s dad said nothing.
Then he spoke. ‘Craig. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I’m never there. I was thinking about you. At ten o’clock. I was thinking you’d be playing. I wanted to be there. So much. I miss you. You know that, don’t you?’
Craig saw tears in his dad’s eyes. One ran down his face.
Then Craig shrugged. He didn’t feel like talking any more.
‘Did your mum bring you?’ Dad said.
Craig’s mum and dad were divorced. They never spoke to each other. His mum had said she wanted nothing to do with Craig’s dad. She refused to discuss it.
‘No. She wouldn’t come.’
‘Right,’ Dad said. ‘I see.’
Then Craig’s dad asked him about school. And they talked about football and how Craig was doing on FIFA 10 and what books he was reading. Until half an hour was up and it was time to leave.
His dad hugged him. Tighter than usual. And then he was called away with all the other men. And Craig had to sit there with Simon until they were told they could leave.
Craig left the prison, after talking things through with Simon. He wasn’t aware of it, but a man was watching him. A tall Asian man in a posh coat.
Yunis’s dad.
Craig walked out into the pale cold January afternoon, the sun already going down.
Ryan v His Mum
Sunday night.
Craig was home from the prison, upstairs in his room. And feeling miserable.
Less than a mile away, in an old stone terraced house, Ryan was in the kitchen, getting his mum a cup of tea.
He’d offered to make her one. He wanted to talk to her before Steve did and he thought this would be a good way to break the ice. Ryan carried the cup carefully into the sitting-room. His mum had her back to him, the sofa set in the middle of the room, facing the TV.
Ryan’s mum was on his PlayStation. FIFA 10. Ryan waited until the end of a game, when he knew there would be a pause between matches, before sitting down next to her.
‘Here’s your tea, Mum.’
‘Thanks. Now tell me what you want.’
Ryan closed his eyes and smiled. His mum wasn’t stupid. But this was not going to be one of their joke conversations. Where he asked for money for a new computer game or clothes. This could go wrong. Badly wrong.
‘It’s about the football.’
‘Yeah?’ Mum said.
‘I’m worried,’ Ryan said. He looked at his mum. She was looking at him, but she was miles away. In the middle of some FIFA 10 fantasy.
‘About?’
Ryan took a deep breath. The next game was ready to be played on screen. He’d nearly lost his mum’s attention.
He knew he would have to be brutally honest.
‘About you.’
‘Me?’
Ryan�
��s mum turned round. She’d put down her control pad. It had worked. He had her attention now.
‘Yes.’
‘What about me?’
‘I want you to…’ Ryan was struggling. ‘I wish you’d –’
‘What?’ The word came out harsh and loud.
‘Can you be less angry?’ Ryan said. ‘To the referees? To the other players? To Steve?’ Ryan wanted to say could she be less angry with him, but he didn’t dare go that far.
‘Angry?’ she shouted. ‘You think I’m angry?’
‘Like this,’ Ryan said, wishing he’d never said anything. Wishing he was up in his room. Alone.
‘Since when have you been worried about me being angry?’ his mum said. ‘I get involved. I come to every game. I support you.’
Ryan felt bad. Was she right? Shouldn’t he be grateful to her for being so interested? He wasn’t sure. He was confused.
And so he just sat there. Saying nothing. Because that was what he did when his mum got angry. It was like he’d been paralysed. Like that insect he’d seen on TV: stung by a wasp, its body was paralysed, but its mind still working.
After a silence, his mum spoke in a calm voice, a voice that worried Ryan more than shouting. ‘Did Steve put you up to this?’
‘No,’ Ryan said. ‘He asked me –’
‘He what?’
‘I mean… I asked him.’
‘You asked him?’ Mum was shouting again.
Ryan went quiet. There was nothing he could say. This could only get worse. Whether he spoke or not.
His mum flicked NEW GAME on the screen before turning to Ryan for the last time.
‘I’ll go in and see Steve this week. I’ll tell him what I think of him putting my son up against me. Don’t you worry.’
Ryan got up and went back into the kitchen. He shut the door. Then he sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.
Steve’s Problem
‘Come in, Craig,’ Steve said.
Craig edged round the door and sat in the chair opposite Steve.
The office was small and filled with footballs in bags and training cones. On a set of shelves were stacks of box files and folders.
There was an hour to go before Monday training kicked off.
Craig was glad to get in from the car park. It was mayhem outside. Lots of journalists waiting around, throwing questions at anyone who walked by in a tracksuit.
‘What’s going on outside?’ Craig said. He knew his voice sounded grumpy. He couldn’t help it. But he thought it would be good to ask Steve a question, try and be a bit more friendly than he had been recently.
He knew he was in trouble.
‘You’ve not heard?’ Steve said, sounding grumpy himself. Like he was a man with problems.
‘What?’
‘They’ve sacked Flaubert.’
Craig was shocked by this news about the United first-team manager, but he said nothing.
‘The board think United are in danger of going down.’
‘We are,’ Craig said.
Steve nodded and smiled. He liked to hear a football fan call his team we. Not they.
‘What’s going on, son?’ Steve said, changing the subject. ‘The last few weeks.’
Craig did a trademark shrug.
Steve smiled again. ‘I need more than that, Craig,’ he said. ‘Your behaviour on and off the pitch is not good. It threatens you and it threatens the team.’
Craig didn’t know what to say. He felt bad inside. Really bad. He’d still not got over how depressed the prison had made him feel. He’d not even told his mum he’d been there.
But he couldn’t tell Steve about that.
‘Do you remember when you signed for United?’ Steve asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember how you and your dad signed this?’ Steve pulled out a contract.
‘Yes.’
Part of Craig wanted to say more. But he felt like he was frozen inside. That he couldn’t say anything real to Steve.
‘It talks about behaviour. How you represent the club. How, if you make things too hard for the coaching staff and the other players, you could be asked to leave.’
Craig looked at Steve, saying nothing. But he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. So fast he felt sick.
‘I’m not telling you that you have to leave, Craig,’ Steve said slowly. ‘I’m asking you what’s wrong. Is there something going on in your life that’s making you like this?’
It was on the tip of Craig’s tongue. He wanted to tell Steve about his dad. This was his chance. But he couldn’t. Something was stopping him.
‘Nothing,’ he said quietly.
Steve nodded. ‘If there ever is,’ he said, ‘then I am here.’
‘OK,’ Craig said. He wanted to leave. Now.
‘I need to see an improvement in your conduct, Craig,’ Steve said. ‘Any more trouble and I’ll have to bring you and your dad in here.’
Craig nodded, knowing that was impossible. How was he going to cope with everything that was happening to him? Especially without his dad there.
Defensive
‘Right, lads,’ Steve shouted. ‘Today we’re going to work on defence.’
Some of the players nodded. The team was still short on numbers. No James, no Connor and Ronan. But Craig was there, still worried by his chat with Steve an hour earlier.
The United training facilities were set in the estate of an old stately home. The playing fields were the grounds of the house. The offices and gyms were in the old stables.
It was a cold night. No cloud cover and the stars were out. But the training pitch floodlights were on.
All the under-twelves were talking about the media in the car park. And the manager’s sacking.
‘I have an announcement before we start,’ Steve said, catching their attention.
Craig felt his heart racing again. Maybe Steve was going to release him. In front of all the other lads. Use him as an example.
‘Is it that Flaubert has been sacked?’ Sam shouted out.
‘No, Sam, that’s not the news. But, yes, there’s going to be a new United manager.’
‘Are you leaving too?’ asked Daniel.
Steve smiled. Then his face changed. To a frown.
‘No, lads. Listen. I got a call from Ronan and Connor this morning. And – well, it’s hard to say – but they’ve decided to stay at home. Not come back. It’s been too tough on them, I think. Being over here, in a different country far away from most of their family and friends.’
There was a silence. Then voices.
‘We’ll be getting some new players in. Quickly,’ Steve said. ‘One of the new players will be Ben Hansford from the under-elevens. I think most of you know him. But for now we’ll have to make do with you lot.’
Steve noticed Ryan had his hands on his hips. That he was looking at all his team-mates. Even though he was feeling sad about losing three players in a fortnight, Steve was pleased with Ryan. He’d changed. He wasn’t thinking of himself. He was being a captain. A natural captain.
Training did not go well for Craig and Tony.
Steve had the team playing on half a pitch, with a full-sized goal at each end. Six players on each side short-passing. And with the pitch being so small, all the defenders and attackers were busy all the time. Especially as each time the ball went out of play a new one was thrown in. So there was no time for getting your breath back.
You had to be focused. And fit.
Craig and Tony’s team lost. Heavily.
During the training session Craig had been feeling more and more angry. Every time the forwards had beaten the defence he had taken it really personally. He was used to playing alongside James. James had rarely made mistakes.
But Tony?
He was useless. He was the reason the defence was so poor against Tranmere. The reason training had been such a shambles.
And to make things worse, Craig had seen that almost every pl
ayer had a parent on the touchline. He saw Ryan’s mum. Jake’s dad. Even Yunis’s dad who, he remembered, never used to come to the football. And Tony’s mum and dad were there.
‘That was hard work,’ Tony said to Craig.
Craig looked at Tony. He was tall but thin. Gangly. That’s what Dad would have called him. But Craig kept his mouth shut. He knew if he spoke he’d start having a go. Tony was not a regular. Who was he to tell Craig things had been hard work?
‘But we’ll get it together,’ Tony went on.
That was it. Enough.
‘We?’ Craig said, stopping.
Tony turned round. But he said nothing. His face looked shocked.
‘We?’ Craig repeated.
‘Yeah,’ Tony said, keeping his voice low.
‘It’s not we,’ Craig said. ‘It’s you. That’s the problem. You. And you not being good enough to fill James’s boots.’
But now he’d said it, Craig didn’t feel any better.
He felt worse.
Yunis’s Dad
Yunis’s dad waited in the car park after training. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this.
Yunis had told him that Craig was behaving badly. Really badly. But Yunis’s dad knew more than everyone else. Something he’d not even told his son.
He’d seen Craig with his dad inside the prison. Mr Khan was there because he was a solicitor and one of his clients was in that prison too. He’d thought about talking to Steve. But then he didn’t know if Steve knew that Craig’s dad was in prison. And it was Craig’s business. Not Steve’s. So he decided he’d talk to Craig first.
Craig was out before any of his team-mates. He was still in his training kit, his jacket clutched in his hand. And he was walking fast.
‘Craig?’ Mr Khan saw him stop. ‘Craig?’
Craig turned round and looked at Yunis’s dad, who was walking towards him.
‘How are you doing?’ Mr Khan said.
‘OK,’ Craig said. He looked suspicious.