‘You can always come round and my play in my garden,’ he said, smiling. ‘If you don’t get a game here.’
‘Maybe I will one day.’ I said, surprised by his fluency.
‘I’ve heard you don’t like Bowker.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘All the fans know,’ he said, remaining completely still when he spoke. ‘You two don’t get on. So when are you leaving then?’
Bloody hell, are you related to that Mr Hawking geezer or what? You seem to know too much for your own good.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said, looking at him with a frown but turning to the camera with a smile.
‘You have to sit down for a long time, don’t you?’ he said, continuing to smile. ‘I know what that’s like.’
I looked down at his legs and something passed through us; and it weren’t front and centre. I had to stand up immediately. The thought of having to sit down for the whole season were about as appealing as Bowker’s prawn sarnies. I rested my hand on the black rubber handle of the wheelchair and smiled again for the photographer.
‘Had enough of me, have you?’ said Steven.
‘No, no,’ I said, shaking his hand. ‘You’ve been a great help.’
The dressing-room were buzzing with the news that Partington were taking the England job. Most of the players thought the former boss may not have been sacked at all and were busy texting and phoning whoever they could. It were more like a call centre than a dressing-room and, in the end Partington himself rang up the dressing-room, and told everyone on speakerphone to calm down. He said he’d love to pick some of us in the squad but as there were only four friendlies to go before the World Cup, it were unlikely there’d be many changes. Even if anyone did break through, he said, it wouldn’t be until next March, at the earliest.
But as I weren’t in the team at the moment, I weren’t really taking much notice. I tried to muck in with the banter and the jokes, especially in the warm-up for the Everton game, but it didn’t feel right. So about 25 minutes before the game I were going through the motions, stretching my right leg out in a half-split near the touchline while most of the other players belted the ball around with relish and intensity. I looked towards the Carney Stand – the place where most of the players’ complimentary tickets ended up – and spotted Yousuf and his mother-in-law about 15 rows back.
Since my debut, Shazia had attended the most matches at Starcot Lane. Abujee and Amejee’s attendance rate were in single figures. They were worried about ‘football violence’ and thought they might be attacked by hooligans. In reality, they were more horrified by the over-zealous security and viciousness of the coffee from the pokey refreshment stall.
But as for Yousufine, to bring his Beefy Bonus rather than the main course were a step too far. There’d certainly be no more freebies for that loser. And what were Mrs Latif wearing? She were covered from head to toe in what Shazia tells us is a Jill Babb. I mean I’ve heard of Phil Babb but not Jill, am I missing something?
I jogged towards the touchline and ushered Yousuf to come down the aisle to Row A. ‘What did you bring her along for?’ I asked, continuing with my stretches.
‘You wanted Rukhsana?’ he replied, resting his hands on the wall, which were separating the pitch from the stand.
‘Course not, you cheeky bastard,’ I said, turning away and doing a jog on the spot. ‘There’s so many people after these tickets…film stars, pop stars…those kind of people…’
He looked at us nonplussed.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘How come Mrs Latif’s come dressed up? She were only wearing shalwar kameez last time.’
He looked behind him up in the stand.
‘Don’t tell us,’ I said. ‘She wants to protect herself from dirty boys like us?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘I want to see you after game,’ he said.
‘What for?’
Whenever old Yousufine asked us for something my gut reaction were always to say ‘you must be joking mate’ but the problem were he had access to something I wanted. Even worse, he were starting to enter my head just like Freddie Krueger. After all, I had a dream that he’d turned into a goalkeeper while Rukshana had that ball at her feet at Starcot Lane. You won’t believe this but there I am waiting inside the penalty area for a pass, but she just keeps on running. Then her mother pops up as the ref dressed in black shirt, shorts and socks but she’s got a joint between her lips rather than a whistle. I carry on screaming for the ball but she goes and shoots. The ball then goes through Yousuf’s legs and into the net. She sprints away to celebrate and, of course, like we always do, I try and catch her to give her a good hug. But just as I’m about to place a smacker between the lips, the ref blows her joint and stops play. I try again but the ref keeps blowing the joint. And then I wake up.
‘Is important…’ he said, flinching as a ball clattered into the advertising hoardings in front of him. ‘I want to ask you something.’
I ran over to collect the ball with my feet and dribbled it back on the pitch. ‘Okay, be outside the players’ entrance after the game.’
Everton won the game 1-0 and I also won £100 off Docker after predicting the right result. I didn’t get on the pitch but at least we managed to keep it exciting on the bench. But I weren’t too excited when I walked out of the players’ entrance and saw Yousuf leaning against the wall releasing smoke from his nostrils. The fag between his fingers were almost down to the filter but he brought it up to his lips one last time.
‘Been waiting long?’ I asked, letting the door shut behind us.
‘Ten mints,’ he said, releasing more smoke from his nostrils and throwing the fag against the wall without stubbing it.
‘You fuckin’ litterbug.’
‘What?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said, putting my bag over my shoulder and beginning to walk slowly. ‘We’ll head towards my car.’
Now Yousufine were the last person I’d want laying his filthy mitts all over my Audi R8. After all, he looked like a relic from the 80s with his tassled shoes and tight jeans. But the fact that he always looked half-asleep and unshaven made us feel sorry for him – for a second or two.
The players’ car park were only a short distance away from our entrance but, to my surprise, the cheeky bugger headed towards the driver’s side of my Audi.
‘Lights hurt my eyes,’ said Yousuf, blinking while looking up at the floodlights.
‘Not so fast mate,’ I said. ‘You can’t drive that…’
‘No matter. We drive all the time in Pakistan.’
Well this aint the land of Immy Khan and General Mysheriff is it? We know that match-fixing, ball-tampering and drug-taking goes on all the time but that doesn’t make it right does it? That kind of thing just ain’t tolerated over here and you better get used to it. Our prossies may vanish from time to time and there’s the old Auntie Social to deal with but there’s no comparison.
I walked over to the driver’s side. ‘Shift out,’ I said, brushing against him.
‘Come on, yaar,’ he said, putting out his hand.
I sighed and looked across the car park as Rico got into his shiny, alloy-wheeled Volkswagen Passat. He nodded and I raised my hand to say everything were fine.
‘Either you get in the passenger’s side or walk home,’ I said.
He paused and gave us a piercing look. He then put his hands in his coat pocket and walked slowly around to the passenger side of the Audi.
‘We also need to stop off at the petrol station for some fuel,’ I said, opening the door. ‘We’re a bit low.’
I got in the car and threw my bag onto the back seat. I felt my jeans pocket and ensured the £100 I’d won from Ray were still there. I could use that spare change at the petrol station, I thought, instead of fiddling through my bag.
We reached Briar Street in ten minutes and I kept the engine running as I parked up. ‘You don�
�t see these types of cars in places like this do you?’ I said, taking my hands off the steering wheel and folding them.
He didn’t answer and looked towards his house. He then lowered the sun-visor and smoothed out his side-parting in the mirror.
‘I’m sick of it,’ he said.
‘The house?’
‘All things,’ he said, turning to look at us. ‘House is too tight, ceilings too low. Can’t breathe sometimes, I need open air.’
Jesus and Mohammed, were the milk off and bread stale too? I can still remember Ibrahim telling us stories about Pakistan and saying that, at times, there were nowhere to unload your centre-back, if you now what I mean. You just went into the jungle and knocked your brownie out as best you could. Then there were a wanky twig to wipe your arse with but like all sweepers it failed to clear the danger. So you just pulled your kecks up and walked off feeling as though you’d been pebble dashed on your backside. It couldn’t have been pretty. And they think they’ve got it bad on I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here.
‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ I said, putting my hands back on the steering wheel. ‘I’m tired.’
He looked perplexed. ‘But you no play…’
‘Sitting on the bench is very tiring, you know,’
He sighed and put his hands in his coat pockets. He eventually pulled out what seemed like a wad of notes from his pockets. They were neatly lined up so he could hold them firmly in his hand. ‘You see these,’ he said, holding them up closer to us.
I looked closely at the dusty green and white notes. ‘What are they, rupees?’
‘Yes,’ he said, reaching into his trouser pocket with his other hand and pulling out something much smaller. ‘Lot of rupees.’
‘So?’
He drew his other hand towards us and displayed a pound coin. He now had the coin in one hand and the batch of rupees in the other.
‘Look at this…tiny…and look at this…big…’ he said, shaking the impressively tight batch of rupees in his hand. ‘About 130 of these and one of them. They’re same value.’
And we’re definitely not the same value Yousufine. I mean, I always thought you were bit of a Poundstretcher bloke and now you’re just admitting it.
‘Now come on, I’m late already,’ I said, pressing down on the accelerator. ‘I’ve got to go.
He got out of the car and put a rupee in my hand. ‘Thanks yaar,’ he said.
‘I’m no cabbie, you know…’ I said, feeling the smooth, one rupee note. ‘What are you giving it me for?’
‘To remember where you come from.’
Molly texted us as I drove into training. He said that there were a rumour whizzing around the dressing-room that Pearly had tested positive for drugs. I knew the testers had been around the training ground a couple of weeks ago, because I were one of the players tested. It took us half an hour of swigging a smoothie to produce enough to satisfy the smiling bods from the FA, and it must have been the cleanest sample they’d had since Gary Lineker. But if the story were true, surely this were the opportunity for us to get back in the team. Okay, the skipper were a centre-back and I were a midfielder but Blister were a big lad and good in the tackle, so maybe he could fill in at the back while I went back to my rightful position on the left wing.
So we were sat in Royds, getting changed and preparing for the session ahead when Pearly walked in looking a little downbeat. He went over and sat down next to Lassie but said nothing. Bowker immediately followed him in but he decided to stand in the doorway rather than come further in.
‘I’ve got a little announcement to make,’ said Bowker, folding his arms and looking around the changing room. ‘As of today, Mark Gates has been relieved of the captaincy and your new captain is Matt Malone. So any new moans and groans you might have about team matters can go to him. That’s it. I want you all out there in 10 minutes.’
What on earth were Pearly thinking? Didn’t matter now. I dread to think what colour his sample were. Abujee did the same kind of deeds but at least he saw the light when he went to Mecca. Maybe Pearly’ll make a similar kind of conversion: at Wembley.
Molly grabbed my thigh. ‘You fuckin’ beauty,’ he said.
I shook his hand and then touched his left boot. ‘I’m not worthy,’ I said, with a smile.
‘Yeah, you’ll be kissing them all the time.’
I looked over at Pearly who were on the other side of the changing room. He were changed already and were rolling the ball under his feet.
‘So is he still in the team, then?’ I asked, quietly.
‘Yeah, Bowker decided he was too important to the team.’
‘I thought they did serious things about positive drug tests. Bans and things.’
‘Not this time. He’s gonna get fined and a bit of counselling.’
Counselling? Good luck to the fella or lass that tries to get in Pearly’s mind. ‘Clear it’ were Pearly’s favourite line but I can see the shrinkos using that kind of line against him. After all, the poor ex-skipper had an obsession with tidiness as well as defensive clearances. His kit and boots were always neatly arranged and he always ensured Royds were spick and span. But once, Lassie hired a tailor to change Pearly’s shirt name from ‘Gates’ to ‘Bates’ and had ‘Master’ written across the top. Amazingly, Pearly didn’t go crazy but happily wore the shirt at Hillsborough while everyone in the stands were laughing their heads off. He said nothing throughout the game except for ‘CLEAR IT’. We couldn’t work out why he weren’t angry. No wonder his wife left him.
Molly stood up and stuck his chest out a little. ‘This is all because of my daughter, you know,’ he said, turning to us. ‘I’m a father, I’ve been made captain and Partington’s the England boss…I can’t believe it.’
‘I know she’s special,’ I said, slipping my foot into my boot, ‘but she doesn’t pick the team.’ I looked across at Mags who were sliding his socks on the tiles while fiddling about with his phone. ‘Looks like Mags got away with it, though.’
‘Hmm…’ replied Molly. ‘I think this team needs moral guidance.’
‘You can talk…’
Molly sat down and tied up his boot laces. ‘That was then…this is now.’
When the bell rang, Mags were playing Singstar on my PlayStation 3 while I were having a punt on 888.com. Mags didn’t come round very often but wanted a chinwag about Molly taking over the captaincy. He knew that Molly and us had been at school together and wanted to know more about the captain. The only problem were he spent most of the time on Singstar, droning along to tracks by The Human League and Depeche Mode and forgot about Molly and the drugs test. So when the bell rang, he also didn’t notice Yousuf coming into the living room.
‘Did you get enough sleep?’ I asked Yousuf, closing the living room door behind him.
He stood and scratched the back of his neck.
‘Never enough,’ he said. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Not your business. Go straight through the living room towards the back garden.’
He walked past us and headed into the kitchen.
‘Back in a minute,’ I shouted to Mags, who weren’t paying any attention. I walked out towards the kitchen and eventually out into the back garden.
‘Go on, sit down,’ I said, closing the kitchen door and gesturing to one of the plastic white chairs by the matching table.
Now you’re probably wondering why Yousufine were in Shaw Crescent, brushing shoulders with people out of his league. Well, the truth is Granny Fatima’s voice were talking loud and clear to us last night and it were her simple line about ‘using your power to change things for the better’ that made such an impact on us. A couple of hours before, I’d watched myself in a TV advert in which I’d earnt five grand for splashing after shave on my cheeks. The more I thought about the advert the more it didn’t feel right. I just couldn’t get it out of my head and it gradually became slaps to the face rather than touches. This, along with Granny’
s Fatima’s words, were a surefure sign that I had to act.
Yousuf pulled up a chair and sat down. He reached into his inside coat pocket for a battered packet of Gold Leaf and picked out a fag. He slowly put the fag to his mouth and threw the packet on the table.
‘I’ve told you about this before,’ I said. ‘You can’t smoke in here.’
He took the fag out of his mouth and looked around ‘We’re outside…’
‘Whatever, I don’t want it around here.’
He picked up the packet from the table, placed the fag back in and eased it back on the table. He looked away towards the small five-a-side goal near the back of the garden.
I pulled up one of the chairs and sat down. ‘Look, I were thinking a little about what you were saying…you know, about not being able to adjust properly.’
‘Is no good,’ he said, shifting in his seat. ‘I spend too much time in house here. Sitting here reminds of home. Fresh air and good smell.’
‘Do you miss it?’
‘Lot…’
‘What if you had the chance to go back?’
He coughed heavily and his side-parting fell out of position. ‘No chance. Ruki’s mum trapped me.’
‘And there’s no way out?’
‘I could jump over gate,’ he smiled, pointing at the black gate at the back of the garden.
I reached into my back jeans pocket and placed the rupee he had given me last night on the table.
‘No spend?’ he grinned, pushing back his hair to make a neat side-parting again.
Season of Sid Page 16