I pulled out the Nokia 786 frantically. I clicked on the ‘pictures’ icon and waited for a moment. The words ‘Kateb’ and ‘Mina’ appeared. I clicked on ‘Kateb’ and an image emerged of a very young-looking man with a slim face, long nose and thin moustache. I raised the phone across to Rukhsana and she looked at the image. She said nothing and gestured that she’d seen enough. I clicked on the word ‘Mina’ and the image showed a smiling young woman with a pierced nose and a red, see-through headscarf. I put the phone down in front of the laptop and leaned back.
‘…I then had a choice, Sadiq, whether to leave you here in these kind of conditions with no parents and little future…or to take you back with me to England and start a new life. I chose the latter.’
I sighed and looked at the ceiling. ‘Switch it off…’ I said.
‘No,’ replied Rukhsana. ‘We’re going to the bitter end.’
I grabbed another Dorito from the bedside table and launched it into my mouth.
‘I wanted to take you into my family home, but my wife wouldn’t allow it. It may have been understandable because I had connected with Shazia by that time. So I asked her about you and she said that her mother had been desperate for a boy and that the family would be delighted to take you in. So they did, and everything went on from there…’
I put my hands over my eyes and felt numb.
‘…Day after day after day, I thought about telling you about your real parents, Sadiq, but we didn’t want to hurt you. Shazia’s parents got so attached to you, that they couldn’t do it…and I couldn’t do it because of a mixture of cowardice and shame. I can’t put into words the happiness I felt when you made it as a professional footballer…Kateb and Mina would be so proud of you. It’s also why I want you and Rukhsana to marry. I want so much for you to be together. Yes, I know I am dying and I know the punishing years of labour have caught up with me. But Rukhsana and you are meant to be together. It’s destiny.’
Rukhsana rubbed her eyes and looked away for a moment.
‘Please forgive me, both of you. I will be going from this earth soon and have little but regrets to take with me. Allah will ask me many questions and I may not have the answers…I didn’t have the answers in this life either.’
I got up from the bed and could feel my head spinning like one of Rico’s bendy free-kicks.
‘So I’m a bastard then?’ I said.
‘No, don’t be stupid, a bastard’s illegitimate…if you want to be pernickety about it, I suppose you’re an orphan…’
‘An orphan? I knew an Irfan once…’
Ruki stopped the disc and looked up at us. ‘Look, I know it’s a shock but…’
‘But I were born at Clutterbuck Hospital, on Whitworth Road,’ I protested, walking up and down from the bedside table to the TV. ‘I’ve got the birth certificate too. Yeah and they said I were a right big bastard too, nine pounds…and I came home in a Ford Cortina, mark four…’ I stopped at the bedside table. ‘Aye, and when I were six months they said I kicked a nurse in the head, which showed I were gonna be a footballer…’
The fucking mobile rang again.
‘Sid, hello it’s Ray…’
‘Hmm…’
‘Sid?’
‘Aye, I’m here.’
‘Look Sid, I’ll just get straight down to it because I’ve got a lot of calls to make. You didn’t make the original squad, but you are on stand-by for the World Cup, along with five others…’
‘Can people born in another country still play for England?’
‘What?’
‘If a player were born somewhere else…not us, of course, can he still play for England?’
‘Erm…I’m not sure, to tell you the truth, I don’t think so, unless he has English parents or grandparents’
‘Right…I’m on stand-by then, thanks…speak to you later.’
I ended the call and put the mobile back in my pocket.
‘ON FUCKIN’ STAND–BY,’ I said, kicking the bedside table. ‘I’M BETTER THAN 20 OF THOSE FUCKERS THAT HAVE BEEN PICKED…and I thought Parto were on my side too…’
‘What does that stand-by actually mean?’ asked Ruki. ‘You get on if somebody pulls out?’
‘Look at that TV, over there,’ I said, pointing to the smart appliance in the corner. ‘It’s on stand-by now…’
‘So?’
‘It’ll stay like that if no-one touches it. It’ll never get on.’
I sat down and put my head in my hands. ‘I feel sick…’
‘Come here,’ she said, crawling across the bed towards us. She put her soothing hand on my head. ‘Come on, lie on the bed and have a rest.’ I looked round and reluctantly lay down on the bed. She shut down the laptop and picked up the Nokia 786 and the football. She moved to the other side of the bed and lay down beside me. She slid the Nokia 786 between us so the picture of Mina was beaming up at us. ‘She was a pretty woman…’ said Ruki.
‘So Amejee’s not my mother, Abujee’s not my father and Shazia’s not my sister. But will you marry us?’
Ruki didn’t answer and sat up. She reached forward, picked up the football and lay down again.
‘I’m a bit like this football,’ she said, handing it to us with its panels, seaming and leather pulled apart.
‘What?’
‘Torn,’ she said.
I held the ball as tight as I could and curled up in the bed. I looked down at the picture of my mother and clasped the ball to my chest. We were like a couple of centre halves holding hands in a wall, resisting everything the world could throw at us. The wussy water had nowhere left to go. A couple of tears even dropped into the leather: maybe a few more would help stitch it up again. It wouldn’t bring Mam and Dad back but they’d worked hard to ensure Italia ‘90 didn’t go belly up and now I were in the great country itself, paying tribute to their legacy. I felt proud and grateful. There were a connection with them I couldn’t describe. Now, all that were left were to get down to where Muhammad Ali lit the flame for the Atalanta Olympics and get some much-needed inspiration for my new career. I’d be unstoppable after that.
‘WAIT!’ screamed Rukhsana, springing up from the bed. She frantically turned on the laptop again.
‘WHAT?’
‘He said the World Cup tickets were in Milan…’
‘…And?’
She played the disc again. ‘Which airport did you come in from?’
‘Milan Bergamo, I think…’
‘They would have flown in here too…’
The disc started playing again. ‘Wait, it’s not finished yet,’ she said.
I settled down again with Rukhsana, but the wussy water were now a flood. I weren’t sure I could take anymore.
Ibrahim started speaking again. ‘…The funerals of your mother and father – and the others who died – were very painful for everyone…’ He paused and felt a ball in his hands, crushing it like an orange. ‘…Near the end of the funerals, we were surprised to see a man turn up from Italy who had heard of the tragedy and wanted to attend in person to pay his respects. He was elated with the standard of work we had done. He was a World Cup organiser and was in charge of the ticketing arrangements for the tournament. He met you and spoke to you, Sadiq. You two got on very well, kicking the ball to each other and playing many other games. He was an Atalanta shareholder and had dreams of owning the club one day…’
Season of Sid Page 30