by Nick Hopton
He wandered off, depressed by alcohol. The dream was but a delusion. Moreover, if he didn’t pull himself together, his football would suffer and that would be the end of his career. Then what? He’d finish up as the dustman, not Si.
It dawned on him that Si had a future, regardless of whether he succeeded or failed in his present job. A degree meant you could always get a good job. What did he have, Jimmy Sweeny? What had he got? Bugger all… One O level. In geography. Fat lot of use that would be. Perhaps he should have made more of an effort at school, after all? Then again, remembering the anguish of homework, perhaps not.
~
Si was in the Sudan. The heat stifled him and he had wrapped something about his mouth to keep out the sand. He was driving from Khartoum airport with Roberta’s father. As far as he could work out the car had no air-conditioning.
‘You don’t know how happy I am that you have embraced the true faith,’ said Roberta’s dad.
Si felt somewhat removed from the situation. It didn’t seem right to disillusion the friendly man in the white robes and turban. Nonplussed, he remained silent but smiled. Like a camel, he reflected. And this made him smile even more.
Roberta’s father described his background in the Queen’s English. ‘I used to live in Shepherd’s Bush and took the underground train every day to work. I was a presenter on the BBC Arabic Service. I had many jolly times in London… A wonderful time of my life…’
‘Perhaps you’ll return soon?’
‘No, no, I think not.’ And the firm look that accompanied these words deterred Si from interrupting further. He resumed his camel expression.
They were back at the house of Roberta’s parents. In the courtyard. A marble fountain splashed gently among a spectrum of small tiles. Roberta and he were alone and she was explaining in hushed tones that he was now expected to toe the line.
Si couldn’t quite grasp what she was saying, but every time he tried to ask she raised a finger of warning to her lips.
‘All will be revealed in the fullness of time to the true believers,’ she said.
Si watched the drops of bright water emerge like transparent snakes from the perforated nipple at the centre of the fountain, run over its curves and fall in crystal ropes to the bowl below. He tried to isolate one drop and follow it from its emergence to its absorption in the pool, but no matter how hard he exerted his will, regardless of the tricks he employed, such as closing one eye, he failed to distinguish the individual drops. They must be aware of their paths as individual drops, he thought, so why can’t I distinguish them? He puzzled at length but couldn’t find an answer. Then he realised that Roberta was still speaking to him.
‘You must behave like a true believer,’ she advised sternly. ‘Like Cat Stevens.’
‘But I don’t even like his music,’ protested Si.
‘If not, you will be punished.’
Si was dismayed. How had his love life become so serious?
Roberta softened and gave him a winning smile. For the time being, she seemed to have won.
Finally, it all became appallingly clear to him. ‘Why?’ he cried. But he already knew the answer.
‘Because I sent my father the article you wrote about Cat Stevens. He did not understand your meaning because I told him it showed your religious zeal. The passion of a convert. If you now act otherwise, I’ll tell my father that you’re not a convert. I’ll explain your article to my father, and he will not be amused. In fact, I’ll tell him that you are an apostate and that will seal your fate.’ Roberta drew a curved dagger from the blue wrap which flowed around her limbs like water. ‘This will be your fate. This or the religious police who will beat you with sticks until you bleed to death.’ Roberta smiled calmly and slipped the knife back inside the folds of her clothing.
She looked around to check that they were not being watched, and then leaned forward, pushing him back towards the edge of the fountain bowl. Her lips brushed against his and Si yielded. He felt the warm water close over his body as they both rolled slowly into the fountain.
When the phone rang it was Roberta to tell him she’d be late and wouldn’t arrive at his flat till lunchtime. Saturday mornings—he loved them. Nothing to get up for until Roberta came over. That was on the occasions when she wasn’t already there.
His watch on the bedside table showed ten thirty. Another half an hour, then he’d get up and make breakfast. He rolled over on his side and fell into an uneasy reverie. But this time he dreamed of football.
~
Jimmy raised his hand tentatively and bit his bottom lip with the effort of concentration. He struck the strings. God, it sounded awful, and this was meant to be an easy chord. He looked furtively at the closed bedroom door and listened for movement. Nothing. Good. Brenda wasn’t about.
Recently his lover had been hanging around too much. He’d have to do something about her before she got the impression their relationship was serious. Heaven forbid. Since she’d lost her job at the PR company she’d been moping about. She was now trying to get her old job back behind the bar at The Feathers. The sooner the better, as that would keep her busy.
He leaned forward and twiddled the volume knob on the small 10-watt amplifier. Lifting cramped fingers off the strings, he consulted the book again. The diagram seemed to suggest that he had to hold down the top string with the third digit, the second bottom string with the index finger and the thick bottom string with the third finger. He carefully twisted his hand into this position and tried to ignore the pain. How long before this became second nature, as the book promised it would with regular practice?
Janggg… The downward blow from his right hand bounced off the strings, and the open G chord clashed alarmingly with a host of foreign notes.
‘Shit,’ he sighed. This was obviously going to take time. His watch said six thirty. Okay, he resolved, in half an hour I’ll go to the pub. But first I’m going to get this bugger right…
~
‘Hello, can I speak to Jimmy, please?’
‘No, he’s not here.’ It was Brenda again. Surely Jimmy wasn’t making a regular thing of it with her?
‘Is that Brenda?’
‘What if it is? Who are you?’
‘It’s Si from The Feathers… You know, Jimmy’s friend.’
‘Oh, you.’
There didn’t seem much more to be gained from this. ‘Look, could you tell Jimmy I called? Where is he, anyway?’
‘Manchester, he said. He reckoned he’d be back tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’
That was strange. Jimmy didn’t normally go away during the week unless there was a match. Millwall weren’t playing up north, as far as Si knew. But he didn’t follow Millwall’s fixtures closely, despite Jimmy’s involvement. He tried to think of Second Division football clubs near Manchester. Oldham, Burnley, Bolton…. Were Millwall playing Bolton? Then Si wondered if Bolton were really in the Second rather than the First Division. He gave up.
‘Well, tell him I called, will you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thanks.’ Si leaned back in his chair and watched Bill shuffling papers on his desk while cradling a phone in the crook of his neck. The kid was improving, no doubt about that.
Feeling distinctly uninspired, Si went off in search of the coffee machine. After almost three months at The Courier, he was beginning to realise the limitations of the job. Truth was, he’d started to get bored. Well, it was up to him to make his job interesting. After all, everyone had to work, didn’t they?
~
‘So what were you doing in Manchester?’ Si’s curiosity got the better of him.
‘Manchester?’
‘Yeah, I rang the other day and Brenda…’ (Si raised an eyebrow as he spoke, but he didn’t push it) ‘… she told me that you’d gone to Manchester.’
‘How do you know it was Brenda?’
‘I recognised her voice.’
‘Oh.’ Jimmy looked nonplussed.
‘Well, it doe
sn’t matter. I’m not fussed if you want to shag our favourite barmaid.’ He smiled reassuringly at Jimmy, who still looked a bit unsure of himself. ‘So, what were you doing in Manchester,’ Si persisted.
‘Oh, not much,’ Jimmy said evasively. Until the deal was confirmed he’d decided not to tell anyone, not even Si. It would be tempting fate. And if it fell through he’d look a fool. ‘The club sent me up there for a bit of special training.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘No, not really. It’s work at the end of the day, like going to an office… No different, really.’
‘Ah.’
Jimmy decided to change the subject while Si was still reflecting. ‘So, what happened with that girl, then?’
Si shrugged despondently. ‘Not a lot.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, like I said. Not a lot. She rang me last week to say that her dad had told her to come home.’
‘Out of the blue, like?’
‘Yeah. Well, perhaps he’d got wind of me. I don’t know. Anyway, she rings and says she has to go home. She’d already finished her exams anyway, so there wasn’t really any reason for her to stay… Apart from me.’
‘Oh.’
‘Apparently that wasn’t enough to keep her here.’
‘So, will you see her again? Or is that it?’
‘I don’t know. She said she’d write as soon as she got home. But I haven’t heard anything yet.’
‘Perhaps the post takes a while, or maybe her dad’s locked her away in a harley…’
‘Harem, you mean.’
Jimmy nodded.
‘Well, maybe. I don’t know. It all seemed to be going so well.’
‘She was a great girl. I really liked her.’
‘Yeah, me too. I mean, she was all right.’ Si tried not to let his face betray him. Roberta had been gone five days, during which time he’d found it difficult to concentrate on his work, to sleep and to do even the basic things necessary to keep body and soul together. It had taken a considerable effort by Jimmy to get him down to The Feathers for a drink.
They sat in silence for a while.
Jimmy’s mind had taken a fresh tack by the time he next spoke. ‘Did you like school?’
‘Huh? School? It was all right. Sometimes. Why? What about you?’ Si perked up a bit.
‘No, I hated it. Course I did.’
‘You seemed to have a good enough time when we were there.’
‘Don’t be dense. I hated every minute of it.’
‘What? Even the football?’
‘No, course not. But football was in lunch breaks and after school. Not in lessons.’
‘Yes it was. In games.’
‘Well, once a week, I suppose so,’ Jimmy acknowledged grudgingly. ‘Anyway, you were always a teacher’s pet. You loved it, didn’t you?’ Jimmy leered.
‘No, you forget that they chucked me out.’ Si sounded a bit defensive. ‘They wouldn’t have done that if I’d been a teacher’s pet, would they?’
‘I suppose so. But it wasn’t as if they expelled you or anything. Just asked you to leave for smoking.’
‘I was expelled,’ said Si firmly. ‘And it wasn’t for smoking. It was for anarchistic behaviour.’
‘Don’t be daft. You were caught behind the back wall with a fag.’
‘Yeah, I know. But when old Pig-head told me I’d be out, he said it was for “general anarchistic behaviour”. I was an anarchist, you see—’
‘Toss. You didn’t know the meaning of the word.’
‘Bet you don’t even know what it means now.’
‘Bet you I do.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So… What’s it mean, then?’
‘It means… Like… Not behaving properly, that’s what. Like picking your toenails when you’re eating.’
‘Well, more or less.’ They sank into a maudlin silence over the dregs of their pints.
‘Sometimes… Sometimes I feel like that what I learnt at school was quite important.’
‘Crap. Never did me any good.’
‘Well, maybe. But often I find that the only sense of structure I can find in life are the half-remembered things I learnt at school. Know what I mean?’
Jimmy looked blank.
‘Like snatches of poetry or an idea from a book? Even a name of someone I heard about. It can be enough to keep me going when everything seems pointless. Or like when things fall apart…’
‘Can’t say I’ve found that myself.’
‘Never?’
Jimmy thought for a minute. ‘No, never.’
‘Oh.’ Si sounded disappointed.
‘Why? You know I never read books,’ Jimmy said gently. And Si thought he detected the faintest note of regret in his friend’s voice.
‘You told me you were reading Fever pitch just the other day.’
‘Yeah, I didn’t finish it though. Got bored. Anyway, I’m talking about reading books at school… When it made a difference to what happened after.’
‘Oh, I suppose so. Doesn’t matter anyway. School was a long time ago. That was then…’
‘And this is now. So stop fannying about and get the beers in.’
‘Yeah, why not?’ Si smiled for the first time that evening.
‘Why not indeed.’
Si drained the suds from his glass and moved towards the bar. He was a good mate, Jimmy. Reliable, there when needed. A good mate. That’s what you needed in today’s world. Just when everything was beginning to make sense for the first time. A bit of structure and meaning becoming visible. Then the whole thing crashes down in pieces. If it wasn’t for Jimmy, Si realised, he’d have been in a right mess.
~
Still no answer. He’d give it a few more rings then put the phone down. What was wrong with journalists? Couldn’t they even answer the phone?
Jimmy had resolved to tell Si before anyone else. He’d also decided not to tell Brenda and to stop seeing her with immediate effect. It had all got a bit out of control. He’d only meant it as a one-night stand, after all.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hi. Is Si… I mean Simon Simpson there please?’
‘He’s on another line. Can I take a message?’
‘Oh, no… Don’t worry. Well, could you tell him that Jimmy called? He’s got my number.’
‘Yeah, sure. Oh, hold on a minute. He’s just come off. I’ll pass you over.’
‘Hi, Jimmy. What’s happening?’
‘Not a lot. I just thought I’d give you a ring.’
‘Really? That’s odd. You’ve never done that before. No, come on, there’s something else. Eh?’
‘Yeah. How did you guess? Well, listen, I’ve just got the most amazingly fantastic news.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘I’m going to be a star.’
‘Yeah? How’s that, then?’
‘Well, the boss has just told me Man United want to buy me. Can you believe it? Bloody amazing. He reckons, the boss that is, that it’s almost all sorted out. I’m going to Manchester tomorrow to work out the final details. I’ll go for a month or so to start with and, assuming it all goes well, they’ll give me a full-time contract. What about that, then?’
‘Grief, Jimmy. I didn’t know any of this was in the pipeline.’
‘Ah well, I wanted to keep it quiet like until I was certain. But you’re the first to know. Honest. And just when I was beginning to think my career would never take off. What do you reckon?’
‘Ruddy ace! That’s what I think.’
‘Yeah, it is, isn’t it?’
‘We should have a drink when you get back from Manchester. It’ll be one of the last decent pints you’ll have.’
‘What do you mean? The best beer in the world comes from Manchester.’
‘Steady, Jimmy. This whole thing’s gone to your head. Weren’t you telling me the other day that all northerners were prats?’
‘They are. But they s
till make good beer.’
‘And they’ve got the best football teams. Even I know that.’
‘Yeah.’
Si could almost see Jimmy grinning at the other end of the line.
‘Look, Si, this is it. This is the big one, what I’ve been waiting for all this time. It’s going to be amazing, and this is only the start.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. Well done. You give me a ring when you’re back, okay?’
‘Don’t be stupid. We’re going to celebrate tonight.’
‘Yeah? Sure, tonight. You’re right. This needs celebrating now. Badly. I’m going to buy you a serious drink. Feathers tonight?’
‘Sure. I’ll be there at eight. Okay?’
‘Yeah, see you then… And Jimmy?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well done, mate.’
The next call was harder. Jimmy dialled but didn’t really have time to compose himself before Brenda picked up the phone.
‘Jimmy,’ she wailed, ‘where’ve you been? I thought you’d forgotten me.’
‘Hi, Brenda. How’ve you been?’
‘What’s wrong with you? You sound all cold. That’s not my Jimmy. Why don’t I come over tonight and warm you up a bit, hmm?’
‘That was why I rang, really.’
‘Oh. You only ring me when you want something…’
‘No, you’re wrong. That’s just it. I don’t want anything. Not any more.’
Jimmy hoped he wasn’t going to have to spell it out. He waited for a reaction, but he could already hear Brenda sniffling at the other end of the line. He felt a total snake, but he knew it was the only thing to do.
~
Jimmy moved up to Manchester and stayed in a huge hotel near the city centre. The deal was more or less tied up and only a few odds and ends remained for the lawyers to resolve. Jimmy couldn’t believe his new salary, which was three times what he’d been on at Millwall with the prospect of rapid increases, if things went well. He took pleasure in walking the corridors of the hotel, admiring the plush carpets and the gold fittings, drinking champagne in the bar courtesy of Manchester United. He saw glamorous women come and go in the vast lobby, and later one evening an important games show celebrity nodded affably to him across the bar. For the first time he felt the heady rush of success and was transported by the prospect of great wealth.