‘Not so hard now, are you sunshine? I would rob you, but I don’t want to get my hands dirty, and I doubt you’ve got anything I’d want.’ Jimmy stood back up, grabbing his chair from the pavement as he did so. ‘You could be dead now, you know that? I could have put the boot in, or gutted you with your own knife. And I’m an old boy. Imagine if you’d met me when I was your age?’
The youngster on the pavement looked up at Jimmy through teary eyes filled with hate. Jimmy was struck by how young he was. Maybe he’d think twice before trying to mug someone next time, Jimmy thought as he walked off towards the bus stop. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t.
Jimmy listened carefully for the sound of running feet behind him, but couldn’t hear anything other than his would-be assailant trying to cough blood up from the back of his throat. Just as Jimmy got to the bus stop, rubbing the back of his head at a dull ache that had appeared, the Number Twenty-Four back to Norwich pulled around the corner a few hundred yards away.
When Jimmy got on the bus, the driver nodded at the youngster on the pavement who was just beginning to get to his feet.
‘Did you see what happened to him?’ the driver asked as he inspected Jimmy’s return ticket before glancing at the blood on the back of Jimmy’s left hand.
‘Too much ambition, not enough talent,’ Jimmy replied.
‘Bloody kids,’ the driver said as he put the bus into gear. ‘All fucking mouth these days, so they are.’
‘Yep,’ Jimmy said, making his way into the bus.
Chapter 13
When Jimmy got back to his house, the first thing he did was hop into the shower. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, for personal hygiene reasons but to wash the incident outside the cemetery from his skin and his mind.
‘Little shit,’ he muttered under his breath as he shampooed his hair before smiling as he imagined how the youngster would explain away a broken nose and, in a day or so, two belting black eyes to his mates. Especially when one of his mates had seen him get clobbered by an “old boy”.
He got out of the shower, dressing as quickly as he could. Saturdays were all about football, despite whatever else was happening in his life, and today was no exception. If Norwich were at home, then he would work the game as a steward. If they were away, then he would listen to it on the radio or, on the odd occasion they were on the telly, watching it round at Robbie’s. His friend didn’t have satellite television, but knew a way to watch the games, anyway. Jimmy had never thought to ask him how.
Jimmy picked up his watch and slipped it on, mumbling as he realised that he would be cutting it fine to get to the brief before the game. He hurried into his bedroom and finished dressing as quickly as he could before heading for the bus stop. By the time the bus arrived only a few minutes later, he was breathing hard and sweating uncomfortably. The fact that the bus driver had the heating on full blast didn’t help, so Jimmy sat as close to the doors as he could.
The briefing room underneath Carrow Road football stadium was almost full by the time Jimmy arrived. It was a large room, the roof made up of the stepped terrace floor, and they had put no effort at all into decorating it other than a few posters on the walls that promised to “Kick Racism out of Football”. The head steward nodded at him as he found a seat, not caring that he was almost late. The whole stewarding arrangement was pretty informal, and as long as you were where you were supposed be—when you were supposed to be there—it was all cool. Jimmy saw Robbie sitting near the front of the room, already wearing his bright yellow fluorescent jacket even though the game wasn’t due to kick off for another hour and a half.
At the front of the room, a bespectacled police officer peered at them. Behind him on the wall was a large screen, lit up by a projector on the ceiling, with the crest of Norfolk Constabulary in high definition. A few seconds later, the policeman cleared his throat and began the brief.
‘Afternoon, gentlemen.’ He peered at the crowd again. ‘It is just gentlemen, is it?’ The assembled stewards laughed politely. Every week there was some variation of the same joke. ‘Welcome to the pre-match briefing. My name is Police Constable Simpson, and I’ve got some mug shots to show you. Burnley doesn’t have a big problem or history of trouble, but there are a few rascals among them.’
The policeman started flicking through photographs of young men, all taken from CCTV still images. The photographs started melting into each other as Jimmy’s concentration drifted. The copper might as well have been showing the stewards pictures of the youngster who’d tried it on with Jimmy at the cemetery. The “rascals” all looked very similar, anyway. Young, angry, mostly white, and trying their best to look intimidating. Just like Jimmy’s would-be mugger, and not too different to how Jimmy looked forty years ago.
Jimmy frowned as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. Inside the one with his lighter was a small plastic thing. He pulled it out, realising that it was the thumb drive that he’d found in Milly’s drawer. He’d completely forgotten about it since the police visit and hadn’t worn the trousers since. Good job he’d not thrown them in the wash, Jimmy thought. Turning it over in his hands, he re-read the text on the side of the USB drive.
Norfolk Photography Services. A web address was etched in smaller letters underneath the title.
Sliding his phone from his other pocket and trying to hide it from the policeman at the front of the room, Jimmy tapped in the web address and waited as a small circle rotated on the screen. A moment later, a message popped up to tell him he wasn’t connected to the internet. Hardly surprising, he thought, as he was sitting underneath a large football stadium. He fiddled with his phone, trying to find an open wi-fi network, but no joy.
While the policeman droned on at the front of the room, Jimmy started wondering if he should have come to the football at all. He wasn’t feeling brilliant, and what had happened at the cemetery that morning was playing on his mind. Rushing for the bus hadn’t helped either, nor did the heat in the room. Jimmy realised he’d not stopped sweating since he’d got on the bloody bus earlier. The back of his head felt tight. It wasn’t a headache, not really, but he wished he’d taken a few paracetamols earlier.
Finally, the policeman finished his presentation by asking if there were questions—there never were—and the occupants of the room all got to their feet. Jimmy watched Robbie pushing his way through the other stewards towards him.
‘You alright, mate?’ Robbie asked when he reached Jimmy. ‘You’re looking a bit peaky.’
‘Busy morning,’ Jimmy replied, not wanting to go into any detail. ‘Come on, let’s get some air. The food vans should be outside by now.’ He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘I could do with some scoff and a cuppa.’
‘Sounds like a great plan,’ Robbie replied.
They spent the next hour standing around outside the stadium, watching as the crowd for the match started to arrive. The fans had been trickling in since Jimmy and Robbie had sat on a wall outside the stadium, eating pulled pork rolls from a catering van parked near the away end. Jimmy had only had a couple of bites of his, but Robbie hadn’t seemed to notice. In the distance, Jimmy could hear singing and knew that the away fans’ coaches had discharged their passengers. The Norwich crowd wouldn’t find their voice until kick off, but away fans were always more vocal. Sure enough, ten minutes later, the Burnley fans started to arrive in numbers.
The stewards had some wide-ranging powers for a bunch of random blokes who were paid twenty quid in cash per game. They could stop and search anyone they wanted, even deny them entry to the ground as long as they had a good enough reason to. Robbie was searching through bags, while Jimmy stopped any young lads to search them for weapons. To their left, a bored looking policeman cast his eyes over the crowd, and for a second Jimmy wished he’d paid more attention to the policeman at the briefing.
Over the years, Jimmy had found all sorts of things people wanted to smuggle into the ground. Snooker balls in socks, a retractable baton or two, and even a couple of
nasty looking knives. Much more common was alcohol though, and that was what he concentrated on more. There was a bin for bottles and cans behind the crowd barriers, and any contraband went in there. It was normally full by the end of the game, and it got taken to the stewards crew room for ‘disposal’ by the section heads. They poured anything that was opened away, while the section heads liberated anything that was still sealed. Jimmy didn’t mind, nor it seemed did anyone else. One of the perks of being slightly higher up the stewards’ pecking order, apparently.
‘Alright, mate?’ Jimmy said to a young man walking towards the entrance. ‘I’m going to search you, if that’s okay?’ It would have to be okay, because if the fan said no, he wasn’t coming in.
‘Fuck’s sake, really?’ the lad replied in a thick northern accent. ‘I haven’t got nothing.’
‘No reason why I can’t search you, then,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Arms up. I’m sure you’ve been through this before.’ The away fan groaned as he lifted his arms out to his sides.
When he got to the young man’s coat pocket, Jimmy felt a couple of suspicious items rattling, so he opened the flap and looked inside. At the bottom of the pocket were a couple of small smoke grenades, no doubt full of the same colour smoke as the football kit the away fan was wearing.
‘Turn around,’ Jimmy said, spinning the young man so that the pocket with the grenades in was facing away from the policeman. He slipped his hand inside the pocket and grabbed them. ‘I’m going to have to confiscate these, son.’ The away fan looked resigned and swore under his breath. Jimmy didn’t catch what he said but figured it probably wasn’t complimentary. ‘Or I could call that copper over, and he’d probably nick you for attempting to enter. Best case, a football banning order. Worst case, three months in nick. What do you think?’
‘They’re all yours, mate,’ the youngster said, managing a smile in Jimmy’s direction as he slipped the smoke grenades into his own pocket. There was a special bin for fireworks and smoke bombs a few hundred yards away, so when Jimmy next went that way, he could dump them there.
Jimmy leaned in to the away fan and whispered in his ear.
‘Next time, shove them down the front of your pants. We’re not allowed to search you there, nor would we want to.’ A broad grin spread across the young man’s face as Jimmy continued. ‘Just hope they don’t go off before you get into the ground.’
‘Nice one fella,’ the fan replied. ‘You’re alright, you are. Up the Clarets, yeah?’
‘Maybe, we’ll see,’ Jimmy said. ‘Enjoy the match.’ The youngster walked off with a swagger as Jimmy watched him. Weapons or booze was one thing, but a smoke bomb? Jimmy knew that the fire officer and probably most of the stewards would disagree with him, but he wasn’t about to spoil the young lad’s day over a bloody smoke bomb. Hopefully, Burnley would lose and that would spoil it for him, anyway.
Ten minutes into the match, Norwich were winning by a single goal. Jimmy stood at his appointed spot in between the most vocal section of the home fans and the away fans. A couple of times, Jimmy looked at the away crowd to see if he could spot the lad from earlier, but he couldn’t make him out.
Jimmy wiped his hands on his trousers for the second or third time in as many minutes. He was still sweating even though it was cold, and he could feel a trickle of sweat making its way between his shoulder blades. In the last couple of minutes, he’d noticed a slight tremble in his fingertips, and the band across the back of his head was getting tighter. He looked over at the players on the pitch, wishing for the first time since he’d been a steward he wasn’t here. He should be at home, finding Milly. Seeing what was on that memory drive, doing some research on Facebook. Anything but watching a bloody football match.
He belched and then grimaced as a hot trickle of bile made its way into the back of his throat. For a horrible second, he thought he would be sick in front of the best part of twenty-five thousand football fans, but the feeling passed. The trembling was getting worse though, and he could feel his knees shake.
‘Are you okay?’ Jimmy heard a muffled voice say. He looked to see a policeman, the same one who had been standing next to him outside the ground, looking at him with concern. ‘You’ve gone white as a sheet.’ The copper reached out and took Jimmy’s elbow just as he stumbled slightly on his feet. Jimmy shook his head as he heard the policeman calling out to someone. Everything had gone blurry. He belched again, realising that his stomach felt distended as if he’d had a belly full of beer. Except he hadn’t.
‘I’m fine,’ Jimmy said. ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look it,’ the policeman said. He pulled Jimmy’s arm gently just as he felt another hand on his other elbow. ‘Come on, this way. Think you need to sit down somewhere.’
Jimmy let himself be led into the passage that led back underneath the stands. He shook his head again, trying to focus on whoever had his other elbow. At first, Jimmy thought it was another policeman, but as he squinted he could just make out the writing on the other man’s uniform. St John Ambulance.
He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, wondering why his legs didn’t feel like they belonged to him any more. The two men led him towards a set of double doors with the words ‘Medical Centre’ on them in large white letters. That was when everything started to go sideways, and black. The last thing he remembered was the policeman shouting something as he tightened his grip on Jimmy’s arm and lowered him to the floor.
Chapter 14
Jimmy lay on the uncomfortable hospital trolley and listened to the frantic sounds of the emergency department beyond the curtains of his cubicle. Somewhere in the distance a woman was crying, and if the man he thought was with her was shouting at her, she would not stop anytime soon. Every few seconds, he could see people walking past him through the small gap in the blue paper curtains.
He looked up at the intravenous bag that hung on a pole attached to his trolley. Every couple of seconds, a fat drop of the liquid would splash into its small chamber and then, presumably, make its way down the tube and into his body through the needle in his arm.
The flustered young male doctor who’d seen Jimmy about an hour after the ambulance deposited him in a cubicle had ordered a bunch of tests, and Jimmy had been prodded, stuck, examined and had even been offered a finger in his back passage, which he’d politely declined. Jimmy had been given a bag of intravenous fluid which had gone through in about thirty minutes, and then it had been changed for another bag which wasn’t going through as fast. Jimmy wasn’t sure what was in the bag, but he was feeling one hundred percent better.
When he’d arrived at the hospital, he’d been feeling sick, but that could have been the way the ambulance driver was hammering along. Jimmy got the impression that he didn’t get the chance to drive it often and was making the most of it. At least the nausea had disappeared now.
Whether it was the intravenous fluids, Jimmy didn’t know, but he was bursting for a pee. He waited until he saw someone passing by his curtains and then called out to them.
‘Sorry, excuse me?’ He thought he’d missed them for a moment, but a second later, the curtains flew back and Jimmy saw a familiar head of untamed red hair. It was the student nurse from the neurology outpatients department.
‘Hello,’ she said in a bright voice. ‘I know you, don’t I?’ Jimmy wracked his brains for her name. It began with an ‘A’, that much he remembered, but she was too far away for him to read her name badge.
‘Hi, yes. You were working in the outpatients department. I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name.’
‘Angela,’ she replied. Jimmy cursed under his breath. Of course it was.
‘From County Meath, aren’t you?’ Her smile broadened as he said this.
‘Yeah, that’ll be me.’ She walked across, still smiling, and stood next to his trolley. ‘What are you doing in here, then?’
‘Went all weird at the football,’ he replied. ‘I’m feeling much better now, though. Erm,
I was wondering, I’m desperate for a pee. Am I allowed to go to the toilet?’
‘Hang on a sec, let me just check with someone.’ Angela left the cubicle, but returned a short time later. ‘The Charge Nurse says that’s fine, but I’m to go with you.’
‘To the toilet?’
‘As far as the toilet,’ she replied. ‘I’ll wait outside, though. If I hear a big thump, I’ll know you’ve fainted again. Swing your legs round and just sit on the edge for a moment. I’ll have to take the cannula in your arm out first.’
Jimmy sat in silence as Angela fussed with the needle which turned out not to be a needle at all, but a plastic tube.
‘I thought you were a student nurse?’ he asked her. According to her badge, she was a health care assistant. The scrubs she was wearing were a different colour. The last time Jimmy had seen her, they’d been green with white stripes. The ones she had on now were pale blue.
‘I am,’ Angela replied. ‘I’m still on placement in outpatients, but I’m desperate for the money, so I’m moonlighting.’ Jimmy thought about his own job on the lorries. Technically, he’d been moonlighting at the football but in his case, it wasn’t for the money. ‘Bloody student loans. They’re killing me.’ Angela’s smile slipped for a second, but was soon back again. Leaving him with a small piece of gauze taped to his arm, Angela took off her disposable gloves and let down the cot-sides on the trolley.
‘Just sit on the edge for a moment,’ she told him. While he waited, for what he wasn’t sure, he looked at Angela. She really was a very good-looking young woman, almost model-like, but he wasn’t about to say anything to her along those lines. ‘How’re you feeling?’ she asked him a moment later.
Finding Milly Page 9