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       ‘You may have signed for Man United, but you haven’t done anything yet.’

      ‘You know I’m Man United, but I don’t want that to put pressure on you. If you decide to sign for somebody else, I won’t be upset.’

      Dad had always made that clear to me. Of course, I’d always known he was lying about the last bit. So the day I signed at Old Trafford was as fantastic for him as it was for me. By the time we left Mr Ferguson’s office, Mum was in tears. She was happy for me but she knew it meant that, sooner rather than later, I was going to be leaving home. She’d put so much love and so many hours into a kid who was mad about football; and the moment we’d got to our destination was also the moment she was going to have to get used to the idea of her boy heading north to start a career.

      She did a fair bit of crying in the months between me signing up and starting my YTS at United. But I knew, deep down, she was as proud of me as my dad was. Not letting my parents down meant everything to me. They never made me feel like I owed them for the support they’d given me, but I felt I had to do all I could to make sure they didn’t end up disappointed. Think about it: if I let them down, it would mean I’d let myself down as well. It’s never been a case of me having to match up to their expectations. It’s just that I’ve taken my parents’ expectations of me and made them the starting point for what I expect of myself. Even now, when my own family and career mean I don’t see as much of them, I think I still judge myself by the standards I learnt from Mum and Dad.

      What could have been more exciting than that day? Everybody shaking hands, me in my blazer and club tie, a United player; or, at least, a lad from Chingford who’d just taken the first step towards becoming a United player. Out in the corridor, Dad and I met up with the United captain, Bryan Robson. We’d spent hours in front of the television watching videos of this man, our absolute all-time hero. Dad had tried to hammer his qualities into me: courage, commitment, energy, vision and the ability to inspire players around him.

      I’d met Bryan before, but this was the boss introducing me to him as United’s latest signing:

      ‘Congratulations, David. You’ll find out for yourself but, I’d say, you couldn’t be joining a better club.’

      I don’t remember us driving back to London at all. At least Dad didn’t forget we were on a busy motorway. I couldn’t have thought about anything else that evening, and I didn’t want to. I’d just lived through the happiest day of my life.

      Although I’d done the adding up in my head and got the answer I wanted, that first contract at Old Trafford wasn’t actually for six years but for four. It was against regulations, anyway, for a boy signing schoolboy forms to have full professional terms set out there and then: I was only thirteen, after all, and so much could change before I turned eighteen. The rules were there to protect youngsters from getting trapped somewhere they didn’t want to be; not that there was any chance of that happening to me. United told me that, if everything went well, I could expect to sign as a professional in four and a half years’ time.

      In a really important way, I think that bit of uncertainty was best for me and for all the other lads who joined the club at the same time. I knew I was wanted. But I also knew that I had to prove myself over the next four years. If I’d known all along that achieving the ambition of becoming a professional player at United was already settled – down on a piece of paper in black and white – who knows if it wouldn’t have taken the edge off my determination to take the chance I’d been given? I think that extra hunger has had a lot to do with my success and the team’s success in the years since: all the boys who’ve come through at the club will know what I mean. The day I signed didn’t feel like the day I’d made it. The hard work was just starting. I wanted a challenge and Manchester United was the biggest challenge there was.

      I knew I was in good hands. Even before I signed at United I had the feeling I was joining a family. It’s about there being really good people everywhere at the club. I don’t just mean the ones everybody would know about like the manager or the players, but people like Kath Phipps, who still works on Reception at Old Trafford. I can still remember, when I was just a boy, every time I went up to a United game she’d be there. She’d lean across her desk and give me a little kiss and the programme she’d saved for me. Later on, Kath used to help me with answering my mail. She’s part of United and she was with me right through my career there.

      Whenever I came up to Manchester to train or to be at a game, I’d be looked after by Joe and Connie Brown, who had an office at the ground. They would take me – and Mum and Dad, if they were with me – around Old Trafford, take us for a meal, show us down to the dressing rooms and introduce us to the players and staff. Joe and Connie made me feel really welcome. Joe was Youth Development Officer at United. He was responsible for young players’ expenses and travel arrangements but that job stretched to him and Connie taking care of just about everything when youngsters from outside Manchester and their families spent time at the club.

      Then, when it came to the football, there was Nobby Stiles. I worked with Nobby after I joined the club, too, but I first met him during the weeks when I came up to train in the school holidays. He was the coach I remember most clearly working with back then. Nobby was really hard, just like he was as a player, but I think he cared more about the youngsters he worked with than anything else in the world. Dad knew all about Nobby as a player, of course, for United and as a World Cup winner with England: he and Dad got on really well, even though every now and again Nobby would have to catch himself about his language when he was getting carried away during one of our games:

      ‘Excuse me, Mr Beckham. Excuse me, Mrs Beckham.’

      Not that Dad was too worried about that:

      ‘No problem, Nobby. You carry on.’

      Nobby was great with us and he was great with our parents as well. He knew mums and dads needed to be involved, not treated as if they were in the way. If you watched videos or heard stories about him as a player, you’d never believe how gentle he was with the boys, or how polite he was with the parents. No-one took liberties with Nobby, mind. For all that he didn’t look a big man and used to wear these huge glasses when he was coaching, he still had something about him you respected straight away. Fifteen years later, he would still come straight up and give me a big hug like nothing’s changed since. Kath, Joe and Connie, Nobby Stiles: they all had jobs to do but they also made United a place that felt like home.

      I could have moved up the year after I signed schoolboy forms, in August 1989, and finished my last two years of school in Manchester but, in the end, we decided I’d stay in London until I started full-time as a YTS trainee at United. That meant I could be at home, with my friends and family, while I turned fourteen and fifteen. And I could keep playing for Ridgeway Rovers, which by then had become a team called Brimsdown: we were the same players more or less, just the name had changed. United were happy for boys to get on with their lives and play for their Sunday League teams until they moved to the city. Malcolm Fidgeon would come and watch me play for Brimsdown and, as long as I was enjoying my football and playing regularly, that was enough. The time for United to take all the responsibility was still a couple of years’ away.

      I used to go up to Manchester two or three times a year to train during the holidays. In the summer, I’d be up there for the whole six weeks. I loved it and didn’t want to do anything else with my time off school but play and train and be at United. Those summers were fantastic.

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