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Mr Cleansheets. Adrian Deans
Читать онлайн.Название Mr Cleansheets
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781877006135
Автор произведения Adrian Deans
Жанр Контркультура
Издательство Ingram
Paddy and Liam nodded at me from their usual place at the corner of the bar, still nursing the same two pints of Guinness by the look of ‘em.
Mervyn was holding court at the same large round table as the day before, chatting with a couple of blokes who looked like graduates from Arthur Daley’s Finishing School for Toerags and Geezers. Billy and Gareth were also there and, as I expected, the summons eventually came.
I made my way over with a fresh pint, and looked up at the Bentham United squad portrait - I knew most of the faces now. Jaffa, also, was required at the high table, and we sat in the only two available chairs.
“‘Ow wuz de food?” enquired Mervyn.
“Not bad,” I lied. “Could’ve done with a bit more herbs and chilli.”
“Tell the cook,” said Mervyn to a bloke called Lucas - another humourless Paddy whom, I eventually discovered, it would be unwise to disobey.
“‘Erbs an’ chilli … no problem,” said Lucas, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Whut ‘appened at lunch time?” asked Mervyn, and before I could stop him Jaffa launched into a graphic description of the melee at The Rose , which didn’t exactly over-exaggerate, but certainly portrayed me in more heroic terms than I would have cared to use myself.
Mervyn listened, then asked me: “Is dat ‘ow it ‘appened?”
“More or less,” I shrugged.
“They’re becomin’ a problem, the Blue Fury. Weren’t the same blokes as in Sydney?”
“Pretty sure they weren’t.”
“Aye, dere’s too many o’ the fockers.”
“Nombers need thinnin’ out,” remarked Lucas.
“Dat’s your answer to everyt’in’,” sniggered Mervyn, but no-one laughed. There was a bit of a silence at the table, notwithstanding the fairly raucous banter going on all around us - the club was filling up.
“Right,” said Mervyn. “You’re to stay away from Maida Vale. Dey’ll come back to The Rose in nombers, dat’s certain. We don’t want trouble … not yet.”
“Dey put our Danny in ‘ospital,” said Gareth (he and Billy were also cousins of Danny Malone). “Dey’re encroachin’ in our territory. We’ve already got trouble.”
“Aye,” agreed Mervyn, “but we don’t know the full score yet. Looks like McNowt’s mobilised the Blue Fury. But is it just McNowt, or is it a wider coalition? We bide our time fer now … public at least. Might be some work fer you, Lucas.”
They all looked to Lucas, who grinned for the first time - and there were a few grim chuckles about the table. Then Mervyn turned back to me and his mood lightened.
“Onderstand yer play football, Mr Judd?”
“I do.”
“Bit old aren’t ya?”
“Not really. Not too old to play in goals.”
“Is dat so?”
Before I knew it, Ronnie Wellard had been summoned and was standing beside us.
“‘Ow’s de team lookin’, Ron?” asked Mervyn.
“Not bad,” replied Ronnie. “Havant shouldn’t be too much trouble at home.”
“Heard about young Wyndham,” said Mervyn. “Bad business.”
“We’re covered,” said Ronnie.
Mervyn considered him for a moment, then said, “Will yer do me a favour, Ron?”
“Course I will,” replied Ronnie, “if I can.”
Mervyn nodded in my direction.
“Mr Judd here is a goalkeeper … not a bad one as I onder-stand.”
“He’s not registered,” said Ronnie.
“How long would it take to get ‘im registered?”
“Don’t know. Couple of days at least.”
“Could yer look into it, as a personal favour to me?”
Ronnie glanced down at me, and there was no mistaking the resentment.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “But— ”
“So that’s settled then,” interrupted Mervyn. “Bring yer gear on Saturday, Mr Judd.”
Jaffa was grinning his ginger head off, but Ronnie Wellard was not best pleased.
* * *
When I got home, Bernice was just going to bed.
“Oh, and yer’ve got mail,” she told me, pointing at the computer.
I sat down and, as she had shown me, clicked on the bolded Doreen Bender:
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Re: Hello
Hi Eric, great to hear from you. I’m very honoured to be the recipient of your first ever e-mail. It’s been pretty hectic for me. I’ve been doing some work with the RCM (that’s Royal College of Music) and preparing for the Ley Lines festival at Glastonbury in a couple of weeks. I suppose you’re in Manchester. Maybe we could catch up some time.
Doreen xx
“Well, aren’t you going to reply?” asked Bernice, making me jump. I hadn’t realised she was reading over my shoulder.
“I guess so.”
Bernice reached for the mouse.
“Just click on Reply, and there you go.”
It wasn’t easy writing with Bernice standing there, so I kept it brief:
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Re: Hello
Hi Doreen, glad it’s going well.
I’m actually back in London and playing for Bentham United in the Southern Conference. It didn’t work out with Man United, but no worries.
Eric
“Is that all?” demanded Bernice, before I could press Send.
“Dunno what else to say,” I said, feeling embarrassed and adolescent.
“Men!” exclaimed Bernice. “Honestly, at the very least, you could tell her you want to catch up.”
“Oh, okay.”
“And put kisses in like she did.”
“Girls can put kisses in,” I replied. “They know it doesn’t mean anything, but if a bloke puts kisses in, it looks like he means it.”
“The rubbish you talk,” said Bernice. “And why shouldn’t he mean it? Lovely girl sends you kisses and you want to respond wid a formal handshake?”
“Okay, I’ll put the kisses in.”
“Put three.”
I turned and looked up at her.
“Three? She only put in two!