Now that he had a ‘work’ dinner set up, Arthur was itching to move on to another task: convert the games room into a proper living room. ‘The kind of nice space where a sophisticated woman like Elsa would enjoy stimulating conversation with excellent company.’
Once again, this was a topic in which I had next to no expertise or knowledge. Prior to living with Seb, my interior design experience had consisted of things like scraping black mould off windowsills, re-sticking on tatty flaps of wallpaper with Pritt Stick and covering a manky sofa with a slightly less manky blanket. For a long time, the concept of a ‘nice space’ had meant my own room – or at least my own mattress – and a shower that spurted a few seconds of warm water. The coffee shop flat had been clean and functional, with white walls and flat-pack furniture. In the three years I’d lived there I’d bought a couple of cushions and a matching duvet cover, and considered that pretty close to paradise.
I suggested Arthur made a start on clearing out the junk and tidying up the items they wanted to keep while I went to watch my first football match in forever.
The Harriers were playing at home against the Ferrington Foxes. I walked over to the recreation ground with Elliot a full hour before kick-off, ensuring plenty of time to get everything ready, handle issues, give the kids a good warm-up and hopefully cool down any parents who weren’t happy about the change in manager.
We’d barely set up the smaller, seven-a-side pitch when the first few people arrived.
‘I thought you might be here,’ one dad grunted, his son standing meekly beside him.
‘I’ve not missed a match all season, so it was a pretty safe bet,’ Elliot replied, opening up a net bag full of balls. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked the boy, kicking a ball towards him. ‘Do you want to start some practice shots while we wait for the rest?’
‘Where’s Simonson?’ the dad continued, placing a restraining hand on his son’s shoulder so the ball simply rolled across the grass.
‘As I said in the email, once everyone’s here I’ll fill you in. In the meantime, I’ve got a team to manage.’
‘The whole thing’s a joke,’ the man sneered as Elliot turned to welcome a pair of boys. ‘This isn’t fit to be called a team any more. More like a circus act. And you’re the biggest clown in the show.’
Elliot handed the newcomers a ball and pointed them off to one side. He then slowly straightened up and turned towards the dad, every muscle tense, his eyes like lasers. I wondered if I might need to intervene with the promised rib-poke sooner than I’d thought.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Are you deaf as well as an idiot?’
‘Hi, I’m Jessie. What’s your name?’ I grabbed another ball and held it out towards the man’s son, who took the opportunity while his dad was staring down Elliot to duck out of his grasp.
‘Olly.’
‘Do you want to join the others?’
He nodded vigorously before taking the ball and hurrying off. I ticked Olly’s name off the team register and took a subtle couple of steps closer to Elliot, whose neck and cheeks were now a worrying crimson.
‘Please don’t disrespect the team or the manager in front of the players, Russell,’ he ground out through gritted teeth.
‘Hey, no disrespect intended.’ Russell held up two hands as if in surrender, but his tone dripped with contempt. ‘I’m a man who calls it like it is, that’s all.’
‘Who calls children clowns.’
‘I called you a clown. A month in and you’re down to four decent players. Another match like last week’s and they’ll be signing up to Brooksby faster than you can flash a yellow card. By the time we get to the Sherwood Forest Cup we’ll be lucky to have half a team left.’
‘If they’ve got the same attitude as their parents then Brooksby are welcome to them.’ Elliot shook his head in disgust, but at least his temper still sizzled beneath the surface, for now.
‘You want Olly, Jackson, Ibrahim and Wilf to go?’ Russell laughed outright at that. ‘What is this, reverse discrimination; only specials allowed?’
I grabbed Elliot’s arm as it swung back, preparing to launch. ‘Stop. Take a breath.’ I took a warning glance at the handful of adults now hovering nearby. ‘He’s trying to provoke you into doing something they can kick you out for.’
Where I might have been unable to make a difference, Penny stepped up and started nudging his stomach. Elliot dropped his head, shoulders heaving with the effort of slowing his breathing.
‘Look.’ A man with a huge grey beard placed a hand on Russell’s shoulder. ‘While Russell here expresses himself with the subtlety of a complete twazzock, and I for one have no objections to Ibrahim being in an inclusive team, as long as he’s having fun and learning more about the game, Russell does raise a valid point.’
Elliot sucked in another huge lungful of air and looked up. ‘Which is?’
‘Look mate, we know you love these kids. You’re their hero. Never mind an inspirational athlete. Would’ve put this village on the map, if things’d been different. You can teach this team a thing or two about sport. But honestly, son, how can you coach them from the touchline, when you can’t even remember their names?’
Elliot’s expression landed somewhere in the grass beneath his boots.
‘All I’m saying is, the old setup was perfect. Simonson in charge, you as his right-hand man. Even Cloughie needed Taylor when he took Forest to the European Cup. No one can do this on their own. But you especially. No offence.’
