‘You don’t really have an appointment, do you?’ I asked, after a stretch of silence.
He shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the lane ahead. I took the hint and kept quiet for the rest of the way. As soon as the front door closed behind us, Elliot’s whole body slumped. He sank onto the bottom stair, shrugging off his trainers with arms that appeared full of wet sand while Penny rested her chin on his knee.
‘Tea? Or something stronger?’
He shook his head, eyes creasing with tension. ‘I only drink alcohol on special occasions.’
My mind zipped back to our meal on Wednesday. We’d shared a bottle of wine.
‘Your first goal as manager? How special can you get?’
There was a loaded silence while Russell’s ignorant comments hovered in the space between us.
‘I wouldn’t have hit him,’ Elliot said.
‘Really? Some might say he deserves a good thump. Not in front of the kids, though, and not right before a match.’ I held out a hand, which to my surprise Elliot accepted, and I disguised the jolt of electricity skittering up my arm by making a big show of hauling him to his feet, dropping his grip the second he was up. ‘Maybe we should lure him into the alley by the pub one night and teach him a lesson. I think Connie’s mum might be up for joining us.’
We drifted into the kitchen, where I set about making tea. ‘There’s two ways this could go, and either way both you and the Harriers win. One, he’ll move Olly to another club.’
‘Meaning Olly doesn’t get to play with Jan or his other friends any more.’
‘Which isn’t the end of the world. Two, he’ll stay, and you’ll prove Russell wrong.’
Elliot picked up his drink.
‘Three, he stays, and I prove him right. The boys grow increasingly demoralised, decide they don’t actually love being a bunch of humiliated losers with a clown for a manager, I get fired and they all give up on sport forever, adding to their poor self-worth and feelings of inadequacy.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want that beer?’
‘Trust me, it wouldn’t be a good idea.’ Elliot collapsed into a chair.
I came and sat opposite him. ‘Can you remember their faces? The shouts of glee? Those boys don’t care about winning matches. They care about being part of a team. Not the odd one out or the pity player, stuck on the side-lines. What you’re doing here is incredible. Most of the parents want to name their next child after you. Don’t you dare let Russell and his ignorant cronies get in the way of changing kids’ lives for the better.’
‘I don’t think I can do it.’ His face crumpled. ‘I can’t bear to let them down.’
‘Youdiddo it. I just watched you. That’s all you have to do. Well, apart from the other admin stuff, but we’ve got folders and phone alerts for that.’
‘Every second of that game I was putting on a front. If at any point I came across as in control, or remotely calm, it was a lie. Inside I was in full-on panic mode.’
‘Including when Ibrahim hit the back of the net? Because if you were acting then, you’re in the wrong career.’
He shook his head, mouth twitching. ‘Maybe not then. But as I ran onto the pitch, I opened my mouth to congratulate him andI couldn’t remember his name. I had to make up some random victory spin so I could see the name on the back of his shirt. And that was his surname. I sounded like some snotty boarding school P.E. teacher. “Super-duper goal, Bashir!” Every time I called out an instruction, I had to direct it at someone with their back to me.’
‘So get them new tops. Put their first name on the front.’
‘What?’ Elliot sat back.
‘This is an inclusive team. Start making it inclusive. Get Jan’s in braille if that helps. He also said he finds it a lot easier to see the away kit, as it contrasts better with the grass.’
‘What else?’ Elliot had picked up his pad of sticky notes and started writing.
‘I understand why you put Dyson in goal, but he’s too easily distracted.’
Elliot furrowed his brow, cogs whirring.
‘Dyson has leg braces. Spiky hair.’
‘Right, yes. Simonson put him in goal because he’s slow.’
