Too young the manager (short story)

This is a short story which will probably run for somewhere between 10 and 20 posts over the next month or so (touch wood).

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As twelve year old Kevin Deering marched down the garden path with his Umbro football under one arm, for one awkward moment he felt like a player instead of a manager. He felt like Wayne Rooney strolling down the Wembley tunnels about to lead England into a ferocious battle with the Germans. This though was not his fantasy, for Kevin wanted not to be Rooney in life but Fabio Capello. Kevin wanted to sit in a dugout with a glass of lemonade and pull the strings of a match from ALL angles. You couldn’t do that if you were a player.

“Y’alright?” he initiated, fiddling with the latch on the small front gate.

“Yeah, not bad” Gary Belmont replied, Kevin’s school friend and regular football partner.

“We’re going down the park, yeah?”

“Yeah”.

Together they began the journey, ambling along at a pace most suitable for the baking midsummer heat. It didn’t take Kevin long to put the ball down so he didn’t feel like Rooney anymore; that was his friend’s vocation. The blonde haired Gary took great satisfaction in dribbling the ball up the pavement as they walked, his eyes on the required feet-to-eye coordination and the majority of his other senses engaged in the conversation with Kevin.

There were three large fields at the local park, of which two had football pitches drawn onto them. The third was just an empty field with a children’s playground at the far end. There was also a small patch of woodland area behind one of the goals on one of the football fields, and it was here Kevin and Gary liked to play. Despite the obvious risks of the ball getting lost in the trees and bushes, this end of the park felt cosier and more out of the way.

It also, according to Gary, encouraged placed shots rather than power shots. There were never any nets on the pitches so if the ball went wide or into the goal, someone would have to go fetch it. The theory was that the threat of the game getting held up whilst someone rummaged around in the woodland area looking for the ball would encourage whoever was shooting to do so without whacking it (subconsciously if nothing else).

“What do you wanna do?” Gary asked.

“How about some crossing and heading?” Kevin suggested. “I don’t mind being the crosser for a while”.

“Nah that’s boring with no goalkeeper”.

“You missed one the last time we did it. You headed one onto the bar”.

“Yeah, but I scored with the other nine hundred headers didn’t I? Tell you what, why don’t we start off with a penalty shootout? If you win, we’ll do headers and crossing after that. If I win, I’ll pick something else”.

“Yeah okay” Kevin agreed, accepting a pass and dribbling the ball towards the penalty area.

Kevin had always been more placid than Gary. Of course he was; Kevin was the thoughtful wannabe manager, Gary the garish wannabe player. Kevin was a Jack-of-all-lessons kid, brainy in class but only so-so on the sports field. Gary was more jack-of-all-sports; useless in the classroom, very useful on the football field (and any other sports field for that matter). The common interest which bound them together was football.

“You can go first if you want” said Gary, heading for the goal-line. “I like to win it by scoring, not making a save”.

‘You can still win it by saving a penalty whether you go first or second’ Kevin thought, but kept it to himself.

Once the ball was placed on the spot, Kevin took four steps backwards and prepared himself to shoot. He’d never won a penatly shoot-out against Gary. Was this one likely to be any different? He wouldn’t know until he shot. As Gary shuffled around cockily on the line and raised his hands diagonally upwards (like he’d seen Premiership keepers do on the telly), Kevin raced in right footed and hammered the ball for all he was worth....

The shot was so far towards the left hand corner Gary didn’t even dive for it. Unluckily for Kevin though the ball clipped the post a yard off the ground and went wide. No goal.

“And the keeper’s put him off!” Gary announced triumphantly, marching forwards towards the penalty spot. “First blood to Gary!”

“Go fetch it then” said Kevin, hands on hips.

“No, you have to fetch it. The ball went wide. That means you have to fetch it”.

Now that just added insult to injury. Kevin though was not the alpha male in this friendship. Staring begrudgingly at his already muddied trainers, he began to walk slowly over to where the ball ended up. At least it hadn’t gone into the woods - that was one thing. It had though nestled in a little mud puddle three or four yards away from the corner flag.

“Hurry up” shouted Gary, calling out from his new standing position just behind the penalty spot. “The referee would have booked you for time-wasting by now if this was a real shootout”.

Kevin ignored him, his concentration fixed on picking up the ball out of the mud. He paused after completing the manoeuvre though.

“Hey come and have a look at this”.

“What is it?”

“Just come”.

“This had better be worth it”.

Reluctantly Gary ambled over to where Kevin was pointing, stopping just short of the mud puddle.

“Look” said Kevin. “There’s tyre tracks going in and out of the mud. Somebody must have driven down here close to the woods. Who would bother doing that?”

“That’s not unusual” replied Gary, but he seemed thoughtful rather than simply unimpressed. “My big brother reckons some people park here by the woods to do some dogging. If it’s true I wonder if they do it in the car or go in the actual woods?”

“Dogging? You mean walking the dogs?”

“Yeah right” Gary laughed under his breath, nudging Kevin playfully.

“What’s so funny?”

The conversation though was over if Gary’s brisk turn and stroll back to the penalty spot had anything to do with it. A rather confused looking Kevin took one last glance at the tyre marks and then followed suit, only in a slightly different direction so he could take his place between the goalposts for the next kick.

“This is a huge moment for Gary Belmont” said Gary meanwhile, placing the ball down confidently. “Can he give his side a crucial lead at the start of the shootout?”

Kevin had little doubt that Gary could. Even so, he decided to at least try and save the ball if possible. He decided to dive to his left and hope for the best. There was always the chance Gary might shoot that way, or miss the goals altogether. If he did, Kevin would be back in the game.

“Here he comes” spoke Gary excitedly, taking a mammoth ten step run-up. “The crowd holds their breath!”

The eventual shot went bang down the middle, but Kevin had already bolted from the stable by then. It was first blood to Gary.

“Goaaaaaal!” Gary shouted, punching the air. “And there’s daylight in the shootout!”

Wondering if he would have been better off staying at home today, Kevin lifted himself up from where he’d landed and began traipsing towards the trees. He didn’t much care how long it took to find the ball. It wasn’t as if he was having much fun actually playing the game. It turned out though the ball had nestled itself rather conspicuously at the front edge of a bush about ten yards back from the clearing. In other words, it was easy to locate.

“Typical” he whispered, bending down to pick it up.

Just to the right of the ball, partially hidden by a large fallen leaf, something caught Kevin’s eye at the moment of retrieval. It was a small white piece of plastic, shaped like a bankcard. Taking his hand off the ball for moment, Kevin picked the other object up and took a closer look at it. There was very little in the way of grime on the card and the wording was easy enough for him to read.

Luton Town Football Club

David Wheelie

Legal Representative

Employee number – 452219

"How very strange" he said to himself.

I remember using my jumper for goal posts and i ended up in goal. I love this brings back memories to me. Great mate.

Thanks Mametz. If possible, it was always better to find two trees the right distance apart to form good goals. Jumper-goalposts sufficed to a certain extent but caused many an argument

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“Look at this” he said, taking his find back to the penalty area.

“What is it?” Gary asked, accepting the card.

The penalty shootout leader studied both sides for a moment and then raised a chuckle.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s some kind of I.D card for somebody at Luton Football Club. Don’t tell me you thought it was a bankcard?”

“No, I just...”

“Whoever David is must have to show this when he walks into the ground. Look, it’s got a small picture of him on it. God he looks like a right dork! Anyway, the card’s useless for us. The guy’s probably got a replacement card by now. I doubt we’d get any reward money if we went and handed this one in”

As Gary continued to fiddle and speculate, Kevin looked on anxiously. He’d been a Luton Town fan since he was six years old. As such, he didn’t really care what gain they could use the card for. Just being able to keep it and hoard it in his bedroom would be enough for him. It would be like a small piece of Luton FC history – under HIS care – one of a kind – a treasure – a souvenir for the ages. Come to think of it, he almost wished he hadn’t shared his find with Gary now. Gary was taking an awful long time to hand it back.

“Come on then, hand it back” he said. “You’re an Arsenal fan and I’m a Luton fan, so I should have it. I was the one who found it anyway”.

“Alright, hold your horses! You know what? I reckon, just for a laugh, I could use this card to get into Luton FC”.

“No you couldn’t. You don’t look anything like that bloke in the picture”.

“I don’t think I’d need to. Look, there’s a barcode at the bottom – just here. Look”.

The card held tantalising out in front of him, Kevin peered at the bar code and then back towards Gary.

“What’s that for?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure this is a swipe card as well as an I.D card. Come to think of it, I’m sure the main building at Luton Town has a swipe thing on the entrance door. My Dad took me to Luton a few times before I changed to Arsenal, and we walked close to that door quite a few times. If I’m right about this, I could probably use this card on the electronic thing outside the door and then go into the building”.

“They’ll probably be somebody just inside the door though who will catch you” Kevin said glumly.

”Maybe. And maybe they’ll be nobody in the building today?” Gary replied, the excitement in his voice growing. “Maybe people only go in there on a match-day, or just on some days?”

“Yeah but....”

Gary though was already marching off in the other direction, his mind made up. Kevin picked up the football and caught up alongside him.

“You’re coming with me, eh?”

“Yeah, might as well”.

It took just over twenty minutes to walk from the park to Kenilworth Road. When the two boys got there they hovered outside the main gates and re-evaluated the situation. Sadly though, judging by the four or five cars parked up inside, the place was not as deserted today as Gary had hoped.

“Damn” he said, kicking the wall in frustration. “I’ll never get far into there before somebody catches me”.

“Can I have the card then?” Kevin asked sheepishly. “I’d like to keep it if we’re not going to use it”.

“No” Gary said, a scowl on his face. “I might use it another day when the place is more empty”.

“But I found it! Aw come on, Gary!”

“No”.

Kevin didn’t protest this time, instead choosing to pick at the wall next to the gate with his nail. After a brief pause though Gary’s scowl suddenly transformed into a sly grin.

“I tell you what” he said. “If you go up to the door and try the card, I’ll let you keep it. How’s that?”

“But I’ll get into trouble!”

“No you won’t. If you get caught, just say you’ve come to return the card to its rightful owner”.

That seemed fair enough so Kevin took the card. However, as he gingerly began to make his way through the gates and across the car park, his inquisitive side tossed up a couple of questions. For instance, if Gary’s fake excuse for entering the building was so watertight, why wasn’t he still willing to do this dare himself? Also, what exactly was Kevin supposed to do if he didn’t get caught?

One thing his friend had been right about was the swipe card system. As Kevin approached the front door, he quickly recognised the little device on the wall built to accept the shape of a thin card. The door itself was glass pannelled but in a way that made peeking it through impossible. There was no way therefore for him to check if anyone was inside before he went in.

Nervously he glanced backwards over his shoulder at this point towards Gary by the gates. His friend though irritably gestured for him to keep going with a swift wave of his hand. Thus, Kevin turned around and hovered the card over its keyhole.

‘Please don’t let this get me into trouble, God! I just want to be able to keep the card’.

Such was the extent of the fear sweeping through his body now, it was almost with grave disappointment he saw a little green light appear on the wall device after swiping. Instantaneously the door made a clicking sound in front of him and opened slightly ajar. The abandoned card had worked. He could enter.

Gingerly Kevin pushed the door open. The room beyond was small, compact, probably a reception area of some sort (only with no receptionist, if his eyes were to be believed). Going in he instinctively closed the door behind him and quietly tip-toed towards the counter. There were framed pictures scattered high around the walls, mostly team photographs of Luton sides from years gone by. For now Kevin ignored closer inspection of these rather impressive decorations and took a peak at the reception guestbook.

Why he did this he wasn’t sure, although he would later reflect he simply did it because it was the naughtier thing to do, and that Gary would probably be more impressed with him if he could relate tales of naughtiness from his time in the building. Having said that, the guest book was boring and had no signatures in it.

‘Maybe I should sign my own name and then leave? That would be quite funny, maybe’.

His decision making process was distracted by the sound of footsteps. They were coming down the corridor leading off the side of this room. Kevin gasped and wondered what to do. Did he hide? Did he try and flee back outside? Did he let himself get caught and use Gary's pre-planned excuse? He didn’t know. Whilst he made his mind up, the footsteps were getting progressively closer. They were almost in the room now.

‘Too late, I’m screwed’.

A figure now entered from the corridor. If he’d been expecting the big bad wolf though, or even just a big mean security guard with a scowl and a stun gun, he was about to be disappointed. The person now moving to stand in front of him was in fact a young woman barely taller than he was. She was slim with shoulder length brown hair. She wore a smart white shirt, grey trousers, and small black boots.

She did not however look angry or startled. Quite the opposite in fact, for the woman actually seemed to be smiling. It was a nice smile too, one of the best Kevin had ever seen. He wasn’t quite old enough to be yearning for the opposite sex just yet but he was getting there, and this was definitely a pretty lady in his opinion.

“Hello” he said meekly.

“Hello back!” said the woman. “What can I do for you today?”

Really enjoying this, Scott. May I also offer congratulations on a much deserved nomination for a very impressive and consistent piece?

Thanks Elitheral, on both counts. I'm sure Alfredo Dick's latest adventure can gatecrash the next time

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“I’m errr the new manager” Kevin replied.

“Really?” said the woman. “Well I’m very pleased to meet you then. My name’s Nicky. What’s yours?”

Still with the card in his hand, Kevin looked down at the name on it and then up again. This was a ridiculous little game he was playing but there was something about the friendly face in front of him which seemed to say it would be okay to play it.

“David Wheelie. My name’s David Wheelie. I’ve got my new card, see? I got it in the post this morning”.

Rather than simply take the card off him when it was offered, Nicky craned her neck downwards to read the writing. For the briefest of moments Kevin thought he saw her smile fade somewhat. Then, as quick as a Gary Belmont penalty kick, it was back again.

“Well that seems to be all in order. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr Wheelie. You’ll have to forgive us for not having a proper receptionist here to greet you. We’ve never really had the need for one”.

“Oh. Yeah. Because of the swipe card door, right?”

“That’s right! So, would you like me to show you around?”

“Errr, I guess. I don’t want to take up your time though”.

“That’s okay. It’s my lunch hour”.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Well, I came out of the toilets and I heard the front door open”.

“Oh. Right”.

Kevin looked down at the card and felt himself going red. He didn’t know what to say now. As he fidgeted with the smooth plastic edges, he wondered whether or not Nicky had read the words that came after David Wheelie, the ones that said Legal Representative as opposed to Club Manager. In truth he didn’t even know what a legal representative was. And what about the picture? Hadn’t she looked at the picture?

“Are you one of the players for the Luton ladies team?” he asked, holding eye contact with her chin.

“Me?” Nicky chuckled. “Oh no! The one time I tried to play football, I smashed a window. No, I work here in the offices. It’s my job to make sure the players get paid the right amount of money”.

“Oh”.

“Anyway, it won’t do to stand around all day. Come on, I’ll show you where you need to go. As the new manager I’m sure there are plenty of matters which require your immediate attention”.

“Errr, yeah. I’ll bet there are”.

Her smile seemingly inexhaustible, Nicky turned around and began to lead Kevin up the corridor. They passed various doors as they walked along – some of them with toilet signs, others with names on. Kevin was slightly fearful that sooner or later they’d pass the real David Wheelie’s room, but they didn’t. She surely had to know he wasn’t really the man in the picture though. She had to be playing some kind of game here, surely?

“We’ll pop in here first” Nicky said, halting by a door with neither a sign nor a name on it.

“What’s in there?” Kevin asked.

“The other office staff. They’ll be really happy to meet the new manager, so I’ll introduce you to them. Don’t worry, they won’t bite”.

“Errr, okay. Right”.

Without further word Nicky pushed the door open and in they went. The room beyond was surprisingly wide, and Kevin felt more than a little intimidated by all the faces at desks now stopping what they were doing to look at him.

“What’s this?” asked a dark haired man over on the far right.

“This is David Wheelie” Nicky beamed. “He’s the new manager”.

To this the man’s face seemed to screw itself up in confusion.

“Nicky, I can think of several things inherantly wrong with that sentence. In fact, before I even....”

“So let’s get on with the introductions!” Nicky announced, cutting the man off and turning Kevin’s head in the other direction. “This closest to the door is Brenda. She’ll be your personal secretary once you start the job”.

Brenda was a middle-aged woman who reminded Kevin of his aunt. She waved tamely at him now and smiled. Equally tamely he waved back.

“And that over there is Caroline. She’s the ticket administrator. She sorts out.....tickets”.

“That’s a very nice description of what I do, Nicky” Caroline replied. “Thanks. Oh, and hi, David. I’m sure you’ll make a great manager”.

“Hi” Kevin said feebly.

Once again using her hands to twist Kevin’s head in the direction she wanted it to face, Nicky now brought the blonde haired man into focus. Kevin wasn’t sure he liked the look of him though. He had a cheeky grin on his face which sort of reminded him of Gary.

“That’s Darren. He sorts out the Luton Town website”.

“Hey dude” Darren said with a wink.

Kevin nodded but didn’t reply. Immediately afterwards Nicky twisted him around into his original position, the one which had him facing the suited man with black hair. Kevin wasn’t sure he liked him either though, on first impression. He rather looked like he had a stick up his ass.

“This is errr....this.....”

For once Nicky seemed unsure of herself.

“Yes?” Kevin asked, encouraging her to go on.

“This is errr, Bob. Yeah that’s it. This is Bob. Bob is err...the toilet cleaner. Isn’t that right, Bob?”

The black haired man, apparently called Bob, glared at Nicky as if she’d just told him there was a tidal wave about to sweep across all of Luton. Then he appeared to relent slightly, sighing and looking to the ceiling.

“Yep that’s me - Bob the toilet cleaner. Anytime you want the toilets cleaned, you just holler”.

“Actually, Bob” Darren piped up from across the room. “I left a pretty nasty one on the rim earlier. I was meaning to tell you but I forgot”.

“Oh Darren!” said Brenda, shaking her head. “Was there any need?”

Kevin wasn’t sure if she was referring to the joke or the actual leaving of ‘a nasty one’. Bob though just sighed again from his chair and looked agitated.

“Thanks, Darren. I’ll be sure to clean that one up for you as soon as I’ve got a minute”.

“Cool” Darren chuckled. “Thanks dude”.

“Okie dokie then!” said Nicky, herself struggling to control a fit of giggles. “I think that’s enough of the office, Mr Wheelie. Let’s go and show you something else”.

“Where are you planning on taking him now?” Bob asked irritably, as Kevin was manhandled into the doorway.

“Errr" Nicky stumbled. "I think you’re getting a bit above your station, Bob. Any normal toilet cleaner wouldn’t be so nosey”.

And that was Bob told. The last thing Kevin heard as the door closed behind him was the sound of Darren and Caroline laughing heartily.

“Where are we going now?” he asked.

“Well let’s see” Nicky replied. “Oh! I know! The changing rooms. Come on. Some of your players might be in there”.

Now to Kevin, THAT sounded more like it. Screw the office tour.

The changing rooms were accessible through two adjacent doors at the back of the tunnel area. Nicky had trouble finding them at first, but it turned out they were surprisingly close to the main offices. Just as Kevin was about to nervously push open the door with ‘home dressing room’ written on it, two men he didn’t recognise approached from somewhere behind them.

“Ah, Nicky” said one of the men, a relatively young guy with what looked like marine haircut. “skiving again?”

“Nooooo!” she replied. “I’m in the middle of a very important guided tour. Anyway, Keith, this is David. David, this is Keith Keane and errrr.....”

“Matthew Gill” said the other man.

“Matthew Gill” repeated Nicky, turning to face Kevin. “Didn't you already recognise these guys from watching the matches?”

“No. I’ve only ever been once. My parents say it’s too expensive”.

“Oh. I see”.

“I think I’ve got a spare comp in the car if you want it” Keith offered.

“A computer?” Nicky asked in surprise.

“No. A comp, as in complimentary ticket. It’s a ticket that let’s you get in for free. I offered to give you one for the Woking game last week but you said it was Bertie’s bath day, so you couldn’t come”.

“Oh! I remember that. Yeah, I bet David would appreciate one though”.

“Yeah” Kevin said softly (but enthusiastically).

“Whilst I’ve got hold of you, that reminds me” said Keith. “I won’t be coming over after the match tomorrow. It’s just going to be too late by the time we get back from Oxford. I’ll come around the following night instead if you want”.

“Okay”.

Suddenly Keith took Kevin by surprise somewhat by leaning forwards and kissing Nicky on the lips. Then the two footballers said brief goodbyes before disappearing around the corner. Nicky stood smiling for a moment and then turned to face Kevin again.

“Are we going in now?” he asked, referring to the changing rooms.

“Yep! Absolutely”.

A few seconds later and they were in. For all the build-up though, there didn't seem to be anything overly special about the room where the likes of Keane and Gill knotted up their boots ready to play on a Saturday afternoon. Kevin even thought the room slightly resembled the public changing rooms down at the local swimming baths. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all wooden. Even the benches were wooden.

“Feels weird sitting here” he commented, taking the weight off his feet beneath Michael Bridge’s number nine shirt.

“Yeah, these type of benches always feel a bit prickly on the bum. It’s all the gaps between the wooden bars” Nicky explained.

“That wasn’t what I meant”.

“Oh?”

“I meant it feels weird sitting here in the place where Luton get changed. Now I’ll probably always find myself imagining the team-talks before matches because I can picture the room they're taking place in”.

Nicky nodded in understanding, and for the next minute or so the two sat side by side in comfortable silence. Kevin spent the time glancing around reading the names on the shirts (at least, the ones he could see from where he was sitting). Nicky on the other hand rocked back and forth humming an incomprehensible tune, lost in thought. Eventually Kevin plucked up the courage to ask something awkward.

“Is Keith Keane your husband?”

“No no!” Nicky laughed. “I’m not married. We’re just... dating. I don’t even turn twenty until next month”.

“I’m not dating yet” Kevin stated matter-of-factly.

“I wouldn’t have thought you would have been at your age. I didn’t start until I was eighteen”.

“Was that when you started seeing Keith?”

“No, there was another guy before him. He was called Kevin. Kevin Watson. He didn’t turn out to be a very nice man though. The funny thing is, I don’t really like people called Kevin anymore because they remind me of him”.

Before he even knew he was doing it, Kevin smiled ironically. His companion though didn’t pick up on it. Neither did Kevin pick up (or simply remember) that Kevin Watson used to play for Luton.

“Shall we move on now?” he asked.

“Sure. Where next, I wonder?”

“Can I go on the pitch?”

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. Darren went on there once to kick a ball around so I don’t see why we can’t”.

“Cool!”

His excitement levels once again shooting sky high and beyond, Kevin leapt off the bench and Nicky followed. Then they opened the dressing door and began to make their way down the tunnel.

“This is Kenilworth Road” Nicky said, reading the sign now above their heads. “I’ve never noticed that before. It’s a bit stupid though. Of course this is Kenilworth Road”.

“I think that’s just for show” Kevin informed her.

“Or maybe it’s there in case any of the players turn up at the wrong stadium without realising it?”

“Errr, yeah. Maybe”.

Laughing at the latest of Nicky’s rather goofy speculations, Kevin stepped forwards into the daylight. No, this was definitely the right stadium. He could feel it inside himself. He could feel it in his bones.

'This is Kenilworth Road'.

Spotting a couple of footballs inside the home dugout, Kevin scooped one up and began dribbling his way onto the pitch.

“Wow! Come on” he called back over his shoulder.

“Oh, okay” said Nicky, wary of getting her boots muddy.

Before long Kevin had made his way into one of the penalty areas, Nicky close behind. It felt strange being out here in this empty incarnation of Kenilworth Road. And yet, it was also immensely satisfying, a potentially once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, resting his favourite right foot on top of the ball. Somehow he doubted Nicky would be much cop in a game of crossers and headers.

“You mean for a game or something?” she replied. “I don’t know. I saw on TV once though someone try and score with the ball on that small circle. We could try that”.

“You mean a penalty? Yeah okay, I’ll take the kick. You go and stand on the goal-line. I’ll try and score past you”.

“Okay!”

Heading to where Kevin was pointing, Nicky ambled over to the goal-line and stood there in anticipation.

“Don’t hit it too hard at me” she pleaded.

“Don’t worry. I’m not as good as my friend Gary”.

It was important to him to score here. Netting at Kenilworth Road, albeit against a weak keeper, would be something he could carry with him for a lifetime. Taking a deep breath he tapped his foot twice on the edge of the area and then began to jog fixatedly towards the ball. His shot was aimed at the bottom left hand corner and aimed well, the net bulging a second or so after his follow-through was complete. Nicky hadn’t even moved.

“Goal!” he cried, punching the air.

“Well done” applauded Nicky. “I would have missed, probably”.

“Why don’t you take a turn and we’ll find out?”

“Me? Oh no. Like I said before; me – ball – kick – window – smash”.

“You can’t hit a window out here. Come on, I’ll go in goal for one”.

Kevin walked purposely towards the goal-line. Nicky merely shrugged in defeat and strolled the other way. Soon she had the ball on the spot and was ready to shoot. Despite spreading his arms out as he would normally do in preparation to receive a shot, Kevin secretly planned to do his utmost to let the ball go in the goals. He liked Nicky. She had been very nice to him up to this point and now he wanted to do something for her in return. He could see she was apprehensive trying to play this game and he wanted to make her feel good.

“Here goes nothing!” she cried, stumbling in awkwardly for the kick.

One thumping toe-poke later and the ball was in the back of the net. Much to Kevin’s surprise, Nicky had hit it surprisingly hard. It had flown past him low into the corner without him even having to tank. The fact that she’d toe-poked it had definitely helped her cause.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Beginner’s luck or what?”

“That was very good!” Kevin agreed.

“I know! Wait until I tell James!”

“Who’s James?”

“Oh, no-one. Do you fancy going back in and getting a drink or something now? There’s a canteen on the first floor and I’m parched after that”.

“Yeah, can do”.

Nicky waited for Kevin to catch up to her and then together they began walking in the direction of the tunnel. Just as they reached the side of the pitch, a bellowing grunt sounded out from somewhere behind them. Turning around on impulse, Kevin saw an old man with a pitchfork in his hand stepping onto the turf from over on the far touchline. Heaven only knew where he’d appeared from.

“Who’s that?” he asked nervously.

“Fred” replied Nicky. “And he doesn’t like people on the pitch according to Darren”.

“What the hell have you been doing out here?” Fred shouted, beginning to fast-walk his way over to them.

“He’s old though” said Nicky. “Run!”

Dropping the ball right where they were standing, Kevin launched himself for the tunnel and Nicky followed suit. At the junction taking them back into the corridor where the offices were, Nicky took the lead and quickly led Kevin up the stairs to the first floor. They didn’t slow down until just outside the canteen.

“Whew!”

“I don’t think he’s following us” Kevin opined.

“Put it there, partner!”

Nicky held her hand up to be high-fived and Kevin duly obliged.

“Listen, my purse is in the office so I’m going to go back and get it. Wait for me inside? You can pick a drink you want from the machine while I’m gone if you want. Oh, and maybe pick a table to sit at too”

“Okay, sure”.

“Cool”.

And with that Nicky disappeared down the stairs again much slower than she’d first come up them.

‘She’s awesome’ Kevin thought idly. ‘I wish I was twenty next month too’.

Whilst he waited for her return, Kevin looked briefly around the canteen before picking a table near the window. You could see out onto the Kenilworth Road pitch from here and that was much better than sitting by a wall. There was no sign of Fred below.

“Right then” said Nicky, appearing like a magician again through the doorway. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have a coke, please”.

“Coke, coming right up”.

There were three self-service machines in the canteen, one for hot drinks, one for cold drinks, and another selling chocolate and crisps. Nicky bought Kevin his coke and a coffee for herself. Then she sat down opposite him.

“I’ll have to get back to work after we’ve had these” she said glumly, taking a sip.

“Yeah I thought so. It’s okay, I’ll get going soon. And don’t worry; I know that you know I’m not David Wheelie the new manager. I’m not daft. I’ve really enjoyed the little tour though”.

Nicky’s smile dropped a level from gleeful to warm. She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup and thought hard.

“What’s your real name?” she asked.

“Kevin” he replied with a smile.

“Oh my word! And there was me banging on about how I don’t like Kevins. Well maybe this meeting was a good thing – I mean it when I say it but I no longer have a dislike for that name now. If ever I hear the name Kevin from now on I’ll be sure to think of you and not Kevin Watson”.

“And when I hear your name I’ll just think it’s cool”.

“Right, thanks!” Nicky said with a chuckle. “Nicky Willacy - the least knowledgeable football person ever to work at a football club”.

“You still took a good penalty though! Don’t you like any sports?”

To this question Nicky took her time, both sipping and looking out the window as she thought it over.

“Fishing” she eventually said. “Fishing’s a sport isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’ve never done it though. You really like fishing?”

“Yeah, I do. I used to go fishing with my granddad out in the sea. We still do sometimes whenever I go see him”.

“Wow, I’d love to live by the sea” Kevin stated eagerly. “Where does your granddad live?”

“A place called Shoeburyness. It’s a tiny little town just next to Southend. My granddad runs a small hotel on the seafront. I used to live there with him when I was a teenager”.

“What about your mum and dad?”

“Well, that’s a long story really”.

All of a sudden Kevin felt slightly red-faced, like he’d maybe pushed the questioning too far. Nicky guessed his thoughts and quickly made strides to put him at ease again.

“Hey, it’s okay I don’t mind you asking! It’s nice when people ask you questions about yourself. It makes a person feel like they’re interesting”.

“Cool” he said happily, taking a big swig of coke.

“And besides, my mum and dad aren’t.... dead, if that’s what you thought. It’s just a very complicated story”.

“Okay, no worries”.

Just then the door to the canteen opened, making him flinch. Instead of an angry Fred though (as he’d half expected), it was Bob the toilet cleaner. He was carrying a small carrier bag.

“There you are” he said, coming to join them both.

Nicky shuffled along a bit allowing Bob the room to sit next to her.

‘I don’t think this guy is really the toilet cleaner’ Kevin thought for the second time that day, once again casting his eyes over the man’s smartly pressed suit.

“Rumour has it” Bob began, placing the carrier bag on the table. “We’ve both been hiding our true identities”.

“Oh?” Kevin said softly.

“It’s okay. Nicky gave me the heads up when she came to get her purse. My name’s James Martin; I’m the very real Luton Town manager. I don’t know what your name is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not Dave Wheelie”.

“My name’s Kevin. I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you before. I have heard of you. I am a Luton fan. I just didn’t recognise you”.

“That’s really okay. It’s not like my face is plastered all over the tabloids. I don’t even get in the Non League Paper all that much. I doubt the fact you’ve only ever been to one game helped you much either, did it?”

Kevin glanced at Nicky, who grinned guiltily and pretended to look away.

“Anyway” James continued, reaching into the bag. “This should help you get into more games in the future. It’s a season ticket book”.

“Wow!” Kevin exclaimed, taking the gift slowly from James’ hand. “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh he’s deadly serious” said Nicky.

“But.... I broke in here using someone else’s card!”

“On the contrary” James quickly argued. “I’d say it was probably more a case of returning somebody else’s property, wouldn’t you?”

“I guess”.

“Look, I know what youngsters are like. I was one myself. So you found an old swipe card and thought you’d have a bit of fun with it. No big deal. You don’t strike me as the sort who would have torched the place had you not bumped into Nicky”.

“No, definitely not. I suppose you’ll want the card back, mind?”

His hands shaking unsteadily, Kevin reached into his pocket and pulled the swipe card out. Then he offered it out for James to take. Rather than confiscate it though, the Luton boss studied it for a moment or two before handing it straight back to Kevin.

“It’s okay you go ahead and keep that. I trust you not to misuse it. Keep it as a souvenir of your day, but also keep it safe, Frodo! Keep it hidden, keep it safe. Your friends will only try to take it from you!”

“Oh don’t patronise him!” Nicky giggled.

“It’s okay” said Kevin, himself struggling to suppress a chuckle. “I promise I won’t use it. Who was Dave Wheelie though?”

“He was errrr, he was a really great guy” James replied, standing up. “A model employee. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work. Tough game at Oxford coming up – lots of preparation to do. I’ll leave Nicky to show you out”.

With this James held his hand out for shaking and Kevin responded. Then the former began heading for the door. At the last possible moment though he clicked his fingers and turned around again.

“Oh! One more thing, Kevin. That season ticket is for one stand and one stand only, so don’t forget. There’s another boy about your age who has a similar ticket. His name’s Rory and he’s Brenda’s son. He sits not too far behind the dugout. He always goes alone so maybe if you spot him you could say hello and keep him company or something?”

“I’ll keep an eye out”.

“Okay then. Cheerio”.

“Bye”.

And that was that. The manager disappeared and Kevin was left alone with Nicky again, only now he had something very special in the palm of his hand.

“God, I feel a bit like Charlie with his golden ticket” he said, rubbing his thumb over the top of the booklet.

“Who’s that?” Nicky asked.

“You know – Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”

“Oh, I think I saw that once! I got really sad though when his dog died”.

"Eh?"

“On second thoughts, I think it might have been a cat” Nicky speculated, gazing through the window.

“Yeah might have been”.

In truth Kevin couldn’t remember any animal dying in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He didn’t like disagreeing with Nicky though, not that he could have explained why.

Five minutes later, and with both drinks consumed, it was time to go. The pair of them left the canteen and began the long (not to mention sad) walk down to the front door in reception.

“I wish I wasn’t leaving” Kevin said solumnly, jumping the final three stairs. “I wish I could work here too, even if it wasn’t as manager”.

“Oh you'll be working here before you know it, and I’m sure it will be as manager. Do you still want to do that now you’ve seen everything that you’ve seen?”

“More than ever”.

Once they were in reception, Kevin turned to Nicky and sighed. Nicky looked down at him and ruffled his hair from side to side, bangles vibrating as she did so.

“Have you got Facebook?” she asked.

“Yeah. I haven’t used it much though”.

“Well add me to that and we can keep in touch. My full name is Nicky Willacy”.

“Yeah, will do”.

“Oh, and maybe you can come back here once a year or something for a quick drink and a chat? I’m sure James won’t mind as long as it’s not too often. We’ll arrange it on Facebook sometime in the future”.

“Yeah great!”

“Cool”.

Kevin turned around and took a stride towards the door. Just before he opened it though, something made him turn back one last time.

“Nicky, what’s dogging?”

“What makes you ask?”

“I heard my friend Gary mention it this morning”.

Nicky smiled thoughtfully and looked into his eyes. For a second he thought he was going to freeze like a victim of Medusa.

“I could be wrong, but I think it’s an expression for walking a dog” she eventually mused.

“Yeah I thought it would be”.

“Bye, Kevin”.

“Bye, Nicky”.

His season ticket booklet and swipe card tucked safely in his coat pocket, Kevin opened the door and walked outside. He half expected Gary to jump out at him from behind the nearest car and ask where he’d been for the past hour. His friend though was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t outside the gates either.

‘He must have got bored and left’.

Not that Kevin minded. An over-inquisitive Gary might have pestered him for the swipe card again, or heaven forbid, laid claim to the season ticket (after somehow reading Kevin’s mind). No, best Gary didn’t re-appear until after all the treasures were stored away in the cave.

“And it’s Kevin Nicholls!” he whispered to himself, jogging down the pathway outside Kenilworth Road. “Nicholls to Cadamateri. Sideways to Daniels. And he’s played it into Bridges. This is a great chance!”

Pretending to dribble an imaginary football, Kevin pulled his foot back and let fly.

“Goaaaaaal”.

Roll on next Saturday.

---------------------------------------------------

THE END

Cracking story, Scottlee.

I must ask, however, what part of that featured FM?

Cracking story, Scottlee.

I must ask, however, what part of that featured FM?

All based on his longer-running Luton story. The characters in it were pulled from that thread and are in FM, so you can argue that it was FM-based even if it didn't feature an actual match.

All based on his longer-running Luton story. The characters in it were pulled from that thread and are in FM, so you can argue that it was FM-based even if it didn't feature an actual match.

Which tells me I need to read more stories....

Top stuff, Scottlee

I hope it was okay that was no FM match was featured. Not to drop Gav's name in it but I actually got the base idea from his excellent 'Whispers in the Dark' Tina spin-off from a while back.

Funnily enough I had intended on have James also present Kevin with a copy of FM09 (stolen from Darren's PC) with which he could hone his managerial skills. Alas, I completely forgot that bit. I'm not going to edit it now.

Thanks for the kind comments in the thread, and also in advance for any others. I look forward to trying another short story in the future.

Good Read so far Scottlee you seemed to have a real talented with your stories they keep me hooked keep up the good work !!!