Luton Town : Staring into the Abyss

NicKC13573 · June 12, 2011

what would be sweet justice is if he was listed for loan straight away and you brought him back!

finally escapes the Luton Abyss only to be drawn right back in

ScottleeSV · June 13, 2011

20/05/10 - What's mine isn't yours.

This evening whilst sitting on the sofa, Bambi on my lap all snuggled up and enjoying the body heat, the doorbell rang. It rang violently for a fair few times in succession and then abruptly stopped.

“You know what, La Bamba? It’s amazing how everyone who uses that thing seems to play their own distinctive tune”.

Placing her to one side, I went out the front door and then downstairs to the main front door. On the way I tidied my hair using only my bare hands and I also had a quick smell of both armpits (all clear).

Then I opened up.

“Hi” Chantelle said nervously.

“Hi back”.

“I was just at home and I remembered I’ve still got some C.D’s here, so I just came to pick them up. If that’s okay”.

“Yeah that’s fine. Come up”.

She still had C.D's here? Really? I would have to take her word for it. I’ve literally got hundreds of them in my bedroom probably going back about two decades. Most I’ve never played more than one or two times. As such, I really couldn’t tell you what songs/albums I have got and which I haven’t. I’ve never catalogued them.

To go about this rather mundane task of picking up her C.D’s, Chantelle had chosen to wear white trousers, matching white stiletto shoes, and unless my nose was deceiving me, my favourite Christina Aguilera Eau de Parfum Spray, the one I’d once told her was my favourite out of all the ones on her dressing table. A more suspicious person might have wondered if there was a secondary purpose to this visit yet to be revealed.

Not that I wasn’t tempted by her.

The longer a man goes without a woman, the more vulnerable he becomes to the wrong choices. I have no doubt anymore that Chantelle is a ‘wrong choice’, but right here right now my will was being severely tested. That much is true.

“Err, where’s Luke this evening?” I asked as we scaled the last of the stairs.

“At Eugene’s”.

“Right”.

The bedroom in my flat is right next to the kitchen. Rather than follow Chantelle into the former (a potential mistake on a grand scale if ever there was one), I quickly ducked left into the latter and sat on the nearest stool. In response to this, Chantelle paused at the bedroom door and cast me a curious backwards glance.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing”.

“Then why’ve you gone in there? The C.D’s are all in here”.

“Yeah, but you don’t need me. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for on your own”.

That excuse didn’t satisfy her, so back towards me she came. She brought that sweet scent with her too. It was very overpowering. If I didn’t do something soon, like either get rid of her or put a gas mask on, I was going to be undoing my trousers very very shortly. And that would spell trouble.

‘You MUST NOT let that happen’.

“You don’t want to be in the bedroom with me do you?” she asked, slowly beginning to produce a sultry smile. She also came up close and slipped her hands in by the side of my chest. “Why is that? What are you worried will happen if – “

“Chantelle, just grab your damn C.D’s and jog on! I’m not in the mood for any games tonight”.

And just like that the smile was gone, replaced with a scowl. She also withdrew her hands.

“Fine” she said, storming back towards the front door. “Whatever. You know what? Forget it. If you’re gonna be a child then just keep the damn things!”

“Aha!” I exclaimed. “I knew you didn’t actually have any C.D’s here!”

Stung by that a bit she turned on her heels and headed back towards the bedroom again, pausing only to dump her handbag down on the kitchen table.

“Okay fine” I then heard her say from inside the bedroom. “Let – me – see”.

I still wasn’t going to follow her in there. Keeping my arms crossed I waited now by the kitchen door. Two minutes later Chantelle re-emerged with a small pile of C.D’s in her arms. She also wore a patronising expression on her face as if to say I told you so.

As she then put the pile down on the kitchen table in order to re-sling her handbag, my eyes caught the name of the topmost C.D on the pile.

“Woah!” I exclaimed, snatching the whole lot up. “Manic Street Preachers? Give over. You don’t like The Manic Street Preachers. This is mine”.

“Err, excuse me! I LOVE The Manic Street Preachers”.

“Oh really? Well presumably then, you’ll have no problem telling me what year they did that duet with Eminem”.

“Well obviously I don’t know exactly what year it was. I’m not some quiz geek”.

“Aha! They never did a duet with Eminem! A true fan would have known that”.

Chantelle’s face was furious. With more than little bit of smug satisfaction, I threw the Manics album onto the kitchen table to show her I had definitely earned the right to keep it.

“And what’s THIS?” I exclaimed, now turning my eyes to the next C.D down. “We’re Luton, by The Luton Town Midnight Runners featuring Sir Paul McCartney? Wow, I had no idea you were such a closet football fan, Chantelle!”

Game, set, and match.

With a stifled scream of frustration she powered towards the front door again and this time made it all the way. Seconds later and she was slamming it closed in her wake.

After I’d put the C.D’s back in the wardrobe I made myself a coffee and went back to the living room. Then I picked Bambi up and retook my seat from before.

“Close shave, Bambers. Close shave”.

Ceirdiff · June 13, 2011

I think your being harsh on Chantelle.../me feels sorry for her.

ScottleeSV · June 14, 2011

Good she has a fan

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24/05/10 - Going once

LIGHTNING POACH EASTON FROM NEIGHBOURING HATTERS, the Non-League Daily

Left sided midfielder Clint Easton has left Luton Town to join new club Luton Lightning. The 32 year old, having found himself out of contract at Kenilworth Road, has signed a one year deal with The Lightning and will join up with the squad ahead of their inaugural campaign in the Ryman Division One North. Easton arrives on the back of a successful season with neighbours Town, making 30 appearances and scoring 2 goals in all competitions.

Lightning manager Damien Dimple was delighted with the signing – “It’s great to have been able to snap up Clint. He possesses an abundance of football league experience and only last term was instrumental in helping Luton Town win their league. He’ll be a huge benefit to the squad we’re trying to put together here”.

Easton’s former boss James Martin was also in favour of the switch across town – “As much as I didn’t actually hear about this until it was all done and dusted I have to begrudgingly admit it’s probably for the best. Clint has been a fantastic servant for us but he probably wouldn’t have played much in our League Two team next season. I’m glad he’s found somewhere he’s guaranteed first team football”.

Martin was also quick to put to bed rumours of resentment existing between Luton's traditional club and Luton's far newer one.

“No no. Absolutely not. Look, we have our club and they have theirs. There’s no ill-feeling at all. In fact I would go as far as to say that it’s great that Luton has room for a second team. I genuinely wish Luton Lightning all the best for the year ahead”.

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

25/05/10 - Going twice

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS FOR LIGHTNING-BOUND OWUSU, the non-league daily

When 20 year old Richard Owusu realised he would probably have to leave his beloved Luton Town in order to secure first team football, he probably didn’t envisage moving err even closer to home. But that’s what he’s done. And now, rather than travel six miles to work every day he’ll only have to travel two. That’s right; Owusu has become the latest in a long string of new signings for Luton Lightning.

“Obviously I’m gutted to leave the lads at Luton behind” Owusu told non-league daily this afternoon. “But the set up at Lightning is amazing, and once I’d had a tour around The Glory Bowl (Luton Lightning’s custom built new ground), I had no doubt at all that I would sign”.

The massive £1000 per week wage offer probably helped too. The Lightning have not been shy when it's come to throwing their money around since being controversially accepted into the Ryman League. Backed extensively by their mysterious investors, they’re rumoured to have the biggest budget outside the football league.

However, Luton Town manager James Martin’s reaction to Owusu’s departure was only lukewarm – “Look, I’m not going to lie, news of this one came as much more of a surprise than yesterday’s. Owusu wasn’t first choice at our club but he’s only young and I still had high hopes he might develop into a decent player for us once he started to mature. I do wish him well though”.

“Having said that, I’m a bit concerned at the manner in which today’s business was conducted, especially so hot on the heels of yesterday. I’m not going to say anymore at this stage. I need to hold counsel with my acting chairman. On the whole however, I do wish Owusu the best of luck at his new club”.

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26/05/10 - And sold to the dips__ts across town

LIGHTNING STRIKE AGAIN AS MARTIN BURNS ALL BRIDGES, the non-league daily

Damien Dimple has made another lightning thrust in his pre-season preparations for life in the Ryman Division One North. Luton Lightning have dramatically secured the services of Luton Town goal machine Michael Bridges, formally of Hull City, Sunderland, and Leeds. The 32 year old arrives on a free transfer after two hours of intense talks at The Glory Bowl earlier this afternoon.

Bridges has had an injury prone career but was thought to have finally found a place he could call home last season, scoring 16 times in 37 games as Luton Town strolled to the Blue Square Premier league title. Swayed however by the lure of a bumper increase to his £3000 salary, Bridges has decided his future now lies away from Kenilworth Road, and with it, the man who rescued his fading career, Luton Town manager James Martin.

“Obviously this is a major coop for us” Lightning manager Dimple was heard to tell the media earlier. “We’re delighted to bring Michael along to our project. He did enjoy being at the other Luton but felt that by failing to win the treble last term they weren’t keeping pace with his ambitions. Hopefully, here at The Glory Bowl, he’ll find his spiritual home”.

Not so happy was a positively seething Martin, who has now suffered the indignity of losing three players to his nearest rivals in the space of just seventy two hours. Martin spoke candidly to non-league daily.

“Nobody doubted the fact these players were not technically under contract for next season, but the way the dealings have been conducted has been an absolute disgrace. I’m going to be lodging a complaint with the league, the F.A, FIFA, everyone. There’s a right way and a wrong way to conduct business in football and the ruthless poaching of players from behind a manager’s back is certainly not it!”

“I seriously hope the Luton Lightning fail next season and you can quote me on that. I certainly won’t be having any more dealings with them, that’s for damn sure. As far as I’m concerned, Luton Lightning can shove their cheque book and their fancy little shopping complex and their damn Glory Bowl with it. What kind of a name for a stadium is The Glory Bowl anyway? Dire”.

The Icepick · June 15, 2011

I just love the way you keep changing between storylines (Charlotte, Chantelle, the football at Luton) and this last chapter is just brilliant in every way. Great idea of losing three players to Lightining, and very well written in an original style, with only newspaper articles. Amazing stuff.

FlownCanary · June 15, 2011

ouch, i've heard of lightning not striking twice in the same place, but three times!!!! Whoa!

see what I did there? Lightning? Strike?.....

oh. never mind......

salkster2102 · June 15, 2011

It always comes in threes doesn't it

Great work as always mate :thup:

ScottleeSV · June 15, 2011

Or fours.

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30/05/10 - (no title)

It didn’t seem like a strange day at first.

I woke up, had some cereal, walked Bambi, went to work, messed about trying to sign players for a few hours, failed, came home again, got changed into something more comfortable, walked Bambi again, made myself a coffee (my fourth of the day), and then put my feet up to watch television. By the time Neighbours had finished, I’d already privately decided I wouldn’t be bothering to write a diary entry today. What would be the point? Nothing had happened.

The weather outside was cool for a change. There had been a few spots of rain throughout the afternoon, but now, as we approached the evening, it was damp on the ground and gloomy up above. Not the sort of day you’d pick for your back garden barbecue.

It was about 6.20pm when it happened. The phone call. I hadn’t been expecting anyone to call so naturally my first thought was that it was probably Brian, enquiring if I fancied a pint. If it had been Brian, I almost certainly would have accepted any offers of a social. Why the hell wouldn’t I? I was bored and I had no plans.

As it turned out though, Brian was not the caller. It wasn’t Chantelle either. Or Bob, ringing to inform me of another defector.

It was worse than that.

Luton Lightning might have stopped pinching my players for the time being, but that didn’t mean that James Martin had stopped being hit by lightning.

“James” said the voice. “It’s Alison”.

“Alison. Right. Hi. My forehead is fine, by the way”.

“What?”

“Never mind. What can I do for you?”

Cue a deep sigh at the other end. Alison seemed to be taking a moment to work out how to go about what she needed to say.

“I’m behind the bar at Heavenly Hatters right now” she eventually continued. I didn’t think that was going to be the crux of it though. It wasn’t. “I just took a call from one of my colleagues in the town centre. There’s been some kind of shooting in the mouth of an alleyway. A man and a woman were the victims. The woman died at the scene. The man has been rushed to hospital and is in critical condition”.

“Well that doesn’t surprise me" I replied. "It’s like a mugger’s paradise around here these days. I blame Ken Clarke. In fact – “

I paused.

‘Why is she telling me this?’

“Why are you telling me this?”

“James, the woman’s body was identified by the Luton Town Identification Card she was carrying in her handbag. That's why they phoned me for advice. I’m really sorry to tell you this but – “

“WHO IS IT?!” I screamed down the phone.

banglared · June 15, 2011

Erica. Or Keith Keane taking a new fantasy out onto the streets.

Chao Yang · June 15, 2011

Erica, please tell me its Erica. None of the office staff please!

Any potential takeover news by shady Middle Eastern oil barons in the works?

FlownCanary · June 15, 2011

OMG!!! Not my favourite goth! Pleeeeeeese!

Ceirdiff · June 15, 2011

I hate you. Cliffhangers=evil. I guess Chantelle for what it's worth. M'heraps James left his card over there...and you totally hate Chantelle.

mcglede · July 13, 2011

I have been waiting nearly a month for this - damn you hackers!! Now we're back, I need a month's fix of Luton Town...now!!

ScottleeSV1 · July 13, 2011

Hi all! This will be my last post for maybe up to a week, just to give people time to re-discover that the forums are working. Hopefully I'll be using my proper account by then as well. Stupidly left the new login details at work today. Sorry in advance for the depressing nature of this first update on the return

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

“It’s Caroline”.

“Caroline?” I queried (like I hadn’t quite heard).

“Caroline”.

Nobody spoke for another twenty seconds. My brain was struggling to compute what I’d just been told. As it continued to try, Bambi stood close by wagging her tail. She seemed to have picked up the vibe that something was wrong. The wag of the tail was her way of saying – “Hey, cheer up. I know what will make you smile. Look at how cute I am when my tail’s wagging!”

For some reason I felt neither angry nor sad. Petulant denial seemed to be the order of the day at the moment.

“Are you sure it’s her?”

“Well, there’s the I.D card. And the description I was given seemed sound”.

“What was the description?”

“Early twenties. Dark hair. Red dress”.

‘Red Dress!’

Now the petulant denial had something to feed off of. Switching the phone to my other shoulder, I bent down to give Bambi a reassuring pat.

“It’s not her then” I said with a strong dressing of finality. “Caroline doesn’t wear dresses”.

“Really? You’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely. Alison, she’s a goth! She just doesn’t wear stuff like that. Even if she did, it would be a black dress, not a red one. Come on! You remember Caroline!”

“Then how do you explain the I.D card?”

“F__k knows! Maybe Caroline dropped it and some other girl picked it up? Something like that. Anyway, you’re supposed to be the police! Can’t you do a dental check or something, clear it up one way or the other?”

“No. I’m at the strip club, remember? I’m lucky nobody else is around right now so I can even use the phone. And you’ll have to be patient with the police who are working on the case. The incident happened less than an hour ago. What’s more, this isn’t CSI Miami. If it is Caroline she’ll be identified by her parents. Nice and simple. And before you ask, they’ve already been called. They’re already on their way down from Peterborough as we speak”.

Now that just made me mad.

“You’re wasting their time! It’s not her!”

“You‘re deciding that on the colour of her dress?”

“Yes!”

“Has it not occurred to you she could have been wearing the red as a one off, you know, for a date? She was with a guy when this happened after all”.

“And you say he’s still alive?”

“Rushed to accident emergency with gunshot wounds, but yes, still alive”.

Again the conversation switched to standby, as my mind flashed back to a time just a few months previous. Caroline had told me about a new boyfriend when I’d been around at her place having a beer. We’d been sat in that weird back garden of hers on top of the shop.

(‘What I mean is; I’m not usually very lucky with guys. This is the first time in like – years – since the last one. Anyway, I decided a while ago that the next time I got with someone, I wouldn’t tell anyone straight away in case I jinxed it. So, once I’ve been with this guy three months, if we get that far, that’s when I’ll think about introducing him to my friends’).

Was HE – the guy who’d also been shot but was still alive – was he that guy?

No. It couldn’t have been him because he was dating Caroline, and Caroline hadn’t been at the scene. Some other girl in a red dress had been at the scene. Not Caroline.

“It’s not her. Or her boyfriend”.

“James – “

“WHAT’S MORE, I’m going to prove it. I’m going to go down to the morgue and make the I.D myself. Or de-confirm it. Whatever”.

“James you can’t just – “

“Yes I am and I’m going. Bye”.

What I hadn’t bothered to add was that me de-confirming the I.D would save Caroline’s parents the horror of doing it themselves. Hopefully I’d beat them to the hospital, get the dirty work out of the way, and then wait by the front door ready to hand out the good news. Bob’s your uncle. Everyone’s a winner.

A man with purpose, I grabbed my coat and gave a Bambi a quick peck. Then I picked up my mobile and headed for the door. It was only when I reached the car and sat behind the wheel did a very obvious light-bulb moment hit me square in the temple. I just couldn’t believe it had taken this long to think of it. The shock of Alison's news must have dislodged my brain cells and rearranged them in a different order.

‘What the hell I am doing? I should just phone Caroline! If she answers, she can’t be dead can she? Doh!’

Fingers trembling, I began to roam my address book.

Chao Yang · July 13, 2011

NOOOO, NOT OUR GOTH!!!!! D: Can't wait for the updates next week!

I can just James with wild eyes and about to have a mental breakdown.

mcglede · July 13, 2011

Can't be helped Scottlee, you were just going with the storyline - not your fault that just as you get to the real dramatic part the forum shut it's doors.

Another fantastic post as always - a great read on a daily basis.

MarkC1984 · July 14, 2011

Blimey, taken me 12 hours to catch up with all the action from the last time I read it. Well done on the promotion, but I just want to annoy Luton fans by saying COME ON THE WIMBLEDON!

Glad Erica is still being as ice cold as ever, she's my fav in the whole story.

ScottleeSV · July 17, 2011

Thanks guys

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

One ring. Two rings. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Nobody there.

Terminating the attempt, I thought about calling the house phone and then realised I didn’t have the number. That was if she even had a house phone. I know me and my friends never did when I was living in shared accommodation.

The dread rising up in me just a notch further, I briefly considered phoning Nicky. Maybe she would know where Caroline currently was, thus confirming her continued existence as a living breathing entity? Maybe, but if she didn’t know then I’d have to explain why I needed the information. No. No way.

Time for the hospital then. Turning the ignition key, I fired her up and looked in my wing mirror for oncoming traffic. As I did this the radio blared to life. ‘You’ll be a woman soon’ was playing. For at least the first two minutes of the journey I ridiculously tried to remember who sung it.

Having been to Luton and Dunstable hospital several times before (to see Messrs Fairclough, Sheridan, and Rhodes-Chatto, among others), I was familiar with the way there. The journey only took me ten minutes. Then I swung off Lewsey Road into the car park opposite the entrance and parked up.

I could see from some distance away that Detective Maynard of all people was stood in front of the foyer. He was dressed in a long green duffel coat and was smiling up at the clouds as if thinking it was ideal weather for a spot of fishing.

“I’m here to identify the body” I called out bluntly, even before I reached him.

“Now slow down” he replied, stepping forwards off the kerb. “I just had a call warning me to expect you, but still, just slow down. If I’m going to let you in there then I want you calm and under control. Am I clear?”

“Fine. Let’s go”.

“Okay then. Let’s try and get this over with before the girl’s parents get down here”.

Maynard looked past me into the road, perhaps to see if Mr and Mrs Smith were going to choose that exact moment to ‘get down here’. Then he put an arm around my shoulder and guided me through the front doors.

As we walked, there was no pep talk over the potential for my freaking out over seeing Caroline’s dead body, or whichever body was in here. I guess he figured I was a big enough boy. Oh, and he probably doesn’t like me enough anyway because he knows I helped put Rhodes-Chatto in hospital.

It didn’t take long to get to the mortuary rooms. Before arrival I just about had time to ponder my failed phone call to Caroline a bit more. Was it a bad sign she hadn’t answered? How often do living people not answer their mobiles? Less than 50% of the time? More? I suppose it depends on the person. Bob Wharton, for instance; he hardly ever answers his mobile. At the other end of the scale, Chantelle will literally bust a gut running up staircases to make sure she attends every last call.

So which category does Caroline fit into it? Or DID fit into? I don’t know. I can’t remember calling her mobile that much.

The body was lying on a table at the back of a dank room in the basement, covered by a sheet so I couldn’t see it. A white coated attendant was floating around. He and Maynard muttered a few words to each other before the detective then gestured me to come stand by the body.

‘Red dress. She doesn’t wear red dresses’.

“Just to warn you, the facial area is very messy. She was shot through the back of the neck. Probably never saw it coming”.

“Okay”.

“Are you ready?” he then asked, reaching down and taking hold of the sheet.

For a few seconds I didn’t answer, instead walking away from the table with my hands on my hips. Then slowly I came back again, shaking my head from one side to the other. I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

“Okay, hit me”.

Maynard pulled the sheet back.

Chao Yang · July 17, 2011

ARGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME!!!

You're too good at these ScottleeSV, too good. Can't wait~

Ceirdiff · July 17, 2011

If you don't update soon then you'll suffer the same treatment as she did.

ScottleeSV · July 18, 2011

(double post. Problem cropped up with the left hand margin that I don't understand)

ScottleeSV · July 18, 2011

21/01/08 - It's a nice day to start again (part 2)

Not for the first time I was interrupted, but this time it was by the chauffeur of the dark green car. He’d walked up to us on our blind side. From inside the church meanwhile came the unmistakable sound of another dreary hymn.

“James?” said the newcomer, grimacing as if in discomfort from Steve’s smoke.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Charlotte’s father would like to see you. He has something very important to discuss. Do you have a few minutes to come and sit in the car with him?”

Steve and I briefly looked at each other and then I turned to face the chauffeur.

“Yeah, fine”.

“James” said Steve, throwing his butt on the floor and stomping on it. “I’m going to head off. I’ll call you later and we’ll talk about it then, okay?”

“Yeah, okay”.

Away he trundled, and in a slightly different direction, off trundled me and the chauffeur to the dark green car. I wasn’t looking forward to this little meeting anymore than I had the service.

--------

Rather than invite me to sit in the back, the chauffeur opened up the door to front. Passenger side. I couldn’t see into the back from here because the black glass sheet thing was up. No sooner had my bum touched leather however did the sheet begin to slide downwards. Slick. Real slick.

“James, what’s your report?”

“Report?” I repeated disbelievingly, facing Charlotte’s father through the rear-view mirror. His actual name was Ian.

“Yes, your report”.

“You seriously want me to file a report? Today? Don’t you think – “

“TODAY IS A DAY LIKE ANY OTHER DAY!” Ian Thomas screamed into my ear hole. I flinched slightly but remained facing forwards.

He was an irritating man; mid-fifties, out of shape, and full of himself because he ran a successful business. Even worse, he was a poor father. Only now was he taking an interest in his daughter. Too late though.

“Not for me it’s not” I replied coolly. “I’m done after today. I’m moving on with my life. I’m sorry, I really am. Explode on me all you want. I don’t care”.

“You can’t quit now! A day like today should give you fresh impetus, not make you quit!

“Well, actually it’s had the reverse effect. So there you go”.

“So my daughter no longer matters to you. Is that what you’re saying?”

God I hate people who don’t know how to argue. It drives me insane.

“To be fair, you haven't exactly been Mr Devotion yourself this afternoon” I retorted. “Sitting out here in the car while everyone else is in there – what’s that all about?”

“I’m not going in for all that service nonsense! That was Gloria’s idea. And what about you, hanging around outside smoking whilst everyone else is inside?”

“I only came out five min – “

‘Oh what the hell is the point?’

After breaking off I slumped in my seat and looked out at the chauffeur. He hadn’t followed us into the car to eavesdrop on this awe-inspiring conversation. He was pacing back and forth in front of the bonnet having a cigarette. Best thing to be doing right now really. It certainly didn’t do to be inside the church, or in this car.

“Ian, I am not going to sit in there all day grieving for someone who for all I know could be sat in The Cayman Islands supping cocktails!”

“I thought you said she was unlikely to be at a beach resort?”

“She is! – I didn’t actually mean – What I meant was that – Oh forget it”.

I’d had enough of this. Twisting in my seat, I opened the door and made to go back outside.

“Wait!” Ian shouted.

“What?”

“Please, James. Just six more months. Come on. Please”.

“No, I’m done. It’s a fool’s errand. Always was. The world’s too big a place. And life’s too short”.

“No. Please. Three months then. Please. For me. For old time’s sake. For Charlotte!”

In the space of two minutes he’d gone from wholesale anger to just plain snivelling. I didn’t like this new tactic though anymore than I had the original one.

“Ian” I began, head still leaning in through the door. “I’m going to say this for the last time. It’s over. If you want my friendly advice, go in the church and be with Gloria. Don’t sit in here driving yourself crazy”.

“Are you so totally out of places to look, James?”

I couldn’t help outwardly laughing at that.

“Actually I did come up with one more play the other week. I didn’t follow it up though. Maybe now that I’m quitting you can take up the baton?”

“Where is it?”

“Manchester Picadilly. You see I got to thinking that maybe she never actually left there in the first place, and that maybe she’s had us fooled all along, having us run around all over the shop when all this time she's been hiding out in the nearest train tunnel with a few travel magazines and a steady supply of – “

“You bas – “

His attempt to interrupt me was cut short when I slammed the door on him. He didn’t try and get out to finish it off. The chauffeur meanwhile reacted to my exit by stomping his smoke out and heading back to the driver’s side.

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

Five minutes later my legs had walked me far away from the church and I had a bit of a sweat on. It was at this moment I realised I had sunglasses in my pocket; Steve had convinced me this morning it was always a good idea to take sunglasses to send-offs. I don’t know why. It wasn’t as if I'd been in danger of crying today.

Still, they were cool specs. I put them on now and took in the new restricted view.

Then I resumed my stroll towards better times.

Ceirdiff · July 19, 2011

Charlottes Dad's description fits you...Get to the point with Caroline!

Great story btw.

ScottleeSV · July 19, 2011

It was her alright.

Half her face was missing but I could tell from the unharmed bits it was Caroline; her hair, her legs, the shape of her overall body. I didn’t know why she was wearing red but it was definitely her on the slab.

“Jesus f__king Christ!” I let out, turning away from the table and putting my hands on the nearest sink.

I didn’t throw up like they do in the movies but my lip certainly trembled and my hands likewise. After inhaling a few times in a bid to regain composure, I turned my head for a second look. Maynard though, like a meddlesome boxing referee, had already decided had enough and put the sheet back down.

How the hell could this be happening?! What the f__kity f__k? Was this some kind of joke? Who decides these things?

“Is it her?” Maynard asked.

“Yeah”.

“You sure?”

“100%. F__k me I can’t believe this”.

“I’m sorry. Did you know her well?”

“Very well”.

“I’m sorry”.

As Maynard then turned to say something to the white coat (the coroner?), I wiped some unexpected dribble off my chin and walked back out to the hospital foyer. Maynard initially tried to call me back but it was half-hearted and whatever he had to say to the other guy was evidently a bigger priority.

The hospital was busy in the foyer. As I slowly – and I mean VERY slowly – began to walk amongst the living again, a strange feeling engulfed me. I felt like God was watching me walk. Such a feeling was strange because normally I never think about God, or anything to do with religion in general. Right at the moment I stumbled punch-drunk out of that damn hospital though after seeing a dead Caroline, I felt like God was watching me.

I felt like he was watching me because he was worried I might not be feeling too good right now. I also felt he was watching me and me only. Nobody else. I felt he was doing this because all the other people around me were just going about their normal everyday lives where I was trapped in the aftermath of a disastrous and potentially life-changing moment. Of course, it’s only occurred to me whilst updating the diary that these other people, being in hospital themselves, were potentially cocooned inside their own potentially disastrous life-changing moments.

Nasty places, hospitals.

‘Caroline is dead’.

From distance I probably looked like a zombie when I emerged back into the open air. Not only that but a wheelchair going in the opposite direction almost knocked me over. I didn’t know what I was doing here. I was spaced out. Disbelieving. And p_ssed off.

I thought I’d wiped the last of the dribble off but I found some more just as I reached my car. Maybe it had kept creeping out through the corner of my gobsmacked mouth as I’d been walking? Whatever. I gave it a much better wipe this time and hopefully it was gone for good. The anger though remained, stayed put. What’s more, it was growing.

‘I will never be able to speak to Caroline ever again’.

Before I knew what I was doing I was kicking one of my tires. Once. Twice. Thrice. It wasn’t making me feel any better though so I stopped. Sidestepping right, I lifted my fist back and made to smash the side window. It never connected. Common sense prevailed just before the point of no return.

“Oh Jesus” I muttered, miserably beeping the door open. "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus”.

Once inside it took me almost a minute to realise I was sat in the wrong seat. No matter. I didn’t feel like driving right now anyway. All I wanted to do was hit something. Or someone. No, that wasn’t right. What I actually wanted to do was cry.

And so, in the end I just followed my instinct. I cried. And cried. And unlike the dribble I didn’t bother trying to wipe it away.

Ceirdiff · July 19, 2011

Oh wow...I really feel sorry for Rory...

ScottleeSV · July 20, 2011

It took me ten minutes to come out of my haze. Then I finally began to wipe my face and ponder what I was going to do next.

(‘A man and a woman were the victims. The woman died at the scene. The man has been rushed to hospital and is in critical condition’).

The man, this boyfriend of hers, he would most likely be here in this same hospital wouldn’t he? Whoever he was, it was time to pay him a visit. I very much wanted to know more about what had happened. Had it been a random mugging? Or had someone launched a pre-meditated attack against Caroline’s beau, only for Caroline to end up as collateral damage? Or maybe, if it wasn’t too leftfield, Caroline’s beau had shot Caroline for some reason and then shot himself in a non-critical area to make it look like a mugging?

Whatever the answer to the conundrum, it was time for the two of us to get acquainted. I was well aware he was on life support but that wouldn’t stop me waiting by the side of his bed until he woke up. Then I’d have it out of him. Even if I had to wrap my hands around his bloodshot neck.

With renewed vitality I got out of the car and headed back to the foyer. Then I strode inside intent on finding Maynard again. As it turned out, I didn’t need to go back down to the mortuary. The wily old detective was leaning over the front desk saying something to the receptionist.

“Hold on a second” he said to her, seeing me approach out the corner of his eye.

“Caroline’s boyfriend – where is he?”

Maynard sighed and pulled me over towards a stand full of health leaflets. The nearest one warned against the dangers of stepping on railway lines.

“James, you can forget any ambitions you may harbour of interrogating the boyfriend. He’s not currently awake. And when he does come out of his little stupor, it will we the police who ask him the relevant questions about what happened, not James Martin the local football manager. I’m sorry. If you want my advice, go home, get some rest, and I’ll call you when – “

“Don’t patronize me. Please. I just – “

“No! Look, even if I did give you the green light to go see him, you’d never get inside his room. He’s being guarded by other policemen, right here on the fourth floor. Because of the nature of the gunshot wounds, we haven’t ruled out the possibility of this being some kind of gangland beef. Therefore, until we get more information, the boyfriend remains under armed guard, just in case the shooter comes back to finish the job”.

“Can’t you at least tell me the guy’s name?”

“We don’t have the guy’s name. Unlike your colleague, this guy didn’t have any I.D on him. We’re working on it. Now please, go home and – “

He broke off because somewhere over my shoulder something caught his attention. On turning around I saw a smartly dressed middle-aged couple rush up to the reception desk.

‘Mr and Mrs Smith?’

Probably, but I didn’t hang around for confirmation. The moment Maynard darted over to speak to them I left the leaflet stand and headed deeper into the hospital. Screw him. If I wanted to see Caroline’s boyfriend then I’d damn well go do it. It's not as if I'd be breaking any law.

The armed guard though was something I knew could derail my plans. I would just have to find a way to deal with the issue when I got to the fourth floor. If it was just one guy doing the guarding, maybe I could hang around until he went to the loo or something? Yeah, that was the ticket.

Unfortunately however, the men in blue had five men in place to prevent a second murder being completed this evening, not just one. I spotted them down the far end of the first huge corridor I came to. It had to be the same detail Maynard had warned me about. How many hospital rooms on the same floor have armed guards outside them at any one time? Probably not many.

In a bid to appear normal, I casually began to walk in the direction of the policemen. They were huddled together having some kind of jokey discussion. I was about a hundred yards away to begin with. Then a hundred became ninety. Then eighty. A black nurse pushing an empty bed passed me in the opposite direction and gave me a searching look.

Seventy yards now. I couldn’t risk going any closer. If the police saw me walking towards them like this with a face like a smacked arse, they were liable to do something stupid. Like jump me.

There was a store cupboard coming up on my right. Instinctively I slipped into it and closed the door behind me.

“Dammit!” I said, knowing the game was up.

There was no future in this excursion. I would just have to go back outside, turn in the other direction, go back downstairs, go home, and then wait for Maynard’s call. And so I turned back to the door and prepared to open it again.

But then... redemption. Hanging off a peg on the back of the door was a long white doctor’s jacket. And nobody was wearing it.

'Hmmm'.

Probably for the first time in hours, a small smile broke out on my face.

ScottleeSV · July 21, 2011

The jacket was a close enough fit. It went all the way down to a spot just above my knees. I felt totally silly but hopefully it wouldn’t be for long; I just needed to get inside that room and speak to the boyfriend. Even if he wasn’t awake, just getting the merest of glimpses of him would give me half a chance of finding the guy on release.

Just as I was about to leave the cupboard, my mobile went off. It was Brian.

“James?”

“Can’t talk right now, mate. I’m in the middle of something”.

“James, I know about Caroline. Alison Wainwright phoned me. She was worried about you. James, I don’t know what to say. I just can’t believe it. It’s – It’s insane – James?”

“Yeah I’m here”.

I had no emotion in my voice. I was too locked into game mode right now, the same mode I go into five minutes before a match starts. There may have more grieving to be done for Caroline but that time wasn’t now. Right now I had business to tend to.

“Where are you?” Brian tried, obviously intending to orchestrate the whole I’ll-come-keep-you-company-and-we’ll-have-a-beer and-feel-sad-about-it-together tactic for dealing with it.

“At the hospital” I replied, peering around the door in the direction of the policemen. “How much did Alison tell you?”

“Everything she knew, I guess, which was more than enough detail for me. Does everybody else know, the Players and the staff and so on?”

“No idea. Probably not yet. Brian, I’m sorry to do this but I need to go. I’m really in the middle of something".

A brief pause at the other end. Those words had made the cogs start turning in Brian's head.

“James, what are you up to?” he asked sternly.

“Nothing. Talk later. Bye”.

And with that I hung up. I’d already wasted enough time talking. For all I knew, Maynard would pay Caroline’s boyfriend a visit any minute now and the chance for getting in that room would be gone. I had to crack on with this.

There was a whole bunch of other stuff in the cupboard, not just the jacket. Before leaving I took a stethoscope off one of the shelves and wrapped it around my neck. I also picked up a clipboard and a pen. As I re-entered the corridor I pretended to be studying something on the clipboard whilst simultaneously rattling the pen up and down between my teeth.

Fifty yards to go.

A woman doctor passed me going the other way. She looked at me and smiled and I briefly wrestled my attention from the clipboard in order to smile back. Then she was passed, and I quickly forgot about it.

Forty yards.

Strangely enough, I was starting to feel more and more like an actual doctor. Seeing that woman smile had given me added confidence in the role.

Thirty yards.

There seemed to be some sort commotion going on in the room coming up on my left. It was on the same side of the corridor to the room with the armed guards outside, only twenty yards closer towards me. Two women sounded like they were arguing. Oh well. Too bad. Nothing to do with me.

Twenty yards.

“Doctor!” suddenly shouted a female voice on my left. The room with the commotion!

Before I could react I felt a hand grab my arm and yank me inside the open door. The unexpected aggressor was a young woman of about twenty five, and she seemed to having some kind of panic attack. When my eyes scanned the room and locked in on the teenage boy occupying the room's sole bed, I understood why. He was gargling and choking.

“What the – “

This I began but couldn’t finish. That was because the second woman, a middle aged monstrosity at least half a yard too wide on both hips, interrupted my flow.

“He’s convulsing!”

I looked over to the boy again and stared open-mouthed. Then I looked back at the two women.

“Well?!” said the first woman. “What are you waiting for? Do something!”

‘Err – ‘.

ScottleeSV · July 22, 2011

Funny you should say that.

--------

After all the crap I’d had to suffer over the past hour or so, I deserved a bit of good luck at some point and God chose this moment to provide it. Just as I was contemplating running out of the room and not stopping until I reached my car, the kid on the hospital bed started to come around. That is to say, his relentless choking began to clear. It was as if he’d been having some kind of epileptic fit but was now coming out of it on his own, without any help.

Keen to make it look as if my appearance had at least contributed to this turnaround, I lunged forward and began pressing my fingers randomly against the patient’s neck and cheeks. His breathing meanwhile continued to level off. He even managed a smile.

“There we go” I said, checking the eyelids (for what I don’t know). “Much better. Vital signs are good. Pupils are – undulating. Breath seems normal. Excellent”.

To demonstrate how satisfied I was, I clicked my pen shut and slotted it into my breast pocket. Then I picked up my clipboard again and headed for the door.

“Hey, where you going?” the older woman asked. The pair of them had been a semi-trance whilst I’d been ‘working’ on the boy. Not anymore. Now they were snapping out of it.

“Well, believe it or not, this isn’t my field. I’m actually a broken leg expert. What I’m going to do now is go find Doctor err Fairclough, our resident specialist in breathing”.

“What shall we do until then?” enquired the younger one, probably the boy’s sister. “What if the attacks start again?”

“He should be fine until Doctor Fairclough gets here. In the meantime, just keep him stabilised”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, don’t let him...destabilise”.

With that I quickly slipped out the door and closed it behind me.

‘Thank God that's over’

Now it was time for the policemen. Although only twenty yards away, they weren’t looking in my direction right now. That gave me just the leeway I needed to re-set my composure and think about what I was going to say when I tried to get past them.

“Evening guys” I decided upon, hoping I wouldn’t have to break stride.

“Hang on!” a big grey-haired copper said, putting his hand in front of my chest. The others all bunched around me, blocking my escape.

“Sorry doc but we gotta make sure you’re not an imposter before we let you in. It’s procedure”.

This was spoken by the dark haired fat one on my right. After a nod from grey-hair he began to pat me down, searching for weapons. Such a precaution was fine by me. I wasn’t carrying any.

“He’s clean”.

“Okay, let him through boys”.

“Wait!” exclaimed one of the cops who hadn’t yet spoken. He was a big muscular guy with a scar on his chin.

“What is it, Francis?”

“I’ve seen you before” he said, aiming his answer directly at me. “Where have I seen you? I can’t quite picture it. But I’ve definitely seen you somewhere”.

“Err, probably in an operation or something” I replied.

“Hey, doc, do I look like the kind of guy who needs to go to hospital much?”

Francis pulled his sleeve up and flexed one of his arm muscles, doing a kind of Superman pose. The others guffawed and mumbled various comments along the lines of telling him to button back up again. As for me, I produced a fake laugh and waited to see what came next.

“No, definitely not in an operation” Francis confirmed.

“Well where the hell have you seen him then?” grey hair asked. “Come on Francis, the doc ain’t got all night”.

“I told you, I don’t know! For some reason though I’ve got football on my brain now”.

“Football?”

“Yeah. Football”.

‘Oh s__t. The game might be up here’.

“I’ve got it!” he finally shouted, and at that moment my heart sank three feet.

“You have?”

“Yeah. Did you play against us in last year’s doctors against the police charity match?”

“Yeah, I did!”

“Thought so. Crocked you pretty good that day, didn’t I?”

“Still got the scar” I informed him.

“Okay, okay” grey-hair interrupted. “Now you ladies have reacquainted, let’s get our minds back on the jobs. Francis, button it. Doc, in you go. And don’t let that creep in there die. We need him to solve this case”.

“I shall certainly do my best”.

And that was that. I’d passed the test. Gesturing goodbye with a wave of my clipboard, I slid through the space vacated by grey hair and into the room beyond. Now I would finally get to see the guy Caroline had been dating, and not before bloody time.

It didn’t take me long however to realise that ‘seeing’ would be all I’d be doing. The guy in the bed was strapped to three large machines and about nine different tubes. Half of his face was purple and he had bandages covering his neck and cheekbones. He looked a mess. No way in the world he’d be doing any talking today.

As well as the patient’s condition, there was one other crucial thing to note here. In short, I recognised him.

It was Garry.

ScottleeSV · July 23, 2011

It was almost too much to take in. Garry had been Caroline’s boyfriend? Was I absolutely sure I had the right room? What in the God’s name was unravelling here?

Knowing there was no chance of him waking up before someone finally came in and rumbled me, I exited the room.

“Going already, doc?”

“I forgot my rubber gloves. Be right back”.

As soon as I got inside the stairwell I took the doctor’s jacket off, folded it up, and left it neatly on one of the steps. Then I hurried down to the ground floor. I wasn’t sure what the plan was from here (if there was even to be one). For as long as I couldn’t think of one though, my default course of action would be to grab a coffee from the vending machine and take the weight off my feet.

Thankfully, neither Maynard nor Caroline’s parents were anywhere to be seen when I returned to the foyer. This enabled me to sup from my coffee cup in relative peace.

Whilst I sat, I thought about Caroline some more and tried to take it all in. It was difficult. The prospect of life without one of my best friends couldn’t possibly be anything else. God knows what it’s like for people who lose family members and loved ones. I was finding it wretched just losing a friend. Can you truly separate the two though? Can I really convince myself that this maybe I’ll get through this okay because Caroline belonged only in the second tier of people I care about?

I don’t want to think about it like that. She might have been only a 'friend', but on some level I really cared about her and I’m going to miss her. I miss her already actually. Knowing I’ll never see her again is making me feel horrible. I’ve shed tears over the girl. I feel angry. So what difference does it make where she slots on the list of people most important to me, past and present? None.

Some fifteen to twenty minutes later, just as I was close to draining my cup, I saw out the corner of my eye a familiar figure hanging around near the leaflet stand. I couldn’t see his face but I didn’t need to. I’d recognise that raincoat anywhere.

“Towzer” I said, getting out of my seat and heading over to him.

“J-James” he stuttered.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Garry. He’s on life support. He was shot”.

“Yeah I know. Let’s talk in the corridor though, away from all these people”.

Towzer looked unconvinced this was necessary but nevertheless followed my lead. I held the door to the corridor open and smiled as I beckoned him through it.

As soon as we were isolated I grabbed Towzer by the upper reaches of his jacket and forced him back against the wall.

“You son of a bitch! How did you even know Garry was here? Even the police don’t know the identity of the second victim!”

“I was THERE you stupid idiot! I was meeting Caroline and Garry at a bar in town. I was late. When I couldn’t find them I heard a commotion going on in the mouth of an alley. Loads of people were crowded around and an ambulance siren was coming from somewhere. I saw who was on the floor before they were taken away. Ever since then I’ve been hanging around this damn hospital waiting for an update on Garry”.

The story was just about believable. Grimacing, I let go of Towzer and he angrily pushed past me back through to the foyer.

“Hey wait!” I called after him.

“What?”

“So Caroline was really going out with Garry?”

“Yeah”.

“Since when?”

“Since ages ago. They met in The Hatters one night. I was there then too. Garry was having trouble opening his peanuts and Caroline helped him. That’s how they got chatting. She thought his dumbness was cute and he liked her too, I guess. It just kinda snowballed from there”.

Unbelievable. Of all the couples in the world. Caroline and Garry. Sheesh. I’ve seen it all now. Well actually, I haven’t. I never got to see them together and I never will.

“Who did this, Towzer? Who got them?”

“F__ k knows. Probably some runt out to snatch a purse. Luton isn’t exactly the safest place to go for a quiet pint with your bird. Hopefully though, when Garry wakes up he'll remember a description of who shot him. Then we'll hunt the f__ker down”.

“I’d like to join you for that”.

“And you’d be welcome”.

Just then we were interrupted by the appearance of a doctor. I swear he was the spitting image of the actor Jerome Krabbe.

“You’re the guy concerned about the gunshot victim brought in earlier, right? I was given your description by one of the nurses upstairs”.

“Yeah that’s me. Any updates?”

“Yes there is. First though, I should inform you that when the gentleman was brought in there was extensive damage done to both his lower -

“Just cut to the chase, doctor. I don't do medical talk".

“Okay. As you wish".

Krabbe smoothed his hair and took a deep intake of breath. It was then I knew what he was going to say next even before he’d said it.

“We lost him a few minutes ago. I’m really sorrry".

In the stunned silence that followed, I looked to my left and saw a procession of policemen enter from the corridor. It was the same troupe I’d spoken to on the fourth floor. Only difference was, they no longer had any business being here.

‘Jesus Christ can this night get any worse?'

ScottleeSV · July 24, 2011

For a moment things looked like they might get ugly between Towzer and the doctor. Towzer’s eyes bulged and his face went red. He made to grab the doctor but his arms were shaking too much to get a good purchase, allowing his quarry just enough leeway so to successfully shake him off.

“As I said!” the white coat reaffirmed. “I’m very sorry”.

Then he walked away.

Me and Towzer stood side by side in silence for upwards of half a minute. Then Towzer put his hands inside his pockets and began to head for the outer doors.

“Hey” I called after him. “What are we going to do now?”

“There is no now” he croaked awkwardly, temporarily breaking stride. “What the hell can we do about it now? We’ve got no chance of finding who did it”.

“We can’t just leave it though! That can’t be what Garry would want”.

“His name was Elliot” Towzer responsed with a sigh. “And he's not going to care what we do anymore. He’s dead”.

I let him go this time. I think he wanted to cry but just didn’t want to in front of me, hence his hurry to leave. He looked like he had an appointment with a whisky bottle in some faraway bar in the most isolated corner of Luton he could find. If only he hadn’t run away so quickly; I might have been able to suggest The Haunted Cow.

As it was, I had to start refocusing on me again. Time wasn’t healing. I still felt anguished. Maybe the drink option wasn’t such a bad idea, come to think of it. I didn’t feel like going to no pub though. I wanted the comfort of my own home. I wanted to sit with Bambi.

‘Or I could go around to Chantelle’s?’

No. I had try and resist that if I could.

---------

And resist I did. Half an hour later I was back in my flat washing up and doing the hovering. I can’t really explain why but putting my energy into household chores seemed the best thing to do right now. By 10pm the whole place was as sparkly clean as it had been err, well, the last time I’d known Chantelle was stopping over I suppose. Standards tend to slip a bit when you’re single.

Just before closing time at the local convenience store I went and bought a four pack. Then I retreated to the living room, placed Bambi on my lap, and turned the telly on. I wondered if Caroline and Garry’s deaths would be on the news. Do all murders get on the news? I’ve never really thought about it. I suppose it depends how many people die in the same incident.

When Thomas Hamilton went on his murder spree up in Scotland, sixteen children and one adult fell under his gun. With a death toll that high there was always going to be instant and lasting media coverage. What if he’d only killed one person though. Would we have heard about it? Surely the evening news bulletins can’t cover every last person who gets killed across the breadth of the United Kingdom? What if he’d killed two people, like tonight’s murderer in Luton? Would that have been enough?

Whatever the answer, I stayed away from the news channels just in case. I didn’t want to see any news report about the incident even if there was one. I’d had enough of the whole saga for one day. I just wondered what in the hell I was going to do tomorrow. A number of questions floating through my mind in relation to tomorrow didn’t have obvious answers.

For instance, was it my job to go around telling all the employees? How many would know and how many wouldn’t? Would it be appropriate to call all the players, some of whom might be on vacation? How many of them would even have known Caroline to actually care? Would the local rags pursue me for comment? I had the funny feeling tomorrow was going to almost as depressing as today was.

Throughout the course of the next hour, I couldn’t seem to settle on any one programme or film. I kept switching from one to another until eventually I cottoned onto the fact that it just wasn’t my destiny to enjoy TV this evening. I’d only downed two of my four cans but already I was ready for bed. Turning everything off and putting the remaining beers in the fridge, I trudged to my room and undressed.

I lay awake with my head on the pillow for quite a long time.

Ceirdiff · July 24, 2011

I think he should go back with Chantelle...

FlownCanary · July 25, 2011

Noooooooo!!!!!!! Not Caroline! She was one of my favourite characters! Fabulous storytelling as always mate, glad to see the forums back up and you back to what you do so well!

ScottleeSV · July 25, 2011

You never know what the future holds, Car.

Flown, I feared you might abandon the tale at this juncture

---------

31/05/10 - Rise of the machines

Because I had no idea who at the club knew about Caroline and who didn’t, I had no specific plan of attack this morning. I decided to just drive over there for my normal day’s work and take things as they came. Before setting off I again ignored the news bulletins and I certainly didn’t buy a newspaper. I just couldn’t face it.

As I parked at the ground I noted there weren’t many other cars in the vicinity. This was good. The fewer colleagues I was forced to talk to about the tragedy today, the better. In fact with any luck, Nicky and Brenda would have seen it on the news and decided to call in sick. The likes of Bob, Glynn, Erica, Katrina, and Fred, on the other hand, now that was different. Them I could probably handle. Why? Because they weren’t really friends of mine in the same vein as Nicky and Brenda.

Sod’s law though, the first person I came across was in fact Brenda. She was already at her desk when I entered the communal offices. For the briefest of moments I thought she was still oblivious to what had happened. Then I saw the box of tissues next to her coffee mug and also the smudged effect of the make-up below her eyes. She’d clearly had a little cry to herself.

Without saying a word I pulled a chair up close to her desk and sat forwards with my hands interlinked. I stayed like that for almost a minute, and neither one of us said a word during this period. I guess we didn’t really need to.

“She was a lovely girl” Brenda finally said, eyes on her monitor.

“Yeah she was”.

Silence again. I looked around and reflected that I really didn’t feel like working today after all. It just felt completely wrong to be here.

“When did you find out?” I asked.

“Late last night”.

“Okay”.

The office was numbingly quiet. Caroline should have been here, of course. She should been here sat behind her monitor over there at the back getting ready for a hard day’s work. Darren’s absence was also notable, although at least in his case he was going to be coming back. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe.

‘Don’t think bad thoughts. He’ll come back’.

Caroline and Darren, chatting away, winding each other up. That wouldn’t be happening anymore. And then there was Nicky of course. The three of them had got along so well it had been infectious. They’d certainly hooked me in. Well not anymore. That was all done with. Over.

As my eyes continued to sweep the room reminiscing old times, I noticed that Nicky’s coat was on the back of her chair. Immediately I came back to attention and rose from my seat.

“Nicky. Where is she?”

“Oh. She went upstairs to get a drink, I think”.

“Does she know?”

“Yep”.

“I’d better go see her then”.

Briefly I put a hand on Brenda’s shoulder and left it there until she looked up at me. Then I left the room and made for the stairwell. Not in a big rush. I’d done enough rushing around yesterday. Instead I walked slowly and kept my blood pressure calm. No rushing around for me today.

I was almost at the top of the stairs when I heard it. The banging. It was constant, sounding at maybe two seconds intervals.

‘What the hell is that?’

Hard to tell. Only when I drew level with the canteen door did I find out. It was Nicky. She was quite literally thumping the confectionary machine as if it was a real live person she absolutely hated. Her hair looked flustered and there was sweat on her cheeks. On seeing me in the doorway she paused with the brutality and turned her head.

“It’s swallowed my pound!” she explained.

Not attempting any sort of reply to that, I walked towards her and offered my arms out. At first she balked at the gesture like a petulant child, feebly whacking her fists down against my chest from a range of about one foot. But then – then she gave up and let her arms droop downwards. And at the same time, her face exploded in a fit of extremely loud tears.

Inside the confectionary machine, balanced on the edge of its metal clasp, a packet of Maltesers still refused to drop.

ScottleeSV · July 26, 2011

31/05/10 - Will the last person to leave please turn off the lights?

“Maltesers, eh?” I remarked. “The lighter way to enjoy chocolate. Shame in this instance the packet is so light it’s actually floating in thin air”.

Nicky giggled and wiped her eyes. We remained locked in the hug, swaying from side to side. I think it was me orchestrating the swaying but I could be wrong. Our respective difference in height meant she could fit her head perfectly beneath my chin.

“I tried banging into it from the side but that didn’t work. I’m not very strong”.

“Oh you’re strong alright. I saw you butcher Incy Wincy, remember? Most of these machines these days though are fitted with something called an anti-tilt mechanism. It stops cans and chocolate falling down when the machine isn’t sat upright. Even Hulk Hogan probably couldn’t dislodge your Maltesers for you. Well okay, maybe The Hulk could get it done, but me and you? Probably not”.

“Who’s Hulk Hogan?”

“He was a wrestler. Probably retired now”.

“Okay”.

She jerked her head slightly and looked up at me. The tears were starting to dry up now, replaced by incessant snivelling.

“It’s probably a good thing actually”.

“What is?”

“The Maltesers not dropping”.

“How’s that?”

“Well, eating too much chocolate makes you unhealthy, doesn’t it? So maybe this is a lucky thing? Maybe fate has done this to me to give me a break? I deserve a break this morning, right?”

“Of course you do”.

But of course, no sooner had I said that did the Maltesers slip off the edge and down into the hollow at the bottom. Nicky briefly laughed at the development but didn’t break from the hug. Instead some fresh tears appeared in her eyes and slowly began to wind their way down her face.

“Okay” I began, changing subject. “I want you to do something for me. Are you listening?”

“Uh-huh”.

“I want you to take your Maltesers, grab your coat, and then I want you to go home. There’s not going to be any working done today”.

“Thanks but I’d rather be here. I’ll be lonely at home”.

“No you won’t. You’ve got that tortoise thing. And Sally will be home at some point. And hey, if you do feel lonely later on, give me a call and we’ll have a chat about it, okay? For now though, go home. And don’t worry, I’ll fix it so that you still get paid for today. I'll sort something".

Closing her eyes now, she nodded her head. Then she slowly retrieved the chocolate and went to the door.

“You know what?” she asked, turning in the doorway. “I don’t understand how anyone could – “

“I know, Nicky. I know”.

We looked at each other for a few seconds but nothing more was said. Then off she went.

I didn’t immediately follow because I wanted a coffee. Thankfully nothing got stuck in the chute, cup or liquid. Once the cup was full, I skipped down the stairs and returned to the communal offices. Nicky clearly hadn’t wasted any time leaving; her coat was already gone by the time I got down there. Brenda was still around. She was washing her cup in the sink.

“Did Nicky tell you?” I asked, moving to grab my own coat.

“No. Tell me what? She didn't say anything. She just mooched in and then mooched out again".

“I’m closing the office for the day. And tomorrow for that matter. Maybe even the day after that. I’ll have to get on the phone to Bob at some point today if I can get hold of him”.

“Ooo-kay” Brenda replied. “How long do you think - “

“The way I feel right now, as long as possible. I’ll let you know what happens”.

Rather than walk out alone I waited for Brenda to finish turning her computer off and gathering her things. Then I stood aside to let her through the door. I took one last look around the Caroline-less (and Darren-less) room, then stepped out and closed it behind me.

Outside, the visible form of Nicky was walking out the gates towards wherever her bus stop was. Brenda followed on some fifty yards behind. As for me, I broke off left to my car and beeped it open.

Three different figures. All walking separately. No goodbyes going on. Or waves. Pretty desperate stuff.

The feelings I felt when writing this latest account were extremely squirrelly to say the least, like maybe I’d forced myself to cough up too much detail too soon. I wouldn’t know it until later but this would be my final diary entry for quite some time.

ScottleeSV · July 27, 2011

18/06/10 - It couldn't possibly crash, could it?

It’s taken the boredom of a plane ride to get me writing again. I hope it’s the catalyst for more regular entries. Currently I’m high up in the sky heading for the sunny climate of Tenerife.

On my own.

The past few weeks have been difficult but the world is slowly starting to move forwards again. I still feel melancholy over Caroline but I’m just about coping. I’m lonely, but coping. I don’t know where this overriding feeling of loneliness has come from. I didn’t feel particularly lonely before Caroline died, and yet now that she has, I suddenly do. It’s strange because it’s not like I hung out with her much outside of work when she was still alive.

There hasn’t been any further word as to the identity of her killer. The police have come up empty handed so far, and with every day that passes, it feels less and less likely an arrest will be made. Thanks to titbits received from Alison though, and also from various bits and bobs in old editions of the newspapers (yes I did eventually return to my normal routine), I do have a fairly accurate picture as to how the hit went down, at least in a mechanical sense.

Caroline and Garry were killed inside the mouth of alleyway that leads onto Luton’s main high street. They were walking in the direction of the high street at the time of the shooting. In fact it’s been said that if they'd made it just two or three yards further on past the spot they were attacked, CCTV cameras would have been able to capture what went on at the scene. Alas, they fell just short.

Police have been unable to determine whether the crime was pre-meditated or some kind of random robbery. What is for sure though is that Caroline was shot first. The killer literally put his gun up to the back of her neck and pulled the trigger, probably from less than six inches away. She would have died without any knowledge of it. One minute she would have been strolling along with her boyfriend without a care in the word. Next minute – bang – then darkness.

As for Garry, he lived for approximately one more second after part of his brain realised something was amiss. He would have heard the noise of the shot, flinched, maybe even half turned around, and then got shot himself, also in the neck.

Whereas with Caroline the killer was effectively able to place the cue ball with his hand, with Garry he had to demonstrate genuine close range accuracy. He would have had to flick his wrist quickly to the right and fire at a man reacting to a noise. The killer was successful in this but only just. Wherever Garry’s bullet him in the neck, it was in a spot that enabled him to live two more hours.

No weapon has been found in the days since, nor have the police found any fingerprints or footprints or any other useful evidence. The killer got away very clean. He did take whatever money Caroline and Garry were carrying, but Alison informs me this isn’t confirmation of a mugging because often in professional killings the hitman will pick the victims’ pockets to try and mislead the police.

Contrary to what you might imagine for a crime this heinous, newspaper coverage was generally a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-affair, thanks mainly to some f__kwit called Derrick Bird going on a murder spree up in Cumbria on June 2^nd. Once that particular massacre took place, Caroline and Garry never stood a chance. Unceremoniously they were shoved off to one side. Just like that. Police incidentally have definitely confirmed Bird wasn’t in Luton on May 31^st.

Not much less depressing, things haven’t settled down at the office. With it being June, loads of people have been off on their various holidays. Brian and his family have only just come back from a two week excursion to Disneyland, Paris. Nicky went to stay with her Grandpa not long after the Malteser incident, and no sooner did she come back from that, off went Brenda on a trip to Wales with her son. Now that she’s back, here I am jetting off for my turn. And so on.

It all adds up to very little continuity in the workplace and very little of what you would call ‘pulling together’. There’s very rarely been more than two of us in the communal office at any one time over the past few weeks, when normally there should be five. Even between whichever two people have been in there at the time, conversation has not been free-flowing. The atmosphere feels stilted, nullified; even dare I say it, dead. Nobody wants to talk to anybody very much.

And then there’s the issue of Darren. Of all the perverse unfunny jokes going on in the world right now, nothing quite tops the continued absence of Darren. Whilst the rest of us all mooch around having the worst summer since records began, Darren’s still A.W.O.L, probably having the time of his life, completely unsuspecting that one of his best friends has been blown away with a .45.

The seat-belt sign has come on. I’m going to put my pen down a while.

ScottleeSV · July 28, 2011

18/06/10 - Man seeks male.

But for my ex-girlfriend’s intervention, Tenerife probably wouldn’t have been high on my list of holiday destinations this year. Or indeed any year. Having said that, now that I’ve wandered around a bit and settled into my hotel, I don’t think I’ll have much trouble filling my week out. In fact the biggest problem I’ll have is documenting it. In places like this, spending even half an hour in your room sat writing feels completely abnormal.

I’ll give Chantelle her due; she certainly picked out a good hotel. I don’t know how many stars it is but there’s an outdoor pool exclusive to the guests and also a bar down in the lobby. Back when I used to go globetrotting with Charlotte, getting a good hotel was never really high on the agenda. It was all about what we did outside the hotel that mattered. When it came to sleeping, any old cheap fleapit would do.

So as you might expect, receiving the guided tour of my swanky Tenerife digs gave me quite the feel good factor. Chantelle, it transpired, had even been kind enough to pick out the most expensive room on the highest floor possible (facing the pool of course). Women WILL take advantage if you give them carte blanche on a holiday. It’s a scientific fact.

The hotelier was a lanky and extremely tanned young chap called Rufus. Once he’d showed me around, I tipped him some cash and then asked for directions to the beach. I reckoned just a nice gentle stroll would do me on this opening night. Nothing too fancy. A quick stroll, couple of beers, and then back to bed.

---------

A little while later I found a small outdoor cocktail bar near the seafront. Taking one of the stools, I ordered the fanciest thing I couldn’t pronounce and then gazed out to sea. Nice women wearing bikinis were everywhere. I felt like I’d just put on a pair of contact lenses for the very first time and was thus only just realising what amazing creatures they actually are.

It wasn’t long before a tall, tanned, red-headed beauty was plonking herself down on the vacant seat next to me to take a break from her swimming activities.

‘Oh what the hell’ I thought, clearing my throat.

“Hi there” I said. “You know, there was once a day where I quite fancied being a swimmer. At least, that is, before I went into football management”.

The lady, who I reckoned to be about twenty five, turned to face me. She was still drying her hair with a towel.

“You are – what – football manager?”

“Yep, and you’re Spanish, I take it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Spanish. You – are – Spanish. Right?”

“Si. Espana. Yes”.

“Fantastic”.

Secretly though I reckoned there was more chance of Randy Begher becoming secretary for education than me charming this woman into bed. I’d given up on this one already, to be honest.

“Which – um – football team?” she asked.

“Luton. Heard of us?”

“No. Sorry. Um - I go now – to my friend”.

She gestured to someone invisible about a hundred yards away then went on her merry way, drink in one hand and towel in the other.

“I’m only joking I’m actually the manager of Real Madrid!” I called after her.

There was no reaction to this so I twisted around to face the bar again and ordered a refill. As the barman was sorting this out, I noticed he was smiling.

“Yeah okay. Laugh it up, Pedro. I’d have liked to see you pull that!”

“I’m actually English” the guy retorted in a London accent. “My name’s Tony. And no I wouldn’t have pulled that. If I were you though, I’d be thinking less about the ladies and more about what err other opportunities might present themselves whilst you’re staying here our on luscious island”.

“What are you talking about?”

Tony held his finger up as if to say ‘hang on one minute’, then got on with serving another customer. As I waited I moved across to the stool at the very end of the bar. The area in general was filling up quite rapidly now so it took a full five minutes before the conversation was able to continue.

“So you’re really the Luton manager?” Tony asked on his return. “As in Luton Town, right?”

“Right”.

“I used to be a Charlton fan myself but let’s not go into that. Anyway, right now it’s the summer back in England, isn’t it? So, I expect you’ll be chopping and changing your squad and looking for new players. Am I right?”

“Right”.

“Well, suppose if you slipped me a small tip on your next drink, I point you in the direction of someone who might be able to provide you some fresh new talent?"

“Forget it. I’m not here to scout. I’m here to relax. No offence”.

I made to turn back around again but Tony reached across the bar, grabbed my shoulder, and stopped me. It was done in a friendly enough manner. I wasn’t perturbed by it. Not yet anyway.

“Okay, but what if I told you this ‘someone’ was the manager of a La Liga club, a former Spanish international defender, no less, with almost a hundred caps to his name? I reckon he’d be exactly the sort of guy a budding football manager like you would want to acquaint himself with on his holiday. Don’t you?”

“Tony” I said, reaching down for my wallet again. “I do believe I’ll stay for another refill”.

FlownCanary · July 28, 2011

Dude, I love this story far too much too abandon it. Maybe a dream scene with Caroline though, just a goodbye lol.

Anyway, Story's going good as always. I wonder who the international player is haha, should be interesting.

Also, Hulk Hogan is still involved in wrestling. Just.

But yeah KUTGW dude, your story continues to impress and impress and impress!!!!!

Goodbye Caroline.

ScottleeSV · July 29, 2011

Thanks, Canary

---------

21/06/10 - Special guest star.

The club was hot, even with the air conditioning on and the big double doors wide open. I was sat fairly close to this entrance, tropical drink in one hand and my mobile phone in the other. It wasn’t the same place I’d met Tony the other night. This one had an indoor section (obviously) and was ten times bigger. It was a colourful, cheesy sort of a club. I think we’re alone now by Tiffany was the song on offer from the DJ at present.

“I’m telling you, Brian" I said into my phone. "This could lead to great things. Fernando Hierro is a legend! God only knows how many talented young rookies he’s got stashed away at Malaga. If this goes well, I could be coming back next week with the next Fabregas on loan, or even a Xavi!”.

“And he’s definitely turning up at this club you’re at?”

“Yeah, according to this Tony bloke I met. Hierro is due here at 8pm sharp. Apparently he’s making some kind of public appearance on the main stage. When he comes off though, that’s when I’ll bowl up and introduce myself. Then we’ll see what develops”.

“How do you know he’s even going to talk to you? No offence mate but don’t you think he might be bit – I dunno – out of your league?

“He is NOT out of my league!” I insisted, drawing a funny look from the two women close by. “He is not out of my league” I said again in a quieter tone, turning away from them. “You forget I’ve negotiated loan deals in the past with the likes of Tony Pulis and David Moyes. Besides, I don’t think the football management business is elitist in that way. Whether you manage in La Liga or League Two, at the end of the day we’re all members of the same fraternity. We’re all blood brothers”.

“And besides” I continued. “If I ever want to land a really big job, I think this is what I’ve got to do more of. Premiership chairman don’t just want a manager who sits in his office all day long making phone calls and scrolling down scouting lists. No, they want someone who can go out and network, someone who’s not afraid to slum it thousands of miles from home, just on the off chance he might discover the next big thing. Hold on a second, Brian”.

My drink was empty. Pulling the phone away from my ear for a second, I spun around to face the barman.

“Another pina colada over here please”.

“Si senor”.

“Well I do admire your dedication” Brian said on the resumption. “You could just as easily be resting on your laurels right now sat back home with your feet up”.

“That’s exactly right. Anyway, I’ve got to go. It’s almost eight. He’ll be arriving soon”.

“Okay. Good luck”.

“Cheers”.

I reckoned there was just enough time to freshen up before show-time. The toilets were fairly close by, just around the far curve of the bar in fact. Leaving my drink where it was, I put my phone away and headed for the universally known gentlemen logo. Then I found a mirror to stand before and check myself over. I almost felt like I was getting ready for a blind date.

I’d bought a brand new suit earlier in the day. It was all white with a turquoise tie. It was far too hot to wear the jacket part though so I’d left that at the hotel. My hair was gelled very neatly and I’d been careful to make sure I had dollops of antiperspirant on. The last thing I wanted to do was scare Fernando away with my sweat.

“Hi there, Fernando” I practised saying in the mirror, holding my hand out in the shake position. “I’m James Martin, Luton Town manager. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure”.

No, I wasn’t keen on that approach. It didn’t quite feel right. Retracting my arm, I tried again.

“Mr Hierro!” I said to the mirror enthusiastically. “It’s a real pleasure. I’m a huge fan. I’ll never forget that performance of yours against Bulgaria at France 98. Exquisite. You had Stoichkov practically in your pocket!"

Hmmm, maybe. It still didn’t sound perfect though, and I wasn’t even sure how good his English was going to be. That was one nugget of info that Tony hadn’t been able to provide.

Ten minutes to eight now. I wanted to be back at my seat by five to. For the remaining five minutes until then I casually continued to practice.

“Quite a coincidence us meeting like this isn’t it? Two managers in the same resort club. What are the odds? – No, I did my badges back in England. Yourself? – Oh I agree, Mr Hierro. The lack of goal-line technology in the game today is an absolutely disgrace – You want to try the French league at some point you say? That’s interesting. I’m keen on Serie A myself, once I’ve got some more experience behind me that is. Maybe even La Liga”.

“Why don’t we sit down, Mr Hierro? We’re blocking the aisle here – Well I’m a champagne man myself. You? – No no, Mr Hierro. This bottle's on me. Besides, the club will pay for it. I just charge it to the expenses card – Well I wasn’t planning on staying on for another week but okay, sure, I’ll come over and stay at your villa for a few days, take a look at this interesting young right back of yours. Why in the hell not?”

Someone else had just come into the bogs so I stopped talking. After one last spray of my breath freshener, I straightened my tie and walked back out to my seat near the entrance. Billie Jean was on now and the crowds were slowly starting to gibber excitedly about the arrival of the guest star.

‘Play it cool, James. Play it cool'.

ScottleeSV · July 30, 2011

21/06/10 - Parseltongue

Cheers from the outdoor seating area signalled the arrival of Hierro. Clearly he’s a popular figure all over Spain, not just in the places he’s played football. The nature of his crossing into the indoor section though took me by surprise.

Unlike me he was dressed casually, in a Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans. He was flanked by two women wearing matching costumes the likes of which I can only compare to what Arnold Shwarzenegger wore in The Running Man. It was literally tight orange spandex from neck to toe. Obviously fashion or glamour models of some kind, they were smiling brightly and waving as they entered. Their arms were interlinked with Hierro on both sides.

As the DJ beckoned them up to the stage, hoards of people crowded around to try and get a close-up glimpse of the legend that was. It was pandemonium. Even the revellers I knew to be English were joining in the camaraderie.

“Fernandoooo!” someone shouted.

“Hierro! Hierro!” shouted a woman.

“Excuse me, Mr Hierro” I tried to call out over the masses.

It was no good of course. I just couldn’t get close enough. You would have thought someone has just upturned a box filled with fifty pound notes exactly at the spot Hierro was walking past. It was that sort of desperation to get close to him. Giving up fairly early in my pursuits, I slinked back to the bar and sat down again.

The DJ meanwhile had now put Holding out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler on in place of Jacko. I don’t think I’ve heard that song since Cyril beat Albie in the deathmatch all those moons ago. The DJ had even cottoned on to a great pun he could use by shouting over the word ‘hero’ on his microphone.

‘I need a HIERRO! I’m holding out for a HIERRO till’ the morning light! He’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight!’

In reality, Hierro didn’t look as fast or fresh for the fight as he had about fifteen years ago. He was almost middle-aged now and there was gray in his hair. Not only that but he looked like he might have spent most of the afternoon on the sauce. His posture was slightly wobbly and the girl to his left occasionally had to nudge him with her hip to keep him upright. I couldn’t help wondering just how capable of intelligent conversation he could possibly be this evening, even if I did manage to befriend him.

When he reached the stage, the crowd quietened to a hush and the DJ killed Bonnie. Then Hierro began to speak. In Spanish. I couldn’t understand a bloody word. Most of the other people present must have been natives because as the speech went on the majority either applauded or cheered whenever Hierro finished a sentence. Unless they were just doing it to be polite.

What the hell was going on here? Was the guy announcing a move from Malaga to Tenerife or something? No, couldn’t be that. Managers announce such things in press conferences, not in cheesy nightclubs to a bunch of p_ssheads. Something else must have been afoot.

In total the speech lasted about ten minutes. Then Hierro wrapped it by throwing his arms in the air. As he did, the crowd rewarded him with one final roar of appreciation. Whatever the former Spanish central defender had been babbling on about, it had certainly gone down well. Now though it was time for the business at hand. My business that is. Feet admittedly slightly shaky, I prepared to go intercept my quarry as he came off stage.

But then along came the complication. Although I might have anticipated huge crowds to swarm around Hierro on his arrival, I certainly didn’t expect them as he left. Surely the novelty factor of him being here would have worn off by now? Apparently not. As the spandex beauties re-took his arm to lead him off stage, upwards of two hundred customers once again flocked to the sidelines of the anticipated departure route.

The Bonnie Tyler thing incidentally must have been a pre-planned interlude. As soon as the spotlighted threesome began heading for the doors, Billie Jean resumed from earlier.

Frantically I tried to fight my way through the hoards. Hierro was closing in on the exit with speed that belied his posture. This wasn’t how I’d expected this thing to go down, and I was running out of time.

“Hierro! Hierro!” chanted some elements of the crowd.

“Fernandoooo” shouted the same guy as earlier.

“Hierro you’re a legend!” called out some English tourist, clearly taking the p_ss.

“Hey Fernan – “ I began but didn’t finish.

That’s because there were still about three lines of people between me and the gangway. And what the hell was a fat woman of about fifty doing directly in front of me? What was she doing here? Are there no bingo halls in Tenerife?

“Out of the way!” I shouted, trying to push past her.

But in response all I got was a handbag in the face. It just seemed to come out of nowhere and bash me in the nose. I quickly felt blood trickle down onto my mouth and tie. In response I turned around and backed off towards the bar, one hand on my face trying to prevent further bleeding. The woman, by the way, didn’t even seem to notice she’d whacked me. She was still facing the gangway cooing over Hierro.

Seconds later and the guest star was gone and out the door, and the crowds finally calmed down and began their comedown to normality.

“Si senor?” enquired the barman, catching my eye as I held my nose.

“A handkerchief please, and then give me another pina colada. In fact forget that. Just make it a damn whiskey”.

From the DJ booth, on came another old hit.

'Relax! Don't do it! When you want to go to it!'

ScottleeSV · July 31, 2011

21/06/10 - Spandex ballet

It took me about ten minutes to get my nose under control, and then another ten for Lindsey to show up in the seat next to me. She was a very tall woman, possibly my height, but probably an inch smaller. She had medium length black hair and small gatherings of freckles on both cheeks. For attire she wore a flowery dress that wasn’t really any one colour. It did though offer a very generous view in the final third of the field (like all good dresses should, I suppose).

“How’s the nose?” she asked in English, immediately after ordering a drink in fluent Spanish.

“Oh crap!” I responded, reaching upwards with my hand. “Have I started bleeding again?”

“Relax, you’re not bleeding. I saw what happened before. I was in the crowd”.

“You weren’t in the crowd before” I replied with a smile. “If you were I’d have spotted you”.

“Actually I was there. I was one of the girls wearing a dodgy orange costume. I had my hair tied back then too”.

‘Well I’ll be damned!’

I turned and stared at her in surprise. It’s not that I didn’t believe her; I just didn’t want to miss a free opportunity to gawp at her up and down for a couple of moments. If she was one of the spandex models though, she must have been the one on the far side of Hierro. The one closer to me had definitely been blonde.

“I take it the gig’s over for the night then” I commented, nodding downwards at her change of clothes.

“Yeah. Fernando’s gone off for dinner with Nina. That’s the other girl in orange you saw”.

“Sorry he didn’t pick you to be his date instead”.

“Nina doesn’t know it but he actually asked me first. I said no”.

“Not a fan of older men?”

“Actually I like older men. I just don’t like footballers, or football managers, or anybody who’s got anything to do with football. They’re all bastards in my experience”.

I shifted slightly in my seat. Time for a change of subject, just in case she asked me what I did for a job.

“I noticed when you ordered your drink you speak good Spanish”.

“Yeah I’ve been out here a while now, doing bar work, promotional modelling, whatever’s on offer really. I like it out here. I’ve made friends. I like the weather. I like the life. And yeah, I’ve picked up a lot of the language as I’ve gone along”.

She said all this really drearily, as if reading from a script. If anything she actually sounded bored of the lifestyle and the weather and the daily grind etc. I wondered if she enjoyed the resort but just didn’t like the work she was doing, maybe as if she considered it beneath her. Can’t blame her really. I wouldn’t want to anyone’s spandex sidekick either.

I noticed the humidity was making her sweat on her forehead and arms. I wondered if this might make it easier to get her out of her clothes later. I definitely wanted her by this point so it was important for me to begin considering all the related angles.

‘Rock the boat’ by The Hues Corporation was the latest song to come on behind us. Better than Bonnie. Not as good as Jacko.

“What was Fernando’s speech about? I obviously couldn’t follow it”.

“He’s buying this nightclub, and this was his way of announcing it with a bit of panache. He’s always enjoyed holidays in Tenerife apparently and now he wants to start investing in the island”.

“I doubt he’ll be able to be very hands on. He’s the full time manager of Malaga Football club over on the mainland”.

“Well I don’t really care to be honest”.

“Fair enough”.

“So what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a solicitor” I answered without blinking. “So if you’ve got any ongoing legal issues, now’s your chance for free advice”.

“Sadly I don’t, but as your line of work clearly trumps mine, you can buy the next round of drinks. And maybe even the one after that”.

Bingo. She was interested. Confirmation was right there in that sentence. After the disappointment that was my pursuit of Hierro, I now had reason to feel upbeat about my evening again. More than that, a sense of excitement was running through my bones. It had been quite a while since I’d had some action with someone.

“So you’re planning on having quite a few drinks with me tonight then?”

“I don’t see why not. I’m here on my own, and I can’t see anyone with you. Common sense suggests we should join forces”.

“I agree. But let’s not stay in the one place. I’ve got a whole resort to see and not much time to see it”.

In a calculated gamble, I took her hand in mine without asking and led her towards the door. She didn’t resist, and that was when I figured she was definitely definitely unquestionably and without-a-doubt interested.

'So I'd like to know where, you got the nooootion'.

banglared · July 31, 2011

Ha, I've just got back from Spain, but I went to Madrid and Barcelona, so a bit different to Tenerife. Like the good football fan I am, I went on tours of the Barnabéu and the Camp Nou. Nice places, although I was disappointed to see that some of the signs showing directions for food (at the Camp Nou) were in Catalan but had English rather than Spanish underneath (which wasn't a problem for me because I would have understood Spanish anyway). Catalan - what an annoying language. Reading that again, if that's the worst thing that I can think of, it wasn't actually that bad.

ScottleeSV · August 1, 2011

Glad you had a good time, Bang. Welcome back

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

22/06/10 - The Hangover

I woke up the following morning with a massive hangover. Hardly surprising. I’d started drinking at 4pm the previous afternoon and hadn’t stopped until well past midnight. First I’d drank to ease the nerves of possibly meeting Hierro. Then I’d drank to pass the time as I waited for Hierro. And then I’d drank to drown my sorrows for not meeting Hierro. It was all Hierro’s fault. All of it.

Turning on to my other side to see if that helped, my right knee connected with something solid under the covers.

‘What the – ‘

Investigating beneath the duvet, I saw the naked body of Lindsey facing away from me. She was sleeping in some kind of crouch position with her head under the covers, so no wonder I hadn’t spotted her straight off the bat. If my head hadn’t been hurting so much I might have appreciated how good she looked in the buff.

So I’d got lucky then had I? I couldn’t remember. Everything after Hierro was one long blur. I vaguely remembered dancing at some point. No, Lindsey dancing. No, me and her dancing. Yeah. In some club or another. I recalled taking my tie off and swinging it around like a lasso. Something like that.

As to what had happened beyond that, I couldn’t remember. Obviously me and Lindsey and come back here though. Had we gotten down and dirty? A glance over to the bedside table on my right told me we had. A used piece of contraception had been abandoned next to the telephone. Well at least that was something then.

One hand resting on my throbbing temple, I slid out of bed and over to the fridge. My hotel room was one huge open-plan space. Bedroom, kitchen, and seating area all rolled into one. Not my preferred style but I can tolerate it on a holiday. What I was desperate to find now was milk. Nothing cures a hangover better than milk, I find. After downing a pint of it I usually feel much better. And that was the case here too. By the time I went back to bed some two minutes later, I felt at least a little bit human again.

Lindsey was stirring next to me. After putting on an extended show of stretching and yawning and brushing strands of hair away from her face, she leaned on her elbow and fixed me a stare.

“Morning” I broke the deadlock with.

“Morning back”.

“Good night, eh?”

“Yeah not bad”.

I'd run out of things to say already. Lindsey’s eyes meanwhile moved from my face to somewhere slightly below.

“What’s the deal with that scar on your neck? I meant to ask you about that last night but I just couldn’t be bothered”.

“Fell off my dirt bike in Arizona”.

“Oh. That’s too bad”.

“Yeah it was”.

“I’ve got another question for you, now that I think about it”.

“Oh?”

“Who’s Chantelle?”

Now that took me completely by surprise. Taking my time with the answer, I switched my weight onto one elbow like she was doing and faced her from a couple of feet away. Previously I’d been on my back facing the ceiling.

“What makes you ask that?”

“Was just curious. A couple of times last night you said her name”.

“What, during my sleep?”

“No. During something else actually”.

“Oh”.

How embarrassing. I suddenly couldn’t look her in the eye. Perhaps sensing my discomfort she clambered out of bed and put her dress from the night before back on. Then she went into the kitchen and turned on the radio. Video killed the radio star by The Buggles was playing. They should have been singing a special one off cover version instead - Chantelle killed the one night stand. God knows what station it was, by the way. Probably not Radio Bedfordshire.

As Lindsey began to fix herself some coffee, I heard a rattling sound from somewhere near the bed. On second thoughts it was more like a vibration. A phone vibration.

Knowing it wasn’t my own, and feeling a duty to pass Lindsey the phone so she could receive her call, I slid sideways across the bed and hunted through all the crap on the bedside table. And there it was - a tiny Samsung. The caller I.D said 'Fernando'.

‘It’s Hierro!’

It was as if God had handed me a second chance right here on a silver platter. Taking a glance over to the kitchen area, I saw that Lindsey still hadn’t noticed her phone was going off. She had her back to me and was leaning forwards on the skirting boards waiting for the kettle to boil.

Would Fernando talk to me if I answered instead of her? Of course he would, I quickly decided. We were members of the same fraternity. Kin. Blood brothers. You name it. Of course he’d talk to me.

Taking a deep breath, I flicked the top up.

mcglede · August 1, 2011

scottlee, I have to interject and apologies for doing so with a correction, but it was The Buggles and not The Bangles that did Video Killed the Radio Star. It's my wife's favourite song and she'd be disappointed if I didn't ask for a correction!! Sorry big guy.

coloradogkb · August 1, 2011

I think your being harsh on Chantelle.../me feels sorry for her.

I'm not completely finished with this story yet, but I'm surprised by this. I can't stand Chantelle. I mean, I don't loathe her like I do Patty Ridgeway, but man I'm glad James is moving on.

Kongefar · August 2, 2011

I really like the do-or-die attitude shown by James, getting himself into all sorts of trouble by facing things straight on. It seems to me that when we was with Charlotte, he wasn't very adventurous. Just another office rat who couldn't and wouldn't keep up with the pace of his girlfriend.

Now Manager Martin is all about extortion, getting players injured on purpose, sleeping with younger girls (Chantelle), raiding strip clubs etc etc even though he still enjoys a quiet night in with Bambi. I really really like this story still and it's even better with the daily updates going on since the forum meltdown gave us all a month away, Excellent person gallery, cliffhangers and so on, it's all top notch! Thanks a lot for all the hours spent with this.

ScottleeSV · August 2, 2011

Hi mcglede. Thanks for the tip. I've edited it now.

Cardeif/Colaradog/Kongefar - thanks for all the input. I always appreciate it. The parallel made there between James past and James present is interesting. He's certainly been more dedicated to his various careers than his various relationships so far. Like her or not, he jumped ship slightly dubiously with Chantelle, and he also chose law over Charlotte, didn't pursue Cassie because of age, and so on and so on. When I think back over diary so far, I don't think there's much evidence in there that James even knows what his ideal 'type' of woman is. Maybe some will interpret it all very different, I don't know. Those are my thoughts on the subject tonight anyway. They might be different tomorrow, knowing me.

---------

22/06/10 - Top bombing

“Hello” I said in a friendly voice. “Fernando Hierro?”

“Hmm, yes?”

“You don’t know me, but my name is James Martin. I’m the manager of Luton Town Football Club in England. Hold on a second”.

I had to put him on hold because Lyndsey had just turned to face me. Obviously she’d been able to hear my voice over the music.

Acting on impulse, I carried the phone out to the balcony and closed the sliding glass door behind me. Lyndsey tried to stop me but just couldn’t cover the distance quickly enough. By the time she reached the door it was already clicked and locked tight. The only way she could open it now would be to use the key I knew to be buried deep in the bowels of my wallet. She probably wouldn’t find it by the time I finished this call though so I reckoned I was safe enough.

Obviously I would eventually need her help to come back in off the balcony (I would need to shout through and tell her where the key was), but I figured she’d definitely provide that help because she’d want her phone back, right?

“What are you doing?!” I heard her mouth through the door.

Ignoring her, I turned around to face the open air. Lyndsey meanwhile continued to rap away on the glass. It was as if heavy hailstone was banging into it.

“Sorry about that, Mr Hierro. I know you were trying to get through to Lyndsey but she’s in the shower right now. Anyway, like I said, I’m the manager of Luton Town. I saw you the other night actually when you did your speech. Imagine my surprise when I saw you arrive. It’s not often I bump into another manager when I’m on my hol – “

“Sorry” he interrupted. “Lyndsey is in the shower, yes?”

“Yeah she’s just – “

I paused because the sound of Lyndsey rapping on the glass was no longer evident. Twisting back around, I could see her opening the door to the corridor. What was she up to?

“She’s this minute gone into the shower, Mr Hierro. Come to think of it, I think she said she was going to wash her hair as well, so she could be a while. In the meantime, let me just say what an honour it is to stumble across you on the phone like this. I can remember you playing in France 98. I tell you what, in that game against Bulgaria you practically had Stoichkov in your – “

I broke off yet again because one of the hotel maids had now appeared at my front door. Lyndsey was talking to said maid and gesturing frantically in the direction of the balcony. I didn’t understand why at first. Then I noticed the huge bundle of skeleton keys attached to the maid’s belt.

‘Oh s__t’.

“Listen, Mr Hierro, I’m sorry to have to put you on hold yet again but my own phone is vibrating on my lap. It’s David Moyes, the Everton manager. He’s probably been sniffing around some of my youth talent again and wants to rob me blind. Just wait there a second whilst I get rid of him”.

The maid was now convinced Lyndsey’s grievance warranted staff intervention. I knew this because she was walking across the apartment, shuffling through the bunch of keys with both her hands as she walked. Lyndsey was following on right behind. I didn’t have much time here.

In desperation I looked over the edge of the railings. It was a long way down. We were on the fourth floor up.

On the plus side, there was a swimming pool. It wasn’t tight up close against the hotel. It was maybe ten yards further away. Doing a quick risk assessment in my head, I reckoned we were just about high up enough for me to be able to clear that gap on my way down. Also crucial to this equation was Rufus, one of the hotel hands. Currently I could see him shuffling around by the side of the pool clearing some early morning litter.

“Rufus!” I called down.

He looked up at me. Gormlessly. Didn’t say a word in return. Key after key meanwhile was rattling around in the lock behind me. The maid was searching hurriedly for one that would work.

“I’m going to drop this phone down!” I shouted. “Make sure you catch it!”

“No comprende, senor!”

“CATCH” I reiterated, cupping my hands together to demonstrate. “EL CATCHIO! Here!”

There was no more time. I dropped the phone and prayed to god. Rufus thankfully got under it and at least made an attempt to make the save.

‘Please please catch it!’

And he did! Miracle!

Now for the second hard part. Climbing up onto the railing I took a deep breath and looked down. It might only have been four floors but it felt like eight. The water swirled and rippled invitingly far far below me. Was I really going to do this?

I made my mind up precisely one second later when Lyndsey and the maid finally got the door open. Like Bruce Willis in Die Hard I leaped off like a madman at that exact moment and hurled like a comet towards the ground. To the seasoned high-diving connoisseur it probably would have looked a very ugly jump; my legs and arms were waving this way and that all the way down.

Then came the splash. I swear my feet actually touched the bottom of the pool before I rose back up. Then I swam to the side and hopped out. Thank God I’d had the good sense to slip my boxers on when Lyndsey had initially gone to the kitchen.

Anyway, as fast I could I grabbed the phone back from Rufus and held it to my ear with one wet finger and one wet thumb.

“Sorry about, Mr Hierro – Mr Hierro? – Mr Hierro?”

Dead line.

Frustrated beyond belief, I glanced up at the balcony. Defeated. Both Lyndsey and the maid were looking down at me.

“Just you stay there you t__t!” Lyndsey shouted angrily.

Seeing as two security guard types were now hurrying out of the building towards me, I didn’t think there was much chance of me fleeing exactly. Resigned to what was coming, I flipped the phone closed and stood there like a drip.

banglared · August 3, 2011

The dedicated manager jumps from the fourth floor to be able to talk to a fellow manager.

ScottleeSV · August 3, 2011

22/06/10 - Back to life, back to reality

The pool jump would be the last significant action of the holiday. Once I was evicted from the hotel, I got a taxi to the airport and booked myself on the next flight home. It cost me quite a bit of extra of money doing it this way but I didn’t care. I’d had enough of Tenerife by this point. I certainly couldn’t be bothered waiting out the remaining four days until my official flight was due to leave.

I gave some thought on the way home to my mistake with Chantelle’s name when I was with Lyndsey. Funnily enough I’m not completely surprised it happened. Just before leaving England I began to feel a slight pang of regret she wasn’t coming with me. Obviously my sub-conscious retained that frame of mind in the days that followed and, well, you know the rest.

At least it wasn’t Charlotte’s name that came out. Now that would have been depressing. If a man can’t get over a woman after three and a half years then there’s not much hope for him. At least the Chantelle thing is still reasonably fresh.

I don’t think it was just the prospect of going on holiday alone that cooled my disdain for Chantelle either. Caroline’s death has kind of made me put all that old stuff into perspective, almost as if now it scarcely matters. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve got no plans to march around to Chantelle’s house anytime soon to seek a reunion. If she came to me though, I certainly wouldn’t act the same as I did the last time she came over. That’s for sure. Time has healed.

--------

It was night time when I got back home. Two items of interest were waiting for me, one on the doormat and the other in my email inbox. Both were put there by Brian. I’ll start with the important stuff (the inbox).

In light of all the time I’ve wasted this summer doing nothing, obviously because of my taking time to mentally digest Caroline’s demise, Brian has now taken it upon himself to make a couple of loan signings. He’s not supposed to this. Not really. Not without getting authorisation from me first. I guess he just figured these are exceptional times at the moment and that just this once I wouldn’t mind

And of course, they’re loan signings, so theoretically I can send them back if they’re s__t and no real harm done. With this in mind, my instinct was to feel thankful rather than irritable at Brian’s demonstration of initiative.

First name to tell you about then is Daniel Kearns, a nineteen year old central midfielder from West Ham. He’s never played for the first team but is supposed to be a good prospect. Name number two is Michael McKerr, a twenty three year old right back from Portsmouth.

Of the two, I’m definitely the most excited about McKerr. Partly this is because he’s a right back. Before I went to Tenerife we only had one right back in the squad – Claude Gnakpa. Now we have two and I feel much more secure in that position. The other reason I’m excited about McKerr is because he’s already got first team experience with his parent club. Last season he made eight appearances in the championship.

In summary, thanks to Brian, our transfer activity record this summer has now gone from one in, five out to a much more respectful three in, five out. The fact all three of our incoming players are on loan deals just goes to show how poor we are.

The thing I received on the doormat was last week’s copy of the non-league paper. I presume Brian dropped this off because he thought the article on the front page would amuse me. He presumed correctly. I find the going into receivership of Live Bunny Studios extremely amusing indeed.

So the story goes; they simply didn’t make enough money in their inaugural season as they thought they would. Thus, they’re done. Finished. There will be no live non-league football available for Sky viewers next season and the conference league cup will go back to not having a sponsor. History will show that James Martin’s Luton Town were the one and only winners of the fabled Live Bunny Cup.

I’ll give you no prizes, by the way, for guessing what the article headline was. It was ‘Dead Bunny’.

ScottleeSV · August 4, 2011

24/06/10 - Ambush

I got a shock when I parked up at Kenilworth Road this morning; about a dozen members of the press were hanging around in the car park. By the time I got out the car they were all crowded around the driver’s side ready to block my way.

‘Don’t tell me someone has else has died!’

“What’s going on?” I asked, beeping the car shut.

“James!” said Andy Branston, his bald head glistening in the late June sun. “The word has gone public that you and murder victim Caroline Smith were more closely acquainted than many were previous aware. In light of this, can you comment on Miss Smith’s death and how you’ve been affected by it?”

“Are you kidding me? Is that all that this circus is about, the fact I used to be good friends with Caroline?”

“Well, with the new season nearly upon us, James, the Luton fans will be very interested to know whether the untimely passing of Miss Smith will adversely affect your pre-season preparations”.

“It’s not going to affect them at all. Sure I was very distressed by Caroline’s passing, but I’ve had a good few weeks to try and move past it, and now I have moved past it. It’s business as usual”.

Swivelling my neck left and right to dodge all the microphones in my face, I began to head for the main building. The reporters though had no intention of letting it drop just yet.

“But James” said Victoria Thornton. “What about your suicide attempt on Tuesday? That would seem to indicate you are in fact NOT over Caroline’s passing”.

“My suicide attempt? What are you talking about?”

“You may not be aware of this but a tourist in Tenerife has sent to the press some wobbly video coverage showing you leaping from the fourth floor balcony of your hotel”.

“I landed in the hotel’s swimming pool! Perfectly safe. Not a suicide attempt”.

“But did you know there was a pool down there before you jumped?

“Of course I knew”.

“But if that’s the case, why would you jump into it from a dangerous height like that?"

“I – well – the elevator was broken. Look, it was not a suicide attempt. I’m perfectly fine”.

Again I tried to move forwards. I couldn’t be bothered with this. It was too early. I just wanted to get inside, get a coffee, and take the weight off my feet.

The next person to rattle me was Bill Tulip. He literally skipped in front of my legs bringing me to a second unwanted standstill.

“Is it true you were sleeping with Caroline prior to her death?”

“Now that’s just ridic – “

“Do you think the murders were pre-planned?” Brad Scowcroft threw in there.

“What do you make of the police’s claim that a mystery man impersonated a doctor to get into Elliot Garry’s hospital room?” – Jonathan Pantsil.

“Were you aware of Elliot Garry’s former links to Luton mob boss Jack Shandy?” asked another reporter whose name escapes me.

“Do you truly believe Caroline knew Elliott before the murders, or do you think they both just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“ENOUGH!” I boomed.

That shut them up. However, sensing I was about to follow up the explosion with a more intricate statement, the microphones all arched themselves closer to me like spearheads surrounding a captured cowboy.

“Now listen, first of all, I never once had sex with Caroline. Second of all, it is not my place to start commenting on matters related to an ongoing police investigation. For the type of questions you’re asking, you should be hounding the Bedfordshire police, not me. Now that’s all I’ve got to say on the matter”.

Another torrent of questions immediately flooded from their mouths but this time I wasn’t stopping for anybody. I forced my way through to the door and swiped myself inside.

Now I could get my coffee. And maybe even a spot of breakfast. As I climbed the stairs, it occurred to me the press ambush could only have taken place if all the reporters from the various publications had colluded beforehand. Otherwise, how could they have known to meet in the same spot at the same time? Maybe sometimes they think the only way to get information from people is to work together and get in the face of whoever the interviewee is.

Fifteen minutes later I made my entrance to the communal offices. Nicky and Brenda were both present, both working quietly. Like me they both seem to be slowly recovering from the grief (I think). Nicky had the goodwill to look after Bambi whilst I was in Tenerife, in the process demonstrating flashes of her old bubbly nature when picking her up and dropping her off. As for Brenda, I never had too many worries about her in the first place. The woman’s a battle axe. She’ll be fine.

Collectively however, in the workplace, there’s still a lot of silence floating around. Partly this is because the two women are having to work extra hard to cover Caroline’s duties. Thus, there’s less free time for banter. I also think though there’s a general reluctance to speak much anyway, almost if there’s no point ever trying to have a good time in the office again because to do so would stain Caroline's memory.

And of course, if you need a third reason, I don’t think I’m the only one starting to become extremely worried about Darren. Nobody can agree on when he said he was coming back. The thing is; I’ve been to South America. I know how dangerous it is down there if you’re not prepared for it.

I’m starting to wonder. I really am.

ScottleeSV · August 5, 2011

27/06/10 - The expendables

At lunchtime today the three of us managed to communicate long enough to organise a Greggs run. Even more encouraging, Nicky offered to go with Brenda to help bring the food back. That left me to chill out on my own for a bit. I’d ordered a chicken bake and a steak bake. Not very healthy but I was very much looking forward to it.

Five minutes after they’d set off, Erica stuck her head around the door. She was wearing her normal stern expression at first, then changed it to one of mild surprise when she realised I was alone.

“Ah” she said, walking in and closing the door behind her. “I was going to ask you come up to my office, but it looks like I’ve got lucky”.

“Yeah, Nicky and Brenda have just nipped out”.

Erica nodded and began to pace the office, a bit like a tourist checking out the interior of a museum. She was dressed in an immaculate turquoise business suit, her blonde hair clipped short in a manner suggesting she’d only recently had a haircut. In her hand she carried a brown envelope. Was that to what I owed this visit to?

“I was sorry to hear about Caroline” Erica said gently.

She’d stopped now by the window sill where the framed staff picture was, the one with all five of us on it smiling cheerfully in front of the rapids ride at Alton Towers.

“Yeah” I replied softly.

“She was a nice girl. Very bright”.

“Yeah”.

“I didn’t know you went on an outing” Erica continued, lifting the picture up for closer inspection.

“Yeah, it was last summer”.

“Looks like you had a good time”.

“Yeah we did”.

It was a great picture. At the time it was taken we’d only just that minute come off the rapids. If you don’t know what a ‘rapids’ ride is, it’s basically like the log flume but with a large circular boat built for eight people. The boat spins around randomly as it goes along its course, the raging waters occasionally splashing some poor sod completely wet through. Usually every couple of minutes or so.

We’d taken lots of pictures that day but this was the best because it had all of us in. Brenda had given her camera to another park visitor and she it was who’d taken the shot. I’d been placed in the middle (Nicky’s idea) with Brenda and Nicky on my immediate left and right, and Darren and Caroline on the ends. We were all huddled close together, very wet, but happy. I still had a crap record managing Luton at the time, and thus was very grateful for the trip. It was a real morale booster.

Once Erica was done looking at the picture she came over and sat on the corner edge of a nearby desk.

“The reason I came was to give you this” she said, holding the envelope up. “It’s notification of a pay rise”.

“Really?!”

“Yes. We’re putting you up from seventy thousand per annum to ninety thousand. I think you’ll find that’s very competitive for a manager at League Two level”.

“What about the others?” I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the largely empty office.

“I can’t divulge details of other employees’ salary arrangements. You know that”.

“They’re not getting one are they?”

Handing me the envelope, Erica stood up again and moved towards to the door without answering. Then she slowed in her step and briefly turned around.

“James, there are two types of people in the employment world; those are who easy to replace and those who are somewhat trickier to replace. I didn’t think a year ago I’d ever find myself saying this to you, but you’ve now moved into the bracket of being tricky to replace. Hence the pay rise, even though as a club we don’t have terribly much to play with”.

‘And the others, they’re just expendable, right? Just like Caroline'.

I felt like saying it out loud but didn’t, instead opting to just quietly sit and finger the envelope. I wasn’t going to open it. Not yet. Maybe at home. Or maybe I wouldn’t bother opening it at all. It wasn’t as if Erica was going to lie over the contents.

Once sure I had nothing further to add, the accountant-cum-director finally departed and left me to my thoughts.

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Luton Town : Staring into the Abyss

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