The Outcast: Part Two

[WLKRAS]

22nd of March 2010
Old Bailey, London

The courtroom was pretty packed. I sat in the dock, my barrister off to one side of me, wig and all. The prosecutor and the judge were all similarly attired in their robes and wigs. I’d have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. The judge was rabbitting on, reeling off the “facts” of the case, mitigating circumstances and whatnot. I’d already been found guilty by a jury. Even if they hadn’t seen THAT tackle back in the day, they would’ve known that I was a bad guy. The press had made that clear enough back in the day and again in the past few months. I was doomed from the start.

“Would you stand up, please?”

The magistrate looked at me sternly, his fleshy jowls wobbling as he spoke.

“Chris Browne, the sentence I pass upon you is one of life imprisonment with a minimum term of thirteen years and 122 days for the murder of Evelyn Scott. From that term will be deducted the amount of time you have spent on remand, which equates to 154 days. That deduction results in a final term of twelve years and 333 days. Once you have served that term, you will be entitled to apply for parole. However, you will not be released by the parole board unless they conclude that you no longer pose a risk to the public…”

I sat in disbelief. I hadn’t killed her. But I was going to prison all the same. I turned around to see Robbie Abraham smirking a grin in the front row. Behind him, Tony Keats was shaking his head sadly. Next to Tony sat Ellie Sanders, big puppy eyes wet with tears. I very much doubted I’d see any of them ever again. At the back of the public gallery, I caught a glimpse of Steve Daniels and Daniel Grocutt. Both were sporting Cheshire cat grins. 

“That concludes these sentencing remarks, he may go down” the judge added with a final verbal swipe. I turned back as an officer of the court approached to lead me away. I’d already done the math in my head. February 2023 would be the earliest I could apply for parole. I’d be coming up fifty that year. But I still had a life. Better than Evelyn. Someone had taken hers and I was damn sure doing to find out who. I had all the time in the world anyway.

My determination wilted within the first few weeks inside HMP Frankland. I was a famous enough face to be noted by the hardened criminals in there. They were keen on some prison justice. Rapists, alleged or not, were their main targets. And while I hadn’t been convicted on that count due to ambiguous evidence, there had been enough allusions in the media to tar me with the same brush. The first year became about survival. By whatever means necessary. It wasn’t pretty. It left scars, physical and mental, deep enough that they’d never heal. If I had found the means, I would’ve tried to end it all, but considering my failed effort last time, it was probably for the best that I didn’t. It could only have gone badly. But my fight was gone. I didn’t care any more whether I lived or died. Which took the fun out of it for my fellow inmates. They quickly lost interest and set upon newer ‘fish’, leaving me to my own devices. 

On the plus side, I suppose prison is as good a place as any for an alcoholic. I wasn’t going to get drunk and do something stupid while locked up in a six-by-ten box with only a bed and a toilet. Cigarettes were too valuable a currency to take up smoking again and drugs had never been my thing. Time passes both slowly and quickly when you have nothing to do for yourself. After sentencing, I didn’t get many visitors. Tony Keats visited maybe a handful of times, but Durham is a long way from Essex. And he wasn’t convinced by my pleas of innocence. There was a letter, early on, from Ellie. She said she was sorry for me, but nothing more than that. Hell, she was just a kid. She had no business getting involved with me in the first place. Another drunken mistake that I couldn’t fully shake.

I expected to live my days out in Frankland. Eventually, I’d be eligible for parole. Who knows, the board might even find me safe enough to release me.
 

[WLKRAS]

Game info: FM 2024, England National League and up and top leagues from France, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Scotland & Spain.

The following story is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended.

Please be advised that the following story may contain strong language, scenes of violence and scenes of a sexual nature, or scenes that readers may find otherwise disturbing. As such this story may contain parts that are not suitable for younger readers. If you are offended or upset by any of the contents of this story, feel free to contact me, either by commenting, sending me a PM or via email (address in profile). Finally, please drink responsibly.

While it is not essential to have read the first part of The Outcast, you may find it helpful to familiarise yourself with some of the characters and happenings from the original story here

This has been in the making ever since the original game died, but I've never managed to get more than a few games in on any of the previous versions of FM. But sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet and get it started. It'll take a while till we get to some actual football, so buckle in for a long haul. 
WLKRAS 

[mark wilson27]

Looking for to this sir. 

[tenthreeleader]

Now there's a backstory. Will be following!

[sherm]

WLKRAS - I'm ashamed to admit I haven't read the first instalment of this

I've been inundated at work and at home the last month or so and plan to use January's to get up to date and back into writing regularly 

I'll certainly be reading part one, as the start to this intrigues me greatly

[WLKRAS]

First of all, thank you all for following along, I hope it doesn't disappoint

15th of March 2023
Parole Board Office, Durham

I looked at myself in the mirror. Not too bad really, considering the last thirteen years. The face was older and lined, the hair had started to do that graceful hint of grey around the temples that was slowly spreading backwards. But the eyes still showed a spark. And my old suit still fitted just fine. Benefits of a lot of free time to exercise, I guess. I was probably as fit as when I retired from playing football. I adjusted the tie one last time and turned to the guard, who had been watching my every move.

“Ok, I’m ready”

He nodded, opened the door and led me out of the bathroom towards the meeting room. The parole board would be waiting. My solicitor waited for me outside the room, briefcase in hand.

“How are you feeling, Chris?” he asked me.

“Not gonna lie, I’m nervous as hell. And I can only see this going badly. Despite what the system says, I was never a danger to the public in the first place. And I’m worried that maintaining my innocence is not going to go down too well with a group of people who want to see me show some sort of remorse for my alleged crimes” I replied.

“Leave that bit to me. You just go with what we agreed” he said, flashing a toothy grin as he opened the door for me. I couldn’t help but feel he was just happy for the paycheck. The guard followed us in and took up station near the door. You know, in case I decided to make a run for freedom from a parole hearing that was hopefully going to set me free… 

The proceeding was mainly a rehashing of the facts of the original case. The assistant warden gave his assessment, declaring that I had been a well-behaved prisoner, despite aggression from other prisoners initially. He quoted from a report from the prison psychologist that suggested I was extremely unlikely to re-offend. Things seemed to be going in my favour until a wild-eyed man in his late thirties burst in. He was out of breath and perspiring.

“Sorry!” he blurted out. “I hope I am not too late. My cab was stuck in traffic. Had to run the final half-mile”. He was holding a piece of paper full of scribblings. The lady who’d been introduced at the start of proceedings as the victim coordinator stood and showed him a seat. 

“Not at all, Mr Scott. Right on time, in fact. If you don’t mind, Mr Chair. Graham Scott, Evelyn’s brother would like to make a statement”

The chair nodded his assent. My heart dropped. Scott cleared his throat and began.

“I miss my sister. We’d drifted apart, as you do when you get older, but I still miss her. Thirteen years has done nothing to ease the ache I feel. Taken by an animal who had no regard for her or her life. He might protest his innocence, but most of us have seen, on live TV, what Chris Browne is capable of. What he can do when things don’t go his way. He snapped some young kid’s leg because he couldn’t bear getting beat. And I guess he did the same to Evelyn when she turned him away. And now I’m the only one left. My mother died not long after my sister, of a broken heart. My dad, always a worrier, succumbed to cancer after that. And now this monster wants to be set free? He’s responsible for three deaths, not just one. He should stay in a cage, where animals belong” The venom in his voice was clear for all to hear. He hated my guts. And frankly, I couldn’t even blame him.

“Mr Browne. I understand you have a statement of your own” said the chair, turning to me. I nodded in return and he invited me to read it out. I drew the piece of paper from my inside pocket and unfolded it before me. I smoothed it out with the palm of my hand and cleared my throat. I hesitated and looked up at the three-man board before me. They looked at me, expectantly.

I picked up the paper and scrunched it up into a ball. Then I turned to Mark Scott.

“Look, I had something prepared about how I’m no longer a risk to society and whatnot and it’s all legal crap” I said, focussing myself on him. “Maybe I deserve to be locked up. I’ve brought immeasurable grief upon your family. No apology is going to change that. Or bring Evelyn back. I miss her too, but I know that’s not the same.”

I took a deep breath. Steeling myself for another seven years in a box.

“I know I didn’t kill her, regardless of what the law says. I’ve made mistakes in my life, more than I care to remember. And I’ve always owned up to them. I copped to everything I’ve done. And I’ve paid the price for my transgressions. On the pitch and off. I’ve taken my punishments: suspensions, fines, whatever. I didn’t kill her, but I am responsible for her death. What happened to her happened because of me. Because of my involvement with her. And for that I am sorry. If spending the rest of my life behind bars would bring her back, then I would do that. Because it wasn’t her fault. She was just trying to be a nice person to a guy with more problems than days. If I could go back and change it all, I would. But I can’t. So this is the best I’ve got.”

I looked up at the ceiling. Perhaps overly dramatic given the circumstances, but it felt right.

“I’m sorry”
 

[WLKRAS]

Two weeks later, my solicitor came to visit me. He handed over a sealed envelope. It was stamped with the logo of the parole board. I didn’t waste any time tearing it open and reading the letter. It didn’t take long. There wasn’t a lot of explanation.

“It is the opinion of the Parole Board that Chris Browne is no longer a risk to the general public. His application for parole is therefore granted and he may be released on license once a parole officer has drawn up the conditions he must abide by. Failure to abide by the conditions of his release on license will result in Mr Browne being recalled to prison to serve the remainder of his term, standing at seven years and two months from the date of this letter”

“Well **** me, I wasn’t expecting that” I murmured to myself after reading it twice, just to make sure. I looked up at the lawyer. “You already knew?” I asked, referring to his grin.

“The word spread quickly through unofficial channels. The downside is, the media will have it too. But congratulations Mr Browne. This time next week, you’ll be a free man”

“Free is a relative term of course. I’m sure there’s going to be a whole load of conditions that come with being allowed out” 

“Well yes, that goes without saying. But it beats being locked up, surely?” he asked.

“I grant you that. So what happens next? Where do I go from here? I presume it’s not like the movies where I get thrown out of the prison front door and left to make my way somewhere with not a penny to my name” I asked.

“You’ll be put up in a hotel or something similar for the next few weeks by the local authority and you’ll have to apply for council housing or find yourself somewhere private. The latter may be more complicated given your history. The council has to house you, but you don’t get a lot of choice on where you go. You will be assigned a parole officer who you will need to check in with. There will be other stipulations of course, but that’s the main thing” he said, digging in his briefcase and pulling out a wedge of paperwork. 

“Oh joy” I groaned as I began flipping through the pages.
 

[WLKRAS]

The Daily Mail, 5th of April 2023

MURDEROUS FOOTBALLER TO BE RELEASED ON PAROLE
From our reporter

Disgraced former footballer Chris Browne is due to be out on parole in the next few days after successfully applying to be released early. Brown was sent to prison for a minimum of almost thirteen years for the murder of Bromsgrove woman Evelyn Scott, 28, back in 2009. Browne, who will turn 50 next month, has always denied killing Scott, but it took a jury just 45 minutes of deliberation to send him to prison after hearing testimony from officers who found the former left-back naked and covered in blood next to his victim.

At the time of the murder, Browne had been manager at now-defunct Bromsgrove Rovers, hoping to redeem his reputation as a manager after his career as a footballer came to an abrupt end. According to local journalist Robbie Abraham, Browne had made a decent start as a manager, with Rovers only losing one game under his short tenure, but had ruffled some feathers within the club due to his controversial past.

Many will remember Browne’s playing career was cut short in 2006 after an unprecedented four-month suspension for his horror tackle on talented young winger John Crisp. Crisp was only nineteen at the time and Browne’s assault left his leg mangled. Browne escaped a criminal investigation on that occasion but was sued in civil court and had to pay damages of around five million pounds.

The conditions of Browne’s parole would make it difficult to allow a return to management and in any event, it seems unlikely that any club would want to take the chance after events of the past.

Edited January 13 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

6th of April 2023
HMP Frankland Prison, Co Durham

I struggled to see against the spring sun, which seemed especially bright to my eyes as I walked out the front door of Frankland Prison, some thirteen years after I’d first been sent here. It turns out, it is a bit like the movies. You walk out the door, holding the few trinkets that you had with you when you got locked up. In my case, not many, as I was first arrested stark naked and covered in blood. I had a couple of quid and a letter with the address of where I was going. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the sun and to look for the bus stop when a sound made me stop and turn. It was the throaty growl of a three-point-two-litre straight-six engine springing to life. One I used to know very well. I broke into a smile. Tony had salvaged my car. He was a good guy.

The silver BMW M3 rolled up beside me and the driver’s window came down. 

“Hi babe. Remember me?” 

It wasn’t Tony Keats behind the wheel. It was a woman, maybe thirty years old, her hair blonde. The face was older, but I recognised her instantly. It was hard not to. And she was the only person ever to have called me “babe”

“****… Ellie?” I breathed.

“That’s right. And no, we’re not doing that again” she giggled and flashed me her left hand, showing a pair of rings on her third finger. “I’m married now”

“Congratulations, I guess” was all I could say. She wasn't the same lost puppy girl from before. This was a woman, supremely confident in herself. And why not? She looked stunning. She was dressed in what you'd call designer casuals. Her hair was perfectly styled and yet looked effortless. In her ears sparkled a pair of diamond-encrusted earrings.

“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, driving your old car”

“I think my brain is still reeling too much to get that far, to be honest” I replied. She laughed again, louder this time.

“It’s a long story. But I figured you could use a lift before the vultures turned up. Get in and I’ll tell you” Her tone suggested that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyway, so I did as I was told. It was strange sitting in the passenger seat of my own car. Although thinking about it, it was probably not my car anymore. 

“How did you…” I started, but she cut me off.

“I bought it at auction. Well, my husband did. It spent several years in an impound lot before the police decided to get rid to raise some cash. I guess there was some sort of asset forfeiture in place or something which meant they could do it”

“But why?” I asked. “Why would you want it”

“Oh, babe. I didn’t. But I figured you’d want it back eventually when you got out” she chuckled again as she downshifted and floored the accelerator, roaring off down a country road. “And I can see why, it’s a nice car”  

I just stared at her. I didn’t know what to say.

“I was hung up on you for a while. You know, like a lost puppy sorta thing. I even set out on a uni course to prove your innocence and everything. But then I grew out of it, I guess. Criminology wasn’t my thing it turns out. And then I met a guy, who made me forget about you. Well, not completely, you never forget your first, but you know…” she said with a smile. 

“I still don’t know what to say. Other than thank you, I guess” I stammered.

“Don’t worry about it. I know things were weird between us back in the day, but I was just a kid. I didn’t know what I was doing. But you’re not a bad guy. And I can imagine your list of friends is short, after all that’s happened”

“Company of one I think. Just Tony Keats”

Ellie slowed and stopped at a traffic light. She turned and looked at me, her giggling and smiling all gone, replaced by a sad, downcast face

“Yeah, about that… I’m sorry, but Tony’s dead…”
 

Edited January 15 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

Her words hit me like a hammer blow. I couldn’t believe it. The big guy had dragged me out of the gutter fourteen years ago. He was the reason I was still alive. And now he was gone? I was silent for a long time, the car making its way through the narrow streets of Durham Town Centre and back out the other side. 

“What happened?” I eventually asked. 

“Pneumonia technically. But it was Covid that put him in the hospital. He never was the healthiest of people to begin with and it just raged through him” she just said. By this point, we’d arrived at the address on my paperwork. A dingy B&B on the outskirts of Durham. A group of ropey-looking folk were standing on the pavement outside the door, smoking or vaping.

“Tony and I became friendly during the trial. We kept in touch, sorta thing. You know, texts at birthdays and Christmas, but not much else. Then when the pandemic broke out, we messaged more often. I think he was lonely with not having anyone in the pub. He messaged to say he was in the hospital, but by then it was already pretty advanced. With the way things were, there wasn’t much of a funeral” she said sadly.

I shook my head. I still couldn’t believe it. I looked out the window. A few of the smokers were getting pretty interested in the car. 

“You should probably go” I said, opening the door and climbing out of the car. I was about to shut it when she called after me. I leaned my head back into the car. She was smiling.

“Listen. I know you’ve probably got stuff on tomorrow at the parole office, but I’ll come pick you up on Saturday. We’ll go and get you some stuff. My dime” she smiled

“Ellie, I can’t do that. You’re already done more than I could expect” I replied

“Oh shut up you proud fool. You’re gonna need some clothes and a phone and stuff. My rich-ass husband is in Dubai until Sunday making another small fortune. I can afford it and you can’t right now. You can pay me back when you’ve got yourself sorted if you insist” she scowled the last part as if it offended her. “But you don’t have to” she added softly.

“Fine” I said, still reluctant, but realising I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

“Pick you up at 11” she said. I shut the door and the M3 roared off down the road. I turned towards the B&B to find all the eyes of the smoking crowd on me. I scowled at them as I had at countless wingers back in the day.

“The **** are you reprobates looking at?” 
 

[sherm]

All caught up with part one WLKRAS. Nothing worse than when a save file gets corrupted!

Looking forward to seeing where this goes, excellent so far 

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Sherm, glad to have you aboard. I think the extended league structure broke the original save, hence we'll be starting in a more conventional place this time.

Remarkably, I had managed to say it with enough venom that they didn’t hand me a beatdown. I went inside and showed my paperwork to a clerk who looked like a boxer. Flattened nose and his ears nearly attached to his shoulder. But he didn’t look like the sort of guy you messed about with. He was massive. Probably the reason why the council picked this place. No one was gonna mess with this guy. He apparently worked with the probation office as he gave me their ‘welcome pack’ for the lack of a better word to go with my room key. He gave me instructions for breakfast and directions to the probation office where they’d expect me the next morning. I headed to my room, locked the door and treated myself to my first private shower in over thirteen years. Then I fell onto the bed and slept like the dead.

The next morning after breakfast, I headed out following the guy's directions back to the Town Centre. About forty minutes later I found myself on the narrow cobbled streets of Durham opposite the Probation Office. That’s when I saw him. He was older now, but he still had the hawkish nose and wore the same style of grey clothing. His notepad and pen were already out.

“Mr. Browne!” he exclaimed gleefully. “I’ve been waiting to find you here”

“I bet you have Abraham. Did you come all this way for a no comment?” I growled at my erstwhile nemesis from the Bromsgrove Evening Standard. 

“Not so far to go actually. I cover the North East for the Daily Mail now” Robbie Abraham smiled in return.

“Why am I not surprised to find you with the gutter press” I said. “Anyway. I have nothing else to say to you” I continued before pushing past him and into the Probation Office building. Thankfully he didn’t follow. But I did hear the click of a camera. Great…

Inside I signed myself in at the reception desk and was asked to wait for a while until a tall and skinny guy with a London accent appeared.

“Mr Browne? Leon Edwards, I’m your Probation Officer. This way, please” he said, leading me through a series of corridors to what was his office. He showed me to a seat and then put himself on the other side of the desk and started tapping away on his keyboard.

“I’ve already familiarised myself with your file so that we can skip some of the basics. Did you get a chance to read our welcome pack?” he said the last part with a wry smile.

“I kinda flicked through it” I replied.

“Right. Ok. Well, there are a few things we need to sort out. First of all, there are the conditions of your release. You must attend weekly meetings here, we’ll set that up later once I’ve looked at my schedule. You must not be late for these. You must also inform us, immediately, of any change in circumstances such as a change of address or contact details. If you’re staying somewhere other than your registered address for the night you must tell us” he tapped away at his keyboard. 
“I see the board did not see the need for an electronic tag or curfew, however, I must remind you that ANY lawbreaking activity will see you sent back to prison for the remainder of your term” he added sternly

“Your current lodgings are temporary, so we’re going to need to find you somewhere more permanent. I understand you didn’t own any property before your incarceration?”

“No, I lived in rented places”

“Ok. Now there are a few places in the North East we can place you, local council wise, or you can find yourself accommodation. However, they would all need to be approved by me, which is why the council might work the easiest. As I said, you can stay with friends or relatives overnight, if you notify us beforehand”

“I don’t have any of those either” I admitted. 

“Ah. Right. Well, I can make you an appointment at the local social housing agency for next week to see if we can get you sorted. What about skills? We’re going to have to find you a job so that you can provide for yourself. Again, these will need to be approved by me” he seemed almost embarrassed to ask. 

“Another short list, I’m afraid. I have a full set of football coaching qualifications, but I don’t think anyone would be daft enough to hire me in that capacity, especially with only three months of experience in the job at a lower-league team. So I guess whatever unskilled work I can find”

“Right. Well, I guess we’ll have to get you into the job centre as well then. See what they’ve got. We have a pre-approved list of types of jobs that might be suitable” he continued tapping away at his keyboard, occasionally clucking or whistling in between asking me a variety of other questions. I went through the motions, not caring about what was going to happen here. Que sera sera…

[WLKRAS]

True to her word, Ellie picked me up the next day and took me shopping. She was still driving my car and gunned it up the motorway to the Metro Centre in Gateshead. She bought me half a wardrobe, some bits and bobs and an entry-level smartphone, programming her own number straight into it. 

“Anything you need, just call” she added as she handed me back the phone. I still had no idea why she was doing all this, but I just went along with it. She offered me a brew back at her place, firmly reminding me that she was married and not to expect any “funny business”. I frowned at the remark but just went with it. We drove into a well-to-do neighbourhood on the outskirts of Hartlepool. The houses and cars outside them got more and more expensive as we navigated our way through. We seemed to be following signs for ‘Wynyard Hall Spa’.

“You live at a spa?” I queried.

“Not quite. You’ll see” she chuckled and kept driving. We turned into a drive at signs for the spa. The view was incredible. There were acres of neatly maintained lawns with a massive stately home sitting in the centre. 

“Jesus ****” I stammered.

“Oh, that’s just the spa. Most of this doesn’t belong to us any more” she said as she turned into a smaller road off the main drive marked ‘Private, residents only’. A barrier blocked our way, but as the car got closer, the bar automatically raised. The private resident's area was shielded from the main spa by a shroud of trees and when we emerged out of the trees I cursed again. The drive turned to gravel, culminating neatly around a fountain in front of another massive stately home.

“Not bad for little Ellie from Colchester, innit” she laughed in an Essex accent.

“Who exactly is your husband?” I laughed.

“Daniel Vane-Tempest-Stewart, Viscount Castlereagh. And future 11th Marquess of Londonderry. Amongst other titles”

“Bloody hell…” I just about managed to say. “Does that make you a viscountess?” I looked at her open-mouthed as she parked the car in front of the house.

“I guess it does. Come on, let me show you the place” she said, getting out of the car and walking up the steps to the front door. 

“What about my things” I asked hesitantly.

“Oh don’t worry, one of the servants will get everything out and park the car”. As if on cue, an immaculately dressed butler opened the door and held it.

“Lady Ellie, welcome back” he smiled warmly. I let out a sigh. From being locked in a six-by-ten box to hanging out with aristocracy with servants. My life had certainly taken an upturn. 

Over a cup of tea (or coffee in my case) poured by the butler, Ellie filled me in on her last thirteen years and how she ended up married to a wealthy viscount. She had met him while she was at university in Colchester. Daniel, by then already Lord Steward, was studying at Cambridge. The pair had both been on their respective uni’s debating teams when they’d faced each other and despite a fierce and feisty encounter had taken an instant liking to each other. Ellie freely admitted that she quickly lost interest in her degree when she found out who he was. He was the typical smitten kitten and after a whirlwind romance, the pair got engaged in late 2011. The actual wedding had to wait a few years because the 9th Marquess passed away in 2012 and settling the estate took a while. But Ellie had been happy to wait. By 2015 they had married and Daniel had joined the family business, which had interests all over the world, including in shipping, construction, chemical manufacturing and pharmaceuticals. 

They had lived all over the place, including at the family’s estates in Londonderry, New York and Dubai, but a year ago they had returned to Wynyard Estate. She explained that most of the estate had been sold to Sir John Hall, former owner of Newcastle, in the late 80s, but the family had retained several private acres including the house we sat in now. 

“And there you have it” she finished. 

“Well, good for you Ellie. I’m pleased for you. I still don’t fully understand why you’re helping me though?” I said with a confused expression on my face.

“You know, for a clever guy, sometimes you can be an idiot” she laughed again. “If we hadn’t met, circumstances notwithstanding, I’d never have gone to uni. I’d never have met Daniel. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am now. Call it Serendipity or whatever, but either way seems only fair that while I have the means, I say thank you. Meeting you changed my life”

I was stunned again. I couldn’t argue with her logic. And I was grateful for her help, that was for damn sure.
 

[WLKRAS]

Ellie dropped me back to the B&B. She said she’d get my car back to me once I was somewhere more respectable. She didn’t fancy its chances outside the B&B and I couldn’t argue with that either. The crowd was rough and even a “hardened criminal” like myself could feel unsafe just walking down the street. 

The next week, I went to the local housing office, which had already received a bunch of paperwork from Leon Edwards and had pre-selected a few places for me. The spread was thin, the housing market was tight and there wasn’t much in the way of options for a single guy with no current income. I ended up with a one-bed flat in Hartlepool. It would be a bit of a trek to the Durham Parole Office, but that was one of those things. At least there was parking for the beemer. 

From there I went to the job centre which found me some menial labour jobs. I applied for a bunch of them and got a job as an Amazon delivery driver. Not great, but it paid the bills. Or at least, some of them.

By mid-May, I was settled in my new place. The car was back with me, although Ellie was still the registered keeper. I hadn’t seen her much since her husband returned from Dubai. I suppose it made sense. Aristocracy doesn’t want to mingle with convicted murderers. So be it. We kept in touch by text, but I celebrated my 50th birthday alone, in my flat, with a curry and a bottle of non-alcoholic beer. I was thirteen years sober. I wasn’t going to **** that away now.

The TV was playing in the background. The screen flashed a breaking news banner and cut to Jeff Stelling animatedly talking.

“...This is just in and I have to say, it’s a bit of a shock. Hartlepool United manager John Askey has resigned from the club citing the continued uncertainty of the club’s future as his main reason. Hartlepool were of course relegated into the Vanarama National League a few weeks ago after finishing twenty-third in League Two and the club has been up for sale for months now, with owner Raj Singh looking to offload the stricken and debt-ridden club…”

Stelling was visibly unsettled. Unsurprising as Hartlepool’s most famous fan. The club looked to be heading for a perilous future. Penniless, managerless and hopeless. Maybe. Just maybe, they were desperate enough…
 

Edited January 19 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

I got to work on the phones the following day. A call to FA revealed that my coaching credentials were indeed still up to scratch for a job in management, although the lady answering the phone seemed sceptical about my chances of getting a job anywhere with my history. I wasn’t about to argue with her. 

The next call went to Leon Edwards, who seemed ambivalent to the idea. 

“Look, Chris, I appreciate you’re a football man, but are you sure it’s a good idea?” he asked.

“What have I got to lose? The worst thing that happens, is they say no and I carry driving an Amazon van. I just need to know that you’re gonna ok it if I can manage to land an interview” I countered

“I would have to advise against it. Putting yourself in that sort of limelight, with your history could make you more likely to go off the rails and re-offend” he urged 

“I’m not likely to re-offend! I didn’t even offend in the first place!”  I cried.

“So you keep saying, yet here we are. You’re not on parole for a traffic violation here, you know”

“Please, Leon. Give me a shot. You won’t regret it” I almost begged down the phone.

“Fine. If you can get the job, I’ll sign off on it”. I could tell by the tone of Leon’s voice he was just humouring me. He thought I had no chance. He wasn’t far off. The next part would be difficult.
 

[WLKRAS]

It took a few weeks of phone calls, visits, leaving messages and politely making a nuisance of myself before I got somewhere. By that point, Sarah, the lovely lady manning both the phone and the ticket office at Hartlepool United, was sick of the sight and sound of me. But all the same, I had an appointment with Raj Singh, chairman and owner of Hartlepool United and Joe Monks, Director of Football. It wouldn’t be easy, but I had to plead my case.

I decided to walk down to the ground, where I was due to meet the pair in the executive lounge. The walk was only twenty minutes or so, taking me down Church Street, past the statue of Ralph Ward Jackson. The founder of West Hartlepool, as it was known then, was also the town’s first member of parliament for The Hartlepools. The name finally changed when the two towns merged in the 70s. From there, I had to navigate my way across a busy intersection to Clarence Road, past Morrison’s to get to the Suit Direct Stadium.

I’d played here once with Bolton, back when it was still Victoria Park. Must’ve been an early-round cup tie. I didn’t remember the result, which probably meant we won. I’d have known if we got knocked out by a club below us on the ladder. I made my way to the ticket office. Sarah was nowhere to be seen today. Probably for the best, she might’ve chased me off!

Instead, I announced myself to the kid behind the desk as having an appointment with Mr Singh and Mr Monks and he looked me up and down. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition, which was probably good. He just nodded, put out a sign that said ‘be right back’ and showed me up. Two minutes or so later, he showed me to the executive lounge. Singh and Monks were already waiting for me. It was the latter who spoke almost immediately upon seeing me.

“Oh hell, THAT Chris Browne”

I ignored his outburst and approached with my hand extended. They shook it, but I could see obvious apprehension on their faces, especially Monks’.

“Gentlemen, thank you for seeing me” I began. “I appreciate you may be surprised to see who I am, but I’ll get right to the point. I need a job. You need a manager. And you need him on a budget. I’m cheap, available and I’ll draw crowds. They may not all be friendly, but as my former chairman at Bromsgrove once said, as long as they pay for their ticket, they can hurl abuse for 90 minutes for all I care” 

Monks started to speak, but Chairman Singh held up his hand to shush him.

“That’s very frank of you, Mr Browne. And while I agree we need a manager, I’m not sure hiring a convicted murderer would fit the ethos of our club. You might draw crowds, but you’ll also draw a hell of a lot of bad press. And I can ill-afford bad press while I’m trying to get a buyer for the club” 

“It could also help you find a buyer. And I’m willing to agree to some sort of termination clause in my contract so that a new owner would not be stuck with me if they didn’t want to be. But if you want to get back into the football league, I’m your best bet. I am more than capable of doing that as a manager. And people forget the bad things you’ve done if you get results. That happened at Bromsgrove. And it happened to Lee Hughes, Luke McCormick and I’m sure others whom I’ve forgotten. If you’re good enough, people forget” My tone was halfway between supremely confident and pleading, but I could see the cogs turning in Singh’s head.

“There are tens of managers who can do the same thing, without the baggage” Monks countered. He turned to the chairman. “Raj, this is a terrible idea. We shouldn’t even be having this meeting” But Singh had started to break out in a smile.

“Alright then, Mr Browne. I like your style. Your case is not particularly compelling, but I like the redemption arc. We will have to work out the details and I’m sure the parole office will need to be involved given your situation, but I think we can work that out. Of course, given the current financial situation of the club, there’s not going to be much in the way of funds for the squad and your wages will have to be limited also, but you already stated that would not be an issue. Once we get the paperwork sorted and the club’s lawyers are satisfied, we can make you a formal offer” he extended his hand again and I shook it. Monks looked like he was told he had to drink a jar of ****.

[WLKRAS]

1st of July 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool

Leon did his best to backtrack once I called him with the news, but eventually, he conceded he would speak to the club and try and work out a plan. My twice-weekly meetings at Durham would not be ideal if we were playing an away game but he agreed to some flexibility in my schedule as long as I kept in regular contact. In the end, he seemed swayed by my suggestion that allowing me this opportunity could prove the perfect example of how the parole system was supposed to work in reintegrating me into society and meaningful existence. It’s amazing what nonsense you can come up with if you want something.

My contract with the club came with various good behaviour clauses as well as the agreed break clause in case the club was sold and the new owner wanted to be rid of me. To my surprise, the contract was for two years, not just one, but the message contained within was very clear. Promotion to League Two was an absolute must if I wanted to even entertain the second year. The wages were also surprisingly good, considering there was so little money available. There was no transfer budget to speak of and only marginal room in terms of the wage budget. 

I was given a list of backroom staff and players, but I wouldn’t be meeting them for a few more days. The staff was on the light side, with only assistant manager Mark Goodlad and coach (and former Pools player) Antony Sweeney as actual coaching staff. Ian McGuckin was the Acadamy manager, which also entailed managing the U18s. Other than that, we had Ben Daniel (performance analyst), Jordan Bennet (Doctor) and Danny O’Connor (physio) on the books. All of them had self-styled as ‘head’ of whatever department they were in, but since they were also the only ones, I didn’t see the point in reinforcing that. With no scouts on the books, I was going to have to try and get Director of Football Joe Monks to help out in that regard, but we hadn’t started well in our working relationship. Seems to be a running theme with me and Directors of Football.

The playing squad also had some holes in it. Wingers and central midfielders seemed in short supply, while defender Daniel Dodds was out of action for the next eighteen months at least with a cruciate ligament injury. On the plus side, there were a few promising youngsters on the books and they may well get some time in the middle as we go. I scribbled some notes in the margins of the two lists, sat back in my chair and looked around the office. I was in another 6x10 box, but one of my choosing this time. And I was gonna work damn hard to make sure I stayed in this one.
 

[sherm]

Still following this WLKRAS

Intrigued with the start and looking forward to seeing how Mr Browne gets on 

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Sherm, as a Hartlepool local, I'm keen to see how it pans out.

 

The Mail On Sunday, 2nd of July 2023

PAROLED KILLER TO MANAGE HARTLEPOOL UNITED
By our reporter

Hartlepool United are sensationally poised to appoint paroled murderer Chris Browne as their next manager. While no official statement has been made by the club, sources close to the boardroom at the Suit Direct Stadium have confirmed to the Mail On Sunday that Browne’s appointment will be formalised in the next few days. Former footballer Browne was released on parole in April after a thirteen-year stint in HMP Frankland for the murder of Evelyn Scott.

Hartlepool United remain in a perilous financial position after narrowly avoiding going into administration several times in the past ten years. Current owner Raj Singh is said to have put the club up for sale, but no offers have been forthcoming as yet. With this latest appointment, it remains to be seen if potential investors are going to be willing to put their hands in their pockets to fund a known killer. 

An unnamed source was quoted saying “The club is in no position to be choosy with who it can appoint. There just isn’t the money at this point and the thinking seems to be that appointing Browne will at least bring publicity” The Mail on Sunday reached out to both Hartlepool United and several of the club’s sponsors, but they all declined to comment on the developing situation.

 

There was a blurry picture of a man entering the Durham Parole Office on the side of the article. It wasn’t hard to recognise myself. Abraham was already out for blood it seemed. 
 

[WLKRAS]

A rare double post, seeing as that one was a short one...

3rd of July 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool

The coaching staff and players gradually appeared for an informal meeting on Monday. There was some apprehension for some of them to meet the new boss. By 10 am, we had all gathered in the meeting room where Director of Football Joe Monks introduced me to the team. It wasn’t an enthusiastic one. The phrases ‘scraping the bottom of the barrel’ and ‘the best we could do’ came by and not in a sardonic way. I took my cue when he finished talking.

“Thanks, Joe” I said, standing and looking all the guys in the eyes. 

“We’ll get to the how and what of footballing matters tomorrow. How I like to play, what I’d like to see, that sort of thing. That’s not what today is for” I began.

“A lot has been written about me already and plenty more will be written about me. If that’s a problem for you, then you are free to leave. The club will pay off your contract. If you are concerned about my past, there’s the door” I continued, pointing at the exit for reinforcement. 

“I won’t keep anyone here who doesn’t want to be. But this is a one-time offer. It expires end of the day today. After that, I expect each and every one of you to be fully committed to the club. That includes accepting me as your manager. Regardless of the past. If you stay, then my past is no longer your business. You will not discuss it with the press. Ever. If you want to moan about not playing or how we play, I can accept a certain amount of it. Non-footballing matters are off-limit” I paused for effect. I certainly had their attention.

“But I cannot expect you to accept me just on my word. I’m going to have to earn your trust. And I do that by placing my trust in you. So today is your chance to ask me anything about the past. Anything you need to know to make up your mind. You can ask me now, or later in private if you prefer. I will do my best to answer your questions. But I’m going to trust you that whatever I say does not go beyond this club. If it does, then we’re going to have a problem”

I stared hard at them all. They seemed to get the message. Some seemed relaxed, others eager. But none of them left straight away.

“So. Any questions?”

There were many…
 

[WLKRAS]

4th of July 2023
Maiden Castle Training Centre, Durham

Conveniently for me, Hartlepool’s training ground was not far from the Parole Office. Maiden Castle Training Centre near Durham was part of Durham University grounds and opened in 1965. It had been used by the Soviet Union team during the 1966 World Cup. Since then Keegan’s Newcastle United trained there during the 90s and Hartlepool has been using it since 2008, with a brief break towards the back end of the 2010s for renovations to take place. It was fully up to modern standards, not just for football, but a variety of sports played at the university and while we did have to share the facilities with their students, it also made an easy opportunity to scout the best players there!

Antony Sweeney and Mark Goodlad were already on the pitch. 

“Morning boss” Sweeney called out. Goodlad hesitated.

“Something on your mind, Mark?” I asked. He looked around before speaking

“I think yesterday was a good idea, boss. I know I appreciated you taking the time to hear our questions and explain to us and I think a lot of the players feel the same way. So thanks for that”

“That’s good to hear” I acknowledged. Then I looked at the bag of balls they’d dragged out.

“We won’t be needing those” That was met with dismay from both coaches.

“The lads won’t be too happy with that” quipped Sweeney.

“I wouldn’t expect them to be. But there’ll be plenty of time for ball-based training later in the season. I like a possession game and I like a lot of passing and movement. So the lads are going to need to be fit as fiddles to do that. So pre-season is going to have to be very fitness-oriented. It’ll pay off in the long run”

As expected the players weren’t too impressed, but they got on with it anyway. There seemed to be little in the way of apprehension now at my appointment, or maybe they were just good at hiding it. Time will tell.

 

======================================

 

Castlereagh House, Wynyard Park

“I read the papers too you know”

…

“Well yes, the Times was rather less sensationalist than that, but I take your meaning” 

…

“Quite”

…

“Yes, I agree. I don’t think we want to be associated with that”

…

“You’ll make the arrangements?”

…

“Yes, I’d appreciate that”

…

“No, that’ll be all, thank you” 

Daniel Vane-Tempest-Stewart, Viscount Castlereagh terminated the call and put his mobile back down on the side table. He looked over at his wife who staring at him inquisitively. 

“Who was that?” Ellie asked.

“Bertrand” her husband replied, picking up his paper again and starting to read. His wife was undeterred.

“What did he want?" This drew a sigh from the Viscount as he lowered his paper again.

“Some PR issue with one of the companies. Bertrand is dealing with it. Nothing for you to worry about dear” 

“Daniel…”

“Fine. One of the subsidiaries of Lorne-Stewart Construction sponsors Hartlepool United. They just hired some convicted murderer as their manager while he’s out on parole. It’s not the sort of thing we want to be associated with”

Ellie swallowed hard. 

“What?” it was the viscount’s turn to be curious.

“He didn’t do it…”
 

Edited January 24 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

While Lord and Lady Castlereagh were having their little discussion about yours truly, I was facing an array of journalists in a room at Maiden Castle. Monks was present, but the chairman was nowhere to be seen. Probably didn’t fancy answering questions about my past. I can’t blame him. I wasn’t too keen myself.

I recognised my old nemesis from my time at Bromsgrove, Robbie Abraham in a seat at the front, but press officer Jacob Howell started proceedings with the local journalists. They seemed less interested in my past and more interested in what I would bring to Hartlepool.

“What made Hartlepool the club for you?” was a question from a dark-haired lady of maybe forty. Howell had given me a seating plan which had her down as Alice Newman from the Northern Echo.

“I think there’s potential here. The club wants to get back to League Football as soon as possible and I managed to convince the chairman I could deliver that” I replied with a smile

“Hartlepool have been on a downward trend for some time now, so what makes you think you’re the man to change their fortune”. This question came from the third row, from a kid who looked barely old enough to shave. 

“Look…” I paused to look at my cheat sheet. “Jordan. I think a fresh look and a healthy dose of playing experience at the highest level is going to reinvigorate this club. The players are good enough, they just need a spark. I’m hoping to provide that” 

There were more football-related questions from BBC Tees and The Chronicle until Abraham finally managed to get his questions in.

“How have the players responded to having a convicted murderer in charge? And who the hell came up with the bright idea to appoint you?”

Everyone turned to look at Abraham, then to the little podium behind which we sat. They’d all thought the question, but none had been willing to ask. To my surprise, Monks covered my microphone with his hand and whispered “I’ll take this one” in my direction.

“I’m not sure I like the tone of your question…” he began. “But I shall humour you. The players are looking forward to working with someone who has played at the top level, as Chris has. He’s not the first person in football to make a mistake and he won’t be the last. But he has served his time and like others before him, he’s keen to get back in the game. And we are keen to provide him with an opportunity to redeem himself. And that is all we will say on the matter”. The last sentence was said in the tone of a headmaster telling of a naughty pupil. But Abraham was not easily dissuaded.

“I have it on good authority that some of the club's major sponsors are considering pulling out since your appointment” he pressed. This time I got in there before Monks did.

“You’d have to ask someone in the commercial department for an answer to that. But if no one has any further football-related questions, then that will be all, thank you” I said, standing and walking out of the room.

After the media scrimmage, I watched the first team take on the kids in a training ground. Goodlad was in charge of the first team, while U18s manager McGuckin took the kids. I simply observed and made notes. The seniors won 4-0, thanks to a Umera hattrick and Ndjoli adding a late fourth. A few of the kids had caught my eye and they’d get plenty of chances to prove themselves in the pre-season. All in all, I was pretty satisfied as we prepared for a ‘training camp’. In Sunderland, of all places.
 

[WLKRAS]

There was good news and bad news while we were ‘at camp’ in Sunderland. The good news was that youth players Finlay Wilshaw, Max Storey and Campbell Darcy all signed professional deals. All three of them had caught the eye for Ian’s team when facing off against the first teamers. After a brief chat with Ian and Mark Goodlad, we moved to offer pro-deals to a few of the youngsters and Wilshaw, Story and Darcy were the first to accept. Wilshaw was a striker and although far from the finished article, he was strong in the air and had a decent first touch. His movement and finishing needed work, but at 17, he had time to grow. Storey was a left winger, who already looked close to the first team. A good technical player with decent dribbling skills, he just needed a bit more stamina and to look up for a teammate occasionally. Darcy was a big lad, well over six foot, but still lanky. He needed to fill out his frame a bit. But he was already good in the air and strong in a tackle.

The bad news came from captain David Ferguson. He approached me after one of the cross-country running sections that we’d put in for the pre-season fitness schedule.

“Got a sec, boss?”

“Sure David, what’s up?”

He shuffled his feet for a few seconds before carrying on.

“Look, it’s nothing personal and it’s nothing to do with your appointment, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while now…” he let his voice trail off.

“Yes?” I said, getting impatient.

“I want to see what else is out there. So I don’t know if I’ll renew my contract when it’s up” he almost looked embarrassed. I rubbed my chin in a pensive manner, trying to compose myself before taking my captain’s head off.

“That’s your right of course. But since your contract still has a while to run, and I’ve not made any plans on renewing deals as yet, I have to say I find your stance somewhat premature. Why don’t we pick this conversation up in a few months and we’ll see where we both stand?” I tried my best to keep calm, but inwardly I was raging. Less than a week ago, I’d given them ample opportunity to walk out if they didn’t want to stay and now my captain of all people was already getting cold feet about his decision. At least Ferguson seemed happy enough with my response and went back to training with renewed vigour. 

I shook my head. We had a friendly tomorrow against Tranmere Rovers. A League Two side. We had to be on our game, friendly or not. A good start would hopefully help to get fans aboard.
 

[WLKRAS]

Finally, time for some actual football!

8th of July 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool
Hartlepool United vs Tranmere Rovers (Friendly)

The team bus took the short journey down the A19 from our temporary Sunderland base back to our home ground. It left me just enough time to give a couple of quick instructions to each of the starters about how I wanted them to play. While the players changed and got themselves ready in the dressing room, I wrote out the formation on the large whiteboard.

It showed a 4-2-3-1 formation. Dixon was the man in goal, while the back four consisted of Hendrie on the right, Wallace and Lacey as the centre backs and Ferguson at left back. In central midfield it was Featherstone and Cooke, with Mancini as the attacking midfielder ahead of them. On the wing were Seaman and Hastie with Umerah getting the nod as the sole striker following his training ground hattrick.

“There’s places up for grabs all the way through pre-season, so show me what you’ve got” was the instruction I sent the team out with and they didn’t disappoint in the slightest. The game was barely two minutes old when we had a throw in on the left, halfway in the Tranmere half.  Ferguson took it, finding Featherstone, who returned the ball to the left back along the floor. Ferguson took a touch, steadied himself and sent a hanging cross over towards the six yard box where Umerah outmuscled his marker and thumped header into the net at the near post. 1-0 Pools.

The ball was in the next again ten minutes later. Hastie and Cooke combined through the left side of centre and the latter slid a inch perfect pass into Umerah to convert. This time though, the flag was up as the striker had strayed marginally offside and the goal didn’t count. Nevertheless, it was a promising start. Tranmere struggled to get on the ball and Mancini forced a save from their goalkeeper minutes later before Hastie got bundled over by an enthusiastic challenge. He looked in some pain and after trying to shake it off, he shook his head to the bench, forcing me to turn to Ndjoli to replace him. 

The change in personnel did little to slow us down and just after the half hour, Ferguson was at it again. Another floated cross from the left bypassed everyone apart from Seaman at the back post. The loanee from Doncaster managed to get his head to it and nodded it home for a two-nil advantage. We kept the ball on the deck and continued to play some decent football, but just before half-time there was a lapse in concentration from Lacey. 

First he missed his header, allowing Tranmere the ball in our area. Then, despite doing well in forcing the attacker to the outside and nicking the ball off him, he made the worst faux-pas you can commit as a defender. He tried to clear it across his own goal from the back line. Tranmere striker Norris simply stuck out a foot and without having to do much else, the ball cannoned off it and past a beaten Dixon, who never even had time to react. 

After half time, the game slowed right down as both teams started to substitute with regularity. We got a third just past the hour to reinstate our two goal advantage when Crawford intercepted the ball in central midfield and played in Mani Dieseruvwe. The substitute striker lashed it at goal from twenty yards out and the ball skidded along the turf like a daisy cutter, leaving Tranmere goalkeeper y no chance.

There was still time for a final defensive mishap as young substitute rightback Louis Stephenson did all the hard work making a vital clearance, but then stuck out a leg that deflected a Tranmere cross into his own net. It wasn’t the greatest way for him to celebrate signing a pro deal, but it didn’t matter much as we held on for a winning start to my tenure.

Final Score 
Hartlepool 3 (Umerah 2, Seaman 33, Dieseruvwe 65)
Tranmere 2 (Norris 41, Stephenson (og) 83)
Att: 1795;
 

Edited February 2 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

I had a sudden idea on the bus ride back to camp in Sunderland. Back in my playing days, we’d always been big on team building and getting everyone pulling in the same direction. And one of the best things for that was nights out with the whole team. It might not fully work with the strict fitness regimen I was trying to impose, but at the same time, it showed them the gaffer wasn’t a total hardass. So I stood up at the front of the bus and grabbed the microphone.

“Listen up guys. First up, well done today and all week so far really, I’m happy with your efforts and I expect to see more of it going forward. I’ve got a couple of announcements. After squad dinner tonight, we’ll be going out in Sunderland town for a few drinks and whatnot.” 

This was met by cheering followed by Featherstone shouting from the back

“Are you paying for the drinks boss?!” this evoked more laughter

“First round’s on me, after that, you’re on your own, Feathers” I shot back. “We’ll take the bus into town and it’ll be going back at midnight. Anyone not on it will have to make their own way back. There’s not going to be a curfew and morning training is cancelled, however, I expect everyone fit and ready for afternoon training” 

This was met by louder cheering and some whooping.

“Also, if you are under the legal drinking age, I’ll make sure you get into places, but DO NOT try to get served. And don’t any of you older lot buy booze for the kids, because you can explain it to their mothers! Just make sure you behave yourselves, all of you”  

There was a little bit of chuntering from the kids, but all in all the message was well received. The atmosphere at dinner and on the bus into town was a cheerful one. We filed out of the bus and into the nearest Wetherspoon’s where I took some of the senior players aside, Featherstone, Ferguson and Callum Cooke, and made sure they understood the assignment, have fun, but keep everyone in line and behaved. And keep an eye on the kids. 

I also shoved a few hundred quid into the skipper’s hand and told him to make sure everyone got what they wanted, before retreating into a quiet corner with a coke. A few minutes later, Goodlad and Sweeney joined me, along with Danny O’Conner, the physio. All three of them had a pint of Guinness in their hands. 

“On the soft drinks, boss?” queried Sweeney. “Seems strange, considering this drinking night was your idea”

“Thirteen years sober, Ant. I like to keep it that way”

“Benefit of getting locked up I guess” Goodlad remarked, although his face immediately showed he wished he hadn’t. “Sorry” he said suddenly.

“Nah, you’re absolutely right, that’s the only reason”

The conversation drifted along as we exchanged war stories from our playing days, recapped the day’s friendly and looked forward to the rest of the training camp. We’d be back on Tuesday before a long trip to Leamington for an away friendly on Wednesday. At around ten o’clock, Featherstone and Ferguson appeared at the table. 

“We were planning to move on to the nightclub down the street, boss. We’ll keep an eye on the kids of course, but dunno if you’s wanna head that way too or if you’re planning on staying here?”

I looked questioningly around the table and they all seemed keen to join, so we followed the players outside and down the street.
 

[WLKRAS]

The nightclub was indeed only down the street, it was a pretty grungy place, down in the basement of what used to be a hotel by the looks of it. There was a bit of a kerfuffle at first when two well-built bouncers barred the way and refused a group as big as ours entry. In fairness, there was over thirty of us, so I could see why they would be concerned. There was also some concern about the ages of some of the younger players, but in the end, I managed to talk the bouncers into letting us in. Letting slip the fact that we were footballers seemed to have done the trick. 

The players immediately separated into several smaller groups, either heading to the dance floor or the bar. Some of the younger ones made a beeline for groups of females, while the coaching staff and myself found a quiet corner to lurk in. But there was no trouble thankfully. At ten to midnight, I sent Sweeney to round up the troops and we returned to the bus with about two-thirds of the team. The rest would have to make their own way back home.

The next morning at breakfast, a glaring omission from the attendees was Joe Grey. A quick check revealed the twenty year old striker wasn’t in his room either. Just as I was about to ring him and lose my temper, I heard a car pull up outside the camp we were staying. I walked outside just in time to see Grey getting out of a red Mini Cooper. But not before snogging the face of the good-looking blonde behind the wheel. He was exceedingly cheerful as he walked in.

“Morning gaffer! You said no curfew right?” he chirped

“I suppose I did. I also said to make sure you’re fit for training this morning. So I hope you didn’t overexert yourself in the night…” I replied. The mile-wide smile on his face gave away the fact he had and didn’t particularly care…

As it happened, Grey managed no better or no worse than the rest of the team in the afternoon conditioning training and although a few players ended up hanging on to the boarding around the pitch, I don’t think any of them threw up, so I guess the level was pitched just right. 
 

[WLKRAS]

10th of July, 2023
Offices of Lorne-Stewart Construction, Wynyard Park

Bertrand Nelson-Reed was not a happy man. Just as he’d managed to untangle the sponsorship deal with Hartlepool United and was about to send the email that terminated the deal, he’d had a phone call from Lord Castlereagh telling him to forget about the whole business and not to make a fuss. It was out of character to say the least, but Bertrand was in no position to argue. He was a ‘fixer’ for any of Lord Castlereagh’s problems. Nominally employed by Lorne-Stewart as an ‘Operations Executive’, he did very little work for the company itself, instead focussing on fixing issues that sprang up anywhere in his Lordship’s vast empire of businesses or personal life.

Instead of terminating the sponsorship deal with Hartlepool, he’d been given a new set of tasks. One he didn’t fully understand. He’d been asked to look into the murder conviction of the new Hartlepool manager, Chris Browne. Including any and all information that could point to him being unjustly imprisoned. Lord Castlereagh hadn’t specified why he wanted this information, or what had made him change his mind on the whole affair. Just that he’d heard a whisper that there might be more to the whole thing than met the eye.

Bertrand unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a small black notebook and an old Nokia phone. It contained names and telephone numbers of people who could get him things. Or owed him a favour. He powered on the Nokia, which still showed 75% battery despite not having been charged since God knows when. They don’t make them like they used to, he thought to himself as he started flicking through the notebook looking for the right person to call. When he found the name, he punched in the numbers. It rang for a long time before someone finally answered

“West Mercia CID, DI Rainford’s desk, you’ve got Sergeant Crowley” said a cheerful female voice.

“Ah, I was hoping to speak to Mr Rainford” said Bertrand.

“He’s in with the Chief, might be a while. Can I take a message?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll try him later, thank you” Bertrand said, terminating the call before she could ask anything else. He’d have to start somewhere else instead. 
 

[WLKRAS]

12th of July 2023
Your Co-Op Community Stadium, Leamington Spa
Leamington FC vs Hartlepool United (Friendly)

Having finished in Sunderland the day before, we faced what the locals would call a “canny trek” to Leamington Spa to face the local FC in a friendly. By this point, Callum Cooke had also informed me that he wasn’t sure about renewing his contract. I decided that this must be a feature of the modern game of football and handwaved it away without too much concern. I decided on a completely different eleven, making sure I’d get a good look at all the players in match conditions. 

The start from the 'other team' was a bit more shaky and some loose passing gave Leamington an early chance which they put wide. Suitably admonished, the players quickly gathered their wits and started to stream forward. First Ndjoli had a good chance, cutting inside from the left, but finding his radar not quite fully calibrated. Moments later it was Hastie, who showed a lovely bit of balance and agility by taking a shot on the turn, which was only just pushed away. The loose ball fell straight to Mani Dieseruvwe, who was promptly brought down by Leamignton’s Mahoney. Ndjoli stepped up and put the spot kick away.

Less than three minutes later, Mani had the ball in the net himself. Dolan played a lovely touch through the middle and Dieseruvwe outmuscled his man and fired a powerful shot low to the ground to make it 2-0. But we didn’t all have it our own way and referee Shaun Taylor was a busy man in the middle. Just before the twenty-minute mark, he was pointing to the spot again, this time awarding Leamington a penalty for a foul by Paterson on Minto. Spiriev converted the subsequent penalty and the hosts were back in the game.

While they might be back in the game numbers-wise, they certainly weren’t getting much of the ball. We dominated possession and controlled much of the play throughout the first half. Dolan fizzed one over the bar and Dieseruvwe hit the crossbar before Ndjoli made it 3-1 with a tap in following a nice move down the right via Hastie. It was again three minutes later that Dieseruvwe grabbed a second of his own, heading one in at the far post despite being surrounded by three defenders. We kept up the pressure until the 45th minute, but unfortunately, there were two minutes of injury time and we let our guard down in those, allowing Gruev to cut inside and fire one in off the leg of Burton for a 4-2 half time score.

Both teams substituted heavily at halftime, making the second half a more docile affair. It wasn’t until the 72nd minute that something happened and it was young winger Storey, fresh off signing a pro contract who nearly got our fifth with an excellent run, but his shot was just denied and tipped wide. Late late in the second half, we did get our fifth, as Lacey headed home a Storey corner, leaving me a very happy manager indeed.

Final Score 
Leamington 2 (Spiriev (pen) 19, Gruev 45+2)
Hartlepool 5 (Ndjoli (pen) 15, 34, Dieseruvwe 17, 36, Lacey, 90+1)
Att: 452;
 

[WLKRAS]

I was just about to head out for training when my phone rang. I almost ignored it, but then remembered that I had to be available to the PO at all times and when I checked the screen, it was indeed Leon Edwards.

“Hello” I said answering the phone

“You have exactly forty-five minutes to get your ass into my office!” the voice at the other end almost screamed. 

“Nice to speak to you too Leon. I was just about to take training actually” I tried cheerfully.

“Let me put this in terms you understand, Mr Browne. If you’re not here in, now forty-four minutes, I’ll be issuing a recall to prison notice and you’ll be back at Frankland by the end of the week”

That took the wind out of my sails a bit. 

“I’m on my way” I said. I threw a coat over my tracksuit and rushed off. On the way out, I bumped into Goodlad, who was told to take training today as I had an emergency. He didn’t question it, just nodded and got on with the job. Nice to have an assistant who is at least not actively undermining you. I’m sure he had some questions to answer from the players, some of them were already out on the pitch when I fired up the M3 and roared off.

I beat Edwards’ deadline with ease, but that didn’t make me feel any better. I rushed into his office and fell into a chair. He stood as I arrived and loomed over me and shoved a newspaper under my nose. It was the Daily Mail, of course, and showed a picture of myself shepherding several players out of the nightclub after the Tranmere game. I looked up at him, questioningly.

“THIS is what you hauled me in for?” I had to stop myself from laughing.

“You are aware of the conditions of your parole?” he asked sternly.

“No drink, no drugs, no curfew. No lawbreaking. I think that about covers it? I didn’t break any of those rules” I frowned.

 “You went to a nightclub where they serve alcohol and brought a bunch of underage kids in there?!” he said pointing at the picture.

“That, in itself, is not illegal. None of them got served, nor did anyone buy them drinks to my knowledge. And I didn’t drink myself. I’m nearly fourteen years sober” I said pointedly.

“Kids can’t go into nightclubs!” he exulted.

“Actually, the venue can decide to allow underage guests in, if accompanied by an adult. There were more than enough adults in our party” I countered

“What, you’re an expert on the law now?”

I simply pointed at a bronze plaque beside the door in the photo.
“I don’t need to be. Said so right there”

“I’m not happy…” 

“Well, no, I gathered that much” I interrupted him

“Shut up, will you. The optics of this are terrible to other parolees. You can’t be seen in clubs and pubs…” he was starting to run out of steam.

“Leon, that’s your problem, not mine. If you need me to take more blood tests or whatever, I’ll be more than happy to. I didn’t break any conditions of my release, so you have no grounds to send me back. So unless you have something else, I’m going back to run the second half of training” I said, standing. The very movement forced him to step back. Leon remained silent, so I simply walked out again. To hell with his ********. And to hell with that gutter journalist Abraham.
 

[tenthreeleader]

There is immense potential in the character of Chris Browne. Play your cards right and you might have an award winner there.

[WLKRAS]

4 hours ago, tenthreeleader said:

There is immense potential in the character of Chris Browne. Play your cards right and you might have an award winner there.

Coming from someone who's created some of the finest characters to grace this forum, that means a lot, thank you. I hope Mr Browne can fulfil his potential

[WLKRAS]

15th July 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool
Hartlepool United vs Bradford City (Friendly)

“Right lads, Bradford will be a decent test for us. They’re expected to do well in League Two this season, but I think if we put a shift in, we can match them” I told the players. There was some discontent, mainly from Brody Paterson. He was mainly a left back, but due to fitness issues, I’d asked him to play as a left winger and he seemed non too happy about it. He was still moping about by the time the match started and didn’t track back to cover the run of Bradford right back Oyegoke. Swinging in the cross, Oyegoke found Smith’s head in the centre of the area and the striker buried the header. I was just about to charge out of the dugout for a volley of verbals when Goodlad stopped me and pointed to the referee, signalling a Hartlepool free kick. Smith had used his arms to unsettle Pruti in defence and the goal was ruled out.

I still felt the need to call Paterson over for a word in his ear, but more sedately instead. It seemed he took it to heart and eleven minutes into the match, he picked up the ball after Cooke’s corner was cleared out of the area. Paterson settled himself and swung it in left footed for the head of Dieseruvwe. The striker made the most of his imposing physique and thundered the header in at the far post, much to the delight of the two thousand-plus supporters in the ground. 

Midway through the half, Seaman took a knock on the ankle but was keen to carry on, while Cooke fired a free kick just over the crossbar from a good position. At the other end, Bradford smashed one off the crossbar from Smith, but an alert Jameson snaffled up the rebound before it could pose a danger. As had been my custom, there was plenty of substitutes and changes throughout the second half, which disrupted our game a bit. Seaman was one of them to come off as a precaution and O’Connor suggested he’d need to take it easy for a few days.

With the momentum taken from our sails, Bradford started to assert themselves more, but it still took a stroke of luck for them to equalise. A cross from the left grazed the heel of Onariase in defence and fell straight to Gilliead who had an unmissable opportunity. He duly obliged and with 25 minutes left to play, the scores were level again. Goalkeeper Jameson took a knock late on and as another pre-caution, we decided to pull him off in favour of Dixon. Turned out that was a bad idea as Dixon flailed at a corner and pushed it straight into the path of the onrushing Halliday. The shot took a deflection of Oniariase, who must be the luckiest guy in the game right now, and in for a 1-2 final score to Bradford.

Final Score
Hartlepool United 1 (Dieseruvwe 11)
Bradford City 2 (Gilliead 65, Halliday 90)
Attd: 2205;

“That was desperately unlucky lads. But for two flukey goals we’d have won that match. Keep your heads up, I like what I’ve seen so far” I told the deflated-looking players in the dressing room after. 
 

[WLKRAS]

Let me know if this works format wise. It looks a bit wonky on my massive screen, but I think it might be ok on smaller ones?

 

Later that evening, I was going through lists of players and staff that we might be able to add to our club. They were long on names but short on details, so Google was working overtime as I fired off name after name into its search engine. Until my phone pinged to indicate I had a message. It was Ellie.

 

Hey, how is it going

Not bad. Team’s doing well

I saw. Congrats

It’s only friendly matches so far ofc

But can’t complain

Although I suppose there was L threatening 

me with a recall to prison

What?! What happened?

We took all the players on a night out

After the Tranmere game

Not drinking is a condition of my parole

OMG You idiot!

Prison helped me stay sober

I’m not gonna fall off the wagon on a night out

So what did L say?

Nothing he can do

Just warned me not to drink or etc

I’ve passed all his **** and blood tests

So he can go and whistle

You’re such a chamer lol

Anyway, how are you, not heard from you much

Alright. Been busy with work

Didn’t realise you worked

Thought you just sponged off your rich husband

Ha! Funny

We own a charity funding organisation

I do most of the work, researching and deciding

Who to fund etc.

Fair enough

I saw there’s more takeover rumours swirling

Just paper talk I think

Singh hasn’t said anything

Club’s up for sale and that’s that

Did you know one of D’s companies is a sponsor?

No?

Yeah, I didn’t either. 

He’s not happy, but I managed to persuade him

Not to pull the plug. 

Ok. Thanks I guess

But I did have to tell him about you and me

Oof

How did he respond?

Things have been frosty

He’ll come round

Don’t worry about it

If you say so

Anyway, gtg, bed time for me

Cya xx

TTYL

 

It was the first time I’d heard from Ellie in a while. She’d gone quiet after my appointment and now I knew why. She was probably treading a fine line between friendship and marriage. It would be very ironic if I was to end up being both the reason they got together and the reason they broke up.

Edited February 5 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

I had a busy couple of days ahead of me. It started with an early morning meeting with the ground staff at the Suit Direct Stadium who wanted to know my requirements for the pitch. It was a whole new world for me. Did I want the pitch longer or shorter, wider or narrow? Did I want it watering lightly before games to aid the ball rolling smoother and make slide tackles easier or not? It was a far cry from the days at Bromsgrove when the groundsman had just tried his best not to make the pitch look like a herd of cows had trodden over it. In the end, we settled on a slightly shorter pitch than average and the groundsman would make sure the pitch was in a good state to aid the short passing game I had in mind. 

As I was heading out I bumped into Sarah, the lady who manned the ticket office. She mentioned that about two thousand season tickets had been sold and expected another five hundred or so to be taken up over the next few weeks. She seemed encouraged, it was roughly a third of our capacity. From there I was off to Durham to take training before heading back to Hartlepool armed with a stack of player files on the night. Monks had worked his contacts in the game and managed to drag up a few out-of-contract players who could improve the team. I phoned one of them that night to offer him a trial.

George Dowling was a central midfielder, who had been on the books at Bristol City, before he was released after a conviction for GBH. He had dossed about in non-league football and was without a club. I guess I felt some sort of kindred spirit and offered him the chance to train with us for a week and make an impression. He jumped at the opportunity and would arrive for training the next day. 

I met with the coaching staff before training to finetune some of the details of players’ individual training requirements. Sweeney had some ideas and Danny O’Connor was providing input from a physical standpoint. He seemed concerned that we were working the players too hard and might risk injuries. I figured I’d better take their suggestions on board. While I’d wanted a rigorous pre-season, it wouldn’t do to add to our injury list. 

After training, I was ambushed by the baby-faced skinny journalist from my unveiling. Not Robbie Abraham for once, but he might as well have been for the questions he asked.

“Mr Browne, have you got a moment?” he said as he practically barred my passage. 

“If you’re quick, Jordan” 

“It won’t take long. Was that George Dowling I saw at training? Are you planning on turning the entire team into a bunch of ex-convicts” 

“George is on trial with us for a few weeks” I said, bristling with fury.

“You didn’t answer the other question” Jordan observed. 

“I was hoping you wouldn't notice that” I said, as I resumed walking, almost forcing my way past him. He spun around and followed.

“People have a right to know” he insisted.

“I have nothing more to say” I replied, picking up my pace and dashing inside the building.
 

[WLKRAS]

18th July 2023
Recreation Park, Darvel
Darvel vs Hartlepool United (Friendly)

“Well George, here’s your chance to impress” I told on trial Dowling as he lined up in central midfield alongside Matt Dolan for the away friendly against Darvel. It was another long trek for an away game, something I was none too pleased about, but the schedule had been made before my arrival here. There was nothing to be done about it. 

It was a mix of first-teamers and youngsters that lined up for the game against the Scottish non-league side and we made another spectacular start. Three minutes in, it was Dowling and Dolan combining in the middle before the latter played in Crawford. Playing as the attacking midfielder, Crawford took one touch before lacing it into the net with the outside of his boot. 

There was no let-up in pressure from us and four minutes later, Ferguson thundered a free kick off the crowbar after Hastie was fouled. But before the first fifteen minutes were up, we had our second. Young Louis Stephenson beat his man after running in for the overlap on Hastie and sent in an inch-perfect cross to Ndjoli. All the left winger had to do was put his head to it and it was two-nil. 

It wasn’t all one-way traffic though, backup goalie Mazfari had a bit of a fright when Darvel hit the crossbar twice in ten minutes at the other end. Those sandwiched a chance for Ndjoli who should’ve had his second, but dwelt on the ball and was dispossessed instead. Not that it mattered much as just after the half-hour, Ndjoli got his second anyway. Running down the left wing, he cut inside and wrong-footed his marker. With a little burst of extra speed, he weaved past another defender and into the D before firing the ball into the far corner. He wasn’t done either. Just before the end of the half, he and Stephenson created a carbon copy of our second goal to make it 4-0. 

With wholesale changes from me at half-time, mainly to make the trip worthwhile for everyone, the game slowed down significantly. Substitute striker Umerah was causing some problems, first heading one onto the post before going down under a challenge in the area. Dowling stepped up and smashed home the resulting penalty to make it five. Darvel did have their occasional chance, but reserve goalkeeper Mazfari was making the most of the playing time he had and made a few decent saves including several one-to-one chances.

There were two more goals to be had before the end though. Firstly, fifteen-year-old youngster Joseph Aungiers, our substitute right winger, skipped past his man and drove a low cross into the area for Anthony Mancini to convert for six-nil. But Darvel got one back just before the end when Lacey had his second costly lapse in concentration and let in Wilson for a six-one final score.

Final Score
Darvel 1 (Wilson 78)
Hartlepool 6 (Crawford 3, Ndjoli 14, 31, 37, Dowling (pen) 58, Mancini 74)
Att: 468;
 

[WLKRAS]

There was a knock on the frame of my office door, even though the door was open. I looked up to see O’Connor standing in the doorway. The ‘head’ physio had been treating Mazfari after the goalkeeper had rolled his ankle in training earlier.

“It doesn’t look too bad, just a strain I think. Two to three weeks maybe” Danny said.

“Well, that puts a dampener on that plan” I said to Mark Goodlad, sitting across the desk from me.

“Aye” said my assistant. O’Connor looked on confused.

“I was contemplating sending Jameson back to Harrogate after Mazfari played so well against Darvel. I know they were only amateurs, but he showed up well. But if Josh is injured, we might be better off keeping Peter here” I explained

“We can always try and find Josh game time somewhere else. Offer him out on loan?” suggested Goodlad.

“In a couple of weeks, sure” said O’Connor. “I’d like to keep him here while he recovers” I nodded by way of reply.

“Did you speak to George?” asked Goodlad, switching the subject to my proposed signing of George Dowling. 

“Apparently we’re not the only ones in for him. We had a conversation and I made him an offer, but he has others as well. It’s part of why I was thinking about sending Jameson back. We’re covering his wages while he’s here and George’s demands are higher than I expected. So we’re gonna need to find some space in the budget somewhere. Especially as I’m meeting two potential staff additions tomorrow” 

The last part drew a frown from the physio again. He was still leaning against the outside of the doorframe, but keen to be involved. 

“Erik Avins, potentially to do some scouting for us. Monks has worked with him before down South somewhere. And Lewis Spencer to join the coaching staff, take some pressure off Mark and Ant” O’Connor looked disappointed that there was no one joining him in the physio team as yet. But I could stretch the money only so far. As it was, we were going to be going outside our budget, something that the Chairman wouldn’t be too pleased about. There had been more takeover talk in the local papers the day before, with fans demanding an end to the uncertainty surrounding the club. As it was, there were remarkably few noises about the manager being a criminal. The fans' ire seemed to be directed at the top level for the time being. 

O’Connor took his leave and Goodlad and I went back to reviewing training for that week. 

“Ferguson and Umerah have definitely not looked sharp in training this week. I wouldn’t quite say they were slacking, but they’ve not given it a full 100%” said Goodlad. “On the other hand, Lacey’s been working really hard. I think he’s aware he’s ****ed up twice in the friendlies already and he’s trying to do his best to make amends. And I’ve been impressed by Crawford, he was a bit down on himself when we got back for the new season, but he’s really sparked up over the last week or so”

“Yeah, he’s going to have to be a big player for us this season. Even if Dowling joins, central midfield looks thin to me, so there’s going to be lots of game time for Crawford, Cooke and Mancini. Feathers too, but for him it’ll depend if he can cope with as many matches. He’s not the youngest anymore” 

“He’s shown no signs of letting up yet”

“That’s good to hear. Let’s hope he carries that on for the whole season”
 

[WLKRAS]

22nd of July, 2023
Shielfield Park, Berwick-upon-Tweed
Berwick Rangers vs Hartlepool United (Friendly)

“Just give them whatever they had last season. New arrivals can pick from what’s left. If anyone is desperate to swap, they’ve got till we get back to Hartlepool tonight to do it and make it known. After that, I’m handing the list to Sarah and she’s sending the shirts to the printers” 

I was talking to Mark Goodlad in the front of the coach, as it made its way up the A1 for the long journey to Berwick. Another distant away game that seemed poorly planned, but it is what it is. Goodlad made a few scribbles on a notepad and went round the bus. No one seemed bothered by retaining their number, so it all went fairly smoothly. The only player missed out was Dowling, who was still on trial, but seemed likely to sign elsewhere at this stage. He did make the starting XI for the match against Berwick though.

I’m not sure if it was the coach journey or a culmination of the hard training work combined with quite a few matches, but we were pretty flat. Ferguson fired an early free-kick wide, but it was pretty quiet from our end after that. Not that Berwick were much better mind you, their only chance of the first half came from our sloppy play. Dowling lost the ball in midfield, but Harris’ effort was over the bar.

It took until the 40th minute for the game to spark into life. Chris Wreh, who’d had little involvement so far in the friendlies, was keen to make his mark and thundered a shot towards goal from eighteen years out. The Berwick goalkeeper managed to get a fingertip to it and deflect it onto the crossbar. That’s where his luck ran out. The ball bounced back into play and sat up lovely for Jake Hastie to prod home and make it 1-0 to Pools. It was the only eventual moment in an otherwise dull first half.

“I’m happy with the scoreline, but I think we can step it up a notch, lads. We haven’t really created that much” I told the players at half-time

That didn’t seem to help any and the second half was as bad as the first. Twelve minutes into the half, I’d had enough and substituted pretty much the entire team, sending again mainly kids on. Dowling was one of two players to stay on the pitch, but the nearest he got was a few wayward free kicks. It was perhaps no surprise that Berwick made the most of the changes and levelled the game with thirteen minutes left to go. Harris crossed it in from their right wing, having skipped past Paterson, and found Baker unmarked at the far post. The striker had peeled away from Donaldson at right back and was free to turn the ball into the net.

That did spark our youngsters into action for the final few minutes. McBride had an effort deflected wide and Duthie saw his bullet header saved from the resulting corner. Max Storey also joined in the action, but he too was denied from close range after a lovely passing move through the middle. But that was all she wrote.

Final Score
Berwick 1 (Baker 77)
Hartlepool 1 (Hastie 40)
Attd 524;

After the game, I got a text message from Director of Football Monks. I still couldn’t get an accurate read on the guy, as he seemed to blow hot and cold, but his message was welcome news

“Good news, just spoke to Mr Aungiers and he’s happy with the terms for Joseph’s contract. They’ll be in to make it official on Monday. See you then”

The kid was only fifteen, but he had raw talent and had impressed with his cameo against Darvel, setting up a goal. Signing him on a pre-contract would tie him to the club to the foreseeable and maybe earn us a little money down the line if he turned out as good as he seemed.
 

[WLKRAS]

24th of July, 2023
Offices of Lorne-Stewart Construction

Bertrand had been familiarising himself with the circumstances surrounding the death of Evelyn Scott. He had eventually gotten through to DI Rainford, an old friend who owed him a favour. The DI had provided him with a copy of the case file and a half-page handwritten summary of his own thoughts on the case. Rainford had been on the periphery of the investigation at the time but had followed the whole thing with interest.

“In my opinion, the whole thing stinks to the high heavens. According to one eye witness account, Browne had not consumed enough alcohol to be intoxicated to the extent that his blood alcohol showed. There was no adequate explanation for this, but this was glossed over during the trial. The eyewitness testimony never made it to the court as it was deemed unreliable. There was no itemised bill at the restaurant, but the Maitre’d insists he only served one bottle of wine with the main meal. The lady was drinking Mojitos beforehand, but Browne was on soft drinks. Browne’s testimony about a bottle of champagne appearing out of nowhere could not be proven. There was no sign of the bottle anywhere, nor was the restaurant missing one. But I think the whole thing was a done deal before the trial even started. People saw what they wanted to see, a guy who was already disliked by many members of the public for a violent attack, committing another. The image of a naked guy being found next to his victim, covered in her blood, only his fingerprints on the murder weapon meant everything else was just inconvenient noise. 

Without any substantial evidence to prove Browne’s innocence, appeals or anything would be a bust. My theory would be that someone else killed Scott and set Browne up for the fall. But I have no idea as to who, why, or how. The obvious answer would be the kid he hurt with that tackle, but he got a five million pound payout, you’d think that would go a long way to easing his pain. There were some grumblings within the club at the time about his appointment, but nothing to suggest they’d go as far as murder. And that completely ignores the victim, who worked in a busy pub and occasionally had trouble with patrons.

So in short, I don’t think he did it, but I can’t prove anything. And in any case, there’s been a conviction, time has been served. It’s so long ago, you’d need a Hercule Poirot type to work out what happened at the time. And they only exist in books. I don’t think there’s anything you can do here”

Bertrand had read the note several times, cross-checking Rainford’s statements with the file. He was astonished by some of the findings. He was no legal expert, but he could see the discrepancy between some of the statements and the facts. It probably wouldn’t be enough to convince the Viscount yet, but it might be worth a trip to Bromsgrove to poke around. He had always fancied himself as a detective and Rainford’s comment about Poirot had got him more than a little interested. Yes, he would use his little grey cells and figure it out.
 

[WLKRAS]

First of all, a quick thank you to anyone who voted for my ramblings in the awards, it's much appreciated

 

27th of July 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool

The Chairman’s door was slightly ajar, but I knocked anyway before I pushed it open.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked Chairman Singh when he looked up from his paperwork.

“Ah, Chris, come on in” He beamed a smile. “Just a brief catchup really, nothing serious” 

“Sure, sure” I nodded as I took a seat.

“First of all,’ he said handing me a sheet “These are the proposed bonuses for the season ahead. Normally, we’d ask for your input on this, but with the financial situation as it is, we can’t afford that at the minute. To follow up on that, we’ve sold 2500 season tickets for the season. We might grab a few stragglers as we go into the season, especially if performances are good and I don’t need to tell you how important that would be to our financial position”

“I can’t promise success once we kick off the league, but I’d like to think we’ve made a decent enough start so far in the friendlies”

"Yes, I agree. And I have to say, some decent football too at times. I am however a bit concerned about the wage budget. I understand the need for a scout, but an additional coach seems a bit of an extravagance to me. We’re well over budget on wages at the moment and you’ve not even brought in any players” Singh said in a grave tone.

“I’m hoping to make the most of the kids coming through the youth setup, but that’s exactly why I need an extra pair of eyes on the training ground. And Lewis has an eye for talent. And if we can develop one or two kids into good players, then we can cover the wages with a potential transfer free” 

“I can cover the shortfall for a little while, but it’s not going to last forever. And there are one or two interested parties that I’m talking to with regard to a takeover and they might not be willing to cover it”

“I understand, sir. If there’s any interest in our players, I’ll see if I can cover the gap. Or maybe look at sending one or two loanees back. In any case, we don’t have to worry about George Dowling, he’s chosen to join Fylde instead.” I replied.

“Well, do let me know if there’s any potential signings ahead of time. I’ll need to find the money somewhere if we do end up bringing players in.” he returned to his paperwork, to signal the meeting was over, so I stood and prepared to leave.

“Oh and Chris… Try and stay out of the papers, will you? Or keep to the sports pages at least? I appreciate the team-building idea, but maybe keep yourself above board if you want to stay on with the next owners…”
 

[WLKRAS]

29th of July, 2023
Priory Lane, Eastbourne
Eastbourne Borough vs Hartlepool United (Friendly)

Our final pre-season friendly was away at Eastbourne, a six-hour journey away. Because of the travel involved, we actually left the day before the match, so the lads could have a decent night's sleep. It also gave me time to review training from that week with Goodlad. As always, there were ups and downs, but the one to stand out most, in a negative way, was Umerah. I wasn’t sure if he’d just hit a slump or wasn’t right or something, but he’d not applied himself well at all. It was one of the reasons he wouldn’t be starting. Instead young Joe Grey, still on a cloud from his encounter with the blonde from a few weeks ago, would be getting the nod up front. 

The hotel was a welcome sight after six hours on a coach and most of us headed straight to bed after dinner. It showed the next day as we were sharp from the word go. Both wingers, Hastie and Ndjoli, had early chances, both cutting inside from the wing and dashing into the box before firing at goal. Unfortunately, the former shot his effort across the face of the goal and wide, while the latter flashed it over. 

They quietened down after that and it wasn’t until the half-hour mark that Eastbourne had their first opportunity, hitting the crossbar from a header, after a floated ball in from the right wing. It served as a wake-up call and Grey was narrowly denied moments later from close range after a lovely passing move that started at the goalkeeper and involved every outfield player in a Hartlepool shirt. Just before the break, Wallace hit the crossbar with a header after a free kick on the left. But at the break, the scores were still deadlocked.

While I made no immediate changes during the break, there was a steady stream of subs during the second part of the match. Again, plenty of the kids got opportunities for us, but it was Dixon in our goal who was busiest. He made a good save just after the break as Eastbourne quickly countered after a turnover in possession. But with nineteen minutes to go, he was picking the ball out of the net. Our left back on duty, Ferguson, had put the ball out for a throw, but quick thinking by Eastbourne saw them take a quick throw while Ferguson was still mooching back to his position. The resulting cross was good, but Seaman had lost his man at right back, which didn’t help matters for us. Remy made the most of being unmarked and for the first time during my short tenure we had conceded first. 

To our credit, we reapplied ourselves with renewed vigour and young Max Storey dashed past his man five minutes after we went down. His low cross was inch perfect and all Anthony Mancini had to do was stick out a foot and just like that scores were level again. Storey was a constant threat and he nearly forced another when his cross flashed across goal, but this time Chris Wreh couldn’t quite get a foot to it and Burnett’s effort after picking up the loose ball went wide. At the other end, Dixon was called into action twice more, but ably dealt with what Eastbourne threw at him and we ended the preparations with a draw.

Final Score
Eastbourne 1 (Remy 71)
Hartlepool 1 (Mancini 77)
Attd: 402
 

[WLKRAS]

“Really boss? More fitness training? I thought pre-season was over?” 

There was plenty of discontent with my training plans for the following week, which still showed a fair part of fitness and physical training. Among the loudest voices to complain were Matt Dolan and Edon Pruti. They seemed thoroughly fed up with the concept.

“Look lads, just because the season is starting on Saturday doesn’t mean we’re going to dispense with all and any fitness training. We still need to maintain standards. And just because it’s a fitness block on paper, doesn’t mean it won’t involve a ball. There’ll just be plenty of running to go with” I said in a stern voice.

“Anyway, get your warm-ups done, then two laps around the pitch at 70% and we’ll set up the finishing practice for this session. Cal, David, take it away” I said, addressing the vice-captain and the captain to get things started. 

The finishing exercise was fairly basic and consisted of two parts. The first part was just pure finishing. One of the strikers would be on the edge of the box, with a defender marking him. A player would pass the ball from the edge of the centre circle to the striker, who would then lay it off for them to finish. Obviously making sure the defender couldn’t get to it. The second part involved a bit more distribution. An additional player would start the exercise by passing it from the middle of the pitch to the guy on the edge of the centre circle, who would return it to him. The passer would then find either the left or the right winger with a cross-field pass. The guy on the edge would sprint forward to join the attacker in the box for the cross coming in from the wing. It wasn’t complicated, but getting the basics right was going to be crucial if we wanted to go up.

It was all going swimmingly until Kieran Wallace was the guy sprinting for the area about halfway through the session. One minute he was fine, the next, there was a yelp and he pulled up limping. He hobbled back towards the centre circle.

“Felt something pop, gaffer” he said through gritted teeth. Danny O’Connor was already rushing over from the side of the pitch with an ice pack as Wallace sat down. The verdict came through soon enough from the physio.

“Just a pull I think, but he’ll need a couple of weeks to recover” 

“And Jameson?” I asked. The on-loan goalkeeper had come in that morning with a massive blue lump on his shin and had been forced to sit out training.

“Just a bruise, but a painful one obviously. We’re treating it with Arnica and ice. He’ll be fine for Saturday. Walked into the frame of his bed in the night, would you believe it” The physio let out a chuckle and the nearby players who had overheard joined in. There would be plenty of ribbing in the dressing room afterwards.
 

[dtown1414]

Couldn't stand doing laps in HS. Maybe because I was the keeper and saw no need. And one day I told my coach exactly how I felt. Not the best move on my part, as he made me run extra laps. Don't remember ever complaining after that, lol. Keep up the good work, enjoying the story!

[tenthreeleader]

Dynamic stretching prior to workout is the answer here.  

[WLKRAS]

dtown: I was always fine with laps, but then I could keep doing them all-day back when I played. Not so much now!

10-3: Stretching is always part of the warmup far as as I (and Chris Browne) are concerned

New scout Avins had prepared a scouting report on Barnet, having watched them in a pre-season friendly. I had skimmed through it before my press conference, but there was nothing that really stood out. Barnet had treated their pre-season in a similar fashion to us and although they had a record of four wins from five, only losing to Celtic and narrowly at that. 

So there was little I could answer to the questions from the local journalists when they asked me what I was expecting from Barnet.

“I expect they’ll give it their all. But I don’t think it’s for me to speculate how they’re going to line up. We’ll deal with that when we get there, but I make a point of not being too concerned with the opposition’s tactics. If we play our game, we’ll do fine”

“You start the season with a long away trip, is that a worry at all?” asked Alice Newman. 

“I mean, it’s not ideal, but we’re going to have to play these games anyway. And travelling is a part of that. It is what it is” I replied philosophically.

“I’ve been hearing talk about unrest in the dressing room about your training methods, would you care to comment on that” No prizes for knowing who asked that question. I didn’t even look at Abraham before I responded.

“No, next”

But Abrahams wasn’t deterred

“I think the fans have a right to know, don’t you? If you’re upsetting players by making them do conditioning exercises like it’s 1980s East Germany, then the fans may have an opinion on that” he pushed.

“I don’t know where you are getting your information, but it is not accurate”. Abraham tried to push again, but this time our press guy stepped in.

“I think that will be all for today, thank you everyone” he said, ushering me out of the room. There was a rage boiling inside me, someone was feeding Abraham this info and I was determined to find out who it was.
 

 

[WLKRAS]

That evening I couldn’t settle. I was still internally raging, but also nervous as hell. Tomorrow would be the first league game and an away one at that. I was wondering about the sort of reception I’d get. I was starting to have second thoughts about taking ninety minutes of abuse. But more than that, Robbie Abraham had gotten under my skin again. For the first time in thirteen years, I was dying for a drink. Not a good sign for an alcoholic. I’d been doing well enough never to think about seeking out a meeting since I’d been released and I wasn’t sure if I was going to find one at eight pm on a Friday evening. So I did the next best thing, I got changed and drove to the gym.

It was only a couple blocks over from the stadium. We had our own gym at the training facilities at Durham, but without one in Hartlepool, we’d struck a deal which allowed us to use this one as both players and staff. Thankfully it wasn’t too busy on a Friday evening and I spent the next ninety minutes putting myself through a rigorous routine. It hurt like hell but in a good way. And it was better than going to the pub.

I sat down on a bench to recover from the final set of exercises, head bowed and breathing hard with sweat pouring off my face. I heard soft footsteps approaching but ignored them as I tried to suck in some oxygen.

“Excuse me?” a soft voice said. I looked up to see a woman standing a couple of yards away. She was dressed in common gym attire, a vest top and skin-tight leggings. She was skinny, lithe almost, but her arms were more sculpted than mine. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which gave her face as somewhat stern look. But it wasn’t an unattractive one. There was a hint of embarrassment and apprehension on it.

“Hi, sorry” she stammered. “Aren’t you the Hartlepool manager?”

“Yeah” I nodded, wondering what was coming. She looked around again, nervously keeping her distance.

“I’m sorry to ask, but my son is a massive Pools fan…” she held out a piece of paper with the Gym’s logo on it and a pen. 

My face broke into a relieved smile.

“Of course” I said reaching for the pen and paper. I had to get up to reach them as she was still not getting any closer. Taking the hint, I returned to the bench after taking the pen and paper.

“What’s his name?” 

“Alfie” she smiled in reply.

“How old is he?” I asked, trying to make conversation as I wrote on the piece of paper before signing

“He’s eight” 

“I have to say, this is a first for me” I laughed as I held out the pen and paper. She took a step forward and almost snatched them out of my hand before stepping back.

“Thank you. He’ll love this”  

“No worries, thank you. You might not realise, but you’ve just made my day” I said. Her eyes sparkled at that remark. She was about to turn and walk away when an idea popped into my head

“Has he ever been to a game?” 

“No. His dickhead of a dad was supposed to have taken him a few times, but he keeps blowing it off”

“Tell you what. What’s your name? I’ll make sure there’s a ticket for him and you waiting at the ticket office whenever you feel like going”

“I’m Jessica. But really, you don’t have to. My ex-husband should spent less time in the pub and more time being a dad” she shrugged. “But you know, drunk’s gonna drink…”

I shuffled uncomfortably at the remark.

“Well, the offer is there” I said. 

“Thank you” Jessica replied, turning to go back to her own business. She took a few steps, stopped and turned back to face me.

“You know, you seem a lot nicer in person than what the papers write about you”
 

[sherm]

Love the off field aspect of this WLKRAS, really intriguing

[WLKRAS]

5th of August, 2023
The Hive, Harrow
Barnet vs Hartlepool United (Vanarama National League)

I got home from the gym without any further incidents, my mood lifted by the endorphins of exercise and the encounter with Jessica. It was odd in a way. You don’t really notice the absence of social interaction with people in the world, until one happens and you realise it’s the first person you’ve randomly spoken to in weeks. And then suddenly you notice that people have avoided you, or speaking to you, outside of work related matters. Comes with having had your name in the papers as a convicted criminal I guess. At least Jessica seemed willing to take a chance on me.

In any case, I had other things on my mind as we heeded down the A1 towards London to face Barnet. Mazfari and Jameson were both back, but Dixon would be our starting goalkeeper. In front of him were four defenders, starting with Hendrie on the right, Lacey and Onariase in the middle and Ferguson wearing the captain’s armband on the left. In central midfield, Cooke and Crawford shared the responsibilities, with Anthony Mancini in front of them as the attacking midfield. That left Hastie and Njdoli on the wings and Mani Dieseruvwe got the nod up front over Umerah.

I didn’t need much of a pre-match speech. Looking around the dressing room these guys were ready. There was a steely determination in their eyes. So I just left them with one line.

“Long way to come to be leaving with nothing, lads. Make sure we don’t”

It turned out that was pitched exactly right. We dominated the early scrimmages, keeping the ball well when we had it and winning it back quickly when we didn’t. Crawford put the hosts on notice with a well aimed shot just three minutes in, but the Barnet goalkeeper was there to turn it away for a corner. As we had practiced in training, we built from the back, shifting the ball around quickly to force an opening. Thus it went from Lacey to Cooke, to Crawford, who laid it back off for Cooke. The vice-captain shifted it out right to Hastie who slipped past his man and swung in a cross for Ndjoli. It would’ve been easier to score than miss, but unfortunately Ndjoli fluffed his lines, hitting at the keeper first and then putting the rebound wide across the goal. 

The move deserved more, but five minutes later we had our just reward. Cooke had just had an free kick saved and it was punted up the pitch. Onariase brought it down and we built from the back again. This time, we went through the middle and Crawford slid a pass through into the area for Anthony Mancini. The attacking midfielder took one touch to switch it to his right foot and fired a low shot into the net. Just over fifteen minutes in and we were one to the good.

If Barnet thought the goal was going to settle us down, they were mistaken. Four minutes after the opener, the hosts turned over possession in midfield and we quickly countered through the left of the pitch. Ndjoli crossed it in for the late arriving Crawford and Tom really should’ve made it two, but missed. He held his head in his hands in disgust. Moments later, it was his midfield partner Callum Cooke whose thunderbolt smacked off the post and out of play.

Half an hour into the game, we had eight shots, five of which were on target, while Barnet had had none. But I was getting concerned that we weren’t kililng off the game. 

“This is going to come back to bite us” I observed to Goodlad as Mancini fired just wide after another turnover and counter attack. Cooke and Crawford were buzzing around the midfield like angry wasps, hoovering up everything and breaking up Barnet’s play at every opportunity, while also providing passes into dangerous areas for our lads to run onto. Ndjoli missed two more good chances before the half was out, first heading straight at the keeper and then having a shot saved from close range.

As the clock ticked to 45+1 I was preparing to offer the team some gentle encouragement about their finishing, but praising their control of the game when the inevitable happened. Out of nowhere, Barnet were level. From a throw-in on the left, they swung a high ball into the back post where Potter outjumped Hastie and Crawford and nodded home a leveller. It was their first effort all half, but it was all level again and that’s what mattered. Needless to say, that had soured my mood for the half-time team talk.

“Well, that was a bit of a sucker punch. But that’s what happens when you don’t kill the game off, gentlemen. We’ve had plenty of opportunities and they’ve barely had the ball, but the only statistic that matters is goals. Kill it off in the second half, they don’t deserve to be in this game”

Credit to the team, they picked up straight where they left off. Cooke had an effort that flew just over the bar and then put a free kick just wide moments later. But Barnet had been buoyed by their goal and it took a great save from Dixon to deny Gorman, while Hendrie made a last ditch tackle to prevent the resulting corner from becoming dangerous. By the hour mark, it was time for fresh legs. Cooke was knackered and came off for Featherstone, while Dieseruvwe, who had been invisible so far, came off for Umerah.

Alex Lacey was next to miss the target, heading over from a Ferguson free kick on the wing. Mancini also had ran his legs off and came off for Dolan, with Crawford moving to the attacking midfielder role. Goodlad had got up and demanded more going forward from the team. But we were fighting a losing battle, despite a late flurry. Crawford, Featherstone and Dolan all had efforts at goal, but none of them actually on target. In fact, none of our second half efforts had been on target and it was a stark reminder of our plight. 

“We should’ve won that and I think we’ll have to work on our finishing, but that said, you can’t argue with how we dominated the game and how much we created. Trust the process and we’ll get it right before you know it”

Final Score
Barnet 1 (Potter 45+1)
Hartlepool 1 (Mancini 16)
Attd: 2015
 

Edited February 17 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

“Was that a missed opportunity, Chris?”

The question was asked by the balding gentlemen from BBC Tees, who had evidently made the long arduous journey down the A1 as well.

“I think we missed more than one, in fairness. But yes, that’s a game we should’ve won”

“Was it a bad time to concede, just before half-time?” asked one of the local journalists, who I didn’t know.

“Well, any time to concede is bad, but if we reach half-time with a 1-0 lead, I think we’d see a different game. Barnet seemed happy with a point and didn’t really come forward. They only started to get chances once we tried to send more people forward. Thankfully Dixon had a good day in goal or we could’ve ended up with nothing”

“Will you be looking to address the finishing issue by bringing in additional players? I heard you’ve been looking at J’Neil Bennett for instance”. This game from the baby-faced kid called Jordan. I’d forgotten his last name, but he seemed to get around a bit for sure.

“At this point, no. It’s just been one game. As for Bennett, I don’t know him” I said, rising to indicate the post-match presser was over. I scanned the room, but there was no sign of Robbie Abraham. I guess he had a different game to cover in the North East, which suited me just fine. Babyface Jordan seemed to be picking up the slack while he wasn’t here anyway. The kid was right in that we were still looking to strengthen the team, but there was still no money, so any signings would have to be on a free. Preferably on a non-contract deal, but that was probably unlikely.

In any case, there were two names on my list and I was planning to send them an offer of training with us for the week. The first was Tom Pett, a central midfielder who previously played for Port Vale and Stevenage, and was a solid passer of the ball according to Monks. The other was winger Rolando Aarons, who had been at Newcastle and Huddersfield. He was pacey, but I wasn’t entirely convinced by the report on his technical abilities. I phoned Monks from the bus on the way home to ask him to get the offers out so they’d hopefully be able to join us for Monday's training. 

Speaking of training, the rest of the bus journey was used by the coaching staff to work out training for the week going forward. Finishing was one thing high on the list for the first part of the week, but depending on Erik Avins’ report on Gateshead I was willing to be flexible. It might be that next week’s opponents required special. But I wouldn’t have that report until Monday, so for the time being, we pencilled in a lot of finishing.
 

[WLKRAS]

6th of August, 2023
Castlereagh House, Durham

The first hurdle for Bertrand would probably be the most difficult one. He had arranged to meet Lady Ellie to speak to her about Chris Browne. He had hoped the Viscount would sit this one out, but instead, his Lordship insisted on being present. It could complicate matters. Bertrand sat on the couch opposite Lady Ellie, with Lord Castlereagh in his usual armchair between the two couches. 

“So, your husband has already told me bits and bobs, but I’d like to hear it all from you, from the start, if you please”

“Do we have to go through it all?” objected the Viscount immediately.

“If his Lordship would be more comfortable, we can do this without him?” Bertrand said, flashing a sideways look. Ellie shook her head.

“It’s fine” she said with a sigh. “I was seventeen when I met him, in a bar. He was cute, for an older guy, and he clearly thought the same of me. He was also drinking like a fish and quite happy to buy me drinks, so I let him feel me up a bit. One thing led to another and before you know it we’re back at his, getting it…”

“Oh please” the Viscount complained

“For Gods sake Daniel, like it is beyond to realms of possibility that I’ve had sex with anyone other than you” Ellie hissed at her husband. “In any case, it was a one-night thing for him, mostly” she said, turning back to Bertrand. 

“And for you?” asked Bertrand. Ellie turned her face downwards in embarrassment. 

“I’d fallen head over heels for him. I lived back in Essex then, but when he got a job in Bromsgrove, I managed to rent a room nearby and started watching him” she said softly. “That’s when I noticed I wasn’t the only one following him. There was a middle-aged guy, wearing a fedora and one of those long raincoats. So I rang Chris to tell him about it”

“How did he respond?” 

“He rang back a few days later, in the middle of the night, asking me over. But when I got there the door was locked and there was no answer when I knocked or rang the bell. That was the last time we spoke until he came out of prison”

“And you didn’t see him either?”

“I didn’t say that. I still kept tabs on him. I was like a little lost puppy, just turned eighteen with too much time and not enough affection” she glanced over at her husband, who was pretending not to listen while reading his paper. “I saw the guy with the raincoat lurking in a car outside Chris’ building on the day before, you know….”

“Anything else you can tell me about this man. Or the car he was in?”

“Not really, the car was silver, maybe a Vauxhall or a Volkswagen, something like that”

“Hmm, not sure that’ll get us anywhere. Anything else?” Bertrand asked, but Ellie shook her head. “Why are you convinced he didn’t kill the girl?” he went on. Ellie cast her eyes down again, hesitating.

“Tell him what you told me” said Viscount Castlereagh. Ellie sighed. 

“I was outside the house that night. I was angry at him for taking another woman out to dinner and then they were all over each other when they came back. I wanted to kill them both, I was so angry. There was an open window on the back of the house, big enough for me to climb in through, right next to a drainpipe. I had to be very careful, but I managed to get up to the window. I had a big knife with me and I was gonna do it. I peered in to make sure the way was clear. It was some sort of spare room, but the door was open, and in the hallway, walking away from me, was a guy, dressed in black, carrying a knife by his side. So I got the hell down and rang the police from the path near the house. And then I made myself scarce”

“And why did you never tell the police this” Bertrand’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“You’ve got to understand, I wasn’t in a reasonable frame of mind at that time. I was so angry. And I was terrified of getting accused. I had gone there to kill them both after all, and you know, Chris could say I was stalking him. I resented myself for that later, but it was too late by then”

“And so you said nothing? But why tell people now?”

“Chris is having it hard enough with everything that’s happened to him. He deserves to have his name cleared. And that way, Daniel’s company doesn’t have to pull out of sponsoring Hartlepool. I owe him. But you can’t tell Chris. Ever” she pleaded.

“You want me to find the real killer, without ever revealing your part?” Bertrand frowned.

“If anyone can, it’s you, my friend” said the Viscount, lowering his paper and joining the plea. “I know it’s not an easy job, but if you can untangle this mess, we’d both be most grateful”
 

Edited February 20 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

First order of business for me on Monday morning was popping into the ticket office. As always, Sarah was already there. It seemed like she lived in the place. 

“Morning boss” she greeted me cheerfully when I entered. “Tickets for Gateshead are going like hot cross buns at Easter weekend. Nearly six thousand sold!” 

“Aye, chairman texted me earlier. Think he’s delighted with the cash” I replied. 

“Oh” her face dropped. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to rain on your parade there” I said apologetically. “I was actually hoping you could help me with something” Her face brightened again at that suggestion.

“Of course, what can I do for you?” 

“Well…” I wasn’t sure how to put it. “A friend of mine and her little boy are hoping to come to a game soon, but I’m not really sure which one they’ll be able to make. But would you be able to keep me a couple good seats spare? Obviously bill me the costs”

“Of course!” she beamed enthusiastically. “What names, just so I know I’m not giving them out to anyone” she laughed.

“Jessica and her little boy is Alfie”

“Last name?” she frowned.

“Erm…”

She laughed again. “You don’t know it, do you? How did you meet this… friend” she said with a twinkle in her eye. 

“It’s not like that” I said, twisting uncomfortably. 

“I’m sure it’s not” she winked, seemingly taking great pleasure in my discomfort. “Shall I try and get H’Angus to visit them before the game? Kids usually love that, especially if it’s his first game?”

“Yeah, that would be great”. H’Angus the Monkey was of course Hartlepool’s mascot, named after the famous monkey that was hung by locals as a French spy sometime in the early 1800s.

“Not a problem. I’ll make sure they’re ready for the next few games we’ve got at home”

“Thanks Sarah, I owe you one”

“No worries, coach. Hope it works out for you” she added another wink.