S1 2H - 13 - Complaints [T1] (Patreon)

13.

After my shower, I went for lunch with Cutter. All very civilised. I asked him about his footballing philosophy and how he'd assembled such a good team. He asked about my footballing history, I told him I had none, and he typed my name into some website and it came up blank. "Unbelievable," he said. "You just popped up out of nowhere."

He asked me to return the next morning for a sort of demonstration match so he could show me to some guys from Darlington’s board of directors.

I wasn't against playing, but I complained about the logistics and cost of driving to and from Manchester. Cutter said he'd already thought of that, and he said he'd get me a half-price rate at his mate's Airbnb. I'd save 6 hours a day and I’d save on petrol, so I booked it for two nights.

My next complaint was about my recent injury and possible hole-in-skull. Cutter said he’d arrange an x-ray, and if that went well, I could do a full medical while I was there. If we moved quickly, I could even be in the squad on Tuesday night! In short, he was keen to remove all obstacles from me agreeing to sign.

He sweetened the deal by saying that if I joined, it'd be easy to convince the board to let Henri go to Chester.

"If I sign," I mused, "Can I get involved behind the scenes?"

"Like what?"

"I've got a good eye for a player. I could help find local talent. But most of all I like managing teams. Maybe I could manage a youth team match every now and then."

He laughed like I was joking. "We have coaches, Max!"

"I just mean every now and then. To test out theories. Improve my skills."

"Do you have any coaching badges?"

"No."

"Max! No serious club would let you manage a youth team! The parents would go nuts."

"What about the reserves?"

"Same thing. You need badges. But even if you had some, our reserve team is pretty unique. It's actually a local club that we absorbed. They benefit from our standing and facilities and we get to put some minutes into some legs. It's a great situation. And they've got a gaffer. Good lad, he is. No, Max, put such thoughts out of your head. You're too young for that sort of thing anyway. Concentrate on your playing career."

I bit my nails. Signing for Darlington would unlock Henri's move to Chester. Great. And it would gain me some reputation in the world of football. Great. But if I signed a contract till the summer, I'd really struggle to find games to manage at a decent standard. And Cutter didn't seem interested in my ability to find players. So while being plucked from obscurity to play for a famous team seemed like a fantasy move - a real-life Cinderella story, if Cinderella wore size 10 football boots - it would also be a bit of a dead end. Virtually no managing for the rest of the season.

I whipped my phone out and brought up the league table. "You're second. Looks like you or King's Lynn will win the league. How many games does a guy have to play to get a winner's medal?"

"Ten," he said instantly. He frowned, but soon relaxed. "You're checking if Henri will get a medal if we win the league?" He tapped on his phone and eventually said, "No. He won't qualify."

"Shame," I said.

"Unless," he said. He pressed his fingertips together. "I was thinking about what you said. About Henri trying to pay me a compliment when he did that interview. The thing is, I was furious at first, along with everyone else. But when I saw him in training he gave me those sad little eyes and I realised he was just as hurt as me. And I read the interview again and went cold, you know. That was the realisation that we'd done him dirty. There was nothing bad in what he said, unless you went looking for it. The whole thing was just a mania among the supporters and our social media guy lost his head, too. But by the time I'd calmed down, I couldn't do anything about it. We were in a bad patch, then. I had no clout. But now, Max. If you come in, a wizard on the wing, the fans will get excited. They'll be up for anything. They've not seen a player like you for a long time, if ever. If you go to a fan’s forum and say Henri's my best mate, I came to Darlo to play with Henri, they'll soon shut up about this interview. So if you want him to stay, I'll start laying the groundwork. What do you say?"

I rubbed the armrest of my chair while I considered it. The material was old, dirty, and itchy, but somehow it felt good.

If Henri stayed at Darlington and got back in the team, he'd score tons of goals and get promoted to the 5th tier - with a winner’s medal. In the higher league, he'd play against Wrexham and be in their latest documentary. His career would have an upward trajectory once more. As his talent deserved.

But if I let that happen, I wouldn't be his agent. After all, he wouldn't pay me to keep him where he was. Playing alongside him was appealing from a footballing perspective, but I'd be 80 pounds a week better off if I pushed him down the football ladder.

Financially, there was only one option. Ethically, morally, there was quite another. I knew what I should do.

“Let me think about it,” I said.

***

My skull was whole; I sailed through the medical. Unlike Livia, the doctor was not the living embodiment of all that is good and holy, but he was friendly enough. And since I was fully fit, a lot more comprehensive.

Friday night, I found some matches to watch and picked up 70 XP, plus 7 towards my debt.

The next morning, I played the demo match. My opponent finished with a bruised ego, but I finished with a bruised ankle. And shin. And toe. More on that later. For now, let's just say it was wildly successful in showing my abilities.

After, I got invited to watch Darlington's league match from the dugout, but since Henri would be there, I asked for somewhere more discreet. The Blackwell Meadows stadium was the smallest and weirdest one I’d ever been in, but the fans made a decent racket. The VIP lounge was simply a row of normal seats with ‘reserved’ labels stuck on the underside. There were no boxes. The club was in the process of building a different stadium, but that would take years.

Darlington won 2-1, a very scrappy game, and Henri didn't play. At least his CA was stable. His trip to Chester had done him good.

Watching the match earned me 153 XP, with 17 going to my debt.

Afterwards, I negotiated with Cutter and Darlington's equivalent of MD MD, and we came to a verbal agreement. My first contract as a professional footballer would be on the strange side, but the terms were not unheard of. Now I just had to make sure Henri didn’t mind.

"I won’t do anything without his blessing. As luck has it," I said, "I'm meeting him tomorrow for brunch. Double date kind of thing. So if he okays everything, we can get all this signed, sealed, and delivered by tomorrow night."

"We'll be here until 2pm," said Cutter. "The Club Secretary is going away for a while. Next time we could do it would be in a couple of weeks, I think."

It wasn't exactly a ticking time bomb, this deadline, but two weeks is a long time in English football. There was just enough of a sense of urgency to give me a sleepless night. While I tried in vain to elevate my ankle while balancing ice packs on it, my brain ran through dozens of potential conversation trees. I would have three hours to reshape the world the way I wanted it. More than enough time. Right?

***

Sunday, 13th November

It was the morning of my half-blind double date with Henri, Emma, and one of Emma's beautiful, intelligent friends. An important day.

Important because it would be the first time I would see Emma in person since the day I met her. She had sort of become my entire world away from football. An essential distraction. Maybe a permanent distraction.

But it was also important because of the decisions that would be made. One decision that had been made beforehand, obviously, was Emma's choice of friend. I was excited to see who she'd brought. I'd daydreamed about a sort of dowdy librarian-type who Henri wouldn't be interested in until she started picking apart his quotes and theories, and in the end they'd have wild, steamy sex in the Enjoyable French Literature section of her workplace - the library's smallest alcove.

I hobbled to the restaurant. Henri had chosen it. The sign read 'Holy Focaccia'. A quirky name that fit Henri completely. But when I saw it and had a peek in the windows, I frowned; it was not the hipster paradise I'd been expecting. It looked really down to earth.

The door opened with a bring, and I turned into a large, warm, welcoming space. It was packed. Builders, pensioners, teens, hipsters, goths. This place had them all. Good-natured banter here, gentle laughter over there. Waiters and waitresses hustling and bustling without giving off stress vibes.

More stress was not what I wanted. I was stressed enough. Lack of sleep, anxiety at what Henri would think of my plan, the fact that the whole deal would play out in front of Emma. The stakes were high enough. The thought of doing the negotiation in front of an audience was… painful.

I really hoped Emma’s friend would help the meal get off to a good start.

"Can I help?" Some teenage boy. Competent.

"Looking for my friends," I said.

The kid was as smart as his uniform. "Would that be a table of two models and one French footballer?"

"Are you a Darlo fan?"

"Of course!"

"You're not mad at him?" Him meaning Henri.

"No way. Not here. We love him, here. One time he came and helped us with the dishes. No-one knows why. And he brought half the squad for his birthday. He's top. Are you his friend?"

"Ask me in an hour," I said, ominously.

He led me under a low-hanging lintel into another, bigger, space. This one had a massive window that looked out over a park; there was good foot traffic. The establishment had placed Emma facing the window so that she'd be the first thing every passer-by would see. Great salesmanship. My confidence in the place grew a thousand-fold.

But then…

"Is everything okay?" said the teenager.

"Yes. Just got cramp in my... brain."

The others hadn't seen me. It gave me a few seconds to get my face right. Because sitting next to Emma was her best friend Gemma, the one woman I had marked out as unsuitable for the double date. Henri was whip-smart. He was a deep-thinker, a warrior-poet, a bon vivant. He needed someone quick-witted who would call him out on his bullshit. Basically, the female version of me. Gemma... was not that.

I turned around as though admiring some of the tat hanging on the wall. Once again it was Emma and Gemma at a table with a footballer and his agent. Last time it was Ziggy, and he and Gemma were a great match. But Henri was nothing like Ziggy. Why had Emma done this? I was the only one that had met both Gemma and Henri and in my opinion, they were incompatible. But Emma thought she knew better. She had such a high opinion of her friend that it transcended my petty, rational objections.

I tried to rearrange my face into something ready for a date, but failed. So I finally followed the kid to the table, hung up my coat, and slid onto my seat. Facing Emma. Diagonal from Gemma. Gemma mostly ignored me, giving almost all her attention to Henri.

Henri was to my left. He slapped me on the shoulder. "Max! Good of you to make it!"

I checked my phone. "I'm exactly on time," I said.

Henri frowned. "I meant that I was happy to see you."

Internally, I sighed. We were all on radically different levels of energy, and it was my fault. This was going to be all kinds of awkward. I wanted to explain but with the ladies watching it didn’t feel right. "And I'm happy to see all of you," I said.

"Hi, Max," said Emma. I looked at her properly. Some of my misgivings melted away. She was a stone-cold fox. Amazing body, gorgeous face, and her one unusual feature, her button nose, was catnip.

But I couldn't summon the energy to match her greeting. I just couldn't. It wasn't in me. "Hi, Emma," I said. "Henri, I see that you've met Gemma."

"I have indeed!" The way he was devouring Gemma with his eyes hinted that Emma had been right. Gemma was basking in the radiance of Henri's admiration. Emma was trying not to be smug. They'd all met some unspecified number of minutes ago and were getting on like a house on fire.

I felt like the only sports hater in a bar full of people watching a big game.

Emma brought me up to speed. They'd arrived twenty minutes early. The ladies had taken the train from Newcastle to Darlington, so it was nice of Henri to choose a place near the train station.

Henri said that he had chosen the place because it was unpretentious, healthy, and the portions were big. His expression invited a comparison to himself. Emma giggled. Gemma seemed confused.

"Max," said Emma, leaning forward, inviting me to look down her top. "I joined a Whatsapp group. About football. They've been sending loads of memes about the manager of Man City. Apparently he lost to Brentford so he's a bald fraud. Obviously, I don't get it. Can you explain?"

The three of them stared at me. I got the feeling that Emma had told Henri that I was really sexy when I talked about football. Although the sands of time were running, I couldn’t face talking about sports right away. "Can I make a request?" I said. "Can we not talk about football until after the food? I sort of need to gatecrash the brunch to talk to Henri about footy and it'll be super boring for you guys. So... Let's just talk shit for a while. Is that okay?"

For once, Gemma was enthusiastically on Team Max.

***

My Eggs Benedict went down easy. The Geordies had Full Englishes. Henri had something with avocado.

The time went by fairly well. The engine of conversation was mostly stoked by Gemma's outrageous sexual interest in Henri, but both women were enchanted by his accent, and I admired the way he greased the wheels of the interaction with almost imperceptible topic shifts or flirtatious questions.

I turned and looked out of the window while I collected my thoughts.

It would be better if I could get over my vague dislike of Gemma. She had never done me any harm, and she was super attractive. I would have been perfectly happy to sit across from her on the Orient Express. Especially if it was a quiet carriage.

With Henri there was a potentially tricky conversation to come. There wasn't any friction between us now, but the next station was Frictionsville.

And Emma. It was probably immature of me, but her bringing Gemma had really made me hesitate at the ticket office. Did I want to travel to that destination? Would I really let the Emma train leave the station over something so trivial? Of course not. And yet. And yet… She’d dismissed my ideas with the same certainty that Ian Evans had. I noticed that my jaw was clenched tight; I tried to relax.

Mercifully, the staff came to take away our brunches and brought more teas and coffees.

It was time to decide Henri's future, and find out whether I'd feature in it.

...

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