14 - Pieces of Silver [T1] (Patreon)

14.

I turned back from the window and plastered a smile on my face. Everything would be all right! It was a cold smile though. I wasn't sure I believed it.

"Max," said Emma, with the exact right amount of concern. "Are you okay?"

"I will be," I said. "I just need to talk to Henri about football. Bad timing I know, but..." I looked up at the wall clock. Two hours to go. Easy. "It's sort of time sensitive. There's a guy about to go on holiday and he's the only one who can sign certain documents. Is that all right? You guys can tune out. I need to get some things off my chest."

"I'd rather listen," said Emma.

"Henri?"

"I don't mind," he said. "You can speak freely."

"Okay, okay," I said. The moment had come. I rubbed my hair, rubbed my face, slapped my cheeks. "Right. Henri, I've got good news and weird news."

He raised a hand to stop me, then did the most outrageous thing where he shifted on his chair so that he was facing me, one leg tucked under the other, holding his coffee like he was one of the friends from Friends. "Max. Do me a favour. I believe we're about to hear a story. Tell it chronologically." He turned to the women. "If you agree?"

Emma pressed her lips together. Amazing lips. Holy shit. "Is this going to be good?" she said.

"Max gives good story," said Henri. “He’s a raconteur for the ages.” He awarded her one of his most rakish smiles, and she did an oversized, performative look of amazement.

Once they'd finished sparkling at each other, I flapped my arms. "Should I start now, or what?"

"S'il vous plaît," said Henri, rolling his hand like he was in the court of the Sun King. That made me chuckle. Gemma smouldered.

"Chronologically?" I said. I shook my head. Tried to remember the olden days. "So... Friday. I went to Darlington to talk about getting you a move."

"Wait wait wait," said Emma. "Some context, maybe?"

Henri supplied it. "I play football for Darlington Football Club. I am - what was that expression I learned? - on the outs because of my misunderstood genius. Max scouted me and correctly understood he was witnessing a generational talent. He begged for the chance to become my agent. I agreed, providing he could get me a move away from Darlington this January. A trivial assignment, but the wise ones always start with small, simple tasks to build up the confidence of their protégés."

"January is a transfer window," I said. "It's when players can move between clubs."

"Is that what you did with your other client?" said Emma. "What was his name?" she said, pretending not to remember, and very definitely not looking at Gemma. "Shaggy?"

"Ziggy," I said. The table vibrated as though Gemma had kicked her friend on the ankle - our silver cutlery rattled. "He didn't have a club, so I could have brought him to any team at any time. Henri is registered to Darlington, so I needed to negotiate with them. Get them to agree to let him go. If they want to be malicious, they could make him see out his contract. It's called rotting in the reserves. The football equivalent of sending him to Coventry."

"Coventry has a team?" said Gemma.

For some reason, I had superhuman patience. Maybe because my showdown with Henri was mere moments away and I needed to save my emotional energy. Or maybe because my stomach was full and Henri was paying for the meal. "Sending someone to Coventry means not talking to them. I don't know why. Maybe there used to be an abbey there, one of those places where you can't speak. So the bishop would send someone to Coventry because they were, you know, annoying as fuck."

"Right," said Emma, trying hard to understand things. She pointed downwards. "Henri plays here. But they don't want him but they might keep him?"

I laughed. A bit of the old flame flared up inside me. She was so bright! "That's exactly it!"

"Why don't they want him?" said Gemma. "He's gorgeous."

"He already said," I said. "It's because of his genius for being misunderstood."

Henri doffed an imaginary cap to me.

"It's one thing to get him out of here, though," Emma said. "It's another thing to get someone else to take him. Right? It's like, you can cancel a credit card but you should wait till you have the next one in your wallet."

"Well," I said. "Yeah. I suppose that analogy works."

"Finding someplace else sounds harder," said Gemma. "My friend had a cat and then they got pregnant and wanted to get rid of it. The cat I mean. Deciding to get rid of a pet is easy. Rehoming it is hard."

"Not really," I said. "I mean, you're not wrong about pets. But... Henri, can you cover your ears, please?" He pretended to. I leaned closer to the women. "Henri is the best player in the league. There are 50 professional teams in England where he'd walk into the first team." I signalled that he could remove his hand-phones. "Anyway, I've already arranged that side of it."

"Max!" said Henri. "You didn't tell me! Chester?"

"I told you," I said.

"When?"

I blinked a few times. "Er..." I pinched my nose. Instead of telling him about my meeting with Ian Evans, I'd gone to coach some randos and next morning, lost my job. "Shit. Well, anyway, it doesn't mean anything if Darlington force you to stay. So I thought I'd tell you on Friday when I went to meet Cutter, but you weren't there. And then it got weird and I worried... Look, I just thought it'd be easier to tell you to your face. Which is now."

"Okay, Max. Okay. Go back a step. On Friday you met David Cutter? That's the manager of the team," he said to the ladies.

"Yes. And I knew it would go badly," I said.

"Why?"

"Because you weren't there."

"Ah." He looked unrepentant. The little shit.

"Anyway, from his office I was watching the first team squad doing their training and asked if I could take some free kicks on this goalie who wasn't doing anything."

"Why?" said Emma.

I frowned. "Why not?"

"I mean, is that what men do when they meet? Take free kicks? Is that like when dogs sniff each other?"

"It isn't a standard greeting," said Henri. "Not even in England."

I sighed. Telling the story quickly meant going further and further backwards, making it even slower. I picked up a teaspoon and used it to punctuate my sentences. "Last Sunday, I took a couple of free kicks against Chester's goalie and scored them both. I don't have ready access to a professional goalie, so I just wanted to see how good I actually am."

"But you were supposed to be negotiating," said Gemma.

"I did both. Turns out, I'm not bad at free kicks." Henri snorted at my understatement. "And because of that, Cutter was more inclined to listen to me. I felt that he was interested in me as a person from the minute I walked in, but then he was also interested in me as a player. And players rule the roost. Einstein could rock up to a football pitch and say he's got a plan for how to win the league, but if he can't hit a pass between two wire men, no-one will give a shit." Henri opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. "Right, so the first team were doing some drills. Actually, something happened before the drills. It might be important because a similar thing happened when the Queen died. I was smacking free kicks in all over town when they stopped for a two-minute's silence."

"Remembrance Day," said Henri.

"Right."

"That's where I was," he said.

"What?"

"I don't train on November 11th. I never have. No-one has ever noticed. They only cared this time because I was on the outs."

"What do you do?" asked Gemma.

Henri became still. "I pay my respects," he said. "In my own way."

We processed that. Collectively decided not to ask follow-up questions, even though we were burning with curiosity.

"Okay," I said. "So Cutter thinks I might be a decent player, and he thinks I might be, like, a good person because I was sad after the silence." I waited for one of the three to scoff, but no-one knew me well enough to realise how far from the truth that was. "I joined the drills the first team were doing. Found them a bit simple, asked to try a harder version."

"Of course you did," mumbled Henri.

"Then Cutter's like, hey, do you want to play a little match? And I say, yeah. But I'll be on the first team."

Henri groaned. "Max."

"What?" said Emma.

"It's just weird," said Henri. "Typically idiosyncratic."

"I'm not an idiot," I said, and Emma laughed. I smiled. I was warming up to her again. "Yeah, so I do pretty well in the game. Okay. Then - "

"Let me stop you right there," said Henri. "Max, you seem to believe that everyone in Darlington hates me. It is not so. I am, in fact, extremely charming. I have friends in the dressing room and in the coaching staff. I got a flurry of messages during and after your little performance." My skin started to crawl. Friends on the staff? How often did they chat? Would Cutter tell them everything? How indiscreet were they? I hadn’t factored friends into my equations. Merde.

Henri scrolled down his recent chats. "Messages like: Henri, why is your agent playing right-midfield for the first team? Henri, there's a guy here getting a trial by saying he's your agent. Henri, did you know your agent is better at football than you smiley face?" He shook his head. "Why do I get the feeling I'll be hearing that for as long as you represent me?"

I turned to the ladies. "Don't listen to him. I am the very definition of an amateur. Henri is an actual professional. He scored 30 goals in 60 games in a brutal, defensive league. That's really good."

Henri sat up straight. "Max scored and assisted twice in an hour in a game where he was also managing the team."

"Henri is universally regarded as the best striker in the league!"

"All right, all right," said Gemma, with a flash of actual annoyance. "Get a room!"

Henri grabbed his phone. "One more. Message from a coach. I asked him to describe you as a player." He cleared his throat and read. "Max is like an alien. He strolls around not doing anything, seemingly learning the rules of the sport. Then, at the speed of light and with stardust on his boots, he teaches us how to play."

I laughed. My first belly laugh of the day. "It doesn't say that. No-one there is so poetic. Show me that message."

Henri slipped his phone away, his expression unreadable. "So you caught the eye. Then what?"

I relaxed. He was exaggerating how many friends he still had at the club - I was sure of it. I briefly described my lunch, my medical, and that the club had helped me find a cheap place to stay.

"So I wake up Saturday morning and now's the first time I start to get a bit excited. Like any kid I'd always wanted to be a footballer, but as I got older I knew it would never happen. I'd sort of squashed the dream into the deepest darkest crevice I could find. But here I am, on the verge of it! I just need to impress in one match!" I paused to watch the second hand swirl around the clockface. It didn't matter. For a moment I was back in that memory. Smiling, excited, about to open the Christmas presents, only joy, no negativity. "And it's even better than that. Darlington are second in the league, joint first really, level on points with King's Lynn. It's 50-50 if they'll win the league, right, so I've got the chance to walk into a team and get a winner's medal right away! There are players who never win anything in their whole careers. And the Darlington players are really good. Not quite Henri, but they're all very solid and if I have a bad game or two while I'm learning the ropes it's probably not going to be catastrophic. And they're good pros. I could learn a lot from them. You have to understand that I was buzzing." I watched the clock twirl some more, until the minute hand clicked forward one slot. My tone darkened. "Cutter picks me up and I go to some pitch. Abbey Road Sports Field. As you've seen, Emma, Darlington is very green and leafy but this thing is a mudbath. Asking me to pass or sprint on that surface is like asking Elton John to play with the piano locked." I sipped my tea. It tasted like chalk juice. "The left-back - that's my most direct opponent - is a thug. Neanderthal. Savage. He loves that it's a mudbath because it slows me down to the point where he can catch me and kick me. The guy kicks me, non-stop, for 45 minutes."

"Oh, no," said Emma. "So you didn't play well?"

"What?" I said. "No, I scored two goals in the first two minutes. The other players, no disrespect, are shit." A few had CA up to 5, and one guy even had PA 20, but he was on my team. There was no-one on the opposition who could match me in terms of speed or skill. "The first time I got the ball, I sprinted and shot. The keeper didn't even move. I'm not sure he even had his gloves on yet. The second goal was exactly the same as the first, except with lots of desperate defending that made no difference." My jaw was tightening up again. I clenched and unclenched my fists to try to release some tension. "That's why this ape was kicking me. With the referee ignoring it, and the head honchos from Darlington a few yards away, also doing nothing. I was getting pretty steamed up. This game could lead to all kinds of opportunities, but if this twat breaks my ankle then I get nothing. No deal for my client. No contract for me. And how am I supposed to drive back to Manchester? I was getting furious at Cutter and those guys. It wasn't enough that I could score at will. They were judging my reactions. Like, am I man enough to handle the physical side of the game? Will I snap and retaliate? Fucking stone age thinking. I thought Cutter was progressive, but turns out he's just a modern version of Ian Evans."

"Who?" said Gemma.

"Chester's manager. I'm this close to just throwing my shirt off and walking topless through the streets of Darlington looking for my car..."

"Oh, story got good," said Emma.

"... but I decide to stick it out. I'm not really in a position to turn down a shot at money."

"Why not?" said Henri.

"I lost my job on Thursday," I reminded him.

"Max!" he said. "You didn't tell me that." He looked at Emma. "Did he tell you?"

She shook her head. Worried.

"It's fine," I said. Then hesitated. "Okay, it's not fine. I'm freaking out juuust a tiny bit. Trying to make good decisions with a lot going on, you know? I just want to be through all this and on the other side." I blew out some air. "But look, if I get Henri his move I'll have a bit of breathing space. Okay? So that's why I'm letting this little sadist get his jollies kicking me. Normally, I'd move around the pitch until the guy went back under his little bridge, but one of the things these football cavemen like to see is tactical discipline. That means staying in your little box on the pitch. So I did that." I felt my ankle and grimaced. "Turned it into mincemeat, the twat. I look like a zombie down there. Again! But it was worth it. They invite me to the stadium, Cutter and the other decision makers. I've impressed them. And I've negotiated like a boss. They make me a deal. If I sign for Darlington, they'll let you go to Chester."

Emma let out a tiny screamy noise. "You're going to be a player!"

Gemma picked up her phone. She was looking up where Chester was.

Henri's eyes narrowed. There was a long pause while he thought things through. "But if I have the chance to play with you, I'd like to stay in Darlington. Force my way back into the team."

Here we go.

I put my tea down and turned to face him. Emma and Gemma didn't exist for this part and nor did the clock. "Henri, there's too much bad blood. Too many fans who want you out, too stupid to understand you. Cutter doesn't understand you, didn't defend you, practically joined the mob himself. You have to go. You have to leave. You have to look forward." I let that sit. Henri nodded, once. My throat constricted. I hadn't lied... exactly. I wished I could be completely honest with him, but I couldn’t take the risk. I would get 80 pounds a week if he went to Chester, and I owed money to every Tom, Dick, and Emre I’d met recently. As always, me trying to process my own inner turmoil was perceived by others as a deep, authentic emotion. My voice grew softer because it was the only way to physically get the words out. "We know Ian Evans doesn't understand you as a person, but he doesn't pretend to, either. He understands you as a player, though. And if I'm being honest, I've got a selfish interest in you going to Chester. I know you'll be a role model for Raffi. My other client," I added, for Emma’s benefit. "And for Benny and Johnny Winger and all the kids. Henri, did I tell you that Chester's medical department draws admiring glances from many in the world of football?" Henri rolled his eyes, but he was happy to hear me making jokes. I was still gutted that I hadn’t given him the full menu of options, but it was too late now. Being on the other side of the moment was an enormous relief. Such a relief that it made me sick. My throat tightened again. "Henri, listen. I know I make terrible jokes and I'm not a super slick agent, yet, but I'm deadly serious about helping your career. Chester is a sideways move, but it's the best we can do right now. It's just a blip, as long as we can get you playing. When I've got a bit of a name it'll be easier to get meetings with bigger clubs. League Two. We'll skip tier 5 and go straight to the 4th. This summer, anything's possible. We'll both be free agents. We can sign at a new club together, like a double act. This generation's Smasho and Nice One. Maybe even win some silverware."

Henri considered all this. "You're right, Max. You're right. And you've given me what I asked of you." He adjusted his scarf. "But why are you selling this so hard? You get a client and start your own career. I get the move I wanted." He narrowed his eyes. "Why have you been so bleak this morning?"

"Because if I was in your shoes, and my agent ended up playing for the team that wanted to get rid of me, I'd wonder how much that agent really cared about me. Your friendship is worth more than 10% of your wages." That sounded pretty dubious to my ears, but the others reacted positively. "I just can't get over how weird it is. It feels wrong."

“Maybe you feel guilty about something,” said Gemma. Did my eye start twitching?

But Henri wasn’t thinking along those lines. "No, Max. You must start your career. Do not think I stand in your way. I am delighted for you."

"I’m also selling hard because we need to sign today. Before 1pm." I lied about the time, but that was a lie I was comfortable with. It was just in case Henri tried to be dramatic by refusing to get there until there were only sixty seconds left.

"1pm?"

I pointed to the clock. "The dudes from both clubs are sitting next to their fax machines right now. We can sign, and you'll have a medical in Chester on Monday. Start training with them on Tuesday."

"A medical in Chester? That's..." His eyes flickered in the direction of his date. "... just another day at the office to me."

"I bet," I said.

Henri closed his eyes for a while. Ruminating. Then he said, "10% of my wages from Chester."

"What?"

"You didn't negotiate my deal with Darlington. You have earned 10% of whatever you negotiated with Chester."

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I mean, obviously that's fair but I wasn't expecting more."

"Good contracts make firm friends," said Henri.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Gemma spoke. "It means if you do business with someone, even a friend, get a good, clear contract and later on there won't be any drama."

"Oh, thanks."

Henri sipped his coffee. "So you'll be a Darlington player and I won’t. That's a hell of a twist. May I come to watch you play?"

"You'll be playing at the same time as me," I said.

"I'll get 5 yellow cards so I can miss a game," he said.

I checked his player profile history tab - he'd only been booked 3 times the previous season. Strange, given how combative he was. "It's a 30 pound fine every time you get booked, right? I don't have to pay 3 pounds of that, do I?"

"No, Max. Do not distress yourself." He leant forward. "Max? I am not satisfied. We've cleared up the business and we should all be celebrating. Where's the Max who led the Knights to victory, who stood up to the problematic parents, who stormed the Chester castle? What's wrong, Max? Everything has turned out well, no?"

"In some ways, yes," I said. "There's just one thing." I looked at the clock. Time was wasting. Why not shut my mouth and let things play out the way I'd designed? I glanced at Henri and Emma. If I couldn't open up to them, who could I talk to? "I don't want to play for Darlington."

Henri was silent. He was looking at me the way I sometimes looked at him - a complete failure to understand the other's motivations.

Emma said, "Why not, Max?"

"They won't let me manage the youth teams. That's the main reason I'm becoming a player - to get reputation so I can become a manager. And I'm unhappy with Cutter. He shouldn't have put me through that trial. But most of all, it's not really Darlington. It's football itself." I looked at Emma. "I think I painted you a romantic view of the sport when we met. And I stand by everything I said. I love it. When I'm watching on TV, that is. Or managing. It's different when I play." I took a big spoon from the table and saw myself in it, distorted and upside down. I put it back. "You might find this hard to believe," I said with a tiny smile, "but some people find me quite annoying. And I'm even more annoying as a football player. I've been the most fouled player on every team I've ever played for. And it's worse now. I'm not playing against kids or teenagers, I'm playing against grown men and they don't like being humiliated. And when they kick me, I stay kicked. I don't want to spend half my life on crutches for slightly more money than I got at the call centre!"

"So don't play like that, Max," said Henri.

"Okay," I said, with a little heat, "and you'll stop having a 90-minute war with a defender every time you play?"

He acknowledged the point. "Touché."

"Okay, listen everyone," I said, looking at the time. "I'm sorry I wasn't at a hundred percent this morning. But Henri's decision is a weight off my shoulders. A big one. I think I've found a kind of career shortcut. The maximum progress with the minimum risk. With a bit of luck, anyway. Let's go sign these papers. Then I'll tell you my plan and you can tell me if it's insane."

"Your plan?" said Emma, with a quirky little smile, as though she'd been with me from the start watching me try and fail and try again. Another plan? her smile seemed to say. Go on then, I imagined her saying with pretend resignation but real enjoyment. Let's hear it.

Suddenly, I felt warm. Energy was flooding into me from all around. Emma? My dream woman. Gemma? She was wonderful. Henri? A little prince. When I spoke, for the first time in days I spoke with charisma. This was the man Emma had traveled to see.

“Plan step one. Complete the seduction of a Frenchman.” Gemma looked from me to her date, mouth open. “Henri, do you take me as your lawfully-wedded agent? Till June 2023 do us part, with an option to extend?”

He grinned. “I do.”

“Emma and Gemma. Do you allow me to take you to watch two men unite in a civil ceremony?”

“We do,” said Emma. There was another under-the-table kick, and Emma burst out laughing at her friend’s horrified expression.