23 - Whoever Has Will Be Given More [T1] (Patreon)

[Triple. Chapter. Triple chapter. Again!]

23.

I knocked on the door of a shitty terraced house in north Manchester. If you don't know what a terraced house is, don't imagine a place with 2,000 football fans living on the side - it's not that kind of terrace. I think in some countries they're called row houses. You might remember that I used to live in one. That was in the old days, though. Now, I'd moved up, skipping the semi-detached phase of the property ladder, going all the way to detached. Next stop, the moon!

"Max! Long time no see."

"Chris," I said, stepping into the house. It was getting cold. I pulled the door closed behind me.

"Will I put the kettle on?"

"No, thanks. I need to grab a box and bring it to the home."

"Your mum? How is she?"

I mentally gritted my teeth. Chris was my cousin or second cousin or some shit, and thus was one of my closest living relatives. He was a good guy, a charming guy, a talented guy, a guy who had decided to live on the dole (i.e. getting unemployment benefits) and smoking weed pretty much constantly. When I was a kid I was in awe of his artistic abilities. He drew incredible little comic strips that made me crack up laughing. Once I'd scanned them, he'd take them back off me and keep shading and shading until - in my opinion - he ruined them. He never grew out of this self-destructiveness and seeing him waste his life infuriated me to the point I actively avoided him. "She's..." I bit back a vicious remark. Needless. Come on, Max. "She's actually doing better. She'd love you to pop in."

"Yeah! Sure, I'll be there," he lied, the twat.

I sighed. Incredible self-control. Without asking, I jogged up his stairs, let myself up into his attic and found a certain cardboard box. All the contents were still inside, which was a relief. Chris wasn't such a fiend he'd sell the family silver for one more hit, but you never knew who he might befriend. Anyway, seeing all my mum's stuff taken care of (or at least not despoiled) made me sentimental, and made me vow to be a fraction nicer to Chris in the 8 seconds before I left his house.

I slid down the ladder and folded it back up against the ceiling.

"Christ, Max," he said. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're fit. You look strong. You're... are you taller? You on steroids or something?"

"Something a lot more powerful," I said, going down the stairs. "Chris, go and see my mum. I'll be busy for a while. In Durham."

"The city?"

"The county. Just check in on her. Please."

He scratched the back of his head. "All right. I'll... yeah. Sure."

"One more thing." I got close to him. Uncomfortably close. "Don't talk to anyone about me." He looked alarmed. "And don't believe anything you read."

Chris licked his lips. "Uh... right. Hey, Max. What's in the box?"

My humorous reply was and is a spoiler for a great movie, so I won't repeat it.

***

"Max! Visiting times are over."

"Stacey, are you seriously going to stop me going in?"

"No, but..." She softened. I was always nice to the nurses. Not that nice. Get your mind out of the gutter.

"What time do you finish?"

"Nine."

I pulled a face, and rubbed my lips while calculating. "Is there any leftover food? I am famished. I forgot to eat. It just hit me."

"Your mum never finishes her spag bol. There's probably half a plate in her room."

I laughed at the absurdity of it all. I was a big-shot football star now. Why I was I eating cold leftovers? "I'll take a look. Is there a microwave I can use?"

"I'll do it for you."

I adjusted the box. "I'm going now," I said, dramatically. "I may be some time."

She laughed.

As soon as she was safely behind me, my cheeky smile vanished.

***

"Max, is that you?"

"Yes. How are you doing?"

"Well. But I'm confused. What time is it? What's in the box?"

"Some old stuff. No, you stay in bed for now. I need to set it up."

With great difficulty, she pushed herself to the edge of the medical bed, then caught her breath. "Stop at once. I am detecting residual spiritual emanations from the box. I wish to examine it."

I smiled. "Anna, I promise you, there are no emanations from this box."

"Tisch. I can feel it from here. Just let me... steel myself."

I left the box and went over to her. I bent to peer into her eyes, as though that was some kind of medical test. She didn't seem to mind. How many tests a week was she subjected to? "You're not in peak condition."

She scoffed. "Peak condition was fifty years ago, young man." She coughed a couple of times. Not like in the movies where they cough and you know they're going to die soon. Her amusement turned to wonder. "You didn't come to talk to your mother."

"No."

"And you don't need Solly."

"No. Where is the little prick?"

"He isn't... that. He's in with Jessica Avery. She needs him. So..." She closed her eyes. I thought she was asleep, but she was just thinking. "I can't for the life of me imagine why you're here." She opened her eyes. "You're different. Your aura has changed."

"In what way?"

"More light. But more dark, too. Fascinating boy." She lowered her head as though steeling for the ordeal of standing up.

"Anna," I murmured. "Will you let me carry you?"

"Of course not! Foolish child. I am not so infirm. Not yet."

"Right," I said. "But you are. And I need you."

That made her pause. She reappraised me. "Oh?"

"I need you. I can't let you waste energy on bravado."

She chuckled. "Me? Bravado?"

"Yes, you. Now stay there."

I went back to the area where I'd placed the box and moved some items around. Pulled a table slightly away from the wall. Took a photo of her ornaments and photos and shit so that I'd be able to put them back where they'd been. I shoved them all away. Moved some chairs. I paced around, looking at the area from all angles. I narrowed my eyes at the windows; I closed them all, peeked out into the grounds, and shut the curtains. Finally, I closed my eyes and thought things through. "Will you be warm enough over here for a while?"

"A while?"

"An hour?"

"Yes. But you may bring my cardy."

"Cardy?"

"I thought that was Manchester-speak for cardigan."

I nodded and got the garment. I spotted some slippers with suspicious bite marks. "Are they for you or the dog?"

"Both."

"We're nearly ready. How about a hot drink?"

She spoke then looked away quickly. Ashamed to confess weakness. "Later. If you need my energy, I suggest you don't waste time."

I went to the bed and thought about how to pick her up. I shifted to the right of her so I could put my left hand under her left thigh and my right behind her back. Before doing it, I eyed her. She gave me the go-ahead. I picked her up - it was like lifting a sack of doughnut holes - and she put her arms around my neck for stability. We walked across the room.

"Max," she whispered. "Wait." I waited. "Go to the mirror."

I went to the floor-to-not-ceiling mirror. We looked like a romantic vision from a black-and-white movie. A cavalryman, tall and strong, carrying off some woman in a flowing dressing gown. I wondered what face she was seeing instead of mine. "Would you like me to look away?" I was offering to make it easier to remember whichever dashing young Pole had swept her away from whatever ballroom they'd courted in.

"You're not so bad looking. For an English."

Just as I suspected! She was so deep in her memory she was thinking in Polish. I wondered how often that happened, these days.

"We continue," she whispered. I took her to the chair and set her down. It was insane to do things in this order, but such was my life. She took a moment to revivify herself. I went over to the phone by her bed and called reception. I asked Stacey to bring us some drinks. It wasn't really her job, but Anna was popular.

I'd set up a second chair with its back to the wall, facing Anna. She was touching the box with both hands. "What do you sense?"

"Positive energy. Optimism. Love."

"Tell me when I can open it."

"You may."

I sprang to my feet and began emptying the contents.

It was my old computer. My one-time pride and joy. I nearly burst into tears when I saw it again. AMD processor; Radeon graphics card; Windows 7. For about twenty seconds, I looked at the back of the machine, stupefied by the weird, random holes and slots. Would I be able to reassemble this? I felt like someone in Star Trek encountering a dead civilisation and needing to work out how to use their tech in order to send an SOS. But then I clipped the monitor into its slot, and everything else came flooding back. I assembled it and turned it on. The boot-up sequence was as nostalgic as an old school photo.

I plugged the mouse in and put Anna's hand on it. "Do you know how to use a computer?" I said.

She inhaled. "Max Best. Have you ever heard of ICQ?"

"No."

"Then do not be a moron. I was using the internet before you were born. What are we doing here?"

I glanced at the screen. Windows was still thinking about loading. I sat and leant forward. "Anna, do you believe in God?"

"Yes."

"So you believe in the devil?"

"One doesn't follow the other."

"Do you or not?"

She gave me a curious look. "I do not. Evil doesn't need an avatar." She tilted her head. "Do you believe in the devil?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe in God?"

"No."

She laughed. "Your position is less rational than mine."

"I have evidence," I said.

"We all have evidence of the existence of evil."

"I don't mean that. I mean - " Stacey came in with some herbal teas. She stared at the computer and the fact that Anna was out of bed. She raised her eyebrows but left without a word. "Anna, here's the thing. I met a guy. And since then, everything's been bonkers. Okay, wait. The desktop is up. See the cursor? Tell me when it stops spinning. So this guy. He took away one of my memories. I think. Of a computer game about football. I think. And he used it to... hmm." For the millionth time, I replayed what I remembered of my conversation with Nick in the park. "He used it to make my wish come true. It's one of those cursed wishes." I shuddered. I hadn't said the word curse out loud since it had happened. I looked at my wrist - it was covered in goosebumps. "And now he's mad that I'm... I don't know. Overpowered."

She took her hand off the mouse and leaned back. "Why are you telling me this? Why me?"

I indicated her books on astrology, her tarot cards, her crystals. "I need someone I can trust completely. Someone who understands esoteric things." My eyebrows shot up when I realised one of the reasons I hadn't admitted to myself. "Yeah, and I need someone who won't laugh at me. I know this is insane."

"You don't seem particularly insane. You seem afraid. But calm. The icon is no longer spinning."

I glanced at the monitor. There was one part of the screen that I couldn't see. It was blurred and unwelcoming. I pointed to it. "There's something here. Something about football."

"There's a picture of a football."

That was easy. "Can you double-click it, please?"

"This seems like something you could do, Max," she said, as the mouse made a familiar keek keek noise.

"I can't," I said. "That's the point. He's removed and protected the memory so completely that when I try to get close to it, I get a headache. I'm supposed to sort of learn it all again, step by step. It's the price of my powers. Got to put the time in."

She gave me a sharp look. "Perhaps you should follow the rules."

"If you start getting a headache, we'll stop right away." Her face told me that was not what she was worried about. I continued. "This isn't breaking the rules. You might consider this... checking what the rules are."

Anna looked dubious. "What now?"

I looked at the screen and was overwhelmed by a tide of nausea. "I'm sorry, Anna, but I'm going to have to ask you to describe what you can see."

"You can't... you can't see it?"

"No. It's distorted and crazy. It makes me sick."

"I'll describe what I see but I would like you to tell me the whole story from start to finish."

"Maybe," I said. It would be nice to tell someone, that was for sure. "But let's solve the mystery first. If you have spare energy, then we'll see. Otherwise, some other time."

She inhaled in a way that suggested she didn't really believe me. "There are many boxes that I could click. What are we looking for?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I think it's a game. I'm the manager of a team. Is there one that says 'go to team' or something?"

"Start new game," she said. "Restore saved game. Network play."

"That's it!" I said, a film of sweat pushing itself out of my skull and onto my forehead. "Restore game. Choose that."

I heard the hard drive go clicky click. Had it always been that irregular? A bead of sweat dribbled down my spine. What if the drive died right now? What would I do then? Anna peered at the monitor. "It's a list of filenames. Manchester United 2. Manchester United 1. Queen's Park. Carlisle United."

"Yes!" I said, trying to smooth a vein that was throbbing on my temple. "Mum said I was always Carlisle. Being Man U was too easy. Choose the Carlisle one."

I heard the click of the mouse and the click of the drive. "Good. New screen. At the top it says Max Best News. Ah... It seems to be a message. Like Twitter. The 5 goals scored by Tonton Zola Moukouko in the Worthington Cup is a new record."

Worthington Cup! That was one of the many past names for the League Cup. It was currently called the Carabao Cup. That phrase would allow me to carbon date this data to within a few years. My pulse accelerated. Forbidden knowledge was a few well chosen words away! "Amazing!" I murmured. "What else?"

She looked up, a little flash of annoyance. "There's a lot on the screen, Max. I don't know what you need to know."

"That's okay. I know this will be frustrating. Maybe just say things at random."

She cleared her throat and picked up her tea. It was still too hot. "On the side there are boxes like Continue Game, Max Best, Competitions."

"Choose Max Best."

"You would say that... Oh. There's a lot of new things here." She closed her eyes and grimaced. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Did you say this was a game? It seems to be a databank. I once had to learn SQL. Okay. Breathe, Anna. This is a list of names. After every name is something. A code."

"Give me an example."

"Smith, GK."

"That means goalkeeper."

"Of course. I get it now. What is... AM RC?"

"Attacking midfielder right or centre. Don't get stressed trying to understand everything. Can you please click on the AM RC guy?" Close, now! My heart was struggling. Trying to play Beethoven. Dum dum DUM dum!

"Done. New screen. It seems to be the databank entry for that footballer."

"Does it say things like acceleration, heading, dribbling... and a number?"

"Yes, exactly."

Dum dumdum dum dumdum dum. I was starting to feel lightheaded. Lack of food or the thrill of discovery? Fear? I saw Old Nick up on the balcony, flames either side of him. The smell of brimstone. How would I know what brimstone smelled like? I let the moment pass through me. "Can you go back to the previous screen?"

"Oh. How? Never mind. Yes. Done."

"Does it say Max Best as one of the players?"

"No."

"Huh." I rubbed my lips. Without being able to see the screen, this was incredibly difficult. A brute force attack would do, but I couldn't push Anna too far. I had to be scientific. What would a scientist do?

"Found it," she said.

"What?"

"There's a button that says Find. I clicked on it and typed Max Best. There was one entry. It says Max Best, Barcelona. Should I click on it?"

Max Best, Barcelona? What? "Er... yes, please."

"Okay. Now what?"

"Er... You can see the acceleration and everything else?"

"No. Only some of the things. With the other one I could see a lot more."

"Tell me some you can see."

"Acceleration. Bravery. Dribbling."

"Finishing?"

"No."

"Teamwork?"

"No."

"Jumping?"

"Yes."

I flexed my fingers. They felt like all the blood had been pushed out, like I'd slept on them. When I flexed, I felt the blood rushing around. Horrible.

"Max? What does this mean?"

"It's fine. It makes sense."

"It does?"

"Yes. The things you can see there are the things I could see the day I got cursed. I've added to my knowledge since then, but what you can see is how it was on day one."

"Why is some of it missing? The other player had more data fields."

"Because..." I said. Why was it? I understood why the curse blocked some entries for modern-day me - it wanted me to grind to unlock new skills. But in the game I played years ago? "It's the fog of war," I said. "The first player you looked at is in my team. I see him every day so I know everything about him. But this Max Best person, he's gone to Barcelona. I knew about him at one point, but I lost track of him over time. I suppose if we play Barcelona I'll re-learn everything about him."

This was fascinating - to me at least - but I was burning through Anna's precious energy. I needed to get to the point. She was engaged, though. "Would it help if I went back to the first player and told you the missing fields? One was aggression."

Oh! "That's good to know. But I don't want to push my luck. Like you say, I should follow the rules. Mostly. So... this screen you're looking at. Max Best, the player. Let me guess. For all his attributes, the number afterwards is 20."

"That's right."

"Like, all of them?"

"Yes."

I laughed. A kind of disbelieving exclamation. I was such a prick. "Is there a place where it says PA and CA?"

"PA and CA?" Her eyes darted around all over the place, but never locked on. "No. At least, not that I can see." She was starting to struggle.

"Nearly done, I promise. The codes for the position. Like AM RC. Can you see that?"

"Yes. GK; SW; D LRC; DM LRC; M LRC; AM LRC, F LRC, ST."

I laughed some more. By now I was equal parts fearful and giddy.

"It's so fascinating. Thank you, Anna." I squeezed and rubbed my eyebrows between my middle finger and thumb. This was what I'd driven for 3 hours for. This was what I'd abandoned Emma for. What else could the computer tell me? A lot, probably. But how much did I want to tax Anna? And was I potentially putting her at risk by including her in this little escapade? "Just one last thing. Can you do the findy thing and type... Haaland." I spelled it for her.

"One result. Alf-Inge Haaland."

I clapped my hands together. "That's his father. Amazing." I grinned for a while. "Can you exit the... the programme?"

"Ah..." She clicked a few times, then her head sank. The fact she was too tired to even say 'done' was concerning. I picked her up and put her in bed. Tucked her in. Went to open the curtains. I turned the PC off and packed it away. I left the box by the door, then restored all her ornaments to the way they were.

I sat by Anna's bed. Her skin suddenly seemed thin, like a butterfly's wing. I took her hand and held it. After a while, she let out a slow sigh. Had she died? Had I fucking killed her? I must have expressed panic through the muscles in my fingers because her eyes opened and an amused smile crossed her lips. "No chance I'm crossing over until you explain what that little charade was about."

"Great," I said. "So if I don't tell you, you'll live forever."

"Max," she said.

"Can I eat cold spaghetti while I tell you?"

"Uhh," she said, which seemed more like a yes than anything. So I snuck into mum's room next door and used my phone's flashlight to look for leftover scran.

***

Anna was halfway asleep when I came back with the plate. I guessed that she'd enjoy me telling her about Nick. Bedtime stories for people who believe in crystals and angels. As for me, maybe it'd be cathartic. Maybe it'd help get my thoughts in order.

I wolfed down the food; it calmed me marvellously.

After sipping her tea, Anna indicated that I should begin.

"Right. The adventures of Max Best. See, I was thinking maybe I'd met the devil. But there's no chance. The guy I met was looking for action on the side streets of Manchester. If I was the devil I'd be at Davos and have a helipad in Washington and a yacht in Monaco. Moss Side, Manchester? Forget it. So, I met a demon, maybe." I let out a single laugh. "I don't believe any of this stuff. Listen to me talk like I'm an expert in demonology. The seven layers of hell."

"Nine," she whispered.

"Really? That many? Huh. So. This guy. Tries to get me to sell my soul or some shit. I'm not that keen. He starts talking about wishes. I'm salivating about hobnobs and I think he's a Polish plumber or something so I humour him."

"The devil isn't Polish," she said.

"Can you please? Thanks. So this Polish guy tricks me into making a wish. Fine. He grants my wish. Fine. Insane, but fine. I get on with my life. But now he's acting like I've broken the deal or whatever. But there wasn't a deal. In this kind of story, you get something you think you want and later find out you don't want it. Right? That's how it goes. So what's he mad about? Here's the kick - he's mad because he's accidentally turned me into a top footballer."

"Pardon me?"

"I know. And I know what his plan was. He wanted me to have the ability to be a top manager, but be unable to ever get a job. Like one of those Greek dudes who knows the future but no-one believes him. A lifetime of torment, yeah? That's Nick's plan, right? But see, he doesn't know the first thing about football. But he knows that I do. The first thing, at least. Right? So he peeks inside my little head and finds this treasure trove of info. Players, tactics, formations. It's all there, stored in a set of memories called Champion Manager. That's the programme you were just helping me with. Apparently, despite appearances it is a game and I used to play it endlessly. So Nick's laughing. All he has to do is turn my memories of the computer game into a... into an interface. And delete the memories and stop me recreating them. He's basically taken the game and turned it into real life. Amazing. Efficient. Or maybe... lazy? And he's made one big mistake. I seem to have been playing an old version of the game. Ancient. In using the game as his interface, he's also used the players from the database and made their stats come true. All those players are probably retired now. There might be a few still knocking around, but they're all old so no-one will notice if they are suddenly ten percent faster or slower. But guess what? I was an insufferable little shit as a teenager - no surprise there - and I found a way to edit the database. My mum said, 'he put himself in the game'. I thought she was having an episode, but no. That was a vivid memory of something that happened. But I didn't just put myself in the game. I made myself into a superstar! Beyond superstar, really. The first time I played football since meeting Nick, I got this crazy sense of... disconnection. Nothing was right. I was existing on two planes. When it finally resolved, I was me, but I was also Max Best."

"Uuh?"

"From the game. The guy you saw from Barcelona. Knowing me, I probably made myself start in the team I was managing. Carlisle. But then another team scouted me and bought me. So Max Best the manager was unable to keep Max Best the player. Rebelling against authority, as per usual, even when that authority is me. Yeah, when I played for Ziggy's team, it got confused and decided to merge the files. But that's wild. That means when I was at FC United, Jackie thought the old Max Best had potential. Maybe I was good!"

"Uuuh." She didn't understand.

"Don't worry. The upshot is I'm... really good at football, now. I don't know what my CA and PA are. I don't know if I knew about those things back then. It could be that I've got 20 in all my attributes but I'm still CA 1. That would explain a lot. The curse doesn't help me to know where to stand and how to deal with problems in a match. I'll still have to learn loads. But I'm probably already good enough to become a star." I clicked my fingers. "That's it! That's what Nick is worried about. If I get world famous or whatever, the other demons will realise someone made a mistake. Nick will get done." That thought delighted and terrified me. "So... he's probably going to try to stop me... But I need to get a bit famous to become a manager. What does he think? I'm not going to use this talent because he took a shortcut? He's clueless. I made 2,000 pounds today." Visions of whirlpools and supermodels and fast cars. "On the other hand... if he can change the world to fit how the game worked... what else can he do?"

"Boil you and eat you and repeat every day for the rest of eternity."

"Yeah," I said. "But two thousand pounds. That's a lot of avocado on toast."

"Max."

"I could use this talent to make a ton of money. Take proper care of my mum. And you."

"You're not my family. You don't owe me anything."

"I'm a footballer, now. I don't have families. I have teams. And you're on my team. I'm going to hire some guy to come here dressed as a hussar and read Adam Mickiewicz to you in the original Polish."

She laughed and turned away. A moment later, she turned back to face me. "I don't understand why Solly disapproved of you. A rare mistake. But you must not use this power if it means angering this demon. I speak for myself and for your mother. We do not want your help if that is the cost."

"Okay," I said. "I hear you. I promise I will not use my powers ever again. Starting... now."

She shook her head. A little bit amused, a little bit angry. "Solly is always proven right. Just... please don't do anything rash. Please."

***

I didn't sleep. One, because my house - the one I was supposed to have evolved away from - was sub-zero. I'd turned the heating to a bare minimum so the pipes wouldn't freeze and got home too late for the place to really warm up. Two, because the thrill of discovery had ebbed away by the time my head hit the pillow. Now all I could think of was some fragment of demon lore from a book or movie - they got you in your dreams, didn't they? The thought stressed me out.

To make matters worse, I had packed almost everything I owned and brought it all to Darlington. I still had my bed and bedding, but no phone chargers. So I couldn't even play a tower defence game to pass the time. I turned my phone off so I'd have enough battery to get through most of tomorrow, then stared at the ceiling.

***

Sunday, November 20th.

The day the World Cup would start. The first ever winter World Cup, the first in the middle-east, the last chance for Messi to fulfil the prophecy and lift the trophy.

I stayed in bed for as long as possible, but when I turned my phone back on it was still only 4am. Absolute nightmare. If the monthly perk had appeared I would have had something to think about, but it was conspicuous by its absence.

This was crazy-making. Not half a day ago, I'd made two grand in 45 minutes' work, yet here I was still freezing to death, still lacking the ready cash to go and treat myself to an early breakfast. Where could I go that was warm? On a Sunday morning? Maybe there was an obvious place, but I was too cold to think rationally.

There followed hour after hour of torture-by-cold, which put me in a pissed off, acerbic, defiant kind of mood. Pretty much the perfect vibe for the next item in my diary.

***

It was close to 11 when I moved the chair a little closer and opened the door another crack. No-one could see me, I was sure. I opened it another half an inch to let as much sound in as poss. A deep, resonant voice rang out.

"Not so long ago, we had an unexpected visitor. Many of you remember his... dramatic entrance." The voice chuckled. "Mr Best returned and I was foolish enough to ask if he enjoyed my sermon. He told me off. Your sermons are too long, he said. I could do it in five minutes." Lots of chuckles from the congregation. "I said I would like to hear a sermon of his. Imagine my surprise when he invited himself to do just that! Today, we have competing speakers, ladies and gentlemen! One of five minutes, one of fifty. Afterwards, you may tell me which one you preferred. As long as it's mine." A little bit of hubbub. Nothing like this had ever happened before. "I must say, I am burning with curiosity. Please help me to welcome... Mr Best."

Warm applause. I rose, went through the door and up to the pulpit. Lots of intrigued faces were checking me out. There was a section of the pews that I studiously ignored.

"Thank you, pastor," I said. I tapped on my phone until a 'big clock' app appeared with a 5-minute timer. I showed the screen to the congregation, and that got a laugh. I invited the pastor to touch the screen to start the timer, and that got another one.

I looked around at south Manchester's Ghanaian community. I'm not sure if they were good Christians or if it was more that they had to show up to church to fit in. I cleared my throat. "I'm very grateful to Pastor Yaw, but I shouldn't be here. I don't believe what you believe. I would happily lie and cheat to get what I want from you. There is one way we are alike, and that's the way we all want to make our lives better. I think we make a better world by doing what we're good at, and trying to get better at that thing. And if you're exceptional at something that can make the world a better place, it is infuriating to think you would refuse to use that skill. But hold up! This isn't about my opinions. I already said you shouldn't listen to me. So check this out." I lifted the copy of The Bible that was on the pulpit. "I'm going to read from this. Just read with no annotations. Well, that was my plan. The problem is I find some of the language incomprehensible, so I'm going to modernise it. Will I get smited?" I said, addressing Yaw directly.

"There will be no smiting today," said Yaw. "I will cut your mic if you are in danger."

"Top. So it's Matthew 25, verse 14," I said.

"Ah!" said Yaw, beaming. "Of course." He looked around to see how many of his flock knew where this was going. He folded his arms, which was an expression of him trying to contain his excitement.

"Once upon a time," I said.

Yaw unfolded himself. "Max, no. Bible stories do not start with Once upon a time. No. Please."

I squashed my lips together in fake annoyance. "The story begins..." I suggested. That got a nod. "With a rich and famous football manager. Actually he was a player-manager and he liked to take all the free kicks and penalties himself. But that's by the by. One day, he got a job offer to go to the far side of the world and commentate on the World Cup. He didn't want to leave his club, but it was silly money so he said 'yeah aight'."

"Max."

"Now, the manager had three talented players. And he said, guys, when I'm away making paper, I need you to step up. We're going to West Brom on Saturday and we need three points. Then it's Stoke and you know how physical they are."

"Max." Yaw had his nose in his fingers, but he was enjoying my performance. What I was saying was actually pretty faithful to the original parable. In my opinion.

"So Max goes off to the World Cup, and yeah he's a big star because he's kinda dreamy and intense and whatnot. And he has a nice time and gets back to his club and he calls in his players, one by one. And he says, Henri, I've been away. What have you been up to? And he says, 'Oh! I scored five goals and got a defender sent off.' And the manager says, 'Well done, you good and faithful servant to the club! Here's your goal bonuses and by the way, you're my new assistant manager'. And he gets the next player. And he says, 'Raffi, what have you been up to?' And the guy says, 'Gaffer! You asked me to dominate the midfield and I did. Look at my tackle and interception stats!' And the manager says, 'I knew I could count on you. You're class. Here's twenty thousand pounds, tax-free.' And the third player comes in. Max says, 'Hey! These other guys have been dominating. What about you?' And the guy says, 'Oh I didn't want to play bad so I said I had a groin strain and got back into Fortnite in a big way.' And the manager says, 'Bro! I'm fining you two week's wages and giving it to the first guy.'" At this point, I read from the actual Bible to make sure the point was unmistakable. "For whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them."

I left a bit of a space there. I'd tried to improve the pacing of the Bible story by cutting out a really weird part, but my version had a beat missing, and there was a general air of confusion. I didn't mind. There was only one person who needed to completely understand what I was saying, and I had no doubt that he knew this verse better than me.

"This story is often called the Parable of the Talents. Talent being an old word for a gold coin. But it's not about money, is it? It is about talent. It's an instruction from God to use the talent he's given you. When you do that, money comes. And so does happiness and fulfilment. That's it. Boom. Can I do a mic drop?"

"No, Mr Best."

"Okay." I showed everyone my clock. Loads of time left. "Follow that!"

"This is not a rap battle, Mr Best." Yaw shook his head at me. "I know which Bible verse will form the basis of next week's sermon. Perhaps in a not-so-modern form."

"Did I get it wrong? The style was flippant but I actually did a lot of research."

"You found in the parable what you wanted to find."

I hesitated, then grinned. "Yeah. I seem to have quite the talent for that. Maybe I should use it more." I gave a jaunty little wave like I'd said something hilarious, then left through the nearest door.

I walked to my car and leaned against it. Waiting for the second most talented footballer I knew.