In Pieces (26 page)

‘Yeah, I'd love that. Next time I'm down, okay?'

‘Okay,' exclaimed Ricky and punched Jimmy on the arm.

‘Didn't you say you had to be going or something….' Si prompted.

‘Yeah, I should really.' Jimmy left reluctantly after executing some extraordinary American basketball handshake which Ricky taught him in less than twenty seconds.

‘Great guy, really cool.'

‘Yeah, he is. We should go too. There's just time for a quick pint before the match.'

They walked back outside into the crowds of milling supporters. Si wondered what Jimmy had been on about. Surely he wasn't telling the truth? And if so, why had he never mentioned it before? The meeting, about which he'd had serious reservations, had gone well. But Si was left deeply puzzled.

~

The Sleeper had been in the pub about an hour and was on his third pint when a ginger bloke sat down beside him. They both stared up at the big TV screen and watched the soccer. The pub groaned as
Man U failed to score. But it didn't matter as they were winning 1-0 already. The Sleeper had always supported United, since he was a wee kid. So he didn't mind waiting. In fact, he was almost hoping no one would come.

‘Your team is winning?' carrot head asked after a while.

‘Wha'?' The Sleeper jumped at the expected words. ‘Oh, yeah, a walkover,' he blurted, completing the sequence.

The man raised his fiery eyebrows and leaned over. ‘Call me Ginger.'

The Sleeper wanted to crack a joke about the name, he was so nervous. But he managed to restrain himself. ‘Right you are. Pleased to meet you. I'm…'

‘I know who you are. You're Baa.' His laugh was unpleasant.

‘What do you mean? How do you know that name?'

‘Ah, we know a lot about you. Don't forget it.'

‘Now wait a mo…' But the protest was feeble and Ginger brushed it aside.

‘What are you drinking? Eh? D'you want a drink or not?'

‘Bitter,' the Sleeper muttered.

‘Bitter? English bitter? You'll not have a Caffery's with me?'

This didn't sound like a question, so the Sleeper nodded.

‘Good lad.' Ginger patted him on the shoulder and pushed through the crowd to the bar.

As he waited, he watched that new signing, Jimmy Sweeny, score a great goal from the edge of the penalty box. He was a steal at the price, thought the Sleeper, and Millwall must be kicking themselves for not asking more. You could say one thing for Ferguson: despite his many critics, he bought his players well. Apart from Andy Cole, perhaps. But even there the Sleeper wasn't sure… Everyone had said Sweeny was past it. Even a keen football fan like the Sleeper had never heard of him till two months before. But since Sweeny signed for United he'd done really well.

This pleasant distraction ended as carrot head returned.

‘You know, we only got your letter the other day. Thought we'd lost you, not hearing anything for four months.'

‘I posted it when I moved. I don't know what could have happened to it.'

‘Is that so, now? Sure, the date on the letter suggests you're telling the truth. But the postmark was for March so it must have been sitting somewhere for months. Anyway, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Lucky for you it got to us in the end.'

‘Why lucky for me?'

Ginger looked around before replying, and then spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Because, eejit, otherwise you might have missed out on your chance to change the course of history and fight for Ireland.' He explained briefly that the cease-fire was fragile and that soon it would be broken. ‘Who knows when or where. But when it does… You'll be ready.'

The Sleeper nodded. Why did he feel so uncomfortable? Wasn't this what he'd come to London for all those months ago? Wasn't this the chance he'd been waiting for? Had he changed so much? Or perhaps, just grown up a bit? For Christ's sake, he was only just twenty. But then he realised he was being stupid, and tried to shut out such weak thoughts. He steeled himself. ‘Right. Go on.'

~

It was the night before Manchester United played away to Middlesborough. Newcastle United would be playing Tottenham Hotspur at home the same day. After Newcastle's victory against Leeds, it had looked like the two teams chasing the Premiership title would be on equal points for the last matches of the season. But because they conceded a late equaliser in their match against Nottingham Forest, Newcastle now found themselves two points behind United.

To win the Championship, Newcastle needed to win and hope that United lost. United, on the other hand, only needed a draw to be sure of the Championship on superior goal difference.

 

 

Jimmy knew he should be feeling relaxed. But although his team were now firm favourites to win the Championship, he was nervous as hell. It might be United's third title in four years, but it would be his first. And what if he made a mistake which led to United losing? It didn't bear thinking about.

‘I could murder a pint…' he groaned.

His teammates, sitting with him in the hotel watching Saturday night TV, laughed. ‘Some chance.' Alcohol was banned until after the FA Cup Final next week. It was going to be a tough seven days as United attempted to repeat the Double. It still seemed like a dream to Jimmy. Only a few months before he'd been a nobody, stuck at Millwall. Now he was participating in football history. Sometimes he didn't want to blink, fearing he'd wake up.

‘I think I'll crash out,' he said.

‘Yeah, not a bad idea,' said one of the more experienced players.

‘Night.'

‘Night.' Jimmy sloped from the room. He was terrified at the thought of tomorrow's match. Terrified, but exhilarated. It would be broadcast around the world to countries of which he'd never even heard. Amazing. To be so small yet so universal… He thought about his family and friends. I bet
Si'll be watching, he reassured himself. He tried ringing him from his room. But there was no answer. Probably at The Feathers, thought Jimmy enviously.

Downstairs the other players were finishing up their orange juices and mineral waters. ‘Nice guy, Jimmy.'

‘Yeah, but I hope he doesn't go soft on us tomorrow.'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘Well, he's only just made the big time. Pressure could get to him, know what I mean?'

‘Oh right. Like you're not going to feel the pressure at all tomorrow, eh?'

‘Well…'

‘Well what?'

‘Yeah, I suppose you're right. It's going to be a big one.'

‘Mmmm…' An apprehensive silence descended. ‘But you may have a point. After all, he's only played ten full matches. Hope he stays cool.'

‘Yeah, we could do with a goal from him too.'

‘It'd be nice.'

‘Yeah. Wouldn't it.' And with that, feeling slightly less nervous about their own prospects, they also went upstairs to bed.

~

Jimmy needn't have worried about the match against Middlesborough. David May headed an early goal to put Manchester United in front, and then as Andy Cole acrobatically flicked the second into the net, Tottenham scored against Newcastle. Jimmy had a quiet day, although he supplied the pass which allowed Ryan Giggs to score the third. Three nil to United. Champions yet again.

 

Si watched his friend running round the pitch draped in a United scarf, red, black and white clashing wildly with United's blue away strip. The camera caught Jimmy looking like a startled rabbit as he held up the huge trophy. He kept it at arm's length as if the silver object might bite. The look of disbelief and amazed pleasure was mirrored on Si's face in The Feathers.

‘Our lad did well,' said someone.

‘He did, he did,' agreed Si coughing away, a husky edge to his voice. He wiped a rogue tear surreptitiously, hoping no one would notice.

Mary sat next to him. She'd agreed to come and watch in honour of the occasion and because their relationship was on an up-turn after a difficult period. They'd both agreed to try harder to compromise and share their time. ‘Why are you crying?' she demanded.

‘No, I'm not crying… It's the smoke, that's all.'

‘Ridiculous. It's only a football match.'

Si thought better of replying. He didn't want an argument to spoil the moment.

‘When are you going to introduce me to your famous friend then? It's about time.'

‘Who, Jimmy? Well, I've tried, you know. But either you didn't turn up or it didn't work out for some reason.'

Mary sniffed derisively. ‘You haven't tried very hard.'

‘Fine, fine. I'd love you two to meet. I'll work something out soon. Next time Jimmy's in London, okay? But it'll probably be after the Cup Final. I imagine he'll be totally caught up before then.'

‘When's that?'

‘Next Saturday.'

‘Does that mean we have to watch it?'

Si looked at her sadly. ‘You don't need to if you don't want to. I wouldn't have any difficulty in getting rid of the ticket.' Si knew that Ricky for one would leap at it.

‘Oh, so we're going to the match?'

‘Yeah, if you feel like it.'

‘That's different. I just didn't fancy sitting in this grotty pub again cricking my neck to see the screen.' Mary brightened. ‘I've never been to Wembley.'

‘No, I don't suppose you have.'

‘How exciting.'

Si looked at his girlfriend suspiciously. But there was no trace of irony in her expression.

Si reflected on Jimmy's achievement as United celebrated the first leg of the Double. League Champions, and Jimmy was one of them. That alone was more than most people achieved in a lifetime. And of course, there could be more to come. Manchester United had to win the FA Cup Final against the mighty Liverpool if they were going to achieve the Double for the second time… The Double Double. Jimmy had a real chance of achieving a certain immortality: to become one of the elite whose names would be recited reverentially by schoolboys for decades to come (‘Jimmy Sweeny… He won the Double with United in 1996, didn't he?' ‘Yeah.' ‘Wow, I'd love to meet him someday'). But to do that he'd need to get a game at Wembley and United would have to win—a team like Liverpool wouldn't be a walkover. It was far from certain that Jimmy would be picked.
There were plenty of experienced players, household names, trying to edge him out and regain their places.

But for the moment the sun was shining on Jimmy. Next week's Cup Final would come soon enough, thought Si.

~

‘I watched this programme last night.'

‘Yeah?' Bill stirred his coffee, listening to his immediate boss more out of duty than interest. The morning had been slow so far.

‘Yeah, they were debating whether to put the national sports stadium in Manchester or London.'

‘And?'

‘Well, they couldn't decide.'

‘They've got one already. Wembley.'

‘I know, but they want to build a new one.'

‘Oh.'

‘So they asked if it'd be necessary to knock down Wembley.'

‘Weird.'

‘Yeah, perhaps. And if it was going to be at Wembley, they'd knock down the old one.'

‘So?'

‘So, someone said something really interesting.'

‘What?'

‘They asked would we need to deny British fans three years of international sport while they rebuilt the stadium.'

Bill looked mystified. He wasn't used to Si being so garrulous.

‘D'you see? It's a bit like Britain's problems on a bigger scale. Like if we're going to sort out the UK, perhaps we need to start from scratch and reinvent ourselves to fit into the modern world. That might take at least three years of denial, but the end result would justify it. D'you see?' Si was becoming whimsical.

‘It's a bit early,' mumbled Bill.

Si looked hard at him. Then caught himself. ‘Yeah, I guess you're right. Let's leave the thinking until after lunch. Let's just get on with some journalism, eh?'

‘Yeah, sounds good to me,' nodded Bill, obviously relieved.

‘So, who d'you think'll win the Cup Final, then?'

~

Jimmy didn't sleep a wink the night before Manchester United played Liverpool in the FA Cup Final. He'd been floating on air since collecting his Championship medal the week before, but at about midnight the magnitude of what was still to come hit him like a revelation. If he was to be part of the first English football team ever to achieve the Double Double, he'd need to help United win tomorrow at Wembley.

Alex Ferguson had not announced the team publicly, but Jimmy knew he was in the side. There had been a team meeting on Thursday behind closed doors when the team had been read out. To his amazement, Jimmy found himself in the starting line-up. Famous players with much more experience, such as Lee Sharpe and even the club captain Steve Bruce, were left out.