Wings of a Sparrow

  ‘Well you can thank shit-for-brains for that,’ he said eventually. ‘He was the arsehole who dragged her off to New Zealand.’ The annoyance in his voice was clear, but there was still a twang of hurt in there.

  ‘His name’s Andy dad, and he’s actually a nice bloke.’

  ‘He’s a wanker. I mean what sort of bloke don’t like football?’

  ‘A bloody sensible one,’ sighed Rob.

  It was after one in the morning by the time Rob returned home and he was surprised to find Jane sitting in the living room staring at the TV.

  He forced a smile as she looked up at him and he was immediately struck by how sad and deflated she looked.

  ‘What are you watching?’ he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just on.’

  ‘Oh. You want tea?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Jane holding up a glass of wine. ‘I’m sorted.’

  Rob noticed the slight slurring of her words and made toward the stairs - but after a pace or two, he suddenly changed direction and after grabbing a beer from the fridge, went back to the living room and to her obvious surprise, sat down on the other end of the long sofa.

  ‘How was Charlie?’ she asked.

  ‘OK I suppose. He didn’t say much on the way home. Never does.’

  ‘He hates me.’

  It wasn’t simply the words that shook Rob, it was the way they were delivered. Cold and totally devoid of emotion.

  ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘He does. He’s ashamed of me. So are you, aren’t you?’

  It wasn’t even a real question, more of a statement. Made by someone who had finally resigned themselves to a fate which was entirely of their own making.

  ‘I’m not ashamed of you Jane. It’s just-’ Rob paused, struggling to find the right words to tell her how hurt he’d been by what she’d done. How let down. ‘I know,’ he said softly.

  ‘Know what?’ she asked.

  ‘I know about Brian. I’ve always known.’

  Jane felt the colour drain from her cheeks as she tried to absorb the news that something she’d always considered to be her closest and most intimate secret was actually nothing of the sort. Nor had it ever been. Yet even as she did that, a million other questions jumped into her alcohol-dulled head. How did he know? How could he have never said anything? How could he have carried such hurt in his heart for so long? How different could it all have been if they had talked about it at the time? Or since? Or if she had left?

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked, without looking at him.

  ‘No,’ he replied mournfully. ‘It wouldn’t help now. But the MacDonald thing, it brought it all back.’

  Jane finally turned her head to look at him. She smiled, a sad, tearful and melancholy smile and when she spoke, her voice was heavy with regret.

  ‘I’m so sorry Rob.’

  ‘I know you are love,’ said Rob, forcing a smile through his heartache. ‘Me too.’

  And they cried.

  Chapter Forty

  Having spent much of the Sunday night tearing themselves apart, Rob and Jane spent most of Monday trying to pick up the pieces of their broken marriage and find a way of fitting it all back together.

  Divesting himself of the Brian-related baggage he’d been carrying around for years had been liberating for Rob, even though hearing the full and gory details of the affair had been incredibly painful. He still wasn’t sure if he was ever going to square the fact that his wife had seriously considered leaving both him and their son for another man, but at least now he knew the whole truth and that was something.

  Equally cathartic had been listening to Jane’s concerns and answering all of her questions. Rob had been astonished to hear that his wife had long suspected him of harbouring designs on other women, most recently Joanne, although he was relieved to discover that she’d never thought he had cheated on her. She was sure that if he had, she would have known.

  But in the end, after hours of talking, they had agreed on only two things. First that Charlie’s well-being was paramount and second, if they were serious about trying to fix things, the only way they’d actually be able to do it properly was to take some time out together which at the moment was impossible. As a result, to allow Rob to focus on what was going on at City, the couple had decided to call a truce until the season was over and see where they stood then. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the sensible option.

  However, it was one thing agreeing to park the problems in their relationship for a while, it was quite another to actually do it - and so in an effort to clear his head and get his mind back on track, Rob had left home mid-afternoon and headed for the golf course and a solitary 18 holes of hackery.

  He had just finished the 7th and was walking down a thin gravel path toward the 8th Tee when he spotted a man coming in the opposite direction. Almost instantly he recognised him as Pete MacDonald.

  Rob’s initial instinct was to pull out his driver and beat the shit out of the man who had caused him and his family so much angst. Instead, he simply stopped and stood in the middle of the path until his former club captain looked up from his own thoughts and saw who was blocking his path.

  However, if Rob was expecting any kind of negative reaction, he didn’t get it. Instead, a contrite MacDonald simply stopped, stood bolt upright and held out his hand.

  ‘I never got the chance to apologise to you Mr. Chairman,’ he said contritely. ‘I was bang out of order and I’m sorry.’

  Rob eyeballed him for a second and then took his hand, which he held onto for so long that MacDonald began to feel slightly awkward.

  ‘Listen,’ said Rob suddenly. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m playing like a wanker today. Fancy a beer?’

  Chapter Forty One

  By the time Rob arrived at George Park the following lunchtime, news of Pete MacDonald re-signing for the club had gone through the City community like wildfire.

  To say the place was buzzing would be an understatement and when he walked into reception, Rob thought for a second that Amyleigh was going to leap over the desk and embrace him, in spite of the place being packed with the usual mob of journalists. All of whom were, as usual, ignored in spite of the clamour for his attention being more vocal than ever.

  ‘You need to be more careful,’ said Joanne when he walked into her office. ‘Carry on like this and people around here might actually start to like you.’

  ‘Unlikely,’ Rob laughed as he took the handful of post-it notes she handed to him and began flicking through them. ‘I’ll always be the enemy to you lot. Bloody scummers.’

  Joanne poked her tongue out at him, then laughed.

  Rob winked in return and walked into his office.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he called out. ‘I haven’t forgotten that I baled on lunch on Friday. Fancy going for something today? Say in an hour?

  ‘OK,’ she called back. ‘But on one condition, no talk about football.’

  When Vicky Chandler met Gary Collins at a country pub on the outskirts of Leeds in 2006, the first person she had called to tell had been her sister Claire.

  Likewise the time he had proposed, the time she had miscarried, the time she had been told she would never be able to have children, the time she had found out that they had won the lottery and the time the police arrived to tell her that her husband had been found slumped over the steering wheel of his Ferrari, having died of a massive heart attack.

  Claire was her rock, her strength, her best friend and she valued her sister head and shoulders above all the many wonderful things Vicky had in her life. It was a sentiment that was fully reciprocated. And then some.

  In spite of the fact that they talked on the phone constantly, at least once a month, usually when one or the other was feeling either flat or fat, Vicky Collins and her sister would get together and enjoy some serious girlie time.

  Which is why, after flashing the cash all morning, the two women were sitting in an expensive
restaurant in the middle of the city enjoying a long overpriced lunch while giggling helplessly about nothing in particular. And how Vicky came to see Rob enter arm in arm with a smartly dressed middle-aged woman, looking happier than she had ever seen him.

  ‘Well you certainly know how to spend my money,’ said Rob as he scooped the foam from his Cappuccino and sucked it from his spoon. ‘That was fabulous.’

  ‘It was that,’ said Joanne contentedly. ‘I’m stuffed.’

  ‘Stuffed?’ he mocked. ‘That’s not very feminine.’

  ‘Blimey, you should hear me fart,’ she said before bursting out laughing. ‘Oh my God, I don’t believe I just said that!’

  ‘I’m appalled,’ said Rob with a shake of his head. ‘All my illusions are shattered.’

  ‘What can I say? I spend too much time around bloody men. We should get back, it’s gone three.’

  ‘Yeah, I hear the boss is a bit of a dick,’ said Rob as he gestured for the bill.

  ‘Oh he’s not so bad. I’m finally beating him into shape,’ she mocked.

  Rob smiled and went through the formalities of payment with the waiter. Once these were complete, the two of them settled back in their chairs to enjoy the remains of their coffee. Only then did Rob move around the table to hold Joanne’s chair while she stood up.

  ‘Thank you sir,’ she mocked. ‘That was lovely.’

  ‘My pleasure madam.’

  Joanne turned, smiled and then reached up and pecked Rob on the cheek.

  ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said blushing slightly as he gestured her toward the exit. ‘Oh, I forgot to ask, how are things at home?’

  Joanne looked over her shoulder and beamed a glorious smile.

  ‘Fantastic,’ she said. ‘Just fantastic.’

  Rob sat alone and lost in his own thoughts as he wallowed in the sense of complete and utter helplessness which had enveloped him.

  Although he had long ago convinced himself that he’d almost certainly ballsed everything up and was going to walk away at the end of the season with little more than what remained of the salary he’d managed to keep out of Jane’s hands, following the win on Saturday a tiny voice had appeared in his head which had begun telling him that he was actually going to pull it off.

  After all, Northampton hadn’t won away for over two months - and with City on something of a high it was fairly reasonable to assume that they would go for it, and not only take the point they needed to almost certainly secure their league status but the three he needed to take him ever closer to the magic fifty-one points.

  Instead, in spite of being in the safety of mid-table and their season all but over, The Cobblers had played as if their very lives depended on it and for large portions of the game had torn City apart.

  Thankfully, their inability to convert pressure into goals had allowed the home side to ride the storm and the final whistle to signify the resultant 0-0 draw was greeted with scenes he hadn’t seen for many years. For a time, much to everyone’s surprise, not least his own, Rob had even found himself wrapped up in the euphoria.

  However, as he had gone back out on the terraces to watch the team complete an impromptu lap of honour in front of a packed ground, he had been subjected to a crescendo of abuse which not only rivalled, but gave a fairly decent kicking to anything he’d received before.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, the home end had then broken out into a chorus of We want one! we want one! which had quickly been taken up by almost everyone remaining in the ground - including, he suspected, some of the players.

  It was, Rob freely admitted, richly deserved but it had hurt him deeply and even as the team were finishing their walk around the pitch, he had slunk out of the ground and driven home, where he now sat in his Bentley feeling sorry for himself.

  ‘Three points,’ he said out loud to himself. ‘Three stupid fucking points.’

  ‘Who are you talking to?’

  Rob almost jumped out of his skin as Jane’s shadowy face appeared in his side window.

  ‘Jesus fucking wept,’ he said as his heart tried to force its way from his chest. ‘What the bloody hell d’you think you’re doing?’

  ‘It’s gone midnight. Will you come in?’

  Jane was standing making coffee by the time Rob made it into the kitchen and he stood and watched her for a few seconds as he struggled to find the courage to speak.

  ‘So I suppose you heard.’

  ‘Yep,’ she said without turning away from the kettle. ‘So who is she?’

  Rob baulked at her words.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who is she Rob? The woman you’re having an affair with?’

  ‘An affair? Me? What the bloody hell are you on about?’ he asked, incredulous.

  ‘You were seen Rob,’ said Jane as she turned to face him. ‘This afternoon. What is it? A revenge fuck to get back at me?’

  Rob frowned, then after a second or two, he started to smile.

  ‘Don’t laugh at me Rob,’ she said. ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me!’

  ‘Lunchtime! That’s what this is about ain’t it.’

  The look on Jane’s face confirmed Rob’s suspicion and he laughed again.

  ‘I took Joanne for lunch. Bloody hell, haven’t we been over this?’

  ‘I know what you told me and I know what I’ve been told. You two were very cosy by all accounts.’

  ‘Look, I don’t care what you’ve been told but seriously, you’re miles off base. D’you really think I’d- Oh I can’t even be arsed to talk about it. I’m going to bed.’

  ‘You walk out this kitchen Rob and we’re finished. I mean it.’

  Rob stopped instantly and turned round. He could feel the anger welling up inside of him and fought to control it.

  ‘I do,’ she added. ‘I want answers.’

  ‘You bloody hypocrite,’ he sneered. ‘After everything you’ve done, you stand there and demand answers from me.’

  A flicker of regret flashed across Jane’s face but almost instantly it hardened again.

  ‘You look me in the eye and tell me you’re not screwing that tart.’

  Rob locked eyes with his wife and took a deep breath.

  ‘I am not having an affair with Joanne. OK?’

  ‘You bloody liar,’ she growled. ‘You were seen kissing her.’

  ‘She kissed me on the cheek to say thanks for lunch and to wish me a happy birthday. OK?’

  Jane laughed out loud but it was a half hearted, almost nervous laugh of the kind only someone who suddenly realises that they’ve been incredibly stupid can give.

  ‘D’you want me to actually prove that we’re not having an affair? Because I can. Quite easily.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because she’s a lesbian Jane.’

  Jane froze, totally thrown by his answer.

  ‘Don’t talk bollocks,’ she said eventually. ‘She can’t be. You told me she’s got two daughters!’

  ‘Yes, by a husband who she hated. And now she’s got a partner called Jenny who she’s very happy with. So she’s hardly likely to be screwing around with someone else, especially when they’re not the right gender!’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Jane cautiously.

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Rob calmly. ‘Now, as you know I’ve had a shit evening, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Or is there anything else you want to accuse me of? A major fraud perhaps? Or maybe wearing your clothes when you’re not here?’

  Suitably embarrassed, Jane shook her head and then watched as Rob walked from the kitchen and left her alone with her thoughts.

  Chapter Forty Two

  For many City fans, the morning had been one of post-hangover euphoria thanks in no small part to the fact that the very real season-long fear of falling out of the league had now dissipated.

  For some, that fear had already been replaced by thoughts of next season and the exciting prospect of City being wholly in the control of the fans for
the first time in its history.

  For others however, fear had been replaced by another emotion; desire. Specifically, the desire to see Rob Cooper crash and burn in the biggest possible way.

  Andrea Barker knew that better than anyone. For as she sat opposite Rob waiting for him to come off the phone, she had all the proof she needed written in black and white on the A4 sheet in her hand.

  ‘Poxy FA,’ said Rob irritably as he slammed the phone down. ‘What possible bloody point is there in telling me about a disciplinary panel in August when I’ll be long gone? Dickheads.’ He took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the young blonde woman sitting opposite him. ‘Right, sorry about that. So what were you saying?’

  ‘That the final game is totally sold out. We actually have a waiting list for tickets. That’s unheard of.’

  ‘And we know why that is,’ Rob said as he took the paper from her.

  ‘I don't think it's like that, honestly I don’t,’ she lied.

  ‘Good try Andrea but let's face it, the club are safe and everyone hates me. 2 plus 2 equals?’

  Andrea shifted nervously in her seat and glanced out of the window in an effort to avoid eye contact.

  ‘I rest my case,’ Rob continued. ‘Screwing me over is the only thing they have to play for now. Or not, as the case may be.’

  ‘I did notice less booing during the game last night,’ she said in an effort to be positive. ‘The opening of the supporters’ club definitely helped.’

  ‘I think a pound-a-pint helped. They were all pissed up. Bloody leeching scummers,’ he said, before glancing at her and smiling apologetically. ‘Sorry, I forgot.’

  ‘Maybe if you’d been a bit less anti the fans,’ she said stiffly, ‘they might be a bit more supportive.’

  Rob grunted in acknowledgment and then, much to Andrea’s annoyance, stood and began pacing around the office. Following him around wasn’t doing her hangover any good at all.

  ‘Shit. Shit, shit,’ he said making her jump slightly. ‘There must be something-’