Chapter Four - Poor Home Form

Saturday 4^th November

The rising excitement of the crowd and expectant cheer died in a massed gasp of despair.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ shouted Darren Walker.  This was not how he had pictured the game as he, his father and his son had tucked in to their all-day breakfast at the Nelson ahead of the lunchtime kick-off.

‘At least he was on target, son.  That was a decent save.’  Darren's dad Terry, though a life-long fan, was less partisan and more forgiving.

‘Bunch of overpaid, fucking wankers!’ Darren slumped back into his seat.  ‘When I think what I paid for these fucking seats..!’

Darren had splashed out in the spring when he had renewed his own annual commitment and bought season tickets for the two seats next to his when he found their former occupants had surrendered them.  One was a birthday present for his son.  The other, for his father.  It cost him a shedload of cash but he'd had a good run of overtime shifts during the winter and was feeling flush.

Neither had reacted with quite the gratitude he had expected. 

Paula explained Shane’s somewhat muted reaction by pointing out the hints dropped by their boy, concerning a provisional licence and driving lessons, that his father had somehow missed.

‘There’s no rush for that,’ Darren replied.  ‘There’s a coach to get him to college, if he’s still going next year.’

‘He wants to be more independent, Daz.  He’s a sociable boy, what with his cricket practice, the Saturday job and the band, and between your shifts and my Council meetings, we can’t get always be there to pick him up and drop him off for things.  Anyway, it's not very cool to be relying on dad's taxi at his age.’

‘He’s got a bike, hasn’t he?  I used to go miles on my bike, when I was his age.’

Paula blanked him and went back into the room which was now her office.  Darren looked to his daughter for back-up but Shelley impaled him with a withering stare of a type peculiar to mid-teen females, before slouching up to her new attic bedroom.

‘I hope you don’t think I’ll still be using my bike when I’m seventeen!’

'You'll have a boyfriend to run you about!'

Darren wished he hadn't said that.  He would be worried sick if she started dating someone old enough to drive.

Darren's father hadn’t been much more appreciative.

‘I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw these had come up!’ Darren had told him, handing over his card and telling him that he had done the same for Shane, so they could enjoy lads' days out together.

‘They’d probably had enough of your swearing, nipper,’ had been Terry’s reaction.  ‘I hope it’s not too far from the bogs.  You know what my waterworks are like these days!’ 

Luckily, on the days that he was up to coming to the match, the gents were handy enough for Dad's bladder to cope.  Darren had assumed that, having recovered from his operation and started his voluntary work, his father must be in reasonable shape now.  In fact, the climb up the concrete steps to their seats tested him to his limit, even with Shane's assistance.  If the old man felt he couldn't make it, Mike came along instead or, sometimes, Paula.  One weekend at the start of the season, when Shane was away on a college trip to Snowdonia, he even asked Shelley if she wanted to go. 

She didn't.  Football was 'meh'.

Today, he was inclined to agree with her.  After Boufal's wonder-goal against West Brom in the last home game, it had looked as if the Saints were finally turning their dominance in possession into actual goals.  Not before time.  Darren had watched repeatedly this season as they passed the ball about the midfield for best part of ninety minutes, only to concede against the run of play.

'What are you two so miserable about?' Paula would ask when he and his son got home.  'You wanted a change of manager.  You said they were boring last season.'

'They were, Mum,' Shane argued.

'Well, it won't be boring this season.  You'll have a relegation struggle to keep you entertained.'

Darren would have been happier if his wife had known nothing about the game, but she was as keen a supporter as he was himself and, had she not worked at the café most Saturday afternoons, would probably have swapped Shane a driving licence and lessons, or a moped, for that bit of red plastic.  If she sensed trouble ahead, it was likely to turn out that way.

With twenty minutes left to play, empty seats were starting to appear around the Walkers.

'If you want to call it a day, son, I don't mind,' Terry offered.  'It looks to me like Yoshida's effort is as close as we'll get today.'

'Gabbiadini looks dangerous,' said Shane.

'You're having a laugh!  He couldn't hit a barn door!  He's worse than Long.  They could play you, me and your granddad up front and do better.'

'I used to be quite handy,' said Terry.  'At least it looks like a point and a clean sheet.  That'll keep us in the top half of the table.'

'I suppose we'll miss the traffic if we scarper now.'  Darren couldn't remember if there were any liners due into port that weekend; if there were, it could be gridlock.

'Let's give it ten more minutes, Dad...'

They did.  Darren swore.  Terry snorted.  Shane put his head in his hands.

'There's no point leaving before the end now,' Darren said, as more seats were vacated in the aftermath of what looked like a winner for Burnley.  It would already be chaos in the side-streets around the stadium.

'We've still got time for an equaliser, Dad!'

'I can't see that happening.  They're absolute shite!'  Darren had been a gloomy teenager himself.  He wondered where Shane got his sunny disposition from.

Forty minutes later, the car was still creeping towards the main road.  Terry had called Lyn to let her know he would be a while yet.

'She's alright,' he told Darren.  'Her and Susan are watching telly and knitting.'

'Who's Mum doing all her knitting for?  Mike and Lorraine aren't having another kid, are they?'

'No son, though I wouldn't mind if they did.  I can't believe how quickly all you kids have grown up.  I don't have anyone to make Lego spaceships with now!'  He punched Shane on the shoulder.  'They're doing squares, to make scarves and blankets for homeless people.'

'I suppose that was Mum's idea.'  Darren didn't disapprove but he thought his mother ought to take a break from her good works occasionally.  It couldn't be good for her health to be worrying about down-and-outs all the time.

'It was old Susan's, actually.  She nearly lost her house, remember?'

'What happened about that?'  Darren could recall his mother telling them how her friend Susan had got behind with her rent due to the Bedroom Tax.  'Did the Council let her off?'

'They couldn't, after the first couple of years.  They said she would have to move somewhere smaller, but they didn't have anywhere local, so she'd either have to down Hamble way or go private.  Then the people your Mum works with got involved.  It turned out she would be old enough to retire soon, so the Bedroom Tax wouldn't apply to her, and they got some charity to bail her out for the last few months.  She's alright again now.'

'I thought she was sixty ages ago,' said Darren.

'Women don't retire at sixty now, Daz.  Don't you watch the news?'

'So Mum won't get her pension and bus pass at sixty?'

'Not until she's sixty-six, son.'

'That's well old!' said Shane.

'I'm retiring before that,' said Darren.

'Before Nana?'  Shane stared at his father.  'That's mental!'

'No, you stupid nipper.  Before I'm sixty-six.  I've got a private pension that pays out at sixty.'

'Just as well, son,' said Terry.  'Your mum says your retirement age went up to sixty-eight the other week.'

'Fuck that!'  Sixty still seemed a long way off.  Darren couldn't imagine he would be fit or quick-thinking enough, to do his job when he was much older than that, although there were a lot of guys in their sixties still driving trains.

'I hope you get into something cushy, nipper,' Terry said to his grandson.  'I don't reckon there are going to be pensions at all when you get old.'

'Cheers, Granddad!'

They edged out into the main road.  The traffic was creeping along slightly faster but still not briskly enough for Darren.  He swerved across right and into another side-road, passing between rows of three and four storey houses which had once been grand mansions but were now mostly low quality flats and shared accommodation.

'Is that where Nana's blankets end up?' asked Shane, as they joined the back of another traffic jam and stopped outside a church-run hostel.

'It might be,' said Terry.  There were a couple of elderly-looking men sitting on the steps.  'I think I've seen the bloke in the black coat at our foodbank.'

'You shouldn't tell other people that, Granddad!'

'You're right, I shouldn't.  Forget I said it.'  Terry kept looking out of the window until the traffic's crawl took them well past the hostel.  

'I know they say benefits haven't kept up with prices,' Darren said, noticing his father's apparent concern.  'All the same, I don't know why there seem to be so many more homeless people about, or why there are still old ones, when they've put pensions up.  Are they moving down from up north, or are they foreigners?' 

'I know I shouldn't talk about him but that bloke I recognised got sanctioned.  They cut his money down to forty quid a week but he was already out of pocket and in arrears with the Bedroom Tax and rates when he got his proper Jobseeker's money, so he got evicted.'

'I thought you said pensioners didn't pay Bedroom Tax.'

'He's not a pensioner, Daz.  He's my age.'

'How did he get sanctioned?' asked Shane.  He knew what it meant because he'd heard his mother talking about it.

'He couldn't use the computer to do his job search,' said Terry.

'Like Daniel Blake?'

'Who?'

'Daniel Blake.  The man in that film Mum showed at the Community Café just before the election.' 

'With the girl and the tin of beans?'

'That's the one.'

'I couldn't understand what they were saying most of the time,' grumbled Terry.  'Old Lyn said they were right about that music, though.  All the advisers hate it.'

'Have you ever had anyone that hungry in your foodbank?' Shane asked.

'Not grown ups.  A couple of times kids have opened biscuits and stuff, but they might just be naughty little buggers.'

'So it's not as bad as that film made out.' Darren said.

'I wouldn't say that, son.  Don't forget, we've got the café, so there's always a hot meal for anyone who's really peckish.  It might be different with the new ones.'

'New whats?'

'New foodbanks, son.  We're running a couple down in the southern parishes.'

'You're joking!' Darren cried.  'They're all bloody yachties down there!'

'You could be right.  It was really quiet last week.  Still, Father Cornelius seems to think we should do it and he's no mug.'

A couple more short-cuts through the backstreets took them out onto the Portswood Road.  Darren was looking forward to dropping his father off and getting home.  If the old man invited him and Shane in for a cup of tea, he'd have to think of an excuse to press on.

'You've got a gig tonight, haven't you?' he asked Shane.

'Not until eight and it's only round at the club.'

'You could pop in and see your nana then, Shane,' suggested Terry.

'Okay, Granddad.'

Darren seemed to have netted an own goal there.

'Granddad...?'

'Yes, Shaz?'

'Could I help at the café?'

'I don't see why not.  Ask your mum.'

'I don't mean doing cooking.  I mean doing Nana's sort of work.'

'What - helping with benefits and stuff?'

If Terry sounded surprised, it was nothing to what Darren felt.  He knew their son helped his wife with delivering her leaflets and canvassing but he'd never thought the boy was getting serious about politics.

'How would you fit it in, with college and everything?'

'I don't have anything on a Monday afternoon.  They might let me off Wednesday afternoons too, outside the cricket season.'  He had clearly given this some thought.  'Shall I ask Nana?'

'You can ask her, nipper.  I don't think she'll be able to say yes or no.  That'll be down to Hilary and the others.'

'I want to do something, Grandad.'

'I suppose if they say no, you could learn to knit!'

They were almost at Terry and Lyn's house now.

'Although your Nana's work is important, you don't want to think of it as a career,' Darren warned his son.  'There's no job security.  Isn't that right, Dad?'

'It's not great, Daz.'

'You'd be better getting a trade or, if you're looking for office work, get a job with the Council or be an accountant.'

'Your dad's got a point, Shazza.  They're always worrying about paying the bills and keeping the place running.'

'That's right, Dad...'

'On the other hand, old Hilary's worked there since before you were born, and Toby, he's been there since around the time Mike and Lorraine had Luke.  Martin joined a bit more recently, but even that was before little Sophie came along.  There are lots of jobs that don't last even that long these days and they do try to look after each other there.  If they get Lottery money again, that might be another five years taken care of, so it's not all bad.'

'There's no jobs going now, though,' Darren stressed.  'They don't come up that often.'

'We've just taken a new girl on.'

'So there won't be another vacancy for ages.'  Darren parked on the drive behind Lyn and Terry's Motability car.

'Not unless Hilary retires early.  She's fifty-eight this year and they're selling their big house, so you never know.  Her husband writes history books, when he's not cooking that funny Indian food at the café.'

'An electrician.  That's what you should be, Shane, an electrician.  Inside work, good pay, always going to be needed...'

'Hilary helped with Nana's appeals, didn't she?'

'That's right, Shaz,' Terry replied.  'She'll tell you all about it, if you're interested.  We've still got all the papers.  If you're good at writing, you could do letters for people like us and help get them out of trouble.  I thought me and your Nana were going to end up in prison; if it hadn't had been for Hilary, and big Sally, and Smart-Arse Martin...  It's a long story, nipper.  I'll tell you when we get indoors.'

Darren sighed.  He watched his son and father make their way towards the front door, then turned away, pointing his keys at the car to lock it.  Then he slouched toward the door of his childhood home.  It was going to be a long afternoon.