Chapter Twenty-Six - An Unexpected Victory

Sunday 26^th November

Terry, Shane and Darren Walker were in their seats at the St Mary's Stadium, waiting for the second half to start.  The first had started well, with the Saints having most of the possession but, unusually, turning that into a goal for Tadic about twenty minutes in.  However, just before half time, their opponents had equalised.  Darren had been furious.

'I can see how this is going to turn out,' he growled.  'We've missed a load of chances, as usual, and now they'll nick another one after the break and we'll be fucked.'

'I can't see that, nipper,' Terry replied.  'It's Everton.  They're crap away from home.  Talking of crap, if one of you buggers could give me hand down these steps, I need the bog...'

Shane had offered to go with his granddad, taking a ten-pound note and orders for half-time pies all round from his father as well.  He sometimes wondered if his dad had got him the season ticket so he had someone to help mind Granddad and to send on errands, while he grumbled about the short-sighted ref and the overpaid bastards on the pitch to the guys in the seats in front of him.

'Your Nana says you're doing alright at work,' Terry told him, while they waited in the catering queue.

'It's good,' said Shane.  He didn't know if he ought to say anything else in case it was against the rules on confidentiality, which Hilary had drilled into him as if she were M and he a new MI6 agent.

'Young Toby says you're a top man too,' Terry continued.  'Mind you, that might be because you're a Saints fan, not because you're any good in the office.'

Shane let that go.  It was the sort of not-funny joke that used to wind him up when he was a kid, but he was used to his grandfather's odd humour now.  He was pleased if he had impressed Toby.  He thought he was a good bloke; he was funny, kind to people and very practical.  Martin was okay, although everything was about politics with him, while Hilary was like a posh, glamorous version of nan, always fussing and making sure he was okay.

'What do you think of the new girl?' Terry asked him.

'Where?'  Shane scanned the staff behind the counter, trying to see who his granddad meant.  He hoped there wasn't a new, hot young woman there.  It was embarrassing when granddad started chatting them up and even worse if he asked Shane whether he fancied them.  Shane hadn't been brave or stupid enough to introduce either of his previous girlfriends to his granddad.  There were a couple of girls following the band at the moment who he liked, but he couldn't see himself taking either round to meet Terry, even if he did find the nerve to ask them out.

'Not here, you silly sod, at work.'

Shane had no idea who he was talking about.  The only female colleagues he knew were Hilary and his nana.  'Do you mean someone if the café?'

'No, you great plank.  I was talking about Ashley.  The Goth girl.'

‘Goth girl?’

‘Ashley.  The new girl.’

Shane shrugged.  ‘I don’t know her.’

‘You must have seen her.  Wears black all the time.  Pale face, lots of eye make-up.’

‘I know what a Goth is, Granddad.’  The surprise was that Terry did. 

‘You must have seen her.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘You must have done, nipper.’ 

‘I don’t know her, honest.’

‘She’s in every morning.’

‘And I’m in on Wednesday afternoons.’

‘Right.’

‘What about her, anyway?’

‘I wondered what you thought of her.’

‘I don’t know her, Granddad.’

‘You said, Shazza.’

Shane was curious to know who this Goth girl was and wondered why his grandfather thought he would have an opinion about her.  He formed a picture of her in his mind which added glossy red lips and a plunging velvet dress, but then he was at the front of the queue for pies and talking to a bored blonde of his mother’s age and the image vanished.

On the way back to their seats he almost lost his granddad in the crowd.  The old man seemed to be dragging behind.  Shane worried that he was unwell.

‘I’m alright, nipper.  I thought I recognised someone.’

‘One of your old workmates?’

‘No, son.  Someone else.’

Terry stopped to look behind him a couple more times before they got back.  Shane got the feeling that whoever he had seen, it wasn’t an old friend.  He hoped his grandfather would say something to his dad but the stranger’s identity remained a mystery.  The whistle blew for the second half.

‘Here we go…’ Darren muttered.  ‘What the stupid fuckers throw the game away!’

Within moments, Saints had scored.

‘See?  I told you they should play Austin more often!’ Darren insisted.  ‘Come on, my son!’

The striker appeared to heed Darren’s advice and netted another.

The home side managed another before the close of play.  Darren had shouted himself hoarse, Terry was red in the face and Shane had started to plan out the base for a new song for the band with the working title of Goth Girl.

‘I could murder a pint!’ Darren said, as they waited for the jubilant crowd to thin so Terry could get down the steps without being jostled.

‘You had one before we came in,’ Shane reminded him.

‘I know.’

‘I could drive,’ Terry offered.

‘You had two, Granddad.’

‘What about you then, nipper?  You’re old enough.’

‘I haven’t got a licence.’

‘That’s no bloody good.  I got your dad his provisional licence for his seventeen birthday, didn’t I Daz?’  

‘You did, Dad.  You didn’t get me a season ticket as well, though.’

‘You didn’t need one.  We could stand at the Milton Road End for a fiver when you were a kid.  Still, if the boy can’t drive, we can’t go to the pub and that’s…’

Terry stopped talking suddenly.  Shane turned towards him and saw he was staring into the crowd moving below them.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Dad?’ Darren laughed.

‘I have, son.’

‘Is it the person you thought you saw earlier?’ Shanes asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s that bugger from the Social.’

‘Which one?’ asked Darren.

‘The sod who filmed me.’

‘Where?’ asked Shane.

‘Taking Luke and Amy to school.’

‘Not where did he film you, Granddad!  Where is he now?’

‘Down there.’  Terry pointed.  'That little shit.'

Ahead of them, about ten rows down, a group of men were laughing and joking as they waited to merge into the crowded aisle.  Most of them looked to be big, brawny blokes but there was one smaller, older man who didn’t look as if he belonged with the group.  He had curly, greying hair and wore square-rimmed glasses.

'I ought to get you lads to sort him out!' Terry snarled.

'It looks like someone else got there first, Granddad,' Shane remarked, noticing that the man had a cast on his right arm.  In fact, it seemed to be this injury to the man that was delaying his colleagues' departure.

'That was years ago, Dad.  I can't see it being him,' Darren argued.

'It is, son.  I'd know that little weasel-faced shit anywhere.'

'The others don't look like civil servants,' Darren said.  'They look more like a fucking rugby team.  Sod getting into a ruckus with that lot!  The big one on the end's well over six foot.'

'That's a woman,' said Shane.  'Look at her hands.'

'The fuck it is!' argued Darren.

The big one on the end unknowingly settled the argument by sweeping off her red beany hat and turning briefly towards them.

'It's Sally Archer!' said Terry.

'Then the other bloke can't be what's-his-face from the Social, can he?'

'There's only one way to find out...'

Shane's grandfather bundled his way into the melee making its way down the steps.  Shane and Darren elbowed in after him.

'Don't let him do anything stupid,' Darren called forward as Shane, being leaner than his father, made his way forwards. Terry was almost level with the group when Sally spotted him.

'Hello Terry!  Could you and your lads let us out.  We don't want Gary's arm getting crushed but we need to get away.  We've got a party to go to.'

'You and him?'

'All of us.  I'll tell you later.'

Shane stopped behind his grandfather and Darren behind him, damming the flow of supporters behind them.  People started muttering and swearing.  Shane saw the big woman marshalling her group into a protective cordon around the injured man.

'Thanks,' he said, shuffling past Terry.

'You don't know who I am, do you?'

'No,' said the man with the broken arm.

'You cheeky fucker!  I'll tell you.  I'm...'

'Listen mate, you leave our Gary alone, right?' said one of the other men, who looked nearer Terry's age than Darren's.  'He's sound!'

'You're in with the wrong fans, you Scouse git!' Darren shouted.  There were more disgruntled noises from behind them.  Shane looked around for stewards.

'I might talk Scouse but I don't wear blue,' said the stranger.  'We're all on the same side here.'

'I doubt that, if you're his mate.'

'Granddad...!'  Shane did his best to chivvy Terry and the Liverpudlian onwards, before the crowd behind got more impatient.

The Walkers followed the troupe with Sally Archer out of the stadium, Shane and Darren sticking close to Terry.

'What's all this about you going to a party with that shithouse?' Terry asked the tall woman, when she stopped to count up her group and marshal them towards their van.

'He's an ex-shithouse,' said Sally.  'In fact, he's a hero.'

'Hero, my arse!'

'It's true,' argued the Liverpudlian.  'He got beat up in the line of duty last week.'

'I'm surprised that doesn't happen every week, the way he sets up innocent people.'

'He doesn't,' Sally replied.

'He doesn't,' Darren said, at almost the same moment.

Terry looked confused.

'Don't you remember?' Darren continued, having suddenly recalled the details himself.  'He caught old Sanders with his pants down, that council bloke I thought was after my Paula.  He's a private detective now, not a snooper for the Social.'

'What's he been detecting, then? Terry asked. 

Shane thought he sounded sceptical that the ex-DWP guy could have been doing anything good.

‘He’s been detecting Blacklisters,’ said another of the builders.

‘Unfortunately, a couple of their heavies detected him,’ Sally explained.  ‘But not until he’d got the evidence to the union, and the police have nicked the heavies, so it’s mission accomplished for our Gary, so we’re having a party.’

‘At the Nelson?’ asked Terry.

‘You can come if you like – all of you.  Marie always does way too much food.’

‘I’m not going to any party where he is,’ Terry insisted, pointing at Gary.  ‘He was going to get me and Lyn locked up!’

The man with the plaster cast and ugly glasses gasped. 

‘You’re Terry Walker!’ he squealed.

‘Damn right I am!  Come here, you scumbag, and I’ll do your other arm to match!’

Terry took two steps towards him.  Darren and Shane grabbed him.

‘Steady on, Dad…’

‘Yeah.  Chill, Granddad.’

‘Looks like I was right about you not being ill enough for DLA!’ jeered Gary Pike.

‘Leave it out,’ snapped Darren.  ‘He’s had a heart-bypass since you came after him.’

‘And he’s lost loads of weight,’ Shane added.

‘Terry was genuinely very poorly when you were filming and interviewing him,’ Sally said to the investigator.  ‘You could have caused him serious harm.  I think you owe him, and his family, an apology.’

‘You what?’

‘I think you should say sorry, Gary.’

Sally folded her arms and glowered down on him.

‘Sorry.’

Shane remembered being spoken to like that by his mum and responding with similar bad grace.

‘Shake hands, gentlemen.’

‘What if I don’t want to shake his hand?’ said Terry.  ‘I’d rather break his arm, if it’s alright with you.’

‘It’s not.’

Shane watched anxiously as Pike offered Terry his right hand.

‘Don’t shake it too hard,’ Sally told him.

The men shook hands.

‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Gary Pike said again.  ‘Pass on my apologies to your wife, too.’

‘I’ll do that.’

Sally smiled at Shane.  ‘I wish I’d remembered you were in a band – we could have had some music.’

‘If you call what his band churns out music, love…’

Sally scowled at Terry.  ‘They were ace.  Dan and I loved them.  Next time we’ve got something to celebrate, maybe?’

‘Yeah,’ said Shane.  ‘That would be good.  We’re doing another benefit for the Project next weekend, down in Hamble, if you want to come along.  We’ll have some new material.’

‘Cool!  That’s well close to where we live.  See you there!’  She counted her party again.  ‘Okay, guys, all aboard!’

They piled into the van.

‘He said sorry.’ Terry still sounded surprised.

‘I know Dad.  I think I’d say sorry, if that big bird told me to!  I pity any kids she’s got.  They won’t get away with a damn thing.’

‘He said sorry to Lyn too.’  Terry looked at his hand.  ‘He meant it.’

Shane sat in the back behind his grandfather as they crawled out of the car park and followed their usual route trying to dodge the traffic.  His dad had a lot to say about the match, how he knew right from the start that it was going to be the Saints’ day and that they were obviously on a winning streak again now, but granddad was unusually quiet and thoughtful.

‘Your mum isn’t going to believe what happened today,’ Terry said when Darren dropped him off.

‘She’ll have seen it on the news by now, Dad.’

Terry smiled. 

Shane knew he wasn’t thinking about the football match at all.