Chapter 1 #2
“I never said he was a bad player, Dominic. It’s his bloody attitude. No sense of loyalty. Always running around with the press, showing off his pretty hair. And now look, disappeared right in the middle of the season.”
I lean heavily against the wall behind me and rub the back of my neck. “Could have done without this today.”
“Has Mia said anything about it?”
“She was here this morning screaming bloody murder because she found some lingerie in her house.” I give my father a pointed look. “Lingerie that isn’t hers.”
My father wheezes and sputters, shaking his head. “See? No loyalty, not even to his wife. Married to a bloody model and it’s still not good enough.”
I bristle at my father’s words, but quickly put a lid on my anger.. “I need to find Barry and figure this all out.”
“Tell Barry to make Sumner captain.” My dad wags his finger in my face. “The boys respect him and they’ll listen to him. And he’s a bloody excellent player.”
“Barry’s the manager, Dad. He’ll know-”
“I fucking know, son.” My dad narrows his eyes at me. “This club is still as much mine as it is yours. I know what I’m talking about. Jordan Sumner is in, you tell him.”
“What do we do about the press?”
My father shrugs. “Nothing. Hopefully Archie comes back from wherever he’s run off to before our match against Salford and we’ll never have to address it at all. And if he doesn’t…”
He trails off, and we both know that’s where the PR disaster for the club will begin. But with all this looming over me and a headache creeping at my temples, I can’t give that much thought.
“Dad, I really should go and sort things with Barry.”
“Right you are,” my father says with a nod. “I’m going to go see my granddaughter and make sure she’s alright.”
“Are you joking? Nothing shakes that one. Archie’ll be lucky to survive her with all his teeth still in his face.”
“Ey, now.” My father fixes me with a stern stare. “Mia might seem tough as nails but she needs looking after just like anyone else. You’d do well to remember that.”
I inhale through my nose. “I meant no offence.” My dad’s adored Mia since the moment he met her. Me and her, on the other hand… “You go see she’s alright, just watch out for the sniper on your way to the door.”
My dad rolls his eyes. “Go take care of our club, lad.”
He shuffles down the hallway, wheezing, the low hiss of the oxygen tank following him.
I watch him for a moment, sadness weighing in my chest when I think of what he once was.
William Graves, star of the First Division in the 70s.
He’d carried Arlington to 4 victories, 2 as the captain.
He’d always seemed so big when I was a boy, so impossibly big and strong.
Infallible. Like he could carry the entire world on his broad shoulders.
And then emphysema got him.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to answer.
“Yeah?”
“Hello Mr Graves, Sandra here.” The smarmy, high-pitched voice sounds down the line, and I stride down the hallway like I could escape it even with the phone pressed to my ear.
“What do you want, Sandra?”
“I was wondering if you’d care to address the startling rumours that your son, Arlington’s captain no less, has absconded to Spain in the middle of the season?”
I suppress a sigh. “We have a press secretary to whom you may address any enquiries.”
“Oh, but why do that when I can call you direct?”
“I really hate that you have my number, Sandra.”
She chuckles softly. “Didn’t seem to hate it when I was bouncing on your cock a few months ago, Dominic.”
Fucking christ on a fucking bike. Trust me to sleep with a fucking journalist.
“I hope for the sake of your job that this conversation is off the record,” I say, trying to sound non-plussed.
“Of course. Not everyone needs to know what I do in my spare time. Or who.” She laughs softly. “Anyway, we should do that again sometime.”
“No thanks. I’m done recovering from my divorce.”
“So I was only a rebound?” False disappointment colours her voice, and I can hear her pouting down the phone. “I thought it was true love. I was planning our wedding, Dom.”
“What do you want?” I snap, turning the corner and heading down the stairs to the team rooms.
“As I said, any comment on your son’s mysterious disappearance?”
“I’m not aware of a mysterious disappearance,” I reply evenly. “Last I saw him, he was on the field, training with his team, ready for the game with Salford next week.”
“And that’s your official statement, is it?”
“Yes, it bloody well is.” I get to Barry’s door and knock twice before pushing open the door. “Now if you don’t mind, I have an actual job to do.”
Barry looks up at me from behind his desk as I hang up on Sandra, who is still barking questions down the line at me.
“Morning, chief,” he says with a nod. “All right?”
“Have you heard?” I ask, and he frowns at me in response.
“Heard what?”
“Archie’s apparently left the country.”
Barry’s eyebrows shoot up. “No, he hasn’t. Are you having a laugh? He was just here training yesterday.”
“I wish I was.” I close the door behind me in case any players are prowling the hallways. “It’s on the news, some fan snapped a picture at Heathrow and now everyone’s saying Archie’s left for Spain.”
“In the middle of the bloody season?” Barry leans back in his chair, puffing out a breath. “Fuckin’ hell. Is he answering his phone?”
“Of course not.” I wonder for a minute if I should tell him about Mia, but decide against it. That bit of information should stay with me for now.
“And what about Mia? Did she go with him?”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t know where he is either, my dad’s gone over to hers now.”
“Well that’s just grand, innit.” Barry gets to his feet and sends the metal waste paper basket next to his desk flying with an angry kick. “Fucking grand.”
“He might still come back.”
“Yeah, and he might have fucking scarpered and all.” Barry rakes his hands through his greying black hair. “Shit! What the hell is wrong with him? What is he thinking?”
“Was there any indication he’d do this? Has he been, I dunno, off lately?”
Barry drops his hands and fixes me with narrowed eyes. “You’re his dad, you tell me.”
“You’re his fucking coach, you tell me.”
Barry chuckles and shakes his head. “You’ve been watching him play this season, haven’t you? His play hasn’t been the fucking problem. It’s his attitude, as fucking always.”
“What does that mean?”
“Goading the players!” Barry explodes, looking about as thrilled as I am about how this day is going so far, and also probably wishing he was just back in fucking bed.
“Giving them guff. Talking down to them, flaunting his name all over the place, playing up to the media, and we all know how much they fucking love him. Do you even look at his Instagram and see what they say on there?”
I sigh deeply. “No, I don’t check his bleeding Instagram, what has that got to do with this?”
“It’s just more to where he’s at, in his head.” Barry throws his hands up. “He’s not been a team player for a while. It’s been all about the fame.”
“So what are you doing making him captain? That’s your call.”
Barry laughs and rounds his desk to perch on the edge, crossing his arms over his chest as he gives me a smug smile.
“Because he’s your bloody son, and your dad’s grandson, and the Graves are Arlington.
You have been since this club started. Take Archie out of that? We’d have a fucking riot on our hands.”
“Well, we might have that and all.” I scrub my face with my hands. “Alright, for now we pray he comes back, and soon. I’ll tell Sarah to keep trying to reach him. We say nothing to the team. If Archie doesn’t show to training today, then I guess we’ll have our answer, and we can deal with it then.”
“Sounds good. I mean, sounds shit, but…” Barry’s shoulders jerk in a shrug. “Not like we have much choice.”
“My dad suggested Sumner as captain.”
Barry cocks an eyebrow. “Priest? You reckon the fans’ll want an Irishman leading their team?”
“The fans love him.”
“Well, the ladies love him, that’s for sure.” He narrows his eyes again, giving me that same look he did on the football field all those years ago when we played side by side. “And this was your dad’s suggestion?”
I give him a crooked smile. “Suggestion might be a stretch. Demand, I guess would be more accurate.”
“Thought it was out of character for your dad.” Barry nods. “Alright, Sumner’s in as captain if Archie isn’t back by Tuesday.”
I think for a second, and wag my finger in the air. “No, no. Even then, Sumner’s captain. Archie can get benched.”
Barry looks at me as though I’ve asked him for a vital organ. “Are you mad?”
I shake my head, and turn to open the door. “No, just making sure he feels there are some consequences for once.”