Author: Dougie Brimson
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/dougie-brimson/page,5,58377-wings_of_a_sparrow.html
‘There’s a bloody swimming pool out here!’
Almost instantaneously Jane was by his side. She was so excited that for a second, Rob actually thought she was going to pass out. Instead, she let out a yelp of delight, clapped her hands together excitedly and ran for the back door.
He watched her through the window for a second and suddenly found himself remembering the young woman he’d met on the train home from a game 18 years ago. Good looking, very sexy and hilariously funny, he had fallen for her almost immediately - although it had taken almost six months to convince her to go out with him. But 16 years of marriage had taken a toll and she’d become angry - mostly at and certainly because of him. Sometimes he wondered how he had managed to hang onto her for so long and there were other times when he wished she’d just piss off. But here, in that moment, there she was, that girl. His girl. Happy, excited and full of life. He’d missed her.
‘Oh my God, I can’t believe this place!’ Rob suddenly realised Jane had come back into the kitchen, her hair slightly damp from the rain which was now bouncing off the large window.
‘I know, it’s bloody amazing,’ he replied with a wry, almost forced smile.
‘What’s up with you?’ said Jane, a baffled expression on her face. ‘Do you not get what’s happened here? We’re rich Rob. Shit loaded in fact!’
‘I know that but, well, it has been a bit of a day. I mean, 24 hours ago I had no uncle, no money and the season was shaping up quite nicely. Now I’ve got a dead uncle, apparently more money than I ever dreamed of, a dad who’s got the arsehole and a dilemma the like of which no sane man should have to face.’
‘Dilemma? Where's the bloody dilemma? We’ve won the lottery.’
Rob shook his head and leant back against the work surface, slightly irritated by her complete lack of understanding of his plight.
‘You don't get it, do you?’ he said. ‘You just don’t get it.’
Jane smiled and walked over to him, took his head in her hands and looked her husband square in the eyes.
‘No Rob, You don't get it. Look, I know United mean a lot to you, I really do. But do you know what it's like to live with someone who moans all the time, who has constant mood swings, who is always on the phone or the internet and who plans their entire year around a fixture list or a TV schedule? Have you any idea what it’s like to not be able to go anywhere without you either talking about football, getting into arguments about football or talking about bloody fanzines? I know what it's like, because I do it and it's made me an angry and bitter woman.’ She smiled at him and released his head. ‘Well now my darling husband, it's payback time.’
‘But-’
‘No buts Rob. Not one. I don't care how you do it, but you need to find a way round all your petty little problems and make this work. Or I will cut off your bollocks, put them in a blender and make you drink them. Then I will spend the rest of my days making your life an absolute fucking misery.’ Jane leant forward and kissed him on the forehead. ‘Now, if you fancy coming with me I'm going upstairs to check out the bedrooms.’
Rob watched her as she walked from the kitchen, then glanced around at the immaculate room. Jane was right of course - this was a dream come true for them both. The trouble was it came with a terrible cost attached and that cost was firmly welded to him and him alone. She wasn’t the one who would have to pull it off - nor for that matter, deal with the impact it would have on all kinds of people. Not least the lads he watched United with, some of whom he had known for over 30 years. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what their reaction might be if he were to sit down and tell them what he’d have to do. Of all the tasks possibly facing him, squaring it with them was the one causing him the most dread.
With yet another sigh, Rob pushed himself forward and headed off in the direction of the screams of delight which were starting to echo through the building from upstairs.
Chapter Eight
Rob gave himself a mental shake before slowing the car to a halt and pulling on the handbrake. With so much on his mind he’d been driving on autopilot and had almost missed the lights as they went to red.
Thankfully, his passengers were too immersed in their thoughts to notice that he had almost killed them, albeit for different reasons. Jane, judging by the slight smile on her face and the glaze in her eyes, was in a world of wealth, while his father wore an expression which suggested he wished he’d been impotent.
Rob stared at him in the mirror for a second and then returned his gaze to the windscreen and his own thoughts to the events of the past few hours.
Much as he hated to admit it, he was starting to become increasingly excited about the prospect of having money and the possibilities it held. The size and quality of the house had certainly given him a wake-up call and he’d been pleasantly surprised to find that only the office had contained any real reference of the scummers. Mind you, even seeing that had got his hackles up and he’d made a mental note that if he did move in, that room would be cleared on day one, if only because he’d never be able to sleep knowing there were photographs of City players under the same roof.
A loud sniff from the back seat broke into his thoughts again and his eyes returned to the mirror.
‘I don’t know why you just didn’t come in,’ he said without turning round. ‘The front door was open.’
‘I told you, I’m not stepping foot in that place. It’s a scum house,’ came the instant and extremely irritated reply.
‘But you’re quite happy to risk catching pneumonia?’ Rob said as he pulled away from the lights.
‘I needed a slash and you were bloody ages.’
‘So why were you standing in the rain?’
‘I wasn’t standing, I was pissing. At my age it takes a while sometimes.’
‘STOP! Stop the car!’
The panic in Jane’s voice brought an instant response from Rob who instinctively slammed on the brakes, bringing the Mondeo to an abrupt halt. There was a loud scream of tortured tyres scrabbling for grip on the still slightly damp road. Rob’s eyes immediately sprang to his rear view mirror but thankfully, the collision never came.
After offering a silent prayer to whoever invented anti-lock braking, Rob turned his attention to his wife who even as he did so was frantically undoing her seat belt and pulling the door open.
‘For fuck’s sake Jane! What did you shout out for? That bloody idiot almost hit us!’
‘I’ll see you at home,’ she said before jumping out of the car and heading off across the road. Rob jumped out after her.
‘Jane!’ he shouted. ‘What the fuck-?’ He let the words tail off as he caught sight of the large green and chrome Jaguar sign, the image taking a mere millisecond to tell him exactly where she was going and why.
A Jaguar had always been top of Jane’s lottery wish list - and now, as she’d pointed out not an hour previously, as far as she was concerned, she’d won the lottery.
‘And so it begins,’ he muttered to himself before turning to throw two fingers at the middle aged woman, who having just seen her life flash before her eyes, was clearly not happy with the way it had panned out and was now seemingly intent on venting an entire lifetime’s worth of displeasure on her car horn. And Rob.
‘So?’ came the voice from the back seat as Rob slammed the car into gear and pulled away. ‘What you gonna do son?’
Rob glanced in his mirror and raised an eyebrow at the hamfisted attempt to play the loyalty card. His father never called him son, ever. Knob head, dick head and penis breath were more his style.
He glanced across at the Jaguar dealer and for a second thought about going after Jane but instead carried on driving.
‘I’m going for a pint. I think I need one.’
‘Now you’re talking, son,’ said Mick.
Rob silently groaned. He hadn’t intended on taking the old man with him as he knew that it would simply end up with him going on about his duty to the club or some other such bollocks and he need
ed to be alone to try and get his head around what he was going to do. Jane was right, this was a massive opportunity to change all of their lives and the money and everything which went along with it would certainly be amazing. But it entailed doing something which went against everything he had ever thought, said, believed and, indeed, written.
On top of that he’d begun to think of all kinds of situations which might unfold should he say yes. For example, what if he took on the challenge and failed? He’d be left with nothing except a lifetime of everyone hating him and that included Jane. But most importantly, as editor of the fanzine and a columnist for a number of the associated websites, pretty much every United supporter knew who he was and he’d written enough about City and its fans to leave no one in any doubt what he thought about them so how would he ever be able to square any of this with them? Would a yes result in him being unwelcome at The Rosie forever?
But what if he didn’t take it on? Lee England had told him that if he didn’t accept, all of the money would go into a trust fund with the sole beneficiary being City so either way, they couldn’t lose. But at least if he turned it down Rob would still have his integrity intact although it was fairly certain he wouldn’t have a wife and appealing though that was, it was hardly reason enough to turn down over six million pounds.
Rob needed to think seriously about what he was going to do - and how he was actually going to do whatever it was he decided to do. The last thing he needed was the old man sticking his oar in and so to keep him quiet, he leaned forward and switched on the radio, TalkSport instantly filling the car with noise and drowning out his thoughts with its incessant drivel.
He hadn’t driven much further when Mick leant forward.
‘Turn that up a bit,’ he demanded.
Rob reached forward and turned the sound up a notch. He hadn’t really heard a word of the on-air debate, preferring instead to employ the age old tactic of using the radio as white noise to blank everything else out and clear his head. He often did that while driving and found certain presenters on TalkSport particularly effective.
‘What they on about?’ he asked, suddenly intrigued
‘Sounds like Pompey are in the shit again,’ replied Mick. ‘Jesus, that club’s a bloody mess and no mistake.’
The two of them listened intently for a moment or two as the full implications of Portsmouth’s potential demise was discussed. They might be lifelong United fans and like most supporters have little or no interest in what was going on at other clubs, but a club in the shit was always big news. There but for the grace of God and all that.
‘Can you imagine how the Southampton fans are feeling right now? They’ll be pissing themselves,’ said Mick. ‘It’ll be like Christmas and every birthday they’ve ever had rolled into one. Wouldn’t wanna be a Pompey fan though. Must be like the end of the bloody world.’
A light bulb suddenly went on in Rob’s head and he glanced across at his father who had undone his seat belt and was now leaning forward between the two front seats.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘That’s the answer!’
Mick looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face.
‘The answer to what?’
Even as Rob opened his mouth to speak his phone pinged with the arrival of a text and seeing the name ‘Baz’ on the small screen, he handed it to Mick.
‘See what he wants will you?’
‘He wants to know if you fancy going out Friday? Answer to what?’
Rob smiled to himself. If he had a best mate, Baz was it. They’d known each other since school and like all best mates, had done pretty much everything two blokes could do together save have sex. More importantly, Baz was the man who sat next to him at football every week and they shared opinions on pretty much everything to do with the game. He was the man whose judgement Rob trusted totally and having just had the germ of an idea, he needed to run it past someone to see if it would actually work. Baz was that man.
‘Text him back and tell him that I need to talk to him urgent. It’s half four now so I’ll be in The Wellington at 6.00. See if he can round up some of the lads as well.’
And with that, despite his father’s increasingly desperate questioning, Rob remained resolutely tight lipped.
Chapter Nine
Rob sat at the end of the long rectangular table and after taking a mouthful of Budweiser, placed his bottle carefully on the table in front of him before looking up at the six men sitting with him.
He had to admit that Baz had done well to get some of their best mates together at such short notice, although the urgency of the text message had resulted in an immediate call from Baz, worried that Jane had finally had enough and kicked Rob out and he needed somewhere to crash.
But Rob’s insistence that he’d explain everything over a pint had piqued Baz’s interest and so he’d got busy - with excellent results.
Now, having listened to Rob’s news and the basics of the plan which had been forming in his head as he’d driven home, they were staring at him with expressions ranging from mild amusement to total shock - the only exception being Mick who continued to look like he’d lost a tenner and found a five pence piece.
‘So?’ Rob asked. ‘What do you think?’
‘This is a piss take, right?’ asked Tony, a short rotund man who was still wearing his green and black Asda uniform, having come directly from his shift at the local hypermarket. ‘It has to be. I mean it’s- well-’ His voice tailed off as he struggled for the right words to end the sentence. Finally deciding on ‘oh fuck off! How could you not know you had an uncle?’
‘Because he never bloody told me,’ replied Rob, pointing at Mick, who sat back in his chair and folded his arms.
‘So let me get this straight,’ interrupted Baz, who had been quietly absorbing the detail of what Rob had been telling them, the typical action of the insurance assessor that he was. ‘Your plan is to take this money, do what you have to do but at the same time, make sure you rub every scummer’s nose in it at every opportunity?’
‘Yep,’ Rob said with a hopeful nod. ‘So what do you think?’
Baz lifted up his glass and emptied it.
‘I think if you've got six million in the bank we shouldn't be sitting here with empty glasses!’
The others followed suit and in a few seconds they were all passing empties in his direction.
‘Bloody right you tight arse,’ added Tony.
‘Come on lads,’ responded Rob almost pleadingly, ‘this is serious. What do you think?’
Jamie, still suited and booted having come from his car salesroom, leant back and shook his head.
‘Well it’s a plan, I’ll give you that. You’ll still be a traitor though.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mick. ‘That's exactly what I said.’
‘Yeah, I’m with you,’ said Tony. ‘I mean fuck me, this is the scummers we’re talking about. However you dress it up, they’re going to be better off at the end of the season and that’ll be down to you. It’s… it’s… it’s just fucking wrong.’
‘Is it bollocks,’ said Neil, a self-employed painter and decorator who, no matter when they met, always seemed to be covered in dots of paint. ‘It's the sworn duty of every football fan to dump on their local rivals at every opportunity, right? Isn't that what this is? Granted, on a fucking massive scale.’
Richie, who like Rob worked for the local council, leant forward and rattled his empty glass. ‘I make you right mate. I think it's a blinding idea. Anything that pisses off the scum is fine with me. Besides, if you don’t take the money they get it anyway, right?’
Rob nodded.
‘So what’s the problem?’ continued Richie. ‘Now get the bloody beers in.’
Tony turned to him and shook his head. ‘I always knew you two were dodgy.’
‘Oh here we bloody go,’ laughed Richie. ‘And how do you make that out, you arsehole?’
‘Stands to reason,’ said Tony irritably.
‘So you’d
turn the money down would you?’ interrupted Baz. ‘This the bloke who had to borrow £50 off me last week ’cos he's not got a pot to piss in.’
‘That’s not the point,’ replied Tony, slightly embarrassed. ‘There's a principle at stake. I mean - it's the scum.’
‘D'you think I don't know that?’ said Rob. ‘I hate those bastards with a vengeance but I mean, six million quid! What choice do I have?’
‘I’m with Tony,’ said Jamie. ‘I can’t believe you’re even thinking about it.’
‘Don't listen to these two dicks,’ said Neil. ‘They're only jealous.’
‘Yeah, fair play to you mate,’ added Richie. ‘Now get the bloody beers in and let's start thinking up some ideas to piss those bastards off.’
Rob smiled and started to gather the glasses together. If he’d got the backing of the majority of his closest mates, then he knew his thinking was sound. FThere was a lot to think about and there were certainly obstacles he would need to have to overcome, but he felt happy that a start had been made and for the first time that day he began to relax a little.
‘Hang on a fucking minute,’ said Mick as Rob was about to head for the bar. ‘Don’t my opinion count?’
Rob looked at him, expressionless.
‘Since you’re the one who put me in this bloody position, then no. Now do you want a beer or not?’
Mick grunted and sank back in his chair as Rob departed and the others talked furiously and excitedly amongst themselves.
‘If I was dead,’ he muttered. ‘I'd be spinning in my bloody grave.’
Chapter Ten
The taxi slowed to a halt and Rob, slightly intoxicated by the events of the day, not to mention the six bottles of Budweiser he’d consumed, thrust a ten pound note in the direction of the driver.
‘Keep the change mate,’ he giggled. ‘I’m bloody minted.’
The taxi driver threw him an ironic smile in return. Clearly the eighty pence tip he’d just been given did not support that story. Not that Rob would have seen it, given that he was already out of the car.