Author: Dougie Brimson
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/dougie-brimson/page,8,58377-wings_of_a_sparrow.html
A slim blonde woman burst in behind him. Teeth, tits and confidence. Following close behind her came a scruffy man, his neck weighed down by the cameras he had hanging off it. Almost immediately, he began clicking away causing Rob to jump angrily to his feet in response.
‘You take one more picture pal and that camera is going straight up your arse!’
‘I’m Sarah. Sarah Williams,’ gushed the blonde seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. ‘I'm with The Gazette. I cover City. This is Darren. I’m sorry, no offence meant.’
She held out her hand and smiled. A warm and disarming smile which Rob had little doubt was totally and utterly false. Despite that, he took it in greeting.
‘Could you give us a minute Darren?’ she said to the photographer who without a word, left the room and returned to his car.
Rob had met enough journalists over the years to know how they worked and he smiled as he realised what she was up to. Crank up the tension and then ease it to help people relax, let them think you care about them. He glanced at his father who already looked calmer. He was thankful for that at least.
‘May I sit?’ she asked.
‘Of course love’ said Mick. ‘Would you like a cuppa?’
‘That would be lovely,’ she replied, a little too excitedly for Rob’s liking. She’s good, he thought. Bloody good.
He forced a smile as the reporter turned her attention to him. Like a shark, circling before heading in for the kill.
‘So Rob. May I call you Rob?’ she said, not waiting for an answer. ‘Is it true?’
Rob smiled and, remembering some advice he’d been given many years previously, took two breaths before answering. That’s enough time to pull your foot out of your mouth before you say something stupid.
‘That depends on what you've been told.’
The journalist reached into her pocket and pulled out a Dictaphone. Without asking, she switched it on and stood it on the table between them.
‘I was told that the man who writes one of the most controversial fanzines in English football now actually owns the club he despises with a passion.’
Sarah Williams took a deep breath and tried desperately to slow her heart rate. This was it. All the studying, the late nights, the grovelling and flattering she’d had to do, even the odd blow job she’d had to give, it had all brought her to this career defining golden moment.
When she’d received the call earlier that day she had initially struggled to take in the detail, so ridiculous had it sounded. But then the E word had been mentioned and it had suddenly all taken on more clarity than she had ever thought possible.
Now here she was with her exclusive - and what an exclusive it was. A local football fan living out every football fan's fantasy, for real. It was going to be huge, she had absolutely no doubt about that. More importantly, it was a story which would run and run. And while The Gazette was a good regional paper, it didn’t take a genius to work out that it wasn’t big enough for a story like this. The second they went to print with it the nationals would be all over Rob like a rash - and unless she acted, and fast, she would be left scrabbling for crumbs. But what should she do? What could she do? Take it to the nationals herself? Or maybe even go straight to the TV. Sky Sports, possibly even Sky News? That was, after all, where she wanted to be. She certainly had the looks, the personality and she had time on her side. She was only 26.
One thing that didn’t even cross her mind was the idea that she owed The Gazette any loyalty. Three years spent interviewing countless old dears in cat-piss drenched care homes and feigning interest while enduring more boring sports events than she cared or dared to remember was more than enough time spent in the journalistic trenches. Christ, if a gig at City was considered the plum job on a paper, it was definitely time to think about moving on. And for Sarah, moving on meant moving up.
But if she was going to be ruthless and exploit her position, then she would have to move fast. A story with this much potential couldn’t be kept quiet for long and she’d already wasted far too much time.
Sarah Williams took a deep breath to compose herself and then pulled her phone from her bag. Within a matter of a few minutes, both her career and her life had changed forever.
Chapter Seventeen
For the fifth time in as many seconds, Rob let out a silent curse to his wife as he opened and closed the various kitchen cupboards.
‘What are you looking for?’ she asked, seemingly full of the joys of spring - the exact opposite of how her husband felt.
‘Tea bags.’
She bustled him out of the way and took a container from the cupboard above the kettle. The obvious place.
‘If you’d have been here to help yesterday you would have known where things are.’
‘I had things to do,’ he replied. ‘I have got a lot on my plate, in case you hadn’t noticed. And where’s my United mug? I can’t find it.’
‘It’s at the old house. I thought we’d just use nice ones here. Here, let me do it.’
The old house he thought. Not home, it’s already the old house. He sighed and wandered over to the window.
‘You sure you just don’t want to use cups and saucers?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Stop moaning,’ she said as poured boiling liquid into two white cups. ‘Can’t you just try and enjoy this place? For me?’
Rob looked at her and half smiled. Her enthusiasm for the new house was touching and she had certainly been different over the past few days or so. More relaxed, almost nice. Her insistence on stopping there last night had irritated him but with Charlie sleeping at his mate’s, he had gone along with it to keep the peace.
However, if Jane’s plan had been for the two of them to spend some quality time together, it hadn’t worked out because Rob had far too much going on in his head to even think about anything other than the task laid out before him. As a consequence he’d spent the evening wading through all kinds of documents before falling asleep on the sofa.
He sat down at the large island in the centre of the kitchen and glanced around as Jane busied herself making breakfast. Even that was unusual. It all felt so odd, false even. Like a hotel room or a holiday cottage, certainly not a home. At least there was a TV.
Jane handed him a steaming cup and he smiled. ‘Sorry. I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment, you know?’ was all he felt able to say.
‘It’s OK. Fancy some toast or something?’
Rob smiled at his wife, then reached for the TV remote control which sat tempting him. Within seconds he was flicking through the channels and after sending out a silent thanks to his deceased uncle for having the foresight to have Sky streamed into the kitchen, scrolled through until Sky Sports News appeared. Hearing the onscreen reporter talking about Manchester City’s latest injury crisis, he turned the sound down. Who cared? Not him for sure.
‘So what have you got planned for today?’ he said, feigning interest.
‘I need to do some shopping,’ Jane replied. ‘These cupboards are empty. And the cleaner is coming at 11.00.’ ‘Cleaner? What the bloody hell do we need a cleaner for?’
‘Who do you think has been keeping this place clean since your-.’ she paused. ‘Well you know. Besides, I thought we could keep her on. Help me out a bit.’
‘So how much is that going to cost me?’ Rob sniffed.
‘Us Rob, cost us. And I don’t know. She-’ Jane stopped talking and stared at her husband, who was suddenly fixated on the TV. ‘Are you listening to a word I’m saying?’
He wasn’t. Instead, every ounce of his attention was focused on Sarah Williams who had appeared on the small screen and was being interviewed by the host.
‘That’s the bird who interviewed me yesterday,’ he said, noticing even as he spoke that she looked a lot prettier and also had a lot more cleavage on show than she’d had when in his father’s living room. He grabbed the remote, and thumbed the volume button.
‘We can now cross to George Park where Ray
Brookes is with some City supporters. Ray, how is the mood there?’
A slim, good looking man appeared on screen. Microphone in hand and his face wearing the forced expression which all TV reporters wear when reporting news which might not be in the best interests of people within punching distance. A wise move on his part given the motley collection of locals who loitered behind him, looking extremely unhappy.
‘Well obviously this news has come of something of a shock to the fans, but as yet, we’ve still had nothing official from the club.’
‘Are we expecting anything?’ asked the host.
‘Given the mood amongst the fans here and the level of press interest I think some kind of statement will have to be made today.’
‘Fat chance of that happening,’ muttered Rob.
‘Well as we’ve already heard,’ continued the TV host. ‘The rumoured new owner is already well known to many of the fans, so what are they saying about it?’
‘Well with me to answer that question is Peter Miles, editor of the club’s unofficial website.’
Even as the camera panned out to reveal a slight scruffy looking man, Rob could feel his hackles rising. If he had an opposite number at City, Miles was it and the two had butted heads on numerous occasions over the years. He looked unkempt, as if he’d just been dragged out of bed, but was obviously enraged. Bloody runt Rob thought as he made a mental note to have him banned from the ground at the earliest opportunity.
‘Peter.,’ continued the reporter. ‘How do you think the fans are going to react to this news?’
‘Well I can promise you one thing,’ said the runt. ‘If this is actually true, then we won’t take it lying down. I’ve asked for a meeting with the club today and-’
Even as he was speaking, a young and clearly furious man thrust his head in front of Miles.
‘You tell that fat scummer twat if he thinks-’ he shouted. The picture instantly cut to the studio, where a shocked host apologised for the foul language before composing himself and turning his attention to Sarah.
‘Obviously, feelings are running high amongst the fans Sarah. You’ve spoken to Mr. Cooper, how do you think this will pan out?’
‘Well it’s hard to say,’ said the smiling blonde. ‘There has never really been a situation like this before but one thing is for sure, this story has some way to run yet.’
‘That’s a fact,’ smiled the host. ‘And a little bird tells me that you’re going to be following it for us, so on behalf of everyone at Sky Sports News, could I welcome you to the team.’
‘I’m thrilled to be on board,’ said a beaming Sarah Williams.
‘Gazette my arse,’ said Rob irritably, before glancing across at his wife who simply shook her head.
‘Idiots,’ she said sharply. ‘You’re all bloody idiots.’
Rob stared blankly at her. After all these years, how could she not have a clue? Had she never listened to anything? Never taken any notice? More to the point, did she really not understand what the next few months were going to be like?’
‘Yes love,’ he said flatly. ‘They’re all idiots.’
‘Not they, all of you. You’re all idiots.’
Rob went to say something in response but bit his lip. He’d had this conversation with her a million times and had never got anywhere, and there was nothing to indicate that this time would be any different.
Besides, his mind was already racing ahead. Seeing Peter Miles on screen had given him a few ideas - and even as he sat there listening to Jane droning on, new ones were jumping into his head.
He suddenly felt like a kid in a sweetshop. And his confectionery of choice was revenge.
‘Have you seen my phone?’ he asked, suddenly realising he had no idea where it was.
‘Nope. Is it with your wallet and keys?’
He looked at her and frowned.
‘Have you seen my wallet? Or my keys?’
After almost half an hour of searching with little or no help from a wife who merely reminded him for the millionth time that if he put his things in the same place each and every night then they wouldn’t get misplaced – conveniently forgetting that the whole house was a new place - Rob finally located his wallet and keys in the downstairs toilet and his phone in his car.
Even as he pulled open the Mondeo’s creaking door the screen flashed up to notify him that he had an incoming call, but noticing the word unknown on the screen, Rob didn’t answer. He didn’t take calls from people who hid their numbers as he regarded them as either shifty or wanting money. Often both.
Instead he waited for the call to end - and only then saw that he had 67 missed calls, 36 voicemails and 74 texts.
‘Holy shit,’ he said out loud. Even as he stared at it, the phone rang again and this time he answered instantly.
‘Yes Jane, it was in the car,’ he answered sarcastically before turning to see her laughing at him from an upstairs window. ‘Very funny. I’ve got-’ A beeping interrupted him, another call. He looked at the screen, threw a comedy vee sign in the direction of his wife and answered.
‘Yes dad?’
‘At last! Where the fuck have you been?’ yelled his father from the speaker. ‘I’ve been calling you for bloody ages!’
‘Sorry, I left the phone in the car. What’s up?’
‘Bloody reporters, that’s what’s up!’ he raged. ‘I’ve had them banging on my door all morning!
Chapter Eighteen
Rob stood in the en suite shower and let the hot water run over him as he sent out a silent curse to Sarah Williams. Not that he really blamed her, he really blamed himself.
He had been skirting around the edges of football journalism long enough to know that when the details of the will broke it was going to be news, almost certainly national news. It was after all, a unique if not hilarious situation - and if he realised that, then so would everyone else. So with hindsight, it had been at best naive and at worst stupid to assume that a young and obviously ambitious journalist could be given an exclusive interview with the man at the centre of it all and then sit on the story for three days until it could be published in a local rag.
‘A lesson learned,’ Rob muttered as he turned off the shower and began to dry himself. ‘Don’t trust any bastard. Least of all bloody journos.’
Sky Sports News were running their regular loop of stories when he returned to the bedroom - and for once he was a little relieved to find the reporter talking about something other than football, if only because it meant that he hadn’t suddenly become blanket coverage.
But even as he thought about that Rob began to consider what was going on outside of the oasis of serenity the high walls and electronic gates surrounding their new home was providing.
After all, his phone had been ringing off the hook with numbers which were either unknown or simply blocked and in the end it had become so irritating that he’d switched it to silent for some peace and quiet. Then there was his dad and the club. The press had already descended on them, so what if-
Rob suddenly had a vision of a pack of journalists pressed up against the wooden gates at the end of the drive, pulsing and swaying like a football crowd from the 1950s, ready to pour through like some tabloid Tsunami the second he pressed the remote control to open them. Then again, no one had rung the buzzer, so maybe all was quiet outside.
He shook his head and took a deep breath. He was starting to feel like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights, and with a million things to do he needed to get a grip, calm down and focus on the job in hand.
The first thing was to formulate a plan of action, otherwise he was almost certainly going to spend his time on the back foot - which was the very last place he wanted to be. Thankfully, years of project management work at the council had given him some experience in that area, so at least he had that to fall back on, but if the reaction of the City fans on the television had shown him one thing, it was that he didn’t have the option of hiding away. If he was going to be true to himsel
f and to everything he had ever written or said, he had to be upfront and honest - not just because that was the only way to take and keep control, but because that was going to be the best way to maximise the fun factor.
Freshly showered and shaved, Rob entered the lounge to find Jane staring at the TV with a cup of tea in her hand.
In spite of the whirlwind going on in his head and the volcano raging in his stomach, he couldn’t help but admire the opulence of his surroundings, which looked for all the world as if they had been copied from a top rate hotel. Class seemed to ooze from everything.
‘You not on shift today?’ he asked. The question caused her to choke as she struggled to swallow her tea.
‘Are you serious?’ she began as she placed her cup carefully on the table. ‘What have I always said? If we ever won the lottery I'd never step foot inside another bloody hospital. Well da daaaa!’
He sighed. Wishing he had that option.
‘It’s alright for some. I’ve got to get to scumland. I’ve got tons to do.’
Jane watched him for a second and then stood, walked over to him and straightened his tie. Then, with a smile she pecked him on the lips. A sign of affection.
‘I am proud of you, you know. For doing this I mean. I do know how big a deal it is, really I do.’
He smiled back at her, a nervous smile, like a little schoolboy getting ready for his first day at big school.
‘Now go,’ she said. ‘Try not to upset too many people and call me later to let me know how you get on.’
Rob sat in his car at the end of the drive and stared anxiously at the gates as they swung swing open.
Thankfully, the only things waiting for him on the other side were traffic and some fresh road kill and so with a low whistle of relief Rob pulled off the drive, turned left and headed toward George Park.
Usually, the first thing Rob did when he got in his car was to turn the radio on. This time however, he ensured that it remained very firmly off. He wanted to use the journey to compose himself before walking into the maelstrom which no doubt awaited him and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that with TalkSport prattling away in the background. Primarily because it invariably wound him up.