I cried off work the next day and remained in bed until after 10:00. Fending off recriminations was a hobby of mine and I refused to allow it to infiltrate my brain. Yes, I’m an alcoholic. Yes, I’ll always be an alcoholic. Yes, I deal with it on a day by day basis. Yes, it can be difficult. There were supports in place for me and I used them when it was appropriate.
I also used the crutches of support that were always available to me and at hand. Football was a big one, that and music. I had a training session to hold that evening and I had Charlie and Gary coming to stay. I needed some time to gather my wits so I put a few albums on the turntable and let them play loudly while I planned that evening’s training session.
I was at the door when the kids got off the bus and it was a joy when they threw themselves at me in greeting. Charlie knew by the strength of my hugs that I was a little off balance and she was glued to my hip for a full hour, clucking around like an old mother hen, telling me nonsensical little stories about her day in school.
I laughed when appropriate and sympathised when necessary. When I opened the fridge she leapt in the air when she saw the big bowl of leftover Bolognese. It was her favourite meal, but it had to be mine. Nobody else’s would do. Gary, meanwhile, got stuck into his homework while Charlie got stuck into the pasta. Life just went on around me.
The evening paper arrived in the hall at 4:00 and I retired to my music chair to read it, becoming so engrossed in it that I didn’t notice until they were almost asleep, the presence of my two children sitting on top of me with their heads on my chest. The three of us hidden by the open newspaper. I smiled at the image and left them there.
Billy knocked on the door at 5:15. I let him in. He was letting me know the gossip doing the rounds about my outburst at the League meeting. I could just about concentrate enough on what he was saying to be able to smile, grimace or nod my head appropriately when required.
“Bad night?” he finally asked.
“Yeah, I’m good though.”
“Did you take a drink?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Did you want a drink?”
“Yes, but I didn’t take one.”
“Do you still want one?”
“I always want one, Bill. I’m taking it minute by minute today.”
“Good boy. If it gets too much, you’d better call me or there’ll be trouble.”
“You’re too old to be threatening anyone.”
“I know, but I’ve always been a good runner.”
“Well start running now, Billy. I have to get ready for training.”
I went to the kitchen to check on the kids and sat beside them to finish my own homework, my Tuesday evening training plan. I just had a few slight touches to do before it was complete. I then folded it into my football book and added it to the bag of equipment. I gave Gary a nudge and we walked over to the green.
I was laying out a grid of cones when Gary ran up to me. He pointed out a man and woman standing on the sidelines with a young boy beside them.
“Dad, that’s Barry Cooney over there. He plays for St. Paul’s school.”
I walked over to them carrying a ball in my hand.
“Hi there, can I help you?”
“Are you Derek Caldwell?”
“Yes.”
He stuck out his hand.
“Great to meet you. I’m Alan Cooney and this is Eileen, my missus.”
I shook both their hands.
“Pleased to meet you both, and who is this?” I said, looking at the boy beside them.
“This is our son, Barry. He wants to join a team.”
I shook Barry’s hand.
“Hi Barry, I’m Derek. Do you have your boots with you?”
“Yes.”
“Are they clean?”
“Yes.”
“Who cleaned them?”
“My Mam.”
“Can you learn to do it yourself?”
“Yes. Did you play for Liverpool?”
“Yes.”
“Were you any good?”
“Better than some, worse than others. Do you want to play tonight? You can be the judge of how good I am, or not.”
“Is this a trial?”
“No, we don’t do trials at your age. If you’d like to join in you’re welcome.”
“Get stripped, Barry,” Alan said. “What’s all the cones for, Derek?”
“I’m introducing a few drills we used do at Liverpool. The first two were Bill Shankly’s way to get youngsters moving their legs properly. I think they’ll enjoy it.”
“Interesting. I’ve never seen anything like this at their age. I’ve heard stories about you, it looks like they weren’t spoofing.”
“We’ll give it a go, it can’t hurt.”
I was then distracted by the rest of the group arriving. I finished off building the grid whilst being followed around by a gang of eight year olds. I stopped, turned around and looked at my watch. They got the message and scarpered off to get changed.
I had a few cones left over and I was walking over to return them to the bag when I caught a glimpse of Eva on the sideline, standing to the side of a group of four mothers. She was watching a man who was heading in my direction, holding Barry Clery’s hand. I winked at Barry and he smiled shyly,
“Hey, Barry. You made it down. Did you bring your form?”
The man, his father, strode up to me.
“I know your face,” I said.
“You’re not familiar to me,” he said, “Mousey Clery, Barry’s father.”
I held out my hand but he ignored it. Unfazed I said, “yeah, Michael Clery, from Charles Street. I remember your mother giving us bread and jam in Mountjoy Square.”
He was gobsmacked.
“Your father would never refuse to shake a man’s hand. But he was a proper person.”
He held out his hand to me then. I didn’t take it.
“Fuck, you’re Del Caldwell. I never knew your name was Derek. How’s, Bunny? I haven’t seen him in years.”
“He’s married with two little girls, works in the Corpo.”
“Are you not going to shake my hand?”
“I will, but I need to know where it’s been.”
He laughed.
“I’m fucking serious.”
“Fuck off!” he said, thinking I was joking.
“Last time I saw you was in the Mater Hospital at the VD clinic. We were wiring the new blood bank beside it.”
His face went pale.
“When was that?”
“About two years ago. But I’m an alcoholic and you look down on me? You’re a prick, Michael. I’d bet you didn’t even tell Eva about it”
“I don’t…”
“What’s your game here? Are you going to try and make me look like an idiot? Remember the game against Ballyfermot United on the Diamond? When you ran home crying? Just because you couldn’t hack it in the fucking warm up?”
“Do you ever forget anything?”
“Not much.”
“Barry wants to play for your team. I came down to see what the set up was.”
“You’ve some neck, I’ll give you that.”
“What do you mean by that,” he said, looking down at Barry.
“You couldn’t kick snow off a rope, Michael, never could. You wouldn’t know what we’re even doing here, let alone qualified enough to see what the set up is,” I said, keeping my voice even, “I gave Eva the form, have you got it with you?”
He handed me the form, signed by Eva and Barry.
“You have to sign it too.” He didn’t. I just wanted him to squirm.
I handed him a pen and he scribbled his name on it.
“Right, Barry,” I said to the young lad, “welcome to the Super Eights. We’re gonna clean up this year, so get stripped and out on the pitch. You have ten minutes.”
“Listen, Del, about you and Eva.”
“It’s ok, Michael, I’m over it now.”
“No, I was being a prick. I didn’t realise it was you. Honestly. Can you put it back together with her?”
“I’ll think about it later, but she’ll need some kind of doctor’s note with a clear test result for whatever you may have given her.”
I was showing Barry how I wanted his boots tied, when Gary and Robbie Keane ran over.
“Derek, Gavin Shean is coming up tonight. He wants to sign for us.”
I looked at my watch.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“He’s the centre half for St. Brendan’s,” Robbie said.
“We have four centre halves, lads.”
“But Gavin is the best,” Gary said, “give him a chance, Dad.”
“He has three minutes to get here.”
Five minutes later, Gavin hadn’t appeared and the lads were out in the grids, it took them a while to gain an understanding and it took a personal demonstration from me and four players to drive the message home. It was a drill that accomplished several themes and it was devious and clever in its conceit.
It fostered good ball control principles, flexibility of young limbs, balance, passing ability and ten rotations got them running over a kilometre of distance utilising three different running styles, all with a ball at their feet. It also had the useful advantage of forcing them to use both feet when I introduced a competitive timing factor into it.
I spent my time strolling, sprinting and jogging with them as they began to get the hang of it. By the time they were finished they had run over four kilometers each and had about seventy ball interventions split about 60/40 on each foot.
I stood back on the sideline, saw them get two rotations perfect and blew it up. I encouraged them to applaud a great drill and the fairly sizeable crowd on the line joined in. It was a fantastic moment. We then set up a match.
We had twenty players out and they wanted a round robin league format again. I threw twenty bibs, five of each colour, on the ground and they snapped them up. I waved Fran Dempsey over and he jogged on to the pitch with a smile on his face. He’d brought his boots this time.
I started the first game with my whistle. The two Barry’s were in the same team with Gary, a new player, Chris Fox, and Graham Dempsey, I played with them.
The yellow team was pretty strong too, with Willie, Robbie, Paul Fitz, Jay Morgan and Eric Purcell on board. Franner played with yellow.
They ran onto the pitch and I pulled my team to one side and gave them a quick overview of how I saw the game. They listened quietly. My main focus that night was to get them passing and controlling the ball. I had 20 cans of Coke in the boot of my car, if they completed six consecutive passes without the other team touching the ball they got a Coke. Passes to me and Franner didn’t count.
We started the game with a drop ball thrown in the air. Barry Cooney was first to the pitch of the ball and he immediately smacked it into an empty net. It was an impressive strike, power, balance and accuracy on the half volley.
“Don’t do that again, Barry.”
“But I scored.”
“Yes, that’s how girls play. Men don’t do that. If someone puts a ball at your feet you cherish it. You embrace the moment. It’s a miracle of time and place that you’ve got that perfect sphere in your control. You caress it with your feet, feel the breeze in your hair, survey the tapestry of the opposition and the placement of every player.
Visualise where you want the ball to go, how you want it to land. How you want the ball to travel through the air, how much curve you need, the shape of the arc. When you’re happy with all of that, you can kick it and not a moment before.”
Franner restarted the game and they worked their way towards our goal as the ball landed at Robbie’s feet. He took too long over it and Barry Clery almost clamped him in a tackle, relieving him of the ball and prodding it to me. It bobbled as it rolled and I controlled it with the outside of my left foot. Eric rushed a challenge but I teased it out of his stride and shifted my balance, leaving the ball centred perfectly between my feet.
Franner made a charge at me and I nutmegged him, leaving him flat on his arse as the ball rolled between his legs, straight to Graham who, cute as a fox, refused the open goal, passed it to Gary, who flicked it on to Barry Cooney. Barry was about to shoot when Graham shouted at him. “Don’t shoot, Cooney. One more pass for a Coke.”
I laughed as Barry quickly switched his body shape, scanned the area with his eyes and prodded it in front of Gary who gleefully whacked it into the goal past a diving Jay Morgan.
“That’s absolutely brilliant, lads. Both teams were fantastic.” I ended it there.
When we completed the entire ‘tournament’ we blew it up and ended the session. Once again the kids were buzzing and a certain amount of disgruntlement abounded over the cans of Coke. I went to the car and handed every one of them a can, sat down and took off my boots. Mousey and Alan Cooney came over and shook my hand.
“That’s a good little side you have there, Del. They play a bit like you did,” Mousey said.
“They’re coming on grand. What did you think, Alan? Are we good enough for your lad?”
“Your name was enough for me, Derek. That was a fantastic little session. I’ve never seen anything like that before, you’ve still got the moves too.”
“It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it Demo?” I said to Fran, as he walked over to us.
“For you it is. They need a game, Derek. There’s some good little players out there.”
“They need a few more sessions. I’m going to try get a game against Shelbourne’s under nine’s.”
“Let them play their own age, Derek,” Mousey said.
“I will but they’ll improve in strength and guile by playing the older fellas. It’s all in the plan.”
I dismissed them and left the field. Gary and Robbie followed me across the road and I was accosted by my father just as we reached the footpath on the other side.
“Alright, Da?” I said.
“Yes, very impressive, son. You got a good crowd, you should sell tickets.”
We stood outside the gate talking to a few of the parents until Billy and Paddy joined us and we went into the house. As I closed the door behind me I heard the phone ringing. Charlie nipped in and answered it.
“Dad! There’s a woman on the phone.”
“Tell her to get off, it’s very unhygienic!” my father said, to a chorus of laughter.
“I can’t believe you’d tell a woman to get off on the phone, Dad,” I said, as all of the dirty minds doubled over further.
I took the receiver and put it to my ear,
“Derek Caldwell here,”
“Hi, Derek,” a female voice said, “my name is Clair Shean. My brother, Gavin, wants to join your team.”
“Ah, Clair, nice to talk to you. Yes a couple of the lads told me about that. We were under the impression that he was coming up this evening”
“Yes, he was supposed to, but I was late home from work.”
“That can happen, Clair. Can you bring him on Thursday at the same time?”
“I have to work a bit later on Thursday, but Gavin can go home from school to Gerard Keane’s house. I can pick him up after training.”
“That seems a bit messy, where do you live?”
“Moatfield Road.”
“It’s not that far, I suppose. Ok, if you’re happy with those arrangements, I look forward to meeting you and Gavin on Thursday.”
“Thank you so very much, Mr. Caldwell, Gavin was so upset with me today.”
“Don’t mind him,” I said, “kids are good at playing the guilt card, and it’s Derek, by the way, Clair.”
“Thank you, eh, Derek. Does he have to do a trial?”
“No. I’ll give my son a registration form to bring in to school tomorrow. He can have it filled in and return it at training.”
“Would it be alright if I called up later this evening to get it? You wouldn’t believe the drama here.”
“You’re more than welcome, Clair. Can you give me a second to see if I have a form here?”
“Yes, of course, thank you, Derek.”
I found Paddy and asked him if he had any forms on him. He had. I took a handful from him and returned the phone.
“Hi Clair, sorry about that. Yes, I have a few here. If you can give me an hour or so before you come up. I live opposite the green in number 77.”
“Great, it’ll probably be nearer 9:00 by the time I get there, would that be ok?”
“Sure thing, Claire. I’ll expect you when I see you.”
I slowly got rid of the interlopers from my house and put it back together. I had a lot of shit from the training session to sift through, not least the situation with Eva and her husband. What do I do about that? I’d get around to it in time, I had other fish to fry for now.
The phone rang and I answered it myself. It was 8:00 exactly.
“Derek Caldwell here,” I said, a bit distractedly.
“Derek, Christy Murphy of the NDSL.”
“Hi, Christy.”
“Hi, I’ve been asked to contact you about representing Bonnybrook Boys FC in an exhibition match on Saturday week.”
“What? An exhibition match? Exhibiting what?”
“It’s a demonstration of the small sided game, your advocacy of it has put you and your club in the forefront of our promotional plan. Are you interested?
“I don’t know, Christy? There’s a lot to think through and organise.”
“Such as?”
“A kit of gear for starters, I’d need to see a schedule outlining what’s required of us, where it takes place, who else is participating, times and dates etc.”
“I have all of that here,” he said.
“That’s not much use to me now, is it?”
“Have you got a pen?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to use it. It’s past 8:00, my kids are about to go to bed and you want me to be your secretary? You have my address, make sure it’s in my door by morning. I’ll look at it then.”
“I’ll drop it in on my way home. It’ll be close to midnight.”
“Good man. Do it quietly.”
I hung up and leaned against the wall beside the phone. We had a match. I could feel the blood beginning to flow. I needed to get busy. I called Fran Dempsey.
“Franner, Derek Caldwell, sorry about the hour.”
“No sweat, Del, what’s up?”
“I just got a call about a match next week. Do you want to be the assistant manager?”
“I’d love to, Del, but I don’t have the time.”
“No worries, Fran. You’re my first call.”
“No problem, I’ll help out on match day if you don’t get anyone.”
“Thanks, I’ll take that.”
I assembled all of my papers on the kitchen table and looked through my football book. Gary came in looking for a drink, he was half asleep.
“What do you need, Gar?” I asked him.
“I’m getting a drink. Did you see my goal tonight?”
“I did, straight out of the book it was.”
“Jay hadn’t a chance.”
“I know. If it was a burger he’d probably have caught it.”
He looked at me and burst out laughing.
“You’d better not say that outside this house, Gary, or I’ll have to burst you.”
“I won’t, Da.”
“Good. Now off to bed with you.”
I contemplated just switching everything off and heading to bed myself but I remembered that Clair Shean was dropping by to collect the form for Gavin. From what Gary and Robbie said, he was a good player. Out of a sense of adventure I wrote down a system of play and a potential line up from the players already on board.
I flirted with a flexible system of two solid, but interchangeable, triangles. They featured two defenders and a defensive, but progressive, midfielder, playing behind an inverted triangle that featured two attackers in front of an attacking midfielder.
It was a bit complicated but, if I could get my message through to the players, I could see it being effective, in my mind’s eye, at least. The team on the field would read;
Jay Morgan in goal, Barry Clery and Willie McHenry at the base of the defensive triangle with Robbie Keane at the apex, Graham Dempsey at the apex of the attacking triangle with Barry Cooney and either Chris Fox or Gary Caldwell as the base of the attacking triangle.
I wavered on the selection of Gary simply because he was a year younger than the rest of them. I also factored in that I’d be accused of nepotism if I favoured him over Foxy but that would be unfair on Gary. I’d always choose skill levels, enthusiasm and form over any other consideration and for me, at least, Gary held the edge over Foxy, who was a quintessential goal poacher, given what I’d seen of him at training. I was about to handle the three subs when I heard a light knock on the door.
I opened it to find an attractive girl in her mid twenties standing there. I smiled at her, she was very easy on the eye. She appeared to take a pause before offering her hand to me.
“Hi, Derek, I’m Clair Shean. Gavin’s sister.”
“Of course,” I said, recovering from my thoughts to shake her hand, “come in, come in, lovely to meet you.”
I showed her into my music room and offered her a seat. ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’ was playing on the sound system and I excused myself in order to switch it off.
“You’re a Dark Side man, are you?”
“You know, Claire, I’m definitely on the fence,” I laughed, and she joined in as she sat down.
“I’m more of a Wall girl, myself,” she said, and adjusted her hips, seductively, as she settled into the chair.
“Let me guess, you’re beguiled by ‘Comfortably Numb’.”
“You could say that,” she enthused.
“While I tend to, ‘fritter and waste the hours. In an offhand way,’.
“Don’t switch it off on my account, Derek,” she said quickly, “I love the depth of this album. Every time I listen to it I get something else from it.”
“Ah, you’re very young to be a connoisseur of the classics.”
“You’re very kind, but my twenties passed in the blink of an eye without troubling the scoreboard and now I find I’m, ‘shorter in time and one day closer to death’.
I smiled at her and then we broke into a quiet laugh.
“You got me there,” I said, “I know I shouldn’t say this, but.”
“But you’re going to anyway,” she squealed with laughter.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t and I won’t.”
“Please, expand. I love this.”
“I can see that. However, to clarify my position in an attempt to dig a shallower hole for myself. In my puerile attempt to offer a complimentary observation, all I was going to say was, you don’t look like you’re in your thirties.”
She laughed and leaned forward as she did so.
“I get that quite a lot, Derek, so no harm done. I’m actually thirty five next birthday in,” she looked at her watch, “six, no, five days time.”
“Now that you say that,” I began,
“Don’t go there,” she interrupted me with a warning look in her eye.
We laughed again.
“I must say, it’s really lovely to meet you, Clair. You’ve brightened my day. Where were you at 8:00 this morning? I could’ve done with you then.”
“I was battling the traffic into work.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in IT.”
“So, nothing, in other words?”
“I’ll have you know, Mr. Caldwell, my job is..”
“Yeah, save it for someone who doesn’t know.”
She stood and slapped my upper arm as we laughed together.
“I’ll just grab that form for you, it’s in the kitchen.”
“Are you throwing me out already?”
“God, no, Clair. This is the most stimulating few minutes I’ve had all day. You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish.”
“I have all night. I put my mother to bed and the house is quiet, I don’t get much time to do what I want for myself.”
“I was just about to eat some reheated pasta, care to join me? I’ve an unopened bottle of wine too.”
She held up her finger. She began to wave it around.
“I’m just reminded about some stories I’ve heard about you,”
“Are you? It’s a filthy lie.”
“Oh, I doubt that. The source was most reliable.”
“You have the advantage of me. Who was this devious, underhanded rumour monger?”
“Robbie Keane’s mother, Brenda.”
“Oh, they’re probably true then.”
“Well that’s very interesting. I think I will have that leftover pasta and a glass of your wine while we explore and expound.”
“Fuck, I should’ve held my ground.”
“Yes, you should, but it’s too late now. Let me help you in the kitchen.”
I held the door for her and, as she passed, she winked at me and smiled. I took her arm and pulled her to me, turning her to face me in the same movement. Her other arm went around my neck and our lips met in a soft kiss, a kiss of introduction. Her lips were warm and I detected a very feint floral scent on her skin. We held the kiss for a few moments until she retreated, her eyes searching mine and a smile lighting her eyes.
“To be continued, I hope,” she said, “let’s eat this pasta first.”
Clair was great fun. She spoke animatedly, her hands flying everywhere. She had shoulder length red hair with the most beautiful green eyes and cute little freckles across her nose. She removed the jacket she wore when she arrived and hung it on the back of a chair in the kitchen as I cooked the food.
She stood, as she spoke to me, with her hands in the back pockets of her, slightly faded, black jeans. Her slim profile was enhanced by the slight curves of her hips and breasts, which undulated delicately with every move or gesture that she made,
Her lips, however, were the lips of a goddess. She possessed a classic Cupid’s Bow and when she smiled it melted the hardest of hearts, overwhelming them with subtle interrogation, transfixing them with their beauty.
I had just kissed those lips and they had just kissed me in return. I yearned to kiss them again, so when she decided to come and test the food, I held some up on my wooden spoon and teased her by moving it aside and stealing a soft kiss once more. She looked at me with a crooked smile and touched my face.
She kissed me again, deeper this time. Her eyes searched every millimetre of my face, looking for clues. Imprinting my features in her mind. Her hand still holding its touch on my face. She took the spoon and placed it to her mouth, testing the temperature with her tongue, licking sauce from the spoon and tasting it. She smiled, apparently pleased with the result.
“That’s delicious, Derek.”
“So are you, Clair.”
“But you haven’t tasted me.”
“Yet.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fervent wish.”
“Brenda was right about you.”
“Brenda has no idea.”
“I can’t keep this up. You win this round,” she laughed and hugged me.
She sat at the table and I brought the bowl of pasta over. I decided to be fancy and produced a pair of pasta serving tongs, forks, spoons and pasta bowls.
“You’re seriously impressing me, Mr. Caldwell,” she said, I laughed and touched her hair as I passed her by.
“Better than the alternative, I suppose, Clair.”
“Do you eat a lot of pasta?”
“I wouldn’t say a lot, but possibly more than the average.”
“You must like it.”
“It’s a habit more than anything. We had it every day in the club canteen, something to do with energy storage, I forget most of the jargon now. It’s easy to cook and the kids like it when they’re here.
“What was Liverpool like?”
“Post war England. It was drab and a bit depressing. It’s a lot brighter now, but I couldn’t live there.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have a house there.”
She was halfway through eating a forkful of pasta and my remark caused her to choke with laughter, bringing tears to her eyes in the process.
“You fucker. Don’t do that while someone’s eating.”
“Give us a kiss then, la,” I said in my best Scouse accent.
“No, you’ll have to wait.”
But she gave in and kissed me in any case.
“What is ‘la’?” she asked me in a low voice.
“A Scouse term of endearment. La is one I like but it’s meant for a male. Preferable to ‘Judy’ which is female.”
“I see. How long did you live there?”
“Oh, Jesus, let me see. I was fourteen when I first went over for trials, it was during the summer holidays from school. I went every summer then until I was about 16 and I signed forms. I was officially an apprentice and the government paid my freight. I came back when I was just turned 19. Luckily, I had just signed a three year contract on professional terms and that had to be paid up when I left.”
“Why did you leave?”
“I got a knee.”
“You must have been a good player.”
“I still am.”
She came and sat on my lap, her face nuzzling my neck.
“Does that mean I’m in with a chance of becoming a WAG?” she whispered, her lips brushing my skin.
“No, you’re too old.”
“You’re seriously making jokes about that?” she squealed with laughter.
“The juxtaposition of the words ‘jokes’ and ‘seriously’ makes that a grammatically confused sentence structure.”
“In your view.”
“Well, let me rephrase it. Would you like to become a WAG?”
“I’m not sure now. Would you like me to become a WAG?”
“Let me rephrase that. Would you like to become my WAG?”
“I’ll let you know before the weekend.”
“I knew you were going to do that.”
“I really hate to do this, Derek, but it’s dead late and I have to get home. This has been wonderful, can we do it again soon?”
“Yes, I’d love that, Clair. Let me take you somewhere nice for your birthday.”
“I’d love that, Derek, but it’s not until Saturday.”
“Why don’t I drop Gavin home on Thursday night and we can spend some time together.”
“Doing what?”
“I could teach you some English grammar.”
“Thursday sounds perfect. Now give me my form and a kiss and I’ll be on my way.”
We kissed and I held her to me, just breathing her in before she left with a wave. A car pulled up outside, just as she took off, and a rotund man of short stature got out and ambled serenely to the door.
“Derek Caldwell?”
“Yes,” I said cautiously.
“Christy Murphy, NDSL. I have that paperwork you asked for.”
“Oh, good man, Christy. Thanks very much.”
I took the envelope from him and went back inside to read it through. The next evening, I summoned Paddy and Billy over to the house. As a club manager, I had no authority to act on any correspondence owned or issued by, or to, the club. That all went through a committee.
The committee sits once per week during the football season, usually on a Tuesday night, where they discuss items pertaining to the club and issue an instruction or verification of a protocol on how to proceed on any issue that requires a vote to accept or reject the proposal before them.
Technically, I shouldn’t have accepted the envelope as it should have been sent to Billy, as chairman. However, as Billy had kind of dropped me in it at the league meeting, I pushed the fringes of that technicality to its limit. In order to get it past the committee, I had to now camouflage it under a cloak of authority and to do that I had to have a sit down with Billy and Paddy, chairman and treasurer of the club respectively.
“Evening, men,” I said as the entered the house.
I told them to sit while I made the tea and, at the risk of raising Billy’s suspicions, a coffee for the chairman. I placed the mugs in front of them and opened the last of the leftover Christmas biscuits before placing the tin on the table.
“Ever heard of a plate for the biscuits?” Billy asked.
“It’s far from a biscuit plate you were reared, Mr. Chairman,” I said.
“Coffee too?” he asked, “whose wife did you shag?”
“Not yours.”
“I wouldn’t even do that, Derek, for fuck’s sake.”
I threw the envelope on the table, ripping the Band Aid off in the process.
“Christy Murphy dropped this in last night. It’s about the kids league.”
He took a quick read of it and handed it off to Paddy. Paddy took out his glasses and ceremoniously put them on, he read it through quickly then.
“I presume you read this already,” Billy said.
“Yes, I did. Shouldn’t I have done?”
“Probably not. It’s also probably better if the wider committee didn’t have any power here.”
“Oh, do I smell the beginning of a mutiny?” I asked.
“That’s a horse of a different colour, Derek. Let’s just say that we should begin to paddle our own canoe in some things.”
“Yes, if the committee got hold of this they’d bin it immediately,” Paddy said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because there’s nothing in it for the senior teams.”
“I see. So what do we do? I’m sure I could talk my boss into a sponsorship for the kit,” I said, “but if the kit doesn’t go to my team I’d be rather pissed off.”
“They’re annoying everyone with a pulse for money at the moment. They’ve been drawn at home against Shamrock Rovers in the Leinster Senior Cup and they want to make a good impression.”
“Rovers won’t put out their first team against them, so it might just be a toss up, lads,” I said, “besides, the gate money split should be worth it alone.”
“How do you make that out, Derek?” Paddy said.
“Well, you transfer the game to Rovers’ Stadium, but you retain the home classification and get the greater split of the gate receipts for the game. Rovers would get a couple of thousand supporters to that game. At even a tenner a head, it could mean an upside of a minimum 5K or 6K to the club.”
“Yes, that’s true, Derek. Unfortunately the chairman of our senior section doesn’t see it that way and has decided that he wants to hire the show pitch at the AUL Complex for the game.”
“Fuck off, he does not. Is he an imbecile?”
“Yes, but he’s also a glory hunter,” Paddy said.
“There no glory in throwing away the revenue from a game that most clubs would kill to get.”
“Why would they be throwing it away, Derek?”
“You’d have to give the AUL an equal split then.”
“No, they pay the pitch hire.”
“Read their Terms and Conditions, Bill, then get out your handkerchief,” I said.
“I told you that there was something fishy about all this, Billy,” Paddy said.
“I’ll look into it in the morning, let’s sort this out for now,” Billy said, indicating the envelope in front of him.
“It appears pretty straight forward, from my reading of it, Billy,” I said, “which means it has the potential to be corrupt.”
“Why, Derek?”
“There’s an old saying about things appearing too good to be true, Billy.”
“It’s the North Dublin League, Derek.”
“How many teams have you got in the DDSL?”
“None.”
“Why?”
“They’re bent.”
“I rest my case. It’s a power grab, this is the NDSL’s version of that.”
“So what do we do? Ignore it and not take part?”
“No. We take a step back, bleed it for everything we can get, wipe the floor with every other team in it and then try and look like the most honorable people in the room.”
“Are we capable of winning it?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“I have a starting point but I need some information first,” I said, “where do you get your kits from?”
“O’Neills in Walkinstown. One of the other managers’ sister works there.”
“Can you get her to price a set of gear for a seven a side team?”
“Ten players? Numbers one to ten?”
“Yes. We’ll need 3 track suit tops and three size four match balls.”
“They’ll only pay for two.”
“Who will?”
“The committee.”
“I thought you were the Treasurer, Paddy.”
“I am, for the juniors. Brian Henderson, is the senior’s treasurer and, therefore, the club Treasurer. He doesn’t want to soil his hands with schoolboys’ football.”
“How does the collection, lodgment and disbursement of money take place?”
Paddy looked from me to Billy. Billy nodded to him.
“Kids pay €2 Subs per game. The manager collects it on match days and hands it in before Monday at 3:00. I collect it all from every team, enter it in my book and offload it to Heno on Tuesday night at the meeting.”
“What about sponsorship money?”
“The same process, Billy would write a thank you letter and I’d get a receipt from Heno to give to the sponsor.”
“So everything goes to Brian Henderson?”
“Yes.”
“But you keep a separate book?”
“Yes.”
“Does every player pay?”
“They’re supposed to. Sometimes they have to owe it.”
“At this moment in time, can you tell me if all subs have been paid or if there’s a shortfall?”
“There’s always a shortfall, Derek. Not everyone has €2 to spare every week, especially if they’ve got a few kids playing.”
“Is the shortfall written off at the end of the season?”
“Not officially, but, yes. I just start a new book.”
“What are the main outgoings?”
“Transport. Getting teams out to away games.”
“Go on.”
“With what, Derek?”
“How much does it cost to get a team to a match?”
“€30 by minibus.”
“That doesn’t add up.”
“Who are you telling?”
“How many teams are in the club for the coming season, Paddy?”
“Eleven, with yours.”
“What was the shortfall of income over expenditures for last season?”
“We were down €680.”
“So add another €100, at least, to that for next season.”
“Why?”
“My team only has ten players, so you’re losing €10 every away match in transport. Multiply that by ten away games.”
“That’s if everyone pays their subs.”
“Yes. Ok, park that for a minute.”
“Does Henderson attend every committee meeting, Billy?”
“No. I’d say about one in three. Paddy doesn’t miss them, he’d know better, Derek.”
“One in three? Fuck off, Billy, it’s less than that,” Paddy said.
“So how does the disbursement of funds work? Do we have to wait for his Lordship to bless us with his presence before money is released?”
“Yes. It has to be cleared by the committee first and we have to make sure the bank balance can cover it.”
“Can I get a look at the books?”
“No. I can give you a copy of the abridged accounts from the AGM though.”
“When was that?”
“June.”
“Ok, I need to process this, lads. I think I should attend a committee meeting, or two. There’s something a bit off here. Billy, will you drop those accounts in the letterbox on your way past in the morning please?”
“I will.”
“We should reconvene over the weekend and allow two hours for it.”
“I’ll let you know a good time on Friday,” Billy said, “would Saturday night work for you?”
“No, I have a date and it’s a secret.”
Billy reached out and touched my hand,
“She has my sincere sympathies.”
“Just get me that estimate for the gear, Mr. Chairman.”
They left at a little after 8:00, leaving me with plenty of food for thought. I was gathering up the tea things when my phone rang. I caught it on the fourth ring,
“Derek Caldwell here,” I said quietly.
“Good evening, Derek, my name is Kenneth O’Halloran from Verona FC in Castleknock.”
“Hi, what can I do for you, Kenneth?”
“I got your number from the League, you have an under 8 team, I believe?”
“I might have, why?”
“I have one also. I’m looking to play some games with them, I’ve played a couple already and hoped you could facilitate a game on the coming weekend.”
He sounded like a bit of a twat.
“We’re really just putting the team together, Kenneth. I doubt if they’d be up to the standard that you obviously have.”
“Be that as it may, it’s all good practice for you,” the condescending fucker said.
“So who have you played? I didn’t realise there were so many fully formed teams in existence.”
“I played St. Mochtas, Hartstown United and Castleknock Celtic. I beat Mochtas 4-0, I drew 3-3 with Hartstown and I beat Castleknock 3-1,” he said, a bit too cockily.
“I don’t know if those are good results, Kenneth, but wins are wins. What happened against Hartstown?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t beat them, why?”
“Why do you focus on the one I didn’t win?”
“I’m a bit of a prick in that way, Kenneth,” and I laughed.
He didn’t laugh with me.
“It was just one of those things, Derek. Their playing surface isn’t up to much and my lads couldn’t play their normal game.”
“I see. I suppose you can’t win them all, Kenneth. Sorry I can’t help you with a game.”
“How many players do you have? I have twenty seven, I could lend you a few to make up the numbers.”
“Thanks, Kevin, but I’ll pass on that.”
“It’s Kenneth, not Kevin, and it sounds like you’re not taking his seriously enough, Derek, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“You could be right, I’m only doing this a couple of weeks so I’m, basically, a virgin. How many players did you loan Hartstown?”
“None, they’ve got a big squad.”
So Hartstown were the team to beat by the sounds of it.
“Ok, well thanks for the offer in any case, Kevin. Stay in touch and I’ll let you know how we’re progressing.”
“I’ll give you my mobile number if you have a pen. You can call me anytime to discuss a match.”
He rattled it off and I didn’t write it down.
“That’s fantastic, Kevin, how do you find those mobile phones, any good?”
“Yes, but I’m looking forward to when the digital system is launched next week. That’ll be a game changer.”
“It certainly will,” I said and hung up.
The bastard had a mobile phone.
I went into the front room to sit with my children for a while. Gary was bouncing around, as usual, while Charlie was struggling with homework. I picked her and the offending book off the floor and sat her in my lap.
“Tired, love?” I asked her.
“A bit.”
“What’s that you’re reading?”
“A book.”
“I never would’ve guessed. What bleedin’ book?”
“Our English reader. It’s harder than last year’s,” she said.
“What’s hard?”
“This here,” she pointed to a line of prose, “it doesn’t make sense.”
“Ok, well read it for me.”
“I can’t with all these commas and things.”
“Take your time pause when you see a comma after a word. The way you would when you speak normally. Read it through in your head first and then read it out to me.”
She was very studious about stuff. Would never admit defeat and was fiercely independent. She was my first baby and I felt her growing away from me as time passed and she grew up. This moment was one of the few that we had together any more and I treasured them.
She was silent for a time and I saw her head nod minutely as she read through the text.
“I think I’ve got it, Dad.”
“Good girl, go ahead and read it to me.”
She read it out perfectly. I kissed her and she smiled.
“That was spot on, baby, do you understand it a bit better now?”
“Yes.”
“Good, you can pack it away now and watch TV for a few minutes before bed.”
“Can I ring, Joanne?”
“Go on, you can have ten minutes, then bed, young lady.”
I packed them off to bed shortly after and I decided to work on my training plan for the next evening. The squad was still evolving, Gary told me there were a few more players who wanted to sign, but it had what I considered to be a stable foundation and, apart from our goalkeeper, a decent enough spine.
The phone rang. I picked it up.
“Derek Caldwell here.”
“Hi, Derek. Clair Shean.”
“Clair! How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I won’t be around tomorrow night, Derek, I’m in charge of an overnight systems downtime in work. Gavin can stay at the Keane’s house and Brenda will drop him home.”
“Oh that’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing you.”
“Me too. If you’re not busy, I’d spot you a drink in the Beachcomber?”
“I have the kids, Clair, and I’ve just sent them to bed. I can’t leave them alone.”
“Ah, sorry. I forgot, Derek. Never mind, I’ll have to wait until Saturday night to see you.”
“If you’d like to come up, I can open a bottle of wine that was good ten years ago.”
“Any food? I’m starving.”
“I have some Boeuf Bourguignon over rice. It’s not much but it’s not stew. Or maybe it is.”
“You are an absolute treasure. Heat it up, I’m on my way.”
I had recently found a pristine copy of Venus and Mars by Wings to replace my scratched original. I had it cued it up just before Clair called. I hung up the phone and let the stylus drop into the grooves. When she arrived I had everything ready for her to eat.
“Wow, you look fantastic, Claire.”
“I didn’t realise that you were smoking hot last time. I’m more prepared tonight,” she said as she kissed me, lightly. She slipped her jacket off and hung it on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and made to walk by me.
I took her bare arm as she passed and pulled her into my arms. She smiled as she shook her hair from her face.
“Hello, Clair,” I whispered to her.
“Hi, Derek,” she replied.
My lips met hers in a soft embrace as hers opened to accept it. Her tongue moved against my lips and found mine in search of hers. They softly touched, bent outwards as our lips moved sensuously against each other’s. Her hands were in my hair and in my face as her movements increased in tempo and in rotation. My tongue explored the inside of her mouth as hers shepherded it, ensuring that it touched and tasted every surface.
My hands kneaded her spine, eliciting a low moan as it lightly touched the top of the mound of her bum, causing her to grind herself against me, her groin almost glued to mine. She suddenly broke the kiss and shook her head.
“Jesus, Derek,” she whispered.
I took her hand and led her into the kitchen. I touched her bare shoulder.
“I needed to kiss you, Claire.”
“I was hoping you would.”
She pulled my head down to her lips and kissed me again. I sat her down and served the food.
She was quiet as she ate. Pensively toying with some beef on her plate. She was dressed in a blue, sleeveless top and a matching gypsy skirt. She looked beautiful with her red hair shining.
“A penny for your thoughts, Clair.”
“New romance thoughts, Derek.”
“I probably shouldn’t pry into those, should I?”
“Maybe later, what’s the music?”
“Wings,” I said.
She made a face.
“I know. It’s fashionable to diss the Wings but a Beatle wrote the music. That’s a copy I picked up in town over the weekend, wanna give it a chance after dinner?”
“I was hoping you’d have something like that in mind. Yes, I’d love to.”
She was hungry and I had to slow her down in case she choked.
“Clair, take it easy. There’s more if you want some.”
“I’m starving, Derek, and this is so good. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Years of fending for myself. It’s therapeutic.”
“You need therapy?”
“Everybody does at some point, Claire.”
“What was your breaking point?”
I thought about Eva and the pain and hurt in her voice as she asked about my alcoholism. I was crestfallen, there were no excuses, just a simple, yes. One word which almost killed me. I didn’t want that with Clair. I needed to be honest with myself and with her.
“Alcohol.”
She said nothing and continued eating.
“How long?”
“Six years.”
“Sorry, Derek,” she reached for my hand. I left my hand flat on the table.
“Thanks, I’m managing it, though.”
“By taking on a kids football team?”
“Yes,” I laughed, “it must sound crazy but I think it’s a good move.”
“My dad was an alcoholic, Derek. It killed him in the end.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Clair. How long ago?”
“Four years. He just couldn’t stop himself.”
“Don’t blame him. It isn’t easy. I’m lucky enough that I’ve come this far. I won’t say I have it under control, but I have the safeguards in place.”
“You’ll always need a drink, Derek. That’s a high wall to climb.”
I stood up and began to clear the table as she finished eating.
“That’s true, Clair, but I have to climb it for those two upstairs. I won’t let them down.”
I placed the dishes in the sink and ran some water into them. She watched me as I took her jacket from its resting place at the bottom of the stairs and handed it to her. She stood and walked towards me.
“What are you doing? Are you throwing me out?” she asked.
“No. Usually when I tell someone about this, they can’t leave quick enough, Clair.”
“You promised me some music.”
“I did. I’m gonna make some coffee, do you want a glass of wine?”
“No, but I’d love an espresso.”
“Stay with me while I make it.”
Unsure of myself, I retrieved the accoutrements needed to make a proper espresso from their resting places under the sink in the kitchen. Unusually, although they had been used by Charlie when she made tea for her dolls, they were all in good shape. I busied myself with measuring the grounds and dispensing just the correct amount of water into the well of the Moka Pot before screwing it together and placing it on the stove to heat. I felt Clair’s arms encircling me from behind. I turned to face her without breaking her embrace.
“Tired?” I asked.
“No, believe it or not, I feel good, Derek.”
“Even with my limitations exposed?”
She tilted her face to me and kissed me slowly. She put her head against my chest and I rocked her gently in my arms.
“Why do you use spring water in the coffee pot?”
“What?”
“You poured spring water out of that bottle into the well of the coffee pot, why?”
“We were playing a tournament in Naples one year. We were there for ten days and the downtime was a worry for the handlers. So they brought in local artisans to show us how to do stuff in the home. Cooking, baking, stuff like that. This is how they made the espresso.”
“Interesting. It’s not something I would ever have considered.”
“I’m interested to see if you notice any difference.”
My hands stroked her back as we waited for the pot to boil. She was so soft to the touch, I could have drifted off quite happily with her in my arms. The whistle of the pot signaled the readiness of the espresso. I made to turn back to the cooker but she held me close.
“Clair?”
She released me and moved beside me as I turned to take the pot off the stove and filled two espresso cups with the brew, a healthy crema developing in the process.
“Perfecto,” I said with a smile.
“I don’t know anyone who has their own espresso cups and saucers,” she said.
“Demitasse cups,” I said, “and I share these with Charlie’s dolls.”
“Better not tell her we borrowed them,” she said with a smile.
“Cin cin,” I said, and we touched cups.
She tasted hers, I held my breath, she smiled and did a little movement with her hips.
“Perfecto, signor. That’s fucking fantastic, Derek.”
We brought them in to the music room and I opened the doors on my collection.
“Ladies choice,” I said, my hand indicating the shelves of records.
“You choose, I’d like to experience this through your eyes.”
“Ok, then, challenge accepted. Now let me see, we need to set a mood first. What would you say, Clair?”
“I’m placing myself in your hands, Derek.”
“Ok, if that’s the case, there’s the question of the digestif to consider, give me one second.”
I returned with a small glass filled with a lemon coloured liqueur.
“Is this limoncello?” she enthused.
“Yes, sip it and I’ll find some appropriate music. Now, let me see. We need something that’s reflective but with an elemental thread of celebration, vivacity. A slight continental, more Latin flavour maybe.”
“You’re so detail orientated, Derek. Just pick something, what about your Wings album?”
“Certain tracks on ‘Band on the Run’ would be good, Clair, but I need an entire album to play through.”
“I’ll sit here while you decide.”
She sat on a stool by the door. I took her hand and led her to the sofa that I used.
“Sit here, it’s designed for optimal listening.”
“How so?”
“I’ve a seven speaker sound system that doesn’t miss one little quaver and it’s set up in such a way that it can be appreciated best from this chair.”
“Am I your guinea pig?”
“No, it’s been well researched. I’ve a good ear, if I say so myself.”
“Noted,” she said with a smile and watched as I found the album I was looking for.
“Ooh, what are we listening to?”
“I’ll tell you when we’re a few tracks in. I’m gonna switch the light off to help focus your mind on the music.”
I switched it off and then, by the light of the LED indicators on the turntable, I dropped the stylus on the album and sat beside her in the seat. She spun herself around and laid her head in my lap.
“This is so nice, Derek. It’s dreamy.”
The opening bars of ‘Too Much Information’ kicked in and her head popped up
“Duran Duran? Seriously?”
“Shut up and allow yourself some head space.”
“Come on, Derek, Duran Duran?”
“The music speaks, Clair, listen to it.”
I sat back and let it in, halfway through I felt her hips rock in time to the music. When ‘Ordinary World’ started she kissed my hand and pulled me down for a kiss.
“You complete bastard, Derek Caldwell,” she whispered.
“You love it, don’t you?”
“I do. I love how your mind works.”
“I knew you were crazy.”
“Crazy about you,” she said, and crawled on top of me, pulling her skirt up and straddling my hips.
I kissed her and she responded in a flurry of lip and tongue movements that encouraged a similar response. I let myself become lost in her lips as we descended into a place of calm and shared pleasure. She paused to lift her top over her head, her breasts searching for release from the constraints of her bra.
I flicked it open at the back and it fell deliciously forward, exposing her beautiful breasts, pink nipples hopelessly indicating her arousal. I pulled her to me, both breasts in my hand. I brought one nipple to my lips and sucked it deep inside my mouth whilst gently tweaking the other with my finger and thumb.
“Of Jesus, yes,” she whispered in my ear as she took it between her teeth.
My hand moved behind her, exploring her bum as it was spread across my hips. She pulled my tee shirt over my head and began kissing and sucking my nipples. It was so sexy in the darkness. I rolled her on her back and she slipped her skirt off, leaving her in just a pair of white lace panties. I took my jeans off and slid my boxers down quickly behind it. She reached for my erect penis and brought it to her lips, licking the preliminary fluid deliciously from the top, her tongue sending shock waves through me.
I slid her panties off and laid on the couch beside her, pulling her on top as my tongue and lips kissed her inner thighs. She was in charge, though, her dominant position giving her vulva total control of where my tongue was needed. She craved the touch of my tongue inside the lips of her labia, grinding her vulva into me as she demanded stimulation and relief. I held her hips in my hands, easing the lips of her labia apart, allowing my tongue to taste her delicious fluids as she groaned, simultaneously sending vibratory shock waves through the head of my penis as she held it tightly between her lips, her tongue wrapped around the head.
She lifted her head as my tongue explored the entrance to her vagina. Lightly circling the rim as it pulsed minutely in invitation.
“Oh, God,” she whispered as it drifted a little inside her.
I withdrew it and she lifted off me in protest. I held her in place and allowed my tongue search for her clitoris with slow, languorous movement inside the pink layers of the tissue of her labia. She squirmed in pleasure as I tasted every surface of her most intimate place, her hips in constant motion in time to the movement of my tongue.
“That’s so fucking amazing, Derek,” she sighed as she finally gave up and allowed me free rein.
My tongue touched her clitoral hood as my thumbs teased it aside in an effort to expose her centre of pleasure. I touched it briefly with the tip of my tongue to a hissing sound from Clair. I then flicked it across her clitoris a few times, lightly at first, then with more pressure applied, focusing on the delightful firmness as she ground her vulva into my tongue in anticipation of her coming release.
She held the base of my penis and took it in her mouth again. Sucking me in as far as she could manage, her lips moving seductively around the base as her tongue attacked the head. I felt her beginning to tremble as my tongue continued its focus on her clitoris. I held her to me, my fingers cupping her divine buttocks, my fingertips resting in the cleft of her behind.
She suddenly rocked her hips violently, a stream of fluid escaped into my mouth and around my face. She lifted her head as she whimpered in orgasm, her legs trembling and clutching my head as she rode it out. She pushed me away, clutching her vagina with her hand and reaching for me at the same time.
“Give me time, Derek,” she breathed, “I’m so sensitive there at the moment.”
“We don’t need to do anything more tonight, love,” I whispered, “take your time and enjoy the feeling. Just let me hold you, just come back to me.”
“I’m never leaving, Derek, I want you inside me, please. Just a few minutes.”
We laid on my chair in thrall of each other as she recovered. She kissed me unendingly and I fixed her wildly strewn hair as Duran Duran drifted back into our consciousness,
‘Ah, it’ll take a little time
Might take a little crime to come undone
Now we’ll try to stay blind to the hope and fear outside
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind and blow me in to cry
Who do you need?
Who do you love?
When you come undone’
“You absolute fucking genius. I hate Duran Duran, but this is perfect for us tonight, Derek,” she whispered.
“It is exactly what we need it to be, Clair.”
TBC
