Chapter 286 - 107 Steps III

Brentford won the toss and went first.

Their number 8 went low to Braithwaite’s left. Braithwaite went with him and got a hand to it, and it went in off the post. ping, and in.

0-1.

Vardy put the ball on the spot and walked back further than anybody I had ever seen. He ran in and hit it, thump, into the top corner, and pointed at the sky.

1-1.

"VAR-DY! VAR-DY! VAR-DY!"

Their number 10 put the ball down. Braithwaite looked at the bottle on the grass by the post and went to his right before the ball was kicked. He was there. slap of both hands, and the ball round the post.

"KEEP-ER! KEEP-ER! KEEP-ER!"

On the touchline Hartley had both arms straight up over his head.

"He knew," Margaret said. "Sam, he knew where it was going."

"Hartley knew."

Then Mahrez. He took a short run and placed it, and it hit the outside of the post and went wide. tock. He stood on the spot with his hands on his head. Vardy walked out of the line, put an arm round his neck, and walked him back.

1-1.

"Oh, the poor lad," said Margaret. "His mother is watching."

"She will have him back tonight, win or lose."

"RI-YAD MAH-REZ! RI-YAD MAH-REZ!" Our end was singing his name, louder than for anybody yet. He put his hand on his heart to them and went back to the line.

Their number 9 sent Braithwaite the wrong way, against the arrow. 1-2.

Kane walked up from halfway. He was 19 and had been on the pitch for one minute. He put the ball down, stepped back, and placed it in the bottom corner while their keeper went the other way. thud of the ball into the side netting.

2-2.

"HAR-RY KANE! HAR-RY KANE!"

"Craig’s call," said Margaret.

Their number 4 hit it hard to Braithwaite’s left. Braithwaite was already there. smack, off his forearm and out to the edge of the box, and he was on his feet roaring at our end with both fists up before it had stopped rolling.

"BRAITH-WAITE! BRAITH-WAITE!"

Maguire walked up with the armband on. Behind our bench Marsh was on his feet, up on one crutch, with the other held out of the way so that he could see.

"If Maguire scores," Margaret said, "their 7 has to."

Maguire hit it low and hard into the corner, whump, and Marsh lifted the spare crutch over his head. 3-2.

"MA-GUIRE! MA-GUIRE!"

I was on my feet with everybody else.

"Come on, Tom," I said, to nobody who could hear me. "Come on."

Their number 7 hit it high to Braithwaite’s right, swish, an inch over his fingertips. 3-3.

"WHO IS IT?" the man in the row behind was shouting. "WHO IS TAKING IT?"

"ROWE!" somebody shouted back. "IT IS ROWE!"

"If Marlon scores," said Margaret, "we are up."

Marlon Rowe walked out of the line at halfway.

He came from Woking for 20,000 pounds, lost his place to Kanté in August, and never said a word about it. Since then he had played wherever Craig put him and never once knocked on my door.

He put the ball on the spot. Beside me, the Brentford man turned his phone over in his hand and did not look at it.

"Who is this?" he said quietly.

"Marlon Rowe."

"I do not have him in my numbers."

Rowe ran in and hit it straight down the middle while their keeper dived to his right.

whoosh of the net.

4-3.

The noise came off our end like the sea coming over the wall. Rowe stood still on the spot with his arms at his sides, looking at the net, until Braithwaite reached him and lifted him off the ground. Hartley got there second, with the marker pen still in his hand.

"WE ARE GOING UP! WE ARE GOING UP!"

"MAR-LON ROWE! MAR-LON ROWE!"

"THE TIDE IS IN! THE TIDE IS IN!"

Margaret had her bag in one hand and her glasses in the other, and her face was wet. The Brentford man held out his hand to me, and I shook it.

"Well done," he said. "I would not have priced that."

"Thank you. Your side ran to the end."

"Marlon," Margaret said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Marlon Rowe."

Hartley ticked the bottle on the grass afterwards, kneeling by the post, with the same pen.

THE BOTTLE · C. HARTLEY · BLACK MARKER 8 · ← LOW · ? 10 · → · ? 9 · → LOW · ? 4 · ← HARD · ? 7 · → HIGH · ?

"I told you it was coming with me," Margaret said, and put her hand flat on her bag. "This is the building."

They brought the cup to the Royal Box, and the players came up the 107 steps to it from the grass, between our people on one side and theirs on the other.

At the bottom, a steward in a yellow jacket was holding a door open beside the steps.

"There is a lift, sir," he said to Marsh.

Marsh had come down from his seat behind the bench. He looked at the door. He looked at the steps.

"No, thank you, son," he said.

He put the good leg on the first step and brought the crutches and the bad one up after it. tap, tap.

Maguire came back down 3 steps and stood beside him, and they came up together, one step at a time. Maguire kept his hand an inch off Marsh’s back the whole way, and never put it on.

5 rows up, Ted was standing at the end of his row as Marsh came level with him.

"GO ON, SON!" Ted shouted. "GO ON, LENNY!"

Marsh kept his eyes on the next step. He lifted one crutch an inch off the step to him, and put it down again, and kept climbing.

"LEN-NY MARSH! LEN-NY MARSH!" Our people leaned out over the barrier on the left of the steps to touch his shoulder as he passed. On the right, Brentford’s people stood and watched him go up, and did not sing anything at all.

The rest of the side waited behind him on the steps, and none of them went round him.

At the top he stopped in front of me, out of breath. He leaned the crutches against the glass, one and then the other.

The man from the League held the cup out toward Maguire. "Congratulations, captain."

"He is the captain," Maguire said, and nodded at Marsh.

"Both hands, Harry," Marsh said. "Do not drop it in front of them."

"I will not drop it, Len."

Marsh stood on his good leg. Maguire got a shoulder under his arm, the man from the League put the cup into both their hands, and they lifted it together over their heads.

ROAR. The whole of our end on its feet in the sun, and the drum going.

"CHAMP-I-ON-SHIP! CHAMP-I-ON-SHIP!"

Mahrez was the last of them past me. Marsh caught his sleeve before he went down.

"Riyad. Head up."

"I missed, Len."

"I saw. Head up. Your mother is over there, and she is waving at you."

When they had all gone back down to the grass, I went down after them.

Danny Vine was at the foot of the steps with his notebook, beside a man with a television camera. Sadler was standing in front of the 2 of them with a medal round his neck and his coat over his arm.

"Kane," Danny said. "In the last minute. Why Kane?"

"He has not missed one in training since February," Sadler said.

"And Rowe for the fifth?"

"He came to me on Thursday and asked for it. It is the first thing he has asked me for since August."

"And the water bottle? The whole ground saw it."

"That is Col’s. Ask Col."

"And you, Craig? Everybody wants to know. Are you staying?"

Sadler looked past him at the pitch, where Quinn was lying on his back on the grass with one leg in the air and Dev stretching his calf.

"Ask me Monday," he said.

I went back up the steps as far as Ted’s row and stopped beside the aisle. Raj was next to him, holding his stick.

"He has not sat down since the last one," Raj said. "I tried. He told me to stop fussing, and then he held my arm. He has not let go of it since."

Ted did not say anything at first. He let go of Raj, folded his scarf over his arm, and looked at me.

"Is this it, then?" he said. "The arriving?"

"Yes, Ted. This is it."