Chapter 306 Pieces II

On the Friday afternoon I took the gas bill into Maureen’s office and put it on her desk, written side up. Margaret came in after me and shut the door.

"3 pieces," I said. "Robbie’s block first. 500,000, through the man in London, in the week of the 21st. It has to be in by the 25th."

"Yes," said Maureen.

"The steel second. 1,400,000, in by Thursday the 14th of November, so you can sign on the Friday."

"And the third?"

"The rest of the stand. About 5 and a half million, in the last week of November."

Maureen read the line in the box.

"And after the 30th?"

"Nothing. Whatever is left stays where it is."

"Why the 30th?" said Margaret.

"Because in August it went up by a third," I said. "I have watched things go up like that before, and they come down faster than they went up."

"So?"

"So if it is all in pounds by the end of November, you sign your contracts in December with the money sitting in the account, whatever the price does."

"And if the price is twice as much in December?" said Maureen.

"Then I will have sold too early, and you can both tell me so."

"We will," said Margaret. "Why not the 15th, then, and be safe?"

"Because it might keep going up, and I want some of that for the club. The 30th is as far as I will chance it."

Maureen tapped her pen on the 14th of November. "The steel goes before your last week, then. So you sell more of it for the steel than you would like. How much more?"

"I do not know. I will not know till the 14th."

She wrote that down too. Then she turned the green book to the wages page, where Pete’s line, Terry Brennan’s and Carrow’s sat together at the bottom.

"And this page still has no room on it," she said. "I want you to remember that while you are paying for steel."

"I will."

Margaret had been quiet with her arms folded. "Can your man in London take 5 and a half million in one week?"

"In June he took 50,000 a morning."

"That is more than 100 mornings," said Maureen.

"So I need somebody bigger. I will ask him first."

"Ask him before you promise anybody anything else," said Margaret.

"I have promised Robbie the 25th of October."

"At June’s size that is 10 mornings. Start early and he can do it. Ask him about the rest."

She took a sheet of the club’s paper off Maureen’s printer and wrote on it in her careful hand for 10 minutes. Nobody spoke.

When she had finished, Margaret turned it round for us both to read.

TILBROOK TOWN FOOTBALL CLUB · Schedule of contracts · Friday 6 September 2013

Academy block · 500,000 · in the club’s account by Fri 25 October · signature by Fri 1 November Bovril End steel · 1,400,000 · in the club’s account by Thu 14 November · order Fri 15 November Bovril End stand, balance · about 5,500,000 · in the club’s account by Fri 29 November · signature in December No contract on this schedule is to be signed until its sum is in the club’s account. M. Bell

Margaret signed it and photocopied it twice. Maureen folded hers into the green book at the wages page. I put mine in my coat with the gas bill.

I left a message for the quiet man in London that evening. He rang back inside the hour, the way he always had, and said he would ring again with numbers when he had watched the market for 2 weeks.

After the international break we drew 0-0 at Hillsborough, on Saturday the 14th. Carrow went on with 20 minutes left and stood where he had been told. Robertson found him once, and the keeper tipped his header over.

On the coach home Kieran went up and down the aisle telling anybody awake that he had been to Roots Hall on the Friday night to see Pete play for Southend.

"He headed everything, boss," he said. "Everything that came near him."

The Tuesday was Ipswich, under the lights, an hour and a half up the A12. Priya had sold 1,400 tickets, and Kieran had filled one of the coaches by the Friday. Leicester had already asked for every ticket we could give them for the 1st of October.

Our coaches parked round the corner from the statue of Sir Alf Ramsey.

The burger van beside it had sold out of onions by 7, and the smell of them still came down the street on the wind. Kelly’s lad stood under the statue with 2 of his friends and had his photograph taken pointing at it.

"He won the World Cup, Mr Mercer," he said to me. "With England. My grandad watched it in a shop window on the high street, because they did not have a television at home."

"Does he still come to Marsh Road?"

"Every home game. Same step on the Bovril End since before I was born." He looked up at the statue again. "He wants to know if the new lad is any good."

We were up in the stand along the side of the pitch. Terry Brennan was 2 rows in front of me with Pauline, in a new home shirt with his firm’s name across the chest.

"Do you know what your shop charged me for this, Sam?" he said over his shoulder. "40 pounds. On top of the 95,000."

"You wanted one, Terry," said Pauline.

"I did want one. I am only saying." He smoothed it down over his stomach and looked at the pitch.

Kelly’s lad started the drum behind me while the teams were still lining up, boom, boom, boom, and kept it going through the kick-off.

Carrow stood up against their centre-half and held everything that came to him, and Jamie ran off him, and for 20 minutes nobody could get near either of them.

On 23 minutes Andy Robertson took a pass 30 yards out on the left and hit it early, before anybody was ready for it. Carrow had already gone 2 yards wider than his marker.

He headed it down, thock, and it bounced once and went in under the keeper’s arm.

The stand went up round me. Kelly’s lad grabbed the man next to him.

"WHAT IS HIS FIRST NAME?"

"LEWIS!"

"LEW-IS CAR-ROW! LEW-IS CAR-ROW!"

Carrow ran 50 yards across the pitch, past our stand, to Robertson and pointed at him with both hands, and then they ran back to the halfway line together.

At half-time a man behind me rang his wife and told her the new lad had scored, and held the phone up so she could hear us singing it.

After half-time Ipswich put their quickest winger on Robertson’s side and ran every ball at him. Just after the hour a man of theirs hit one from 25 yards. Braithwaite got a hand to it, slap, and could not keep it out.

"IPS-WICH! IPS-WICH!" came round the ground at us.

Carrow had his hands on his knees by 70 minutes, and Sadler took him off on 75. He shook his hand at the touchline and said "Good" to him, and our stand stood up for him till he reached the bench.

With 3 minutes left we had a corner. Robertson went up for it, and they cleared it, and their winger was away down the side Robertson had left. He crossed it low. Their centre-forward put it in from 6 yards, thump, and Portman Road came down on top of us.

Robertson was 40 yards up the pitch when it went in. He stood there with his hands on his head.

2-1. 7 points from 7 games.

By the coaches afterwards Robertson came out of the dressing room before anybody else, with his bag on his shoulder and his hair wet, and went straight to Sadler.

"Their second one was mine," he said. "I should never have gone up."

"Their second one was yours," said Sadler. "So was our first. Do the first one more."

Robertson nodded and got on. Through the window I saw Rudd move his bag off the seat beside him, and Robertson sat down.

"Will he go up again on Saturday?" I said.

"If I let him," said Sadler. "I will not let him."

Carrow came past me walking stiff in his left leg. "Who do I see about somewhere to live? I have been in the hotel 2 weeks."

"Priya. She will have you somewhere by Friday."

"Somewhere I can see the sea from. I have walked on the front every night."

"I will tell her."

He got on the coach and sat across the aisle from them.

At 9 the next morning, while I was still in the kitchen, the quiet man rang with his numbers.

"You want to start again in October, Mr Mercer. Mornings, like June."

"Yes."

"How much a morning?"

"As much as you can take."

"100,000 pounds’ worth. The market is twice what it was in June. No more. Any more than that, and I move the price against both of us."

That was the block in 5 mornings, the week before the 25th, with the last of it landing on the day.

It was the steel in 14 more, from the Monday after to Thursday the 14th, if I did not miss a morning, and if the engineer’s exact figure did not come in over 1,400,000.

"And the last week of November?" I said. "5 and a half million, in pounds, in a week."

He did not answer for a while. Somewhere behind him a train went past, rumble, and faded.

"Not from me," he said. "And not from anybody in this country I would send you to."

"But there is somebody."

"One man. On the Mile End Road. He takes it for people in Geneva. He does sizes I do not touch."

If I started tomorrow and did not miss a morning, the 29th of November was 52 mornings away. 5,200,000. Not enough for all 3 pieces, and the first of it sold where the price was now.

In April that man had paid me 14 million pounds in one day, well under the price on the screen that morning, and by the Thursday night the same coins were worth 24 million. Afterwards he sent word that his door was open. I never answered.

What would he pay me in November, when he knew I had come back because nobody else in the country could take it?

I took the gas bill out of my coat, and under the box I wrote: Mile End Road.