Chapter 139: Hired Muscle

Who was the happiest about Saint’s ban? Villa’s opponents over the next few rounds. Villa would face Southampton, Manchester City, Sunderland, Hull City and Liverpool, in that order.

Those five were a mixed bunch. The strong ones were two of the biggest names in the league, and the weak ones needed no introduction. Sunderland had survived relegation only on the final day last season, and Hull had come up from the Championship alongside Villa.

Lucky or unlucky? For Saint himself it was unlucky, because he would miss his chance to face the two giants from the touchline. In the media’s eyes it was lucky, since it spared him the blame if the giants swept Villa aside, and even if that did happen, none of the blame would stick to him.

For Sunderland and Hull, of course, it was a gift. As clubs fighting to stay up, they knew this was their best chance to take points off Villa, and their most direct rivals were thinking along the same lines, each convinced that beating Villa now would improve their survival odds.

Before the league, though, Villa had a League Cup tie to play, and the ban would not spare them there either, because the Football Association had been clear that all three men were barred in every competition.

It was obvious the Football Association had done a thorough job this time, giving the three of them no loophole.

Villa’s opponents in the cup, Shrewsbury Town, drew the short straw. When it was over the scoreboard read 5-0, even though Saint had sent out nothing but reserves and academy players.

Afterwards the press could not resist teasing him. One headline read: "Villa boss saving his temper for the league, Shrewsbury got the leftovers."

Besides the original five-game suspension, Saint would also miss the replay against Chelsea, though that match would not count towards the five. The same went for Strickland and Rennick, who would miss it as well.

The Football Association was clearly afraid that Saint and Strickland might start another war, so, to be safe, it had barred the three of them from the technical areas, the tunnels, the dugouts and everything in between. No phones, no radios, no headsets.

They could still buy a seat among the public, but nothing more. Saint could not give an instruction from the stands, and an official would be sitting right beside him to make sure of it.

The cup tie was only an interlude. All week the squad prepared for Southampton, and while Saint could not direct the game live, nobody had banned him from anything away from the matchday itself.

In fact, he wanted to be at that match. With that in mind, he had contacted Danny and the rest of the old crowd. Since becoming manager, his relationship with them had grown more distant.

That was not because he had grown proud after the promotion. It was the distance that came with the roles. One was the manager and the other a fan, and the two could never be true friends.

The two roles were intimate and antagonistic at the same time. When a manager did well, the fans would lift him to the sky. When the team slipped, the same fans would stamp him into the ground.

So it was impossible for them to go on as they were. Better to keep a polite distance now than turn their backs on each other later.

Danny had been naive, in a way, once hoping Saint would stay at Villa for ever, but he had come to see how naive that was. And he knew Saint well enough to understand that if Villa really did succeed, Saint might not stay in the Midlands for good, whatever the fans wanted.

Villa Park, however, had never seen anything like the moment Saint walked into the stands for the first time as manager. A roar went up from the supporters around him.

"Saint’s become Villa’s hero, bigger than the players on the pitch," wrote Callum Reid in the Midlands Sports Gazette.

"A manager overshadowing his players. That only happens at Villa," a columnist from a rival paper said, with a trace of envy.

"Excuse me, sir, is it all right if I sit here?" On either side of the hero now were two men sent by the Football Association, in dark suits and sunglasses. Anyone who did not know better would have taken them for secret agents.

"Yes," Saint said, and the two officials exchanged glances, looked around at the fiercely grinning supporters, and nodded helplessly.

That was Saint’s method. He meant to pass his tactical decisions along through the fans, and the men around him had been hand-picked by Danny for the job. They looked every bit as fierce and menacing as the officials feared.

But Saint knew a lot of people. The man directly behind him, for instance, with a face like a bouncer’s, was in fact the sweet-natured pastry chef at a famous bakery in the city. Saint had been to Hattie’s several times before, because Imogen had always had a sweet tooth, and he knew the man’s cakes by heart.

The man to the left of the officials had a scar down his cheek that rivalled Rocher’s, and looked like a villain from a gangster film. He was actually a police officer, and the scar was the result of saving someone’s life. Sergeant Cantrell had helped Saint push his way out through the press more than once, so the two were well acquainted.

Then there was Danny himself, the most intimidating of them all. He was not tall, and he was thin, and his open, clear-eyed face looked about as dangerous as a choirboy’s. The two officials took one look at him and relaxed.

They took the thought back almost at once, because they noticed that this clean-faced man was in fact the leader of the pack.

"You must be joking," was the thought running through both their heads.

Down in the technical area, Cadman and Pratt stood side by side, glancing up at the stands every few seconds like men checking a nervous patient. Cadman had been rehearsing all week, and he muttered the starting eleven under his breath one last time while Pratt straightened the clipboard in his hands.

"He’s not going to wave, is he?" Pratt said.

"If he waves, I’m sending him home," Cadman said. "Footballing authority be damned."

Up in the Holte End, Saint kept his hands firmly on his knees, his face a picture of innocence. The official on his left leaned over and asked him, as politely as he could manage, whether he would mind not coughing at the tactical moments.

"I have a cold," Saint said gravely.

Not long after Saint sat down, the two teams followed the referee out of the tunnel, and the stands exploded.

The people around Saint went especially wild, because they were the most committed Villa fans in the ground. Feeling the heat of it, the two officials grew even more nervous. They might have been dressed like secret agents, but they had none of the skills.

At that moment they could not even be sure what these fierce men would do to them if Villa lost. After all, Saint was sitting right beside them, and the only reason he was there at all was the punishment handed down by the Football Association.